Colorado Christmas Magic

by Caitlin McKenna

  “To enter a code and then use a key... I don’t know, maybe ten, fifteen seconds.”

  “Then the guy must have been a magician to get out of here in under thirty.”

  “Agreed,” Jack said, standing. “I want to check it out again in the daylight.”

  “What time is it?”

  He checked his watch. “Quarter after ten.”

  “Maybe it’ll be picked up at the same time tomorrow night.”

  He took one more look around, then eyed Charley with determination. “If it is, we’ll be ready.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was midnight before Charley crawled into bed. She was bone tired but couldn’t sleep. Seeing Jack again brought back so many good memories. She remembered how they had passed love notes to each other in history class and went bike riding around the neighborhood after school. They spent many Friday nights on her couch with pizza and a scary movie. One of her favorite memories was that of the homecoming dance where they shared their first kiss. She remembered the long summer at the beach, the great talks, the constant laughter. And then it abruptly ended.

  She punched her pillow, trying to get comfortable. Why had she let him in again, especially after she swore that she never would? She needed to know why he broke up with her. She’d been about to ask him that very question when snowball-wielding teens barged in on the moment. Now she was powerless against his charm. Being with him again made it feel like a single weekend had passed, not fourteen years. She closed her eyes, focusing on the peace that had enveloped her while she was sitting by his side and, at last, she fell asleep.

  A few hours later, Charley was dreaming of Jack painting a house, their house. He was on a ladder with paintbrush in hand, whistling “Deck the Halls.” In the distance, she heard bells. Church bells? No, that wasn’t right. They were jingling like tiny bells on Clarence’s collar. In the dream, Clarence was wearing a different collar, but then Clarence turned into a mouse, and the mouse was wearing a costume covered with jingle bells. She didn’t know why Christmas bells were in a summer scene of Jack painting their house. The house was a pale yellow, only when he dipped the paintbrush in the can, the paint turned to red and green stripes. And there went those bells again—jingling incessantly. They were getting louder, right by her ear and—

  “Oh!” She sat bolt upright in bed. Those bells were not in her dream but in her room. She scrambled to turn on the light. No one was there. Maybe someone is in the bathroom. Heart pounding, she silently slid out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, swiftly flipping on the light, only to find herself staring at her own reflection in the mirror. She let out the breath she’d been holding and rubbed her eyes. “I’m losing it.”

  She turned off the bathroom light, ready to return to bed, when she spotted a Christmas decoration—a small stuffed mouse standing on the fireplace mantel. She walked over to it and picked it up. She didn’t remember seeing it before—then again, she must have seen it because her subconscious stuck it into her dream.

  The stuffed mouse was wearing a red-and-green vest with a matching hat. There was a jingle bell attached to the tip of his hat and several tiny bells attached to the bottom of his vest. He wore thin gold-framed glasses and had a sweet expression on his face.

  “You are adorable. I don’t remember you being here yesterday.” She continued to study the mouse. “You fit right in, but I swear you weren’t here when I went to bed.”

  Charley suddenly felt a little spooked. She strode to her door and wiggled the doorknob. It was still locked. She sat on the end of the bed with the mouse and inspected his back, turning him upside down, searching for any hidden cameras. Finding none, she set him on the mantel and got back into bed, wondering if everything was connected—the letter, seeing Jack, being called a Scrooge (which actually hurt her feelings, even though she pretended it didn’t).

  The mouse fell over and jingled. She got out of bed again, picked him up, and this time she placed him farther back on the mantel.

  “I’m not a Scrooge,” she felt inclined to tell the mouse. “Obviously. A Scrooge wouldn’t talk to a Christmas mouse.”

  She sat on the end of the bed and stared at him. “So...what’s your name, where are you from?” She chuckled, and then leaned back on her hands. “You look like an Arthur. Do you like Arthur?” The mouse didn’t move. “I’ll take that as a yes. Arthur it is. Okay, Arthur, are you here to spy on me to report back to Santa like your little elf friends? If you are, you can tell him that he should know the reason I’m not a fan of Christmas anymore.”

  She got up and got a drink of water. “Last year, my fiancé called off our engagement on Christmas Eve. The year before that, I found my previous boyfriend kissing someone else at a Christmas party. And the year before that, the guy I’d been dating for six whole months chose Christmas Day to call it quits. Three failed relationships in three years, all ending at my favorite time of year.” She shook her head. “You can see why I’m done with Christmas, so if Santa wants me to stop being a Scrooge, he will need to put my soulmate in my stocking this year, instead of a lump of coal! Think that could happen for me?” She eyed Arthur, who remained motionless. “I didn’t think so.”

  She ran a hand through her disheveled hair and glanced at the alarm clock by her bed. It was five in the morning. “So much for going back to sleep.”

  She opened a drawer, retrieved a sweatshirt and leggings, then threw them on. She grabbed her book off the nightstand, quietly closed the door behind her, and tiptoed downstairs. Right as she was about to settle in the living room to read, she heard clanking noises coming from the kitchen. Charley had to investigate.

  “Mind if I come in?” she asked at the entrance to the kitchen where Mary was hard at work baking cinnamon rolls.

  Mary looked up, startled. “Oh, my goodness, Charley. What are you doing up so early? Grab some coffee. Did you not sleep well?”

  She poured herself a cup, slid out one of the barstools, and sat down. “I managed to get in a few hours before I was awakened by the sound of...jingle bells.” She watched her host intently, waiting for an amused reaction, only Mary didn’t have one.

  “Yes, that happens here,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Charley let out a tiny laugh. “Oh, okay, good to know. Glad you don’t think I sound crazy.”

  “Why would I think that, dear?” She afforded a brief glance at Charley before she set her attention back to rolling up dough coated with butter, raisins, cinnamon, and sugar.

  “If you’d seen me twenty minutes ago, I was telling my woes to that Christmas mouse on the mantel.”

  Mary frowned. “I don’t remember a Christmas mouse in your room.”

  “You know the one. He’s got a red-and-green vest on, with a matching hat, and he wears gold-framed glasses.”

  “Oh, Arthur,” Mary remarked casually. “Yes, he’s a very good listener.”

  “Arthur?” Charley couldn’t believe her ears.

  “Yes, well, that’s what I call him, anyway.”

  “I named him Arthur too!”

  “How funny. Well, he does look like an Arthur.” Mary cut the dough into equal sections, then placed them on the baking pan.

  “I’m beginning to understand your town’s welcome sign.” She sipped her coffee.

  “Our sign?”

  “The one at your town’s border. Most signs state the population, but yours states the number of believers, as if everyone living here believes in the magic of Christmas.”

  “I guess we don’t have a reason not to.” Mary shrugged as she pulled out a hot tray of cinnamon rolls before sliding another into the oven. She then transferred the baked rolls to a cooling rack.

  Charley loved how the locals appeared to have blind faith that their lives would always run as smoothly as a freshly paved road. Unfortunately, her life was full of potholes. “You believe in the magic of Christmas, ev
en when things go in the wrong direction?”

  “Especially when they go in the wrong direction. That’s the time to have faith that it’s all going to turn out for the best.” Mary reached for another mixing bowl and threw in two cups of powdered sugar, a couple tablespoons of softened butter, and a splash of vanilla.

  “You’d think differently if you were me.”

  “How so?” Mary began stirring, slowing adding milk to her glaze for the cinnamon rolls.

  “I seem to suffer from love loss around the holidays.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No more than me.” Charley sighed. “Christmas is supposed to be about love and joy. Just once in my adult life, I’d like to know how that feels.”

  “Just once?” Mary challenged. “Why not all the time?”

  “I’ll take what I can get.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Charley. I can see that you’re a beautiful woman inside and out, and I’ll bet a basket of my best cookies that Jack would agree with me.”

  The mention of Jack brought a smile to Charley’s lips. “I still can’t believe we found each other after all these years.”

  “And at Christmas.” Mary winked at her.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” She took a big breath and let it out. “Back in high school, Jack and I had only one Christmas together. After my family opened presents, he came over for the afternoon. My next-door neighbors rented a snow machine for their two kids, and since I was their favorite babysitter, they asked us to join them. We made snow angels, and built a pathetic-looking snowman with an undersized head. We even had a snowball fight, pitting the girls against the boys.” She smiled, thinking back. “Us girls won, of course.”

  “Sounds like it was a good Christmas.” Mary gave her glaze one last stir before she poured it over the slightly cooled rolls.

  “It was. But that was years ago.”

  “Doesn’t mean good Christmases are all in the past,” Mary said. “Embrace the spirit of Christmas while you’re here. I promise it’ll heal your heart, and it might even bring you a little Christmas magic.”

  Charley stared at the perfectly cooked, perfectly shaped cinnamon rolls covered in white glaze and thought they were a work of art. “I think you’re the one with the magic. I can’t remember the last time I had one, but those cinnamon rolls smell heavenly.”

  “It’s time to break your cinnamon roll drought.” Mary placed a roll on a plate and handed it over with a fork. “Careful now. It’s still hot.”

  Charley cut off a small bite, blew on it, then slipped it into her mouth. “Oh, wow,” she said with her mouth full. “Incredible.”

  “There’s plenty more, so help yourself. I’ve got to go roust Joe.”

  As Mary left with a couple of cinnamon rolls and coffee for her husband, Charley wondered what the catch was to the Scrooge Legend. There’s always a catch when something’s not true. She picked up the delicious cinnamon roll and studied it. “And aren’t you quite a lure.”

  * * *

  Jack finished getting dressed for the day and eyed the clock. It was ten after seven. If he were still in Denver, he’d be leaving for work, but today, he was dragging. He had stayed up half the night reading every post Charley had written. It was fascinating to see how her mind worked, especially when it came to debunking legends. She pulled everything apart, paid attention to the details, then slowly rebuilt her theory with facts to support her point of view. It wasn’t unlike what he did with every case. He remembered how much they thought alike in high school, and it apparently still held true.

  He closed his computer and put it away. For the first time in his career, he was finding it difficult to keep his mind on a case. All he wanted to do was get to know Charley again. Of course, it would have been helpful if he’d made another date with her before they’d parted the previous night. He’d neglected to ask for her cell number, which was why he hauled himself out of bed on four hours sleep to hopefully run into her at breakfast.

  Jack grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, glanced out the window, and spotted Charley climbing into Joe’s truck. He frowned, watching them leave, knowing he might not see her all day. With a disappointed sigh, he picked up his wallet off the dresser and headed downstairs for breakfast.

  Mary was pouring coffee for some of her other guests when he entered and sat down at the nearest empty table. “Good morning, Jack.” Mary came over. “Coffee?”

  “Please.” He snapped open his cloth napkin, setting it in his lap.

  “How did you sleep?” She poured coffee into his cup.

  “Best night I’ve had in a long time,” he replied, not wanting to lie. He did have the best night, discovering Charley’s blog. “Though I might have done something to your shower. It started dripping this morning.”

  “That darn thing,” she groaned. “Joe said he fixed that. I’m so sorry. This time I’ll call a real plumber. Now, how about some homemade cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, and hickory smoked bacon?”

  “Sounds fantastic,” he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

  “I’ll get that started for you.” She checked the creamer to make sure it was full.

  “Do you happen to know where Charley went with Joe?”

  “He gave her a lift into town. Charley said she’s spending the day there. Something about helping out a detective.”

  He smiled. “That’s great, really great.” And he couldn’t stop smiling.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charley conducted more interviews that morning, hoping to find someone who would tell her that the Scrooge Legend was all a hoax, but to her great disappointment, no one did. She finally realized that if she interviewed every resident of St. Nicholas, she’d hear nothing new. Many residents came to town as a Scrooge or arrived because they knew a Scrooge, and the ending was always the same. Happy with a capital H.

  “Bah, humbug!” If whoever invited her now thought they could change her into a believer, they were sadly mistaken. She came here to debunk the Scrooge Legend and that’s what she was going to do. She just needed to figure out how the mailbox was rigged and who was behind the invitations.

  She stood in front of the metallic enigma. She had no idea why she was drawn to the thing. It was a silly piece of metal. A piece of metal that apparently changes lives. She had difficulty believing Christmas magic was part of the equation. Yet after hearing all the Scrooge stories and testing the theory herself, it made her wonder. Jack was already in town before she dropped his name in the mailbox, but would they have run into each other if she hadn’t?

  That’s it! She’d suggest someone else. But who? She had to come up with another Scrooge... Or do I?

  She took out a pen from her handbag and scribbled Liv’s name on the back of an old receipt. She went to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. What? She tried again. Nothing. Was the door remaining closed because Liv wasn’t a Scrooge, or was there some rule that stated one name per customer?

  Frustrated, she walked behind the mailbox to see if she could get into it another way. She bent down to examine the vintage padlock. She yanked hard on it, but it was firmly locked, as expected.

  “Four numbers. What would they be?” She thought for a moment, then dialed in 1-2-3-4 and pushed the tiny latch on the facing. It didn’t spring open. “Hmm. Santa, elves, Christmas.” She dialed in 1-2-2-5, pushed on the tiny latch, and the facing popped open. “Yes!”

  “You started without me?”

  She shot up with a squeaky gasp to find gorgeous Jack standing inches from her. “Jack!” She put her hand to her chest as she took him in. He had a rugged look to him today—a perfect five o’clock shadow accentuated his strong jaw and brought attention to his blue-gray eyes. He wore a chestnut-colored barn coat that fit nicely over his broad shoulders, and his well-worn cowboy boots weren’t just for show. “You scared
me half to death,” she said, attempting to hide the true reason for ogling him.

  “Sorry, Miss Sleuth.” He dazzled her with a lopsided grin, and she could almost hear a Southern accent as he spoke. “I figured I’d find you here.”

  He was looking for me? She smiled, lifting a brow. “Good instincts, Detective.”

  “What were you all excited about?” He broke the hold he had over her by shifting his gaze to the mailbox. “Did you find something interesting?”

  “Better. I figured out the combination.”

  “What was it? Christmas day?”

  “Show-off.”

  Jack came around to the back of the mailbox and as he stood next to her, she felt weak in the knees. He exuded strength, confidence, security—and it was intoxicating. He took a picture of the lock with his phone. “That’s a pretty cool lock.”

  “Yeah,” she said, still gazing at him. Focus. She stepped away from him in order to concentrate on debunking the Scrooge Legend. “I wonder why the access door is in the back. I thought mail was collected from the front?”

  “Depends on the mailbox. But federal mailboxes use keys these days.” He stood up to inspect the rest of the mailbox. “This definitely does not belong to the government.” He attempted to flip up the flag, but it wouldn’t move. “That’s weird.” He examined the side of the flag.

  “The flag won’t raise until a name is deposited,” an elderly woman’s voice rang out behind them. A tiny woman, appearing to be in her late seventies, approached with a piece of paper in her hand.

  “Watch.” As the woman slowly shuffled over, Charley nudged Jack and motioned to the name LYDIA typed in big black letters on a blank sheet of paper.

  “Excuse me, but don’t you need an address and a stamp on that?” Jack asked.

  “Oh, no. Santa knows where my daughter lives.” She effortlessly opened the door, dropped the piece of paper inside, then easily raised the flag. “I should have done that a long time ago,” she said in a steady yet somewhat frail voice.