Matthew shrugged. “Maybe this was the best way not to get caught.”
Beatrice was about to reply when her cell rang. It was the sheriff.
“Bee, you are not going to believe what just happened,” he said.
“Santa struck again,” she said, without hesitation.
“You betcha. And boy he went big this time. Came with a trailer attached to that crap car of his. Showed up at the dollar store in the mall and went to town. Toy section looks like it was struck by a localized hurricane. Same behavior: gun waving, mass panic, makes a clean break. By the time I got there he was long gone.”
“Hang on, we just finished interviewing the Santas, We’re coming over.”
“Alright cats,” she announced to her three felines, “time to put your crime-solving caps on. We’re going to the dollar store.”
They all squeezed into Beatrice’s truck. Not long after they took off in the dark, Matthew’s phone rang.
“It’s my son,” he said, excited.
Matthew’s son and daughter lived in Plymouth. It wasn’t that far away but he didn’t get to see them as often as he liked. They both had young families and demanding jobs so they rarely got out to Ashbrook, though Matthew visited them whenever he could.
“Hi Arthur,” he said. But his expression of joy quickly changed as soon as his son started talking. He muttered a few words after that and then hung up.
It broke Beatrice’s heart to see his expression when he finally looked at her. “Arthur and the kids aren’t coming for Christmas,” he said.
“What? Why ever not?”
“Arthur and Sally are getting a divorce. They haven’t told the kids yet because they don’t want to ruin their Christmas. So he said they just want to have a quiet Christmas at home. Neither he nor Sally is up to doing much celebrating, other than what they have to do for the kids.”
“But wouldn’t it be better to be around other people? I mean, we could distract the kids, they could work out whatever they need to between the two of them.”
Matthew gave her a wry smile. “I love that your first reaction isn’t surprise that they’re getting a divorce.”
“Duh. They’ve been having problems since before they got married. I thought they might stick it out a while for the kids but I wasn’t counting on it.”
He sighed and leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his silver hair. “Aw Beatrice, you know I look forward to having Christmas together every year. Ever since Laura died we just, I don’t know, haven’t felt as much like a family. She was kind of the glue that held us all together. So Christmas is like our last chance to act like we actually belong together.”
Laura was Matthew’s second wife. Beatrice reached out and patted his leg. “I know, Matt. You’ve been looking forward to seeing them. Ugh and it’s such a bad year too because Danielle is going to Florida with her in-laws right?”
“Yep.”
Beatrice threw him a worried look. He was staring out the window. Usually, Matthew looked younger than his sixty-three years—probably due to his good health and endless energy. But at that moment he looked all those years and more. His skin appeared gray, the wrinkles around his eyes deeper, his mouth slack. She felt her chest tighten with worry. It was rare that he was in a blue mood and when he was, Beatrice didn’t like it one bit.
Hamish ambled into the front seat and settled into Matthew’s lap, his bulk folding into a fluffy ball. He nosed Matthew’s hand, demanding pats.
“You know, we’re going to have a great Christmas anyway,” Beatrice said, images of extra Christmas puddings and caroling and presents the size of fridges running through her head. “I mean, we have so much—more than a lot of people. But the most important part is that all our adopted family will be there—the sheriff and his wife, Zoe and her horrible boyfriend, Ryan Jackson and his kids and wife, probably Reggie and a bunch of other people I didn’t even invite.”
“We’re lucky to have them,” Matthew said quietly, still looking out the window and absently patting Hamish.
Beatrice struggled with conflicting feelings. Unlike Matthew, she didn’t have any family left. Her parents had both passed and she was an only child. She had a handful of cousins around the state but she wasn’t really that close with any of them. And of course she didn’t have a husband or children. Her adopted family was all she had, and she definitely didn’t feel sad to be spending Christmas with them. Quite the opposite.
But she also knew that if she did have kids, things would feel different. She knew Matthew felt a responsibility to his late wife to keep the family together. Plus, he had grandchildren that he desperately wanted to see.
They pulled into the dark parking lot at the mall. “Bee,” Matthew said suddenly. “I hope you don’t think I’m a jerk. I don’t mean to act like it’s such a drag to spend the holidays with you. I am so, so grateful to have you in my life. I mean, you are my family. We’re not married, but at our age that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
She froze, hands still on the wheel. What did he mean? That they were as good as married? She may have been old, but she was pretty sure being married involved doing the horizontal mambo, which she and Matt were decidedly not doing. Or maybe, he meant at this age people didn’t “dance” anymore anyway, so they might as well be married.
Beatrice was very confused.
“Um, I guess not. We’re family. One big happy family.”
“Exactly.” He grinned at her and she was so happy to see him smile again that she decided not to ask for clarification on their ‘good as married’ status.
They went into the shopping center—the deputy, a sweet guy in his late twenties, let them in since the mall had already closed. It was dark inside and all the lights were off. The cats scampered ahead, their footsteps echoing in the long corridor.
The Ashbrook Country Mall had been there and had even once been the ‘fancy’ mall with top clothing stores. But after the White Mountain Shopping Center was built nearby, this squat, windowless brick structure went out of fashion. All it contained was a bank, a drug store, the dollar store, and an assortment of little stores Beatrice never visited.
The sheriff was talking to the manager outside the store. The florescent lights inside glared brightly. The cats slipped through their legs and ran pell-mell into the store, attracted to all the flashing lights and shiny objects.
“Don’t forget to look for clues,” Beatrice called after them.
“Ms. Young, right?” the young manager asked. He was still a pimply teen, despite his title. “You’re the local sleuth lady! Man, I am so happy to have you here. Like, this robbery was something seriously messed up, you know? It’s not like I’d ever expect Santa to just roll in here with a gun and start pointing it at me. I saw him and I was like, hey Santa! Welcome to The Dollar Dive! And he just whipped out this serious piece and aimed it at my head. That’s going to be a serious lifetime trauma for me…”
“Okay enough,” the sheriff said. “He wasn’t excited when I showed up,” he grumbled to Beatrice. “Listen, did this Santa say anything to you? Did you notice anything unusual?”
The kid shook his head. “Nope, he fired into the air and then went right for the toy section, knocking stuff into sacks like he knew what he was doing. I would totally hire him to stock stuff, he was that fast.”
Beatrice went over to the toy section and peered around. The shelves were stripped almost bare in places and an equal number of girls and boys toys had been taken.
Petunia was batting at a sparkly barrette with feathers with one tan paw. Lucky poked around inside the shelves, his black tail sticking out. Hamish was nose to the ground, fluffy tail straight out, ears flattened. Clearly he had picked up an interesting scent. Unfortunately there was no scent-matching database quite yet.
“Anything, Hammy?” Beatrice said. The big tawny cat instantly meowed, picked up a piece of paper in his teeth, and deposited it at her feet. It said, in red ink on the envelope, “For the Sleuth Lady.
”
“Okay, people really need to stop calling me that,” she said, taking out the letter. Inside, it said:
Stop following me. This town needs me. I’m sick and tired of seeing the wrong people get the good presents. I’ve been working years as a Santa and I’m tired of watching undeserving kids get more than their fair share. It’s time somebody did something about it. You’ll never catch me. I’m like the wind. I’m everywhere. And I’m going to give this town the best Christmas ever.
Happy Holidays,
Santa.
“Totally deranged and yet oddly reasonable,” Beatrice muttered. “Kind of how I always thought Santa would be.”
7
There was zero time to do any sleuthing the next day. Beatrice also gave up doing office work and joined Zoe in the kitchen to bake up a storm. She loved the Christmas rush—the feeling of togetherness, the carols playing on the radio, the smell of nutmeg and clove and ginger, the way everyone seemed to be smiling just a little bit wider.
And as much as Beatrice loved running her business, she missed getting down and dirty in the kitchen. This was a good excuse just to brush up on her baking skills, as well as spend some quality time with Zoe.
“A Holly Jolly Christmas” was playing on the radio and Beatrice was wearing one of her (many) special Christmas sweaters—a white knit one with sparkly silver snowflakes embroidered in it. Zoe was wearing reindeer ears over her hairnet. Hamish sat outside the cat gate in one of his Christmas sweaters.
As they did during Halloween, the cats tolerated wearing Christmas costumes and outfits. Hamish certainly didn’t look that pleased to be wearing a red knit sweater with a big reindeer on the back, but he was taking it as best he could. He yowled at her, as if reminding Beatrice how much be objected to the fact that he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen—something that bothered him way more than the sweater.
“I thought you’d be running off to the Little League store,” Zoe said as she cut out bell shapes from a rolled-out piece of gingerbread.
The sheriff had called Beatrice about yet another robbery that morning. The Santa Bandit was picking up steam, probably because Christmas was so close.
“I’ve got enough to worry about here,” Beatrice said, spooning fruit mincemeat into tart shells. “We’re up to our eyeballs in orders for tarts, fruitcakes, cookies, and puddings.”
“Tell me about it. Don’t you have play practice tonight?”
“Sure do. We’re doing a Secret Santa exchange.” Beatrice put away the mincemeat and started topping off the tarts with puffs of whipped cream from a pastry bag. “I’ve got Reggie. We’re only supposed to spend $10 so I got him a datebook for next year.”
“Ever practical, Bee. What are you going to get me, socks?”
“I’m getting you a new boyfriend. You need that way more than socks.”
Zoe snorted. “I’m guessing Hunter isn’t getting a Christmas present from you this year?”
“Hunter’s getting a box full of money so that he starts contributing to your rent. Arghhh, sorry Zoe. I know I said I’d be nice about Hunter. You know me—not so good about being tactful.”
Hamish yowled again from the other side of the cat gate. “Speaking of tactful, keep it down out there. I guess I’d better give them some special cat food to keep them happy. They’re used to having me in the office where they can jump on my lap.”
The day passed in a whir of flour, sugar, and Christmas carols. Beatrice was in a hurry to get as much done as possible before the play practice. Plus, there was the very serious matter of getting the cats dressed, since they were going to be part of the show.
For Petunia, she chose a very sweet cornflower blue sweater with penguins and snowflakes on the back. Lucky was gifted a red knit number with a Christmas tree on the back decorated with pompoms. Hamish had the pleasure of sporting a tasteful red, green, and white striped number that she’d made years ago, back when she’d had a brief obsession with knitting.
Beatrice stepped back and surveyed her work in her office. The cats sat before her, expressing various degrees of disgruntlement. She knew dressing her cats for Christmas was the ultimate hallmark of a crazy cat lady. Except that Beatrice was a crazy cat lady with her own house, business, and a healthy savings account, which, in her opinion, entitled her to do exactly what she wanted—including dressing her cats in sweaters. Heck, anyone should be able to do that. There were bigger problems in the world, after all.
“Time to get the crowd’s take,” she said, and led them into the café. But she didn’t find the crowd she was hoping for.
The yoga ladies, Ashbrook’s most fit and foxy social set, usually came in the early mornings after their class. But that day they were sitting around their the long farmer’s table in the late afternoon, not in spandex but in slim jeans and heels.
Beatrice stopped dead. She wasn’t sure how she stood with them, given that she’d helped investigate Nancy’s husband’s criminal past and “stolen” Matthew from Joan. The yoga ladies looked up. Nancy narrowed her eyes but Joan immediately gasped.
“What adorable kitties!” she crowed. “Look at those sweaters!” Lucky came running towards her, reading to milk whatever attention he could get from the situation. Petunia followed suit, her bushy tail waving seductively. She walked slowly, secure in the knowledge that adoration would result. Hamish merely sat on the spot, tail swishing back and forth across the floor, as if he couldn’t wait for this whole charade to be over.
“They’re going to be in the charity Christmas play this year,” Beatrice said. “It’s just a rehearsal tonight but I wanted them to look smart.”
“They’re going to the be stars of the show,” Joan said, busily trying to pet both Lucky and Petunia, who were trying to body check each other out of the way. “We’ll all be there, right ladies?” she asked her crew.
The women looked at each other uneasily. “Sure,” Nancy said, not looking at Beatrice.
Well, apparently not everyone was happy but at least Joan was enough of a sweetheart to not hold the past against her. And after all, Beatrice hadn’t even stolen Matthew—everyone just assumed that he didn’t want to date Joan because he was too busy being Beatrice’s buddy. Which was ridiculous—people could date and have friends too, as long as those people didn’t back out of their weekly brunch plans, early morning coffee dates, and after-work drinks with their bestest friend ever i.e. Beatrice.
“Well, we’d better get going. Nice to see you all.”
Beatrice got the cats in their carriers and drove to the elementary school. The days were so short—they had just passed the winter solstice. Twilight was setting in around 4:30 p.m. lately. While this bothered Beatrice in the midst of January, it was positively cozy before Christmas.
White lights winked in the trees lining the historic brick streets. “Silent Night” played over the loudspeaker. The stars shone in the grey velvet sky and there was a thick layer of snow on the ground, the top glittering like so many diamonds. It was a night for sitting by a fire with eggnog spiked with rum and a couple of cats on her lap.
She parked in the school lot and got the cats out. They were all wearing booties to protect them from the cold ground. They leapt out and gingerly padded along as if they were walking on a hot plate—more a product of the boots than the snow. Beatrice’s breath fogged around her in the crisp air. There was a crunching of snow in the silence—Matthew was walking towards her, still in his ranger’s uniform, though it was covered up by a heavy wool coat and scarf.
“Sandwich?” she asked. “I don’t want to go in quite yet. It’s too beautiful out here.”
So they munched their way through turkey, brie, and cranberry on whole wheat, crumbs falling on their scarves. “How’re you feeling?” she asked. “About Christmas, I mean.”
“I’m more resigned, I guess. I think I just have this idea about what Christmas should be. From when I was a boy and when my kids were little—reading The Night Before Christmas before the kids go to sleep,
setting out cookies and milk, watching the kids go nuts over their presents in the morning. A family Christmas. I know that’s not the only kind of Christmas out there, or the only happy one, but I guess that’s the standard I’ve set for the holidays.”
Matthew took another defiant bite of sandwich and Beatrice gently dusted the crumbs from his beard. “I know. I get it. Those are happy memories. I mean, Christmas is extra special with kids. But maybe this year we can figure out how to have a really good adult Christmas.”
“What’s an adult Christmas include? Mimosas for breakfast?” Matthew asked, blue eyes twinkling.
“For a start. Getting up late. Breakfast before presents because I hate waiting to eat. Board games in the afternoon and a walk in the snow and long chats with friends. All the eggnog and rum I can drink. Not checking Facebook and not going anywhere and definitely not changing out of my Christmas pyjamas.”
Matthew chuckled. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. We’d better go inside, though. The cats aren’t fond of this nippy weather like you are.”
The play practice went from funny bad to plain bad really fast. They were practicing the scene after Scrooge is visited by the ghosts and experiences a personal transformation. He’s giddy and ready to live his life. The problem was that the sheriff wasn’t a giddy type and delivered his lines like he was reciting a shopping list.
“I don’t know what day of the month it is. I don’t know how long I’ve been among the Spirits. I don’t know anything,” the sheriff said in his monotone, head hidden behind his sheet of paper.
It didn’t get any better when Hamish was nominated to be the random boy on the street the sheriff had to talk to. Hamish sat in position in his candy cane sweater, looking as though he was taking his acting role very seriously.
“What’s today, my fine fellow?” the sheriff said, eyeing the cat from over his paper.
“Today. Why, Christmas Day,” Beatrice said from offstage in her best little-boy voice, which sounded like she was being strangled.
The Santa Claws Bandit (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 5) Page 4
