"Hey there, are you okay?"

The woman jumped, screamed a bit, looked around frantically until she spotted him "Oh my God," she said.

Tuck had had worse responses. He pressed on "Are you okay?" he repeated. "You looked like you were having some trouble."

"I think he's dead," the woman said. "I think — I think I killed him"

Tuck looked at the red-and-white pile on the ground at his feet and realized for the first time what it really was: a dead Santa. A normal person might have freaked out, backed away, tried to quickly extract himself from the situation, but Tucker Case was a pilot, trained to function in life-and-death emergencies, practiced at grace under pressure, and besides, he was lonely and this woman was really hot.

"So, a dead Santa," said Tuck. "Do you live around here?"

"I didn't mean to kill him. He was coming at me with a gun I just ducked, and when I looked up — " She waved toward the pile of dead Kringle. "I guess the shovel caught him in the throat." She seemed to be calming down a bit.

Tuck nodded thoughtfully "So, Santa was coming at you with a gun?"

The woman pointed to the gun, lying in the dirt next to the Maglite "I see," said Tuck. "Did you know this —»

"Yes. His name is Dale Pearson. He drank."

"I don't. Stopped years ago," Tuck said. "By the way, I'm Tucker Case. Are you married?" He extended his hand to her to shake. She seemed to see him for the first time.

"Lena Marquez. No, I'm divorced»

"Me, too," said Tuck. "Tough around the holidays, isn't it? Kids?"