Colorado Christmas Magic

by Caitlin McKenna

  “Now there’s an incentive.” Charley glanced at Jack, only he seemed far away.

  “What dessert would you like me to set aside for you?” Angel asked. “It’s Friday night, so our pies are going fast.”

  “Oh no. Not me.” Charley put a hand up to stop Angel from suggesting anything tempting. “I’m already stuffed, and I still have a few bites to go on my potpie.”

  “As much as I love your apple pie, it’s a hard pass for me,” Jack said.

  “But you’re going to need something for later tonight.” She fisted a hand on her hip. “You’re having another Santa stakeout, aren’t you?” She threw glances between the two.

  Jack shook his head. “Are we that obvious?”

  “Never.” A playful smile touched her lips. “So, what will it be? I’ve got snickerdoodles coming out of the oven in five minutes.”

  “How can we turn down freshly baked snickerdoodles?” Charley asked Jack, knowing she couldn’t.

  “They might even help you catch one of Santa’s helpers,” Angel added.

  “I can’t argue with that.” Jack put his hands up in surrender.

  “Good. I’ll bring them when you’re ready for the check.” Angel left to wait on other customers.

  “So that’s how you do it,” Charley said, bursting with excitement.

  He pushed his brows together. “I’m not following.”

  “The contest. Ask Mike to help you make a small train display for the B&B.”

  “Genius,” he said as a smile took over his face. “I could just kiss you.”

  Charley bubbled with laughter. And I could just kiss you right back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Happy hunting!” Angel called to Jack and Charley as they left the diner and headed over to the town square.

  Jack stared at the takeout container in his hand. “I can’t believe we’re armed for the stakeout with warm cookies and a cup of milk.”

  “Me, neither,” Charley said on a laugh. “Of course, Angel’s help has kind of killed your theory.”

  “How so?”

  “If this town wanted to perpetuate the Scrooge Legend, they wouldn’t be aiding us in trying to debunk it.”

  “Or maybe what we’re doing right now is perpetuating it.”

  “You are a true cynic.”

  “How can you say that? I’m currently using milk and cookies to catch a person of interest.” In truth, he would have baked the cookies himself if that kept her by his side. “Okay, here we go.” He set the container of snickerdoodles on top of the mailbox.

  She placed the cup of milk next to it. “We’re going to expose him. I can feel it. No one can resist milk and cookies.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they’re really going to slow him down,” he said in jest, but secretly he hoped they would. Not that the elusive mail collector would take time to have a snack, but the few extra seconds he’d waste to see what was sitting on top of the mailbox would give Jack the advantage.

  “If this works, you’ll have to roll out the How-To-Catch-A-Criminal-With-Cookies Initiative in Denver.”

  He smoothed out the snow around the mailbox with his glove in hopes of getting a better imprint of the mail collector’s footwear. “This is St. Nicholas we’re dealing with. Normal rules don’t apply.”

  “You can say that again.” She remained riveted to what was happening behind him.

  Jack stood to see what held her attention. Small groups of people were strolling up the shoveled walkway carrying chairs, blankets, snacks, and hot thermoses.

  “What’s all this?” He watched the now steady stream of townspeople assembling in the town square. “Is there a concert tonight that we don’t know about?”

  “In the dead of winter?” She seemed equally stumped by the growing crowd.

  Residents continued to pour into the square, where they began setting up camp, facing the mailbox.

  A feeling of dread washed over him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She shook her head, not understanding. “What?”

  His gaze riveted to Joe and Mary, who had just entered the town square. “Joe,” he called, marching over to them with Charley in tow.

  “Oh, hey, Jack, Charley.” Joe’s pleasant smile faded when he saw Jack’s scowl.

  “What did you do?” he scolded.

  Joe shrugged, brushing off Jack’s annoyance. “Everybody is as curious as you are.”

  “But you can’t invite an entire town to a stakeout!”

  Joe appeared completely clueless. “Why not?”

  “Because it defeats the whole purpose of one.” He groaned, taking it down a few notches. “Whoever is collecting the mail is going to hightail it out of here as soon as he sees this huge crowd of people.”

  “Not so.” Mary stepped in. “When the flag is raised, which it is, the mail’s picked up without fail.”

  Jack was getting nowhere with his sweet but maddening B&B hosts. He had no choice but to address the group. He climbed up on a park bench for a better vantage point. “Can I have your attention, please?”

  A few people stopped talking long enough to glance up at Jack, but ignored him and continued to get settled in for the show.

  He shot a frustrated glance at Charley, then tried again. “Excuse me,” he shouted. “If I could have everyone’s attention, please.” The crowd finally quieted down. “Thank you,” he said on a sigh. “I’m Jack and I’m a detective from Denver.”

  “Hi, Jack from Denver,” everyone said in unison, then laughed.

  He looked at Charley. “Do they think I’m the emcee for their evening’s entertainment?”

  “Uh...yes.” Her eyes danced at that thought.

  “Great.” He rubbed his face and put his focus back on the townspeople. “Hi. Look, I know some of you have already met Charley—”

  “Hi, Charley!” shouted a group of five in front.

  “We really appreciate your support,” he said. “It’s great that you all want to be here, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  The crowd’s reaction was an offended one—a cacophony of insulted groans and affronted tsk-tsks to which Jack immediately tried to amend.

  “Wait! I’m sorry.” He threw up his hands, hoping to fix the slight. “If you would quiet down, I can explain.” He waited a few moments, and the crowd finally did as he requested. “Thank you,” he said, speaking at a lower volume. “Look, I’ve done a lot of stakeouts, and I’m telling you from experience that the mail will not be collected if you’re all here.”

  “Why not?” A young hipster with shaggy brown hair was bopping toward him. He cut through the crowd to reach the front in order to talk to Jack without having to yell. Setting down his chair and backpack, he said, “Why won’t the mail be picked up if we’re here?”

  Isn’t it obvious? The thought must have registered on Jack’s face because he heard Charley break with a laugh. He had to remind himself that he was not in Denver anymore but in St. Nicholas, a clearly mystifying town.

  He fixed his gaze back on the hipster. “Well,” Jack clasped his hands together, “let’s think about this for a moment. We all know that whoever collects the mail is doing it at night. Right?”

  “Yeah, man, that’s what I hear,” the hipster replied, and a wave of mumbled agreements rose from the crowd.

  “Why at night?” Jack asked. “Because he or she doesn’t want to be seen. By anyone. If you were approaching the mailbox and saw a large crowd of potential eyewitnesses, would you continue to pick up the mail?”

  The hipster thought about it. He was taking too long to answer, so Jack did it for him.

  “No. You’d turn around and leave,” he said to the young man before he addressed the whole crowd. “I guarantee that if everybody remains here, he won’t pick up the mail and none of us will see
him.”

  The hipster appeared to be mulling over Jack’s explanation as a redheaded woman stepped forward. “Do you have any idea how many stakeouts have been carried out at this very mailbox?” she asked with a caustic bite, which seemed out of character with the other friendly people of St. Nicholas. She had the ear of the crowd, so Jack knew to tread lightly.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Over a thousand. And they all failed. Then you come along.” The redheaded woman’s irritation instantly turned to glee. “No one ever thought of using motion sensor floodlights before.”

  “It’s true. They hadn’t,” someone in the back of the crowd called out.

  “We have faith in you.” The redheaded woman pumped her fists, cheering him on. “We think you’re really going to see Santa’s helper tonight, and we want to see him too!”

  Several shouts of agreement wound up the crowd with excitement. Jack tried to get everyone to calm down, but he was drowned out by their chatter about how amazing it would be to finally see the mystery mail collector. He lowered his head in defeat.

  Charley climbed up on the bench and stood next to him. “I got this.” She faced the crowd and yelled, “You’re all going to blow this!”

  Silence sharply fell like an ax over the crowd, and Charley regretted chiming in.

  “You must be the Scrooge,” the redheaded woman scowled, pointing her finger at Charley. The woman then leveled her eyes on Jack. “I’d think a Scrooge and a good detective would want lots of witnesses.”

  The crowd agreed with shouts of support while Charley apologized to Jack.

  “We’re staying,” the woman crowed triumphantly, riling up the crowd into a frenzy.

  “All right, all right.” Jack motioned for everyone to settle down. “You can stay on one condition.”

  Silence instantly fell over the crowd again. He finally had their undivided attention. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of bells jingling. Floodlights instantly snapped on behind him and Charley, lighting up the mailbox like a football stadium on game night. Within seconds a collective shocked gasp rippled through the air.

  Charley and Jack whipped around just as the cookie container fell to the ground—empty.

  “No.” Jack catapulted off the bench and flew over to the mailbox, but he was too late. “Oh, come on!” He fisted his hands in the air, certain someone above was finding great joy in messing with him.

  Charley stared with jaw-dropping disbelief.

  Joe laughed, then shoved a handful of caramel corn in his mouth before he passed the bag to Mary.

  Charley futilely searched the area with Jack. “How could we have missed it again?”

  Jack raced back to the bench and leaped on top of it to inspect the crowd, certain he could still catch the collector. He scanned the townspeople, scrutinizing every one of them like a secret service agent. He was determined to find the culprit attempting to escape without notice, but no one was moving—except for the hipster.

  He picked up his chair and threw a last look to Jack. “We told you it was one of Santa’s helpers,” the hipster said. “Mystery solved.” He threw his backpack over his shoulder and started to leave.

  Jack scrambled off the bench. “What do you mean mystery solved?” he asked, frustration coloring his words.

  “The elf.” He swept his hand toward the mailbox. “Plain as day.”

  “Elf?” Jack could not believe what he was hearing. “There was no elf!” He raised his voice more than he’d intended.

  “Yeah, man, whatever. Suit yourself.” The hipster motioned to his friends to pack up, and then the four of them left together.

  Jack threw his hands on his hips and faced Charley. “Are we the only sane people here?”

  “Excuse me, Detective Jack?” a soft, frail voice called. He turned to see a tiny elderly woman come forward. “The young man was right. It was an elf.”

  Jack could feel the heat of anger building inside him. He couldn’t exactly dismiss a sweet old woman—not without looking more like a Scrooge than Charley.

  He set his mouth with a compulsory smile. “Thank you for your statement,” Jack politely whispered to her before he sought out Mary for a sensible answer. “Mary?” His eyes pleaded with her. He wanted a simple, logical, reasonable explanation. That’s all he was asking for.

  “You did have your back to the elf,” she said, as if that had been his fault.

  “That’s right,” the redheaded woman spat. “You were too busy chastising all of us.”

  Jack wanted it to stop. He wanted to make this headache go away. He glanced at Charley. She had attempted to rescue him before, but this time she shook her head and shrugged in a helpless gesture. He was on his own.

  “Okay.” He regrouped. This was no different than speaking to a bunch of eyewitnesses after a robbery. “Mary, what exactly did you see?” he asked, feeling confident that he was back in control.

  “I saw an elf hat sticking up from behind the mailbox, and then I noticed a skinny little arm covered with a red-and-green-striped shirt and a tiny gloved hand reaching up for the cookies.”

  Bad idea. “Joe?”

  “Same.”

  Keep it together. Jack wearily eyed the redheaded woman. “Is that an accurate description of what you saw?”

  “No. The lights were too bright, so I lowered my gaze. That’s when I saw elf shoes under the mailbox.”

  Poker face, Jack. Stay professional. “And...uh...what exactly do elf shoes look like?”

  “They were green and were turned up, with a bell attached to each tip.”

  Charley laughed and he threw her an icy glare. “You can’t argue with that, Jack.”

  “Anyone else see anything different? Anything logical?” he called out.

  The elderly woman huffed. “Seems to me you’re the Scrooge.” She pursed her lips with a grimace and tottered off.

  “Anyone else?” He searched the group of people near him. “Did anyone see his face?”

  Jack heard mumbling from the crowd, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying, so he began weaving his way through the crowd with Charley. “What about you, sir?” Jack asked a man in his thirties collecting his things. “Did you see his face?”

  “No, sorry.”

  Jack eyed the older man standing next to him. “And you, sir?”

  “Nope.”

  Jack moved farther into the crowd and observed a young woman corralling kids. “Did you see his face, ma’am?”

  “He was mostly hidden behind the mailbox,” she said, “but I did see him in profile for a split second.”

  “That’s great!” Jack erupted with excitement. “Can you give me a description? Did he have a beard or a big nose?”

  “He had very big elf ears.”

  “Elf ears?” Jack faintly echoed. “Any other distinguishing features that you can remember?”

  “Other than his pointy ears? No. Like I said, I only saw him for a split second.”

  “Well, that’s it.” Jack brushed off his hands, knowing when to give up.

  As the residents packed up and left, they talked excitedly about the elf, leaving Jack with even more unanswered questions.

  He wanted to get angry, but why? There was no sense in crying over spilled milk. “The milk!” He ran over to the mailbox. “Where did it go?”

  Charley helped him search the ground. “It was just here.”

  Jack tossed his head back with a frustrated groan. “He hadn’t left. He was here the whole time.”

  She stiffened and lowered her voice. “Maybe he’s still here.”

  “No chance.” His laugh was almost a cry. “I heard bells jingle as the crowd was leaving, but I thought it was a kid.”

  Charley’s eyes widened with that revelation. “He left with the crowd?”

  �
�Wouldn’t you?”

  “Clever. He’s very clever.” She collapsed on the nearest bench and he joined her. “Here’s a fun fact: over fifty percent of the Icelandic population believe in the existence of elves.”

  “Well, here’s a cold hard fact. We’re not in Iceland.”

  Her mouth twitched with amusement as she turned her coat collar up around her ears. “Are you sure about that?”

  “I’m not sure about anything anymore. Cases take twists and turns, but this is ridiculous. Three stakeouts, and I’ve got nothing.”

  “What about the cookie container?” She pointed to the box lying on the ground.

  He went over to the container, pulled out a plastic bag from his jacket and picked it up. He was hoping for a half-eaten cookie to collect DNA. “Barely a crumb left.” He wrapped the plastic bag around the container and closed it. “I don’t expect the lab will find much.”

  “What about fingerprints?” she asked, joining him.

  “Ours are on the container, and so are Angel’s. Mary said she saw a gloved hand reach for the cookies, so I doubt forensics will find any prints at all from our mystery mail collector. But that was a good idea, Detective Dawson.”

  “I learn from the best,” she said as he inspected the snow. “Any elf footprints?”

  He frowned. “Not a one.”

  They finally gave up and meandered along the path around the town square, shaking off the frustration from the stakeout fiasco. He was enjoying Charley’s company, and he hoped she was serious about spending Christmas with him. But what would happen after the holidays? He didn’t want their relationship to end. He didn’t want his existence to be just about work. He wanted to experience life again, and he wanted it to be with her.

  “Jack!”

  He turned to see Mary and Joe approaching. “I thought you should know that if you’re thinking about doing another stakeout, you might want to hold off. Our annual Christmas festival starts tomorrow.”

  “Angel was telling us a little bit about it,” Charley said.

  “You’re going to love it.” Mary’s eyes lit with anticipation. “All the stores and restaurants stay open late for Christmas shoppers. Smaller vendors set up here in the town square. We have ice sculptors and carolers and a lot of great Christmas games, like the Christmas stocking races and pin the tail on the reindeer.”