Beatrice fired up her computer and went straight to her email. Every new message she saw was an order for Christmas desserts. Cursing under her breath, she added the orders to the system and then resolutely turned her attention to the staff holiday schedule. Even though the schedule was supposed to be locked down a month ago, there were always last minute changes. She focused on noting requests for days off and calling possible replacement staff. Lucky sat on her lap, purring up a storm, his green eyes blinking sleepily.
Around noon, her cell rang. It was the sheriff.
“Hey Scrooge,” she said when she picked up.
“Don’t remind me. I’ve a serious development in the case. We found Santa’s stash.”
Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief. “So you found Santa, right?”
There was a moment of silence. “Not exactly. You remember Alisha White?”
“Yeah, she’s the clerk at the Mountain View Motel,” Beatrice said, hitting send on another email. “She was involved in the mayor’s case we worked on.”
“Exactly. Well, turns out she’s a single mom with two kids living in a trailer with her own mom. And she just called in to say that she found a huge pile of toys sitting on her front lawn this morning. Descriptions match what was stolen from Clyde’s on Sunday.”
5
“What?” Beatrice rubbed her temples with both hands. “This case is getting crazier and crazier.”
“Tell me about it. I’m heading over there now. Want me to pick you up?”
“Definitely.”
The sheriff pulled up in front of the café minutes later and tooted his horn. Beatrice threw on her black down jacket and grabbed her purse and woollens. “Going out for an hour,” she called to Zoe. “Call me on my cell if you need anything.”
The cats trotted after her but they hesitated as soon as she opened the front door. It was a frigid December day. Thick, glistening icicles hung from the eaves of the brick buildings lining the street. The streets had been plowed and the sidewalks shovelled but there were still piles of snow everywhere, testifying to the heavy snowfall from the night before. Beatrice opened the door to the sheriff’s truck and all three cats immediately leapt in and gathered in the backseat in a furry pile to warm up.
“No car chases today,” Beatrice said. “I want my cats in one piece.”
“That’s a relief,” the sheriff said, stepping on the gas. He wore his sheriff’s hat low over his eyes and his ruddy face told of years spent outside in the cold. “Now before we go on to police business, I have a very serious question to ask you.”
“Shoot.”
“What should I get Sandra for Christmas?”
Sandra was the sheriff’s wife. She was a sweet, good-natured woman—even though she’d almost accidentally poisoned Beatrice’s cats right before Halloween. “Jewelry,” Beatrice said automatically.
The sheriff frowned at this. “I dunno, I was thinking maybe a new housecoat. Her old one is almost threadbare…”
Beatrice sighed. “A housecoat isn’t romantic. No woman wants a housecoat for Christmas. Well, I might, especially if it was Egyptian cotton and lined with fake fur. But wives want romantic presents. Listen, on the way back we’ll go to the jewelers and I’ll help you out. She’ll be over the moon and we don’t need to tell her it was my idea, okay?”
The sheriff sagged in relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Bee. I can help you find a present for Matthew, if you want.”
“If I wanted to buy Matthew a hunting rifle or beer cooler, I’d ask you. But in this case I think I’m okay.”
They pulled up into the driveway outside a small tan trailer. It was shoved into a small clearing in the dense forest. Beatrice’s gaze went immediately to the mountain of toys sitting on a large tarp on the snow-covered lawn.
Alisha’s two kids were deep in the pile, chucking things out onto the snow or holding them aloft with delighted shouts. Alisha stood back, watching them in a big electric yellow parka, her brown hair streaked with pink just like when Beatrice had last seen her.
“Oh God, it’s you,” she said as soon as she saw Beatrice get out of the car.
“Hello to you too,” Beatrice said. She didn’t blame Alisha for her rudeness; the last time they’d seen each other was at a shootout at the motel where she worked. Beatrice realized that she was getting a reputation as a person who was dangerous to be around. The cats got out of the car and sniffed the toys gingerly.
“Christmas came early,” the sheriff said as he slammed the car door shut.
“Yeah well, I almost didn’t call you,” Alisha said. “It’s not every day someone dumps free stuff on my lawn. But I didn’t want you to think I’d stolen it, either. Can I keep it?”
“This is evidence,” the sheriff said sternly. “Not to mention Clyde’s property. So, the answer is no.”
Alisha let out a tragic sigh. “See, never should have called,” she mumbled to herself.
The youngest child, a girl, fished what looked just like a Skate and Sing Elsa out of the pile, crowed in delight, and promptly pulled the doll’s head off. Beatrice felt like she was going to faint.
“Nooooo…” she groaned.
“You can keep that one,” the sheriff said. “Hey kids! Stop destroying those toys. That’s police property.”
The little girl immediately burst into tears. “Buuut, I thought Santa brought them for us…”
“Now you’ve upset them. Just come in before you do any more damage,” Alisha said, crossing her arms and marching back into the trailer.
The sheriff took some photos after he’d shooed away the kids and then they went into the house and sat on a huge plaid sofa. They had to sit on either side of an enormous German shepherd who was hogging the middle.
The living room was paneled in fake beech wood and had a shaggy brown carpet covered in dog hair. The cats minced their way across the floor, sniffing intently. The German Shepherd’s ears perked up and he looked daggers at the three feline intruders. Before he could create a fuss, Hamish, who knew exactly how to handle dogs, leapt up onto the sofa and firmly swatted him on the nose. The canine’s ears went back, he crouched down, and began to whine miserably. Hamish sat next to him, his gaze firmly fixed on the dog as if daring him to behave badly.
“Now Alisha, tell us whatever you can about the toys,” the sheriff said.
The petite young mother sank into a plush brown reclining chair and put up her feet, a sour look on her face.
“So, I hear a truck backing up into our driveway early this morning. My ex, Ryan, was supposed to come pick up the kids. It’s his custody day but more important, he’s behind on his support payments. So I went to the window to give him a piece of my mind. But instead, I see this butt-ugly car pull in—gray with these rusted doors. I mean, I thought my car was a piece of caca but this thing really took the cake. Anyway, it stops and out comes this guy wearing a Santa costume.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Heck, I can do better than that.” She pulled out her flip phone and showed them both a grainy photo of a tall, lean Santa in a droopy-looking outfit.
“That’s our guy,” Beatrice said.
“So what happened then?” the sheriff asked.
“Well, what do you think? Santa put a tarp out on the snow and then he just starts unloading all these toys by the armful onto the lawn. It was pretty early so I figure he thought nobody’d be awake.”
“Have you seen this man before? Did he give you any sign he was coming?”
“Nope.” Alisha fell back in her chair. She had dark circles under her eyes, testament to the long hours she worked at the motel. “Never seen him, never heard nothing from him.”
The sheriff took off his hat and scratched his scalp with its thinning hair. “Well, why you? That’s what I don’t get.”
Alisha rolled her eyes and snapped her gum. “Um, it’s obvious—we need Christmas presents. I already told the kids that it’s rent money or toys. As you can see, we don’t have a tree or n
othing. We’re going to the church Christmas dinner—after I get off work, of course.”
Beatrice looked thoughtful. “Do you go to that dinner every year?”
“Yeah, well at least ever since the kids came along. I don’t care about eating boxed mac n’cheese on the 25th but they feel differently.” Alisha raked her striped hair up into a ponytail. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I know you have to tell the church ahead of time if you’re coming. Just so they know how much food to buy and prepare and all that stuff. What if the Santa Bandit got hold of that list? I mean, obviously anyone on there would need presents too.”
The sheriff shrugged. “Well, we can talk to Reggie. See if got any special requests for the list.”
“I don’t really understand what the problem is,” Alisha said. “I mean, I need Christmas toys. Santa brought them. What’s the big deal?”
“Maybe if the real Santa had brought them from the real North Pole we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” the sheriff said. He was trying to fend off the German Shepherd, who was huddled against him, trying to get away from Hamish. The big cat continued to fix him with a stern eye. “Unfortunately, Santa impersonators don’t get to play Robin Hood,” the sheriff continued, pushing the reluctant dog away.
Alisha looked genuinely worried for once. Beatrice felt guilty that she’d been so obsessed with trying to find Matthew’s granddaughter the perfect present. Jacqueline would be getting her fair share of toys this year; there were kids who might not even get one.
“I’m going to send the deputy out here to collect everything,” the sheriff said, standing up. “Meanwhile, you let me know if you see our Santa friend again.”
Once they’d gotten back into the truck, with the cats in the backseat, Beatrice watched as Alisha’s two kids stood on the driveway in their one-piece snowsuits in pink and blue. They waved goodbye mournfully.
“I have to get them something,” Beatrice said as they pulled away. “Imagine being those kids. Christmas is lean all your life and then suddenly you find a pile of toys on your lawn, toys you think are yours until they’re suddenly taken away. I feel for them, I really do.”
“Well, we can do a toy drive the night of the charity play,” the sheriff said. “That might help.”
They drove to Hamer’s Jewelry downtown, parked, and went into the tiny store housed in a snug brick building. The jewelry was set on black velvet inside glass cases. The pieces were traditional, sweet—not the kind of stuff Beatrice usually went for. She preferred to order funky stuff online from Etsy.
Yet as they scanned the beautiful gems, Beatrice found herself wishing that someone would buy her something like this for Christmas. Forty odd years ago, Matthew had wrapped up her engagement ring and put it under the tree for her. Then he proposed right then and there, in front of her family. That was the only jewelry she’d ever received for Christmas.
“What do you think Matthew’s going to get you?” the sheriff asked abruptly, as if he was reading her mind.
Beatrice lingered over a pair of pink pearl earrings. “Oh I don’t know. He usually gets me stuff for the kitchen. Fancy corkscrews or expensive baking pans—mostly because I think he wants to use it.”
“What about this?” the sheriff asked, pouncing on a gaudy pair of garnet drop earrings set in gold.
“Maybe if your wife was starring in a period movie about Henry the Eighth’s wives. Otherwise: no. Sandra’s taste is classic and feminine.” Beatrice swiveled around and spotted just the thing. “This. This is perfect.” The shopkeeper pulled out a white gold necklace with a diamond solitaire.
“I don’t know, it looks kind of simple…” the sheriff muttered.
“It’s not simple, it’s timeless. Believe me, she’ll love it. Especially after what you usually get her—books or slippers.”
The shopkeeper tucked the necklace in a pretty velvet box, the sheriff paid, and then the two friends stepped back into the crisp air. Big flakes were falling slowly and settling onto the road and sidewalk. It was quiet, with only the distant sound of Christmas carols coming from the town loudspeaker a couple of streets over.
Beatrice took a deep breath of the cold air. Well, she just might buy those pearl earrings for herself, she thought. Not nearly as romantic, but she’d wrap them up, mark the parcel as coming from Hamish, and wear them with pride. Not a bad idea.
6
The Santas sat around the Cozy Cat Café at various tables. Some looked cranky, others cheerful and smiling, a few a bit drunk. Beatrice and Zoe peered at them from the kitchen door, trying to figure out what to make of this oddball collection.
The sheriff’s office hadn’t been big enough to contain all of the professional and mall Santas on his interview list, so Beatrice had offered up the café after hours. It was late and very dark outside—had been that way since before five o’clock. Fat flakes continued to drift down, illuminated by the streetlight outside.
Inside, the café was lit warmly and it smelled like cinnamon and eggnog—eggnog latte was the special of the day. The cats were on high alert, stalking around as if monitoring a gang of intruders. Petunia sat some way off, eyeing the Santas with disdain. Hamish and Lucky watched the gaggle of Santas from under tables, tentatively sniffed boots, and then peered down at them from the top of bookshelves. They’d been freaked out by one Santa. Now there was upwards of twenty of them—no doubt that was throwing them for a bit of a loop.
“Have I ever told you I’m afraid of mall Santas?” Zoe whispered.
“Never. How is anyone afraid of Santa?”
“Well, I am.” The pastry chef surveyed the crowd apprehensively. “I remember my mom took me to meet Santa at the Machias Mall. We were in line but she wandered away, probably for a smoke. Anyway, I got to Santa and I’d eaten something bad—I think it was a hot dog. Anyway, I ended up throwing up all over Santa. He got so mad he chased me through the mall, swearing at me. Mall security had to find my mom. I refused to go back to that mall until I was a teenager, never mind see another Santa again.”
“You know, this case really isn’t giving me the warm and fuzzies about Santa,” Beatrice said, sighing. “Now all I see is a bully in a ridiculous suit. I guess having Santa wave a gun at me kind of changed my mind.”
Zoe shuddered. “Don’t blame you.”
The Santas helped themselves carafes of coffee and plates of gingerbread, though Beatrice noticed that some of them were swigging from hidden flasks instead.
The front door chimed and in strode Matthew, changed out of his ranger’s uniform into jeans and a red sweater and looking very festive.
“Hello all,” he said, giving the Santas an amused look. He kissed Beatrice’s cheek, as usual. “Sheriff called me to say he and the deputy had to go investigate a possible robbery. So I’ve got the list. We’re going to have to play Beckett and Castle, Bee.”
Castle used to be Matthew and Beatrice’s favorite show before it got lost its mojo in the sixth season. The idea got Beatrice pretty excited, because Beckett was a tough-talking cop who always solved her case and looked great in a pantsuit—all of which Beatrice aspired to.
They set up a table and Zoe began herding the Santas there one by one to be interviewed. Beatrice got out a notebook, pen, and set up the recording app on her smartphone. Then she sat next to Matthew in her standard black pants and sweater combo, desperately wishing for a smart pantsuit and pumps for an extra boost of confidence.
The first Santa was worse than hopeless. He sat down heavily and fixed them both with a grumpy glare. “I could be at home knocking back a beer after an all-day shift. Instead, you folks have me here drinking coffee and eating cookies. What am I, some starving student? This isn’t fit for a man who spent ten hours dealing with screaming children.”
Beatrice wanted to agree but she held her tongue. “Listen…” she checked the sheet. “Ben. We need to know where you were last Sunday afternoon and what you know, if anything, about this Santa Bandit.”
“
I was working!” Ben puffed, his belly lumped over his broad black belt. “Like I do every day. At the Ashbrook County Mall. They got security cameras and everything. And I don’t know nothing about some stupid Santa Bandit. I got better things to do than play Robin Hood, like make rent and pay child support.”
The next few Santas were a mish-mash of types. There was Nice Santa, Silent Santa, Real Santa who believed he was actually Santa and insisted he was at the North Pole the previous weekend—good luck getting that alibi confirmed.
Then there was Weepy Santa, who couldn’t believe one of his kind would carry a gun, and Really Happy Santa who wouldn’t stop ho-ho-hoing. Some of them were real characters. Others were sweet as pie—which restored Beatrice’s faith in Santas in general.
One thing they all had in common, though, were alibis—alibis that still needed to be checked out but they sounded solid enough. Well, except for Real Santa, who may or may not have been drunk in a bar.
Even worse, no one had any idea who Bandit Santa was. They pointed fingers at each other but that seemed to be more the result of old grudges, not actual suspicions.
“Beckett would have totally cracked this case by now,” Beatrice whispered to Matthew despairingly.
“Correction, Beckett would have come up with nothing, Castle would have spun a wild theory that she would dispute, and then he would end up being right.”
“So what’s your wild theory then, Mr. Castle? Because I’d really like to hear it.”
Matthew folded his arms over his stomach and looked at her seriously. “Santa is not from around here.”
Beatrice let out a long breath. “No way. Why would a random Santa care about the welfare of people in Ashbrook, New Hampshire? It doesn’t add up.”
The Santa Claws Bandit (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 5) Page 3
