Juniper’s Cookie Caper: A Christmas Cozy Mystery at the North Pole

I was going to throw up, and I’m not talking metaphorically. I was going to actually, genuinely throw up all over the pristine white floors of the North Pole Administrative Building on my first day of work. The peppermint cocoa I’d had for breakfast churned in my stomach. I thought peppermint was supposed to help resolve digestive troubles?

“Deep breaths,” I whispered to myself, clutching my orientation folder like a shield. “You can do this. It’s just a job. A job at the most important toy production facility in the world, where one mistake could ruin Christmas for millions of children, but it’s fine. Totally fine. Everything will be fine.”

And as if to prove how fine it would be, my brain helpfully supplied seventeen different ways I could mess this up within the first hour.

The orientation coordinator, a perky elf named Snowdrop with perfect posture and not a single hair out of place, bounced into the room and beamed at our group of five new hires, her teeth as white as Christmas snow. “Welcome to Santa’s Workshop in the North Pole! We’re so excited to have you join our team. You’re about to become part of something truly magical.”

I tried to smile back. It probably looked more like a grimace, but I gave myself a mental pat on the back for having made the attempt.

“Before we begin the facility tour, I want to tell you about one of our most beloved traditions.” Snowdrop gestured to a massive bulletin board covered in colorful flyers like a game show hostess revealing a jackpot of prizes. With a voice that would rival an amusement park princess, she gushed, “This Friday is our Annual Holiday Cookie Exchange Competition! Each department creates themed cookies, and we vote on the winner. It’s a wonderfully delicious way to build community and celebrate the season.”

One of the other new hires, a tall elf who radiated confidence, raised his hand. “Are new employees allowed to participate?”

“Absolutely! In fact, we encourage it. It’s a great way to meet your colleagues.” Snowdrop beamed again. “The break room has supplies available for anyone who wants to bake. Just sign out what you need from the community pantry, and you’re all set.”

What the fruitcake? A cookie competition during my first week at my new job? I could barely remember where the bathrooms were. It was one more thing to the pile of anxiety that was my life.

The tour began, and I did my best to keep up, scribbling notes in my folder as Snowdrop led us through the massive facility. The Toy Workshop was an organized chaos of assembly lines and quality control stations. The Paint Department had artists who were adding finishing touches to wooden trains and dolls. The Wrapping Division looked like a festive mountain of ribbons and bows.

It was overwhelming and magical and terrifying all at once. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, hoping I was discreet enough in my attempts to calm my nerves. The only thing worse than having anxiety was having others point it out to you.

“And this,” Snowdrop announced, pushing open a door, “is the break room. Your home away from home.”

The room was cozy and warm, with mismatched furniture that somehow all worked together. A long table currently covered in cookie cutters, sprinkles, and decorating supplies dominated the center. The smell of cinnamon and sugar hung in the air like comforting memories of my childhood.

Several elves sat around the table, already working on elaborate cookie designs despite it being the first thing in the morning. Maybe they were taking an early lunch break?

“Everyone, meet our new team members!” Snowdrop did quick introductions. I managed to mumble my name, Juniper Hollybright, and immediately forgot everyone else’s because my brain was too busy cataloging all the ways I didn’t fit in here.

The other elves all looked so comfortable, like they had all the confidence in the world. Like they belonged here.

“Juniper, you’ll be working in the Paint Department,” Snowdrop continued. “Your supervisor is Hollis Evergreen. He’s at a production meeting right now, but he’ll catch up with you after lunch.”

I nodded, throat too tight to speak.

The other new hires dispersed to their respective departments, and suddenly I was alone with Snowdrop, who was looking at me with concern. “Are you okay, sugarplum? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “Just excited, and maybe a little nervous.”

“That’s completely normal.” Her smile was kind. “First days are always overwhelming. But I promise, everyone here is friendly, and honestly? You’ve joined the team at the perfect time. The cookie competition is the perfect way to break the ice. Low pressure, lots of fun.”

Low pressure. Sure. Maybe for someone who didn’t overthink every detail about their life.

She left me in the break room with instructions to “settle in” and “get comfortable” before my supervisor arrived. I sat at the table, surrounded by cookie supplies, and pulled out my knitting from my bag.

This scarf was a simple pattern of green and silver yarn. The rhythmic motion of the needles always helped settle my nerves when my thoughts got too loud.

I was three rows in when I noticed something odd. A jar of red decorating sugar that had been on the table when we’d first entered was now gone. I was sure it had been there, right next to the star-shaped cookie cutters. Now there was just an empty space. I was probably overthinking things again. Someone probably moved it or put it back in the wrong spot after using it.

But then I watched an elf from the Wrapping Division carefully place a tray of beautifully decorated snowflake cookies on the cooling rack near the window. She stepped away to answer her phone, and I resumed focusing on the knitting project in my hands.

“Wrap, pull, drop. Wrap, pull drop,” I murmured to myself as the yarn passed from the needle in my left hand to the one in my right.

But when the elf came back, not thirty seconds later, three of the cookies had been crushed. Not fallen or accidentally damaged. These had been deliberately crushed, like someone had pressed down on them with their palm.

The elf stared at her ruined cookies, looking devastated. “How? I don’t understand. I just turned around for a second.”

No one else seemed to notice. They were all focused on their own projects, chatting and laughing.

But I’d noticed, and not just the crushed cookies. There was the missing sugar, and the vanilla extract had somehow migrated from one end of the table to the other when no one was looking.

Unless these items were like something enchanted from an animated film, the breakroom was the setting for a delicious mystery. From reading and re-reading my favorite detective novels, I knew that once was an accident, twice was a coincidence, and three times was a pattern.

This was starting to look like a pattern. I put down my knitting and focused on the break room with fresh eyes. The cookie competition was supposed to be fun, a way to build community and celebrate. Why would someone sabotage it?

And on my very first day at the North Pole, I was apparently going to have to overthink about who it could be.

About Author R.A. Muth…