“Hodges?” Jack could barely get the name off his tongue.
“That name mean anything to you?”
“It’s my mother’s maiden name.”
“That’s a strange coincidence.”
“Even more of a coincidence is that my dad’s name is Mike.” Jack felt a tightening in his throat.
“Is that so?”
Jack’s mind was reeling. All those leads that never panned out. All those times he thought, could this guy be him? And now his twenty-year search could finally be over. He’d been talking himself out of it after Mike told Jack his name. He couldn’t understand why his uncle would pretend to be someone else. Even his theory of a syndicate tie was a stretch.
His family had scoured all the Chicago hospitals for him and any admitted John Doe for months, originally thinking he’d been in an accident. They’d filed a missing person’s report with the police to cover the amnesia, kidnapping, and foul play angles. Even though the FBI had searched for him out of state, it hadn’t been the main focus because his family believed he wouldn’t have gone out of town without telling them.
Jack remembered how his mom kept insisting that Uncle Bill had to be unresponsive in a hospital somewhere, but since there wasn’t a central database of hospital admission records, there was no easy way to find him.
Mike could really be my uncle. He blinked back emotion threatening to spill over. Joe’s story explained so many unanswered questions that he and his family had asked for so long. His uncle never called, never came back, because he didn’t know who he was or where he lived.
He cleared his throat, forcing to fight back the flood of emotions banging around in his chest. He opened a bottled water and took a swig. “Did Mike ever tell you why he left New York?”
“He said the cost of living was too high. He also felt like he didn’t belong there. He said his gut was telling him that he was in the wrong city, so he decided to hit the road, hoping something would jog his memory.”
“Twenty years of searching,” Jack muttered, shaking his head. “Poor guy.”
“I sure as heck wouldn’t have been able to do it for that long, always being on the road, always looking for answers,” Joe said. “At least now he feels at home here, and everyone just loves him.”
“I can see that. You’re good people, Joe, to look out for him.”
“That’s what we do here.” He crunched up his empty water bottle and threw it on their pile of trash. “Now, let’s get you set up for tonight.”
Chapter Twenty
Charley hurried down the steps of the bed-and-breakfast, irritated she had set her alarm wrong. She was hoping to run into Jack because she didn’t want to wait all day before she saw him again. Now it was eight-thirty, and though she didn’t know exactly when he preferred to eat, she assumed it was early.
She rushed into the dining room to find...no one. With a heavy sigh, she flopped down at the nearest table.
Mary wandered in to clean the rest of the tables. “There’s the sleepyhead.”
“Sorry. I overslept,” she said, still a little out of breath.
“No need to apologize. Breakfast is available for another hour.” Mary piled the dirty dishes on top of one another. “Can I get you started with some coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?”
“I’d love some English Breakfast, if you have it.”
“Be back in a flash.” Mary grabbed dirty dishes with both hands, then headed to the kitchen.
Charley glanced out the window, wanting to relax and enjoy a leisurely breakfast, but she didn’t know how to do that. At home, she’d be cramming down a bagel or gulping a fruit smoothie while answering work emails. Now she couldn’t help but turn around in her chair every five seconds to see if Jack was descending the stairs. When Mary appeared with her tea, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Has Jack had breakfast yet?”
“I’m afraid so. He went into town with Joe and Mike.”
“Who’s Mike?”
“Our handyman,” Mary said, setting down a small basket of mini muffins. “Those boys looked like they were up to something.”
The corners of Charley’s mouth turned up, thinking back on how Jack said he’d be catching the elusive mail collector tonight and wondered what more he could possibly be doing. The miniature microphone hadn’t helped identify him at all. If anything, the sound of jingle bells captured by the microphone only supported the theory that it was one of Santa’s helpers.
“Jack’s determined to solve the mystery of Santa’s mailbox.”
Mary exploded with a laugh. “Good luck with that!”
Charley poured a splash of cream in her tea and gave it a stir. “How long have people been trying?”
“Gosh.” Mary tilted her head, seeming to contemplate the question. “As long as I can remember. Probably as long as the town’s been here.”
“Oh. Guess I better not get my hopes up for tonight.”
“It’s always fun to try. I personally don’t mind if we never find out. When a mystery is solved, the wonderment of that mystery goes with it.”
She pondered that for a moment, but the Cold Hard Facts Queen in her needed to quash that wonderment for real facts—that was the only way she could know if the legend was a hoax. But how could it be real? Christmas magic didn’t exist any more than elves did.
Of course, Komodo dragons were thought to be mythical creatures until they were documented in 1910. Admittedly, she couldn’t explain how her invitation to St. Nicholas, the one she threw away, had landed on her boss’s desk moments later. She also couldn’t explain how she’d come across pictures of Jack, only to reconnect with him two days later. She’d buy into the idea of it being pure coincidence if she had run into him in a big city like Los Angeles, but to find him in a six-room B&B in a small mountain town she hadn’t even known she’d be traveling to was mathematically implausible.
And what about the mailbox itself? She had firsthand accounts of how it brought loved ones to town. Would she have run into Jack had she not suggested him as a Scrooge? Would the person he suggested eventually come to town? She needed hard evidence of Christmas magic, and the easiest way of finding it was through the identification of the mail collector. The locals said it was one of Santa’s helpers, so if the mail collector couldn’t be captured on video, then she’d need to see him with her own eyes. If he, or she, proved to be out of the ordinary, then perhaps Christmas magic did exist, and maybe she’d get her happy ending after all.
But what if it wasn’t an elf? What if Jack was right about the entire town having a hand at creating and sustaining the Scrooge Legend for profit? That would be a real disappointment. Charley would be forced to debunk the legend, and for what? To point out that there was a little less magic and goodness in the world?
Charley tumbled out of her thoughts when she heard Mary speaking to her. “And what about you, Charley? You arrived here, as you put it, not a fan of Christmas. Are we rubbing off on you, even a little?”
“More than a little,” she admitted. “I can’t believe I’ve only been here a few days, and I’m questioning everything—my instincts, my job, my attitude, my insistence on staying single. How did this happen?”
Mary’s eyes twinkled. “I think you know.”
“The spirit of Christmas?”
“It works in mysterious ways.”
* * *
Right after breakfast, Charley took off for town. She didn’t want to intrude on the boys as Mary had called them, but at the same time, she wanted to say hi to Jack and let him know she was around should he finish early. By the time she arrived at the town square, they were already gone.
“Shoot.” She inspected the mailbox and the surrounding area, but she couldn’t figure out what exactly they had accomplished. She closed her coat a little tighter as she strolled through the square, keeping an eye out for Jack. It felt colder now
that he wasn’t near. She took out her phone to send him a text when she realized that she should grab a few more Scrooge interviews. So far, not one person had told her that the legend was fake. She couldn’t even find anyone who was indifferent about it. The Scrooge Legend was as real as the earth beneath her feet. Period.
She crossed the street, thinking she’d go to the library first when a toy store caught her eye. Two beautiful dollhouses and three hand-carved wooden sailboats were on display in the window. She immediately thought of Jack’s uncle and went inside.
“Afternoon,” greeted a cordial saleswoman, wearing a red-and-green plaid dress. “Is there something I can help you find?”
“Can you tell me about the sailboats in the window?” Charley gestured to the display.
“We just got those in last night.” The woman strode over to them. “My understanding is that both the sailboats and the dollhouses were made by a local artist.”
“Is that so?” Charley admired the detail on all the pieces. “Do you happen to know the name of the artist?”
“I don’t, though he would have left his card with the manager.” The saleswoman looked around the cash register. “I’m sorry. I don’t see it. Can I take your number and get back to you?”
“I can stop by later. Do you know when the manager will be in?”
“Hard to say. Her daughter went into labor this morning.”
“How wonderful for them.”
“Yes. This will be her first grandchild.”
Charley smiled at the thought of being a new mom. At one time she had wanted two children of her own, but that was before her love life took a nosedive. When her second serious relationship fell apart, she realized her prospects of having children were diminishing. When Hunter said he wanted to wait three years before starting a family, she worried she’d never have children at all. She had finally forced herself to stop thinking about them, convincing herself she’d never have time for a family anyway.
“I’ll check back with you later in the week.” She was halfway out the door when she turned around. “On second thought, I’d like to buy one of the sailboats—the red, white, and blue one.”
“What a thoughtful, lovely gift,” the saleswoman said as she carefully took it off the display and carried it to the cash register. “Everyone wants the latest gadget these days. I never understood that because most are obsolete within months. You can’t find many handmade gifts anymore.”
“No, you can’t.” Charley checked out the beautiful Christmas ornaments by the register.
“Would you like this wrapped for Christmas?” The woman rang in the price.
“Please.” Charley handed over her credit card. While she waited for the woman to add festive ribbons and bows to the bag, she pictured Jack’s delighted reaction when he opened it. She’d need to get the information on the artist before she gave it to him. What were the chances of it being his uncle? Wishful thinking was more like it. Then again, the surprising town of St. Nicholas seemed to have better odds than any casino in Vegas.
* * *
Jack had planned to call Charley after he and Joe finished rigging the lights over the mailbox, but now that he had Mike’s full name, he wanted to run a background check on him. First, Jack needed to get some answers for his captain.
At Felicity and Nolan’s B&B, construction trucks lined the driveway. Jack parked and headed to the front right as Felicity pulled up behind him.
“Hey, Jack,” she called, getting out of her car with two bags of groceries.
“Let me get those for you.” He hurried over to help, then followed her inside. “I see you’re getting the place back together.” He stepped into the foyer and saw painters working at the top of the stairs.
“The son’s father lived up to his word, and our repairs are moving right along.” She walked into the kitchen with Jack trailing behind. “Everything okay at the Carrolls’?”
“Couldn’t be better.” He set the groceries on top of the counter. “In fact, I wanted to thank you for sending me over there. Out of sheer luck, I ran into my high school sweetheart who’s also staying there.”
“Sheer luck?” Her eyes twinkled as she began unpacking the groceries. “That’s great to hear.”
“You weren’t kidding about unexpected things happening.”
“Our town is very special.” A secretive smile played on Felicity’s lips. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Don’t trouble yourself, I can’t stay. I just wanted to ask you about Tony Braca.”
Felicity threw the perishables into the refrigerator, then gave him her undivided attention. “You’re a friend of Tony’s?”
“An acquaintance, but I know he had a change of heart after staying here.”
“Of course, he did. He was a Scrooge,” she said. “I couldn’t let him walk out that door still being a Scrooge, now could I?”
“I suppose you couldn’t.” Jack stifled a smile.
“That’s what we do here. We help people, like the Carrolls are helping Charley.”
Jack’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know about Charley?”
“Of course. We’re all on the same team.”
Jack rubbed his brow, trying to get his head around the fact that the locals appeared to be more interested in helping people than making a buck. “Do all the B&B proprietors make it a priority to help so-called Scrooges?”
“Only a handful.”
“Who sends them?”
“Why Santa, of course.”
“Santa, right. A guy who apparently lives at the North Pole invites whoever he wishes to your town and expects you to provide free room and board for them for a week? How do you stay in business?”
“Not everyone is a Scrooge, Jack. You’re not.”
“Charley thinks I am. She says I’m here because she put my name in the mailbox as a Scrooge suggestion.”
Felicity leaned on the counter. “You’re here because you’re an intricate part of her happiness—and yours.”
“Forgive me, but I’m here because my boss sent me. He’s very concerned that people are getting brainwashed up here.”
She laughed. “Is that what he told you?”
“Not in so many words, but Tony and his own brother had an attitude adjustment while they were here. When they returned home, they were completely different.”
“Different or happier?”
“Happier,” he had to admit. “But that doesn’t mean their happiness didn’t come at a price.”
“Like what? Your high school sweetheart is a current Scrooge. Hasn’t she told you that her invitation cost her nothing?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
“You can’t expect me to believe that Santa, or whoever is pretending to be Santa, sends you unhappy people, and in one week, you change their way of thinking and instantly fix them.”
“No one can receive help unless they want it. You know that,” she said. “I think the more important question you should be asking yourself is why are you really here? Do you honestly think you’re in St. Nicholas to expose a scam that results in making people happier?”
He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I’ve got a stealth mail collector, a guy named R.C. leaving cryptic messages on Charley’s blog, and I don’t have any logical answers for my boss.”
“Again. Why are you really here?” she asked, sounding far wiser than her biological age. “You appear to be very good at connecting the dots, so I’m surprised you haven’t noticed how, here in St. Nicholas, people are more connected to each other’s happiness than they realize. Unrelated situations tend not to be so unrelated. It’s all connected. It’s right in front of you. You just need to give yourself time to see the whole picture.”
A part of Jack wanted to buy into it; he really did—but hi
s years of being a cop wouldn’t allow it. Felicity wasn’t going to be straight with him about who was truly behind the Scrooge invitations, and he had no concrete or logical explanation as to why people were returning home happier than when they left. If he was right, that the legend was merely a marketing tool to increase tourism, there was no crime in that. Though he refused to believe Felicity’s whole Santa explanation, he was willing to take her advice and focus on what was in front of him—Charley and Mike.
He thanked Felicity for her time, then drove back to the Carroll Inn and got to work. While he waited for his laptop to boot up, he dragged out his cell and dialed his partner at the precinct. “Hey, Adam. Can you do a background check for me?”
“Sure. What’s the name?”
“Mike Hodges.”
“I’ll run it and let you know.”
“Thanks.” He disconnected the call and began checking out Mike’s digital footprint. Jack found his current address, which was a rental, two prior addresses in other towns, and an insufficient credit history. The handyman didn’t have a website, wasn’t on any social media site, he hadn’t shopped online, and he hadn’t left any reviews.
Abandoning his research, Jack pulled up his family photos and scrolled through them, stopping on a picture of his uncle working on a toy airplane. Studying the image, he noticed something he’d missed before. He magnified the image and zeroed in on his uncle’s right hand, revealing a long scar that was a good inch in length between his index finger and thumb. Jack had forgotten all about that scar—one he vaguely remembered his uncle receiving on a construction site that sent him to the hospital for stitches.
Jack sat back. He’d finally found a way to physically identify his uncle. Does Mike have a scar? He thought back to earlier in the day. He couldn’t recall seeing one, but then again, he hadn’t exactly been looking for it.
Jack continued scrolling through the photos until his phone rang. “Yeah?”
“That’s how you answer the phone these days?” Lisa teased.
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