I blinked innocently. “Do what?”
“Try to make his life better by interfering with his disorganized organization system.”
I mentally snapped my fingers in an “oh, shucks” moment. Chase knew me all too well. “Clean spaces can make a person feel so much better—”
“Holly . . .”
I raised my hands. “Of course, I’ll be good.”
Good deeds had almost gotten me killed before. One would think I’d have learned my lesson.
Instead of developing a housekeeping plan for the man, I went to the other side of the desk and leaned over Chase’s shoulder, watching as the video footage scrolled by. It was hard to even tell what we were looking at as the images scrambled by in fast-forward. This could take a while.
“You’re very . . . distracting,” Chase said, pausing for a moment and clearing his throat.
I had no idea what he was talking about. “How so?”
“I find it hard to concentrate sometimes when you’re around,” he admitted. “Your perfume . . . it’s nice.”
“I can back up.” I secretly glowed under his compliment.
He grabbed my hand and kept me close. “No, I’ll be good. I’m just used to working with stinky old men.”
I was finding it hard to concentrate myself at the moment. I stared at the TV screen instead, ignoring my rush of attraction toward Chase. “Right there! Look.”
Chase rewound the footage, and we watched as a man came to the counter wearing a large coat. A hat was pulled down low over his face, and he averted his gaze from the camera, almost like he knew it was there. He checked out, the clerk gave him a paper bag with some soda and a bag of chips in it. Then, ever so subtly, the man, as he grabbed his bag, also swept up the donation canister into his arms.
The clerk—the same teenager who was out there now—looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than working. He’d barely looked at the man or spoken to him, if I was interpreting the video correctly.
Customer service these days . . . it wasn’t what it used to be. Of course, most things weren’t.
“Let me see if I can print a picture of this guy.” Chase shook his head as he stared at the screen. “The angle doesn’t offer very much.”
I stared at the man’s image on the monitor. “I agree. I’m just guessing, but I’d say the guy is in his mid-to-late twenties. He’s white, relatively thin, and he likes the Reds, which rules out—well, it rules out almost no one here in Cincinnati.”
“He’s smooth.” Chase narrowed his eyes as he studied the footage. “It’s almost like he rehearsed taking the canister.”
“He’s wearing a leather jacket. At least, that’s how it looks. He certainly doesn’t appear poor.”
“Many people wear expensive clothing. That tells nothing about their social economic status in today’s society. Besides, it could be pleather.”
I nibbled on my lip. “That’s true. What do we do now?”
“We print this picture, and then we visit the other stores. We need to figure out first if this is the same guy. Then we go from there.”
* * *
Two hours later, we had confirmed it was indeed the same guy. At each location, the thief had carefully averted his face from the cameras. One store even had a camera in the parking lot, but the man had managed to keep his head down and his face out of sight there also.
Chase and I had concluded the man hadn’t driven to each of the stores. He’d gone around the corner at one location to an area covered by grass. An apartment complex sat on the other side surrounded by streets upon streets of houses.
I looked up at Chase as we climbed into his Jeep. “What now?”
“The options are limited, Holly. No one recognized the man, we have no license plate, and the pictures are grainy, not to mention the man kept his face concealed. This is going to be a tough one to crack.”
“Can’t we mark the locations on a map and then find the center point which will clearly indicate the area where the man might live—”
“Maybe in the movies,” Chase said. “Even if that was correct, in this case, it would be a matter of going door-to-door and asking people if they recognize him. That takes a lot of man power and time.”
I frowned. “There’s got to be something we can do.”
“I do have one idea. We can go to the stores where the remaining canisters are. We’ll leave a photo of the man and ask the employees to call us if the guy comes in. If the clerk can stall the suspect, maybe we can get there in time to catch the man.”
“Brilliant plan.” I nodded, finally satisfied that we were doing something. But there was more. “I have an idea also.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to plan an even better fundraiser to collect money for the family. We’ll blow these canister donations out of the water. And I’ll set up an online campaign also. I mean, really, that’s what most people do nowadays. The time of canisters in convenience stores is about a decade late.”
“It sounds like we have some work to do.”
I nodded. “Yes, we do!”
It was time to prove to Scrooge that he couldn’t ruin Christmas . . . not if Holly Anna Paladin had anything to do with it.
Chapter 3
“All right, everyone. How are those Christmas Croissants coming?” I called, observing my work crew as they scurried around the kitchen. There were probably twenty people here, and each had been assigned a different task.
“Just great, Ms. Holly,” Heidi said.
“Wonderful. How about the Polar Pancakes?” I continued, pacing like a drill sergeant at boot camp. Only I was pacing an inner-city kitchen, and the youth there were helping me with the task at hand. The females were, at least. The guys had disappeared outside to play basketball with the center’s director, Abraham.
“Polar Pancakes are right on target!”
“Fabulous. The Fa La La La Fudge?” I wiped some flour from my Ms. Claus apron. I’d been giving impromptu baking lessons and having a great time getting down and dirty in the kitchen.
“It’s yummy!” Katrina popped a piece in her mouth and closed her eyes with delight.
I playfully took my wooden spoon and tapped her hand. “No snitching. But it is good, isn’t it?”
She nodded with wide, satisfied eyes. “It’s delicious.”
I cleared my expression, trying to look more serious than I felt. “Christmas Tree Bark?”
“It’s to die for,” Tana said.
I nodded, feeling satisfied. “Great. I appreciate you all coming together for the cause.”
In my defense, I’d not only recruited teens from the youth center, but I’d also brought in some of my coworkers from my brother’s office. Ralph was a state senator, and the staff was always looking for causes to join in together. I’d unofficially become the instigator of such things. Thankfully, Ralph let us have two hours of volunteer time every week, so I had a work force that was more than willing to leave the office for a little while.
Because I wasn’t actually all business, I’d brought in some sandwiches, cookies, and cinnamon-covered popcorn for my volunteers. I blared Christmas music in the background—“Run, Run, Rudolph” played right now—and I’d purchased some cheap Santa hats for people to wear. I’d done my best to turn this into a party. I’d also been sure to remind people that volunteer hours looked great on college applications.
My best friend, Jamie Duke, was also here making gluten-free selections out of almond flour, coconut flour, oat fiber, and every other wheat alternative she could find. I’d used some money from my secret reserve to buy all the ingredients we needed. I used my “stash of cash” to help with various needs in the community whenever I saw fit. It was one of the advantages to living at home—I had some extra money.
Tomorrow we were having a bake sale. A whole block in downtown Cincinnati would be closed for the city’s annual Christmas bazaar, which featured various vendors. Ralph had pitched in for the table space and secured
an area near his office.
I hoped hoards of people would be out Christmas shopping. The event was a sleighload of fun. Santa would be walking around, carolers and apple cider would be abundant, and a wonderful selection of homemade goods like soap, jam, dips, birdhouses, jewelry, and everything else imaginable would be available for purchase. I could hardly wait.
All money we raised would go toward Greg and Babette. Maybe—hopefully—this would make up for the money that was stolen from them.
“Jamie, have you got this under control here?” I took off my apron and handed it to one of the teens.
My BFF nodded, proceeding to do a Z-shaped finger snap that ended with her hand on her hip. “You know it, girlfriend. I was born to be a control freak. Where are you headed again?”
“I’ve got to meet with Greg, Babette, and Bryan. I want to find out what the exact need is.”
One of my coworkers was one of, if not the, smartest PR people in the state. She’d agreed to help me, and I was already mentally drafting news releases and forming a media campaign for this. But I needed more information first.
“I’ve got this,” Jamie continued, taking away my wooden spoon and slapping it in her hand. “If there’s one thing my momma taught me it’s how to be a bossy britches.”
“Make Mama Val proud then.” I grabbed my keys and paused for a moment, considering my words. “But these are volunteers, so make sure their day remains merry and bright.”
“Oh, ye of little faith. It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Of course I’ll be nice.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up to a small house located on the east side of town, not too far from Price Hill, where I lived. This particular section was especially rundown and dirty, and some shady looking characters lounged on the sidewalk.
I quickly skirted by them and knocked on the door to Greg and Babette Sullivan’s place. A moment later, Babette answered.
Growing up, I had known Babette, but she was at least fifteen years older than me. Though the age difference between us wasn’t huge as adults, I’d always think of her as being significantly older since she was a teenager while I learned to walk.
Babette was close to six feet tall and had probably been considered big-boned as a child. Time and age had not been kind to her, making her chin nearly disappear and fat collect in her abdomen. Her hair was blonde like her mom’s, but it came down to her shoulders in stringy waves.
I greeted her with a hug before nodding at Greg, who sat in a recliner in the background, wearing a neck brace. Another man was there also. He was probably close to my age and had a slouching midsection and sloppy clothes.
“Bryan.” He extended his hand. “Nice to put a face with the name.”
“Holly.”
“Bryan has been living with us . . . I guess as far back as Indiana,” Babette explained. “He’s practically an adopted son.”
I thought it was interesting that people who were barely making it financially were actually supporting someone else. But the gesture also showed kindness.
The tiny house was crammed already, but my presence seemed to overwhelm the miniscule living room. Babette and Bryan crowded onto the couch, Greg remained on the recliner, and I sat on a dining room chair that had been stashed in a corner.
There was no Christmas tree in the house, I realized. I couldn’t help but wonder why. If I had an opportunity, I would ask.
My family obviously loved Christmas trees, which was why we had three. My favorite one stood in the every-day living room. It wasn’t the pretty tree. No, it had colorful lights and a gaudy garland. It was slightly lopsided, and the branches didn’t fill out enough to cover the gaps between them.
What I loved about the tree were the ornaments from my childhood, many of them handmade in grade school and consisting of pompoms, popsicle sticks, and handprints. But the tree also had wooden designs my dad had made. He’d created a new design every year, and we’d given the masterpieces to people at church, neighbors, coworkers, and friends.
My dad had loved to build things out of wood, and looking at those pieces as I’d put them on the tree had been especially bittersweet this year. It had been two years since he passed, and this Christmas wouldn’t be any easier than the last one without him. He should be here with us still.
“How are you all doing?” I started, feeling a touch like the social worker I’d once been.
“We’re sore, but we’re getting there,” Babette said. “I’m having a terrible time walking. Greg hurt his neck and should be going to physical therapy, but we’ve had to reduce our appointments. The bills are more than we can handle.”
“Even copays and deductibles can add up after a while,” Greg said. “I owned my business and didn’t purchase disability insurance. No work means no pay.”
“I wondered if you’d been able to go back to the job yet,” I said.
“No, I own a plaster business, but I can’t work with my neck like this.”
“It’s too bad because he’s one of the best in the area, and we’ve had to turn down several jobs,” Babette said. “I’m hoping they’ll save my job for me at B-Mart, but I’ve missed so much time. Who knows?”
I frowned as the reality of their struggle became even more apparent. “Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I was hoping to get some more information about what’s happening. Obviously, I talked to Bryan last night and he told me about the fundraising efforts. But I stopped by so I could hear about you two—beyond the fundraising. Your mom already told me you’re afraid of losing your house, and I know no one wants to see that happen. You’ve already been through enough.”
“Thank you,” Babette said. “We don’t want to lose this place either. Unfortunately, we were already behind on payments before the accident thanks to some of Greg’s clients who didn’t pay him like they were supposed to. We thought we’d be able to get caught up . . . then all of this happened. I know we could live with Mom, but it would be hard on her with all the kids there. I don’t want to put any more stress on her—not with her heart and all.”
She had a good point. Mrs. Signet’s house would be tight, and the older woman valued her routine and privacy. “Tell me what happened.”
“We were coming back from buying groceries. A car ran a red light and T-boned us. Larry Jenkins—he was the other driver and, unfortunately, his name will forever be burned into my mind—he claimed that we were the ones who ran the light. There were no cameras to verify either side. Thanks to two witnesses, we ended up being cited for the accident. It’s a mess. Adding even more strain to the whole situation is that he’s bringing a civil suit against us to try to get more money for the time he lost from work.”
I shifted, hating to ask the uncomfortable questions, but I wouldn’t do anyone any favors by remaining silent. “If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of bills are we talking about?”
“They keep coming in. Just when we think they’re done, a new one arrives in our mailboxes. Even with insurance, the costs are unbelievable.” Babette stretched her leg and cringed with each motion.
Greg spoke up. “What she’s not telling you is that our bills are already over twenty thousand dollars. I expect more to come. We spent ten days in the hospital, plus we have ongoing therapy.”
Twenty thousand dollars? I couldn’t begin to imagine.
“Wow. I’m so sorry.” I shifted as I thought the situation through. “So, obviously Bryan stepped up to help. I don’t want to intrude in anyone else’s territory.”
“I can use all the help I can get,” Bryan said. “I deliver packages for a living, so I have no experience with things of this nature. I just knew that someone had to do something. Greg and Babette don’t deserve any of this. They’ve been generous enough to let me stay here with them until I can get back on my feet. No one thought the tables would turn like this.”
“He’s been such a help,” Babette added. “I don’t know what we would have done without him. He
’s almost like an older brother to the kids. Even though he has the money to venture out on his own now, he’s stayed here out of the goodness of his heart. He’s like our family angel.”
Bryan shook his head. “She speaks too highly of me. I’m just doing what any decent human would. I decided to set up the canisters because I remembered someone did something like that for a lady at work several years ago and ended up raising almost six hundred dollars. I thought it would be a start.”
I nodded, not feeling very optimistic about his plan but keeping my thoughts silent. There was no need of insulting someone who was trying to do good work. “How would you feel about going broader with these efforts? Maybe even taking your story to the media?”
Babette shook her head quickly and adamantly. “I don’t know about that. I don’t really like attention.”
“But attention can bring support, and support can bring funds you need,” I told her.
She frowned. “Maybe as a last resort. I really don’t have the look for TV anyway. Plus, you go public, and everyone begins scrutinizing you. I don’t know if I can handle that. I have enough to deal with.”
I didn’t push any more. I wanted to help them, not make them uncomfortable, and media attention was a personal choice. “That’s understandable. Let me see what I can do. I’d like to set up a profile for you on one of the online sites where people can make donations. How would you feel about that?”
“We’ll take all the help we can get. We really appreciate you doing this for us, Holly. We’d lost hope until Mom told us you wanted to help.”
I forced a smile. I did want to help. I only prayed my efforts worked because otherwise Greg and Babette’s hopes would be dashed. I didn’t want that to happen. Especially since I was the one who would be responsible.
“By the way, are you decorating for Christmas this year?” I asked as I stood, hoping I sounded casual enough.
Babette shook her head. “I just don’t have the energy. Besides, we threw our old artificial tree away last year since half of the branches were broken. We never anticipated this happening.”
Random Acts of Scrooge: a Christmas novella (Holly Anna Paladin Book 4) Page 2
