All I Want For Christmas is Fudge (A Candy-Coated Mystery with Recipes Book 4) by Nancy CoCo Page B

kept me from gasping for breath. I’d been running five or more miles a day for over ten years now. There was something so wonderful about outrunning your troubles. That’s what it felt like to me when I ran.
    Being from Chicago, I liked winter running. It was hard on the knees and ankles due to the uneven snow, but this trail was well groomed in anticipation of the Santa Run.
    I came up on a pair of Santas in full suits puffing away. “On your left,” I said, and sent them a salute as I lengthened my stride to pass.
    “Ho, ho, ho,” the larger of the two Santas said as I left them behind. I put on a burst of speed because I liked to run alone. I liked the quiet, and passing them would let them know I wasn’t in the mood to chat.
    I was well past the three-mile marker when I rounded the corner and saw a Santa resting in a snowbank near the woods side of the trail. The sky had started to lighten and I could make out a red suit and a Santa hat ahead of me. As I approached, I noticed that this Santa appeared to be face-planted in the snowbank. It was comical how his legs, covered in red Santa pants with white, faux-fur trim, stuck up in the air. One black boot was on. The other was off, revealing red-and-white-striped socks in thick wool.
    The breeze teased the trim at the bottom of the slacks. The white ball at the end of his Santa cap fluttered. I slowed down. It was too cold to be sleeping in a snowbank, even if you were wearing a Santa suit.
    “Hey, Santa, wake up,” I said as I jogged in place. He didn’t move. A spike of fear went through me as I noticed how pale the skin was at the back of his neck. I stopped, grabbed his shoulder, and tried to roll him over. He was stiff and strangely crunchy. It took both hands to try to budge him; his arms and legs stayed in the weird position he was originally in.
    Something was not right, but your brain does weird things when faced with a new situation. I could only think that I had to get his face out of the snow. I put my back into the effort to roll him over until I got a glimpse of his white face. His eyes were wide open and unseeing. His neck was at a funny angle. I couldn’t help the small scream that came out of me as I let him go.
    Momentum caused him to fall back into the posture I found him in. I fumbled for my cell phone. As a longtime runner, I had perfected the use of the armband cell phone holder. I had an app that allowed me to keep track of my distance and time and heart rate. Besides, a girl alone should always have a cell phone on her. Thankfully, I was able to pull it off the band and dial 9-1-1.
    “Nine-one-one, this is Charlene. What is your emergency?” came the voice of the dispatcher.
    “Hi, yes, my name is Jenn Christensen. I was jogging on the Fun Run trail and I think we’ve got a frozen Santa on our hands.”
    “Are you in hypothermia? I can send blankets and hot cocoa,” Charlene said. “But you really should be more prepared when you run. Where are you exactly? Can you get back to Main Street on your own?”
    “Oh,” I said, and looked from Santa to the coastline. “No, it’s not me. There’s a Santa facedown in the snowbank. I tried to turn him over, but he’s quite stiff. I think he might be dead.”
    “Oh, dear,” Charlene said. “Is this Allie McMurphy?”
    “No, this is Jenn Christensen, Allie’s friend.”
    “And you think there’s a dead body on the Santa Fun Run trail?”
    “Yes,” I said, frowning at Charlene’s repetitive questions. “I’m quite certain. I tried rolling him over, but he’s kind of tall. Even though he’s thinner than most Santas, he’s frozen and I couldn’t get his face out of the snow. Oh, and his eyes are open.”
    “Well, then, where exactly are you?” I could hear her connecting to the police.
    “I’m at Griffin Cove, between the three- and four-mile marks,” I said.
    “Okay, I’ve sent out first responders. They should arrive on snowmobiles. Are you with anyone?”
    “Besides