Random Acts of Scrooge: a Christmas novella (Holly Anna Paladin Book 4)

by Christy Barritt

  “I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

  Just as we reached Chase’s Jeep, a car pulled to a stop on the street.

  It was Bryan. I wondered how much he knew about his cousin’s scam? Should I ask him, or would I just be inserting him into the middle of an ugly situation if I did? I didn’t want to increase family tensions.

  I chewed on the thought a moment.

  He spotted me and called out, “You looking for Greg and Babette?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

  “They’re at a luncheon after church. Anything I can help you with?”

  I shrugged, wanting to keep my mouth shut. Yet my hunger for answers also pulled at me. “I wanted to check and see how they’re feeling.”

  Bryan shrugged. “They have good days and bad days, I suppose. Sometimes they seem fine, and other times the aches and pains come back.”

  Could that be because they were faking it all?

  I shifted. “Bryan, how long have you lived with them?”

  “For a few years.”

  “So you didn’t live with them when they were out in Indiana?”

  He shook his head. “I was in college down in Kentucky then. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering.” I smiled, hoping to put him at ease. “That’s nice of you to help your cousin like this.”

  He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Family looks out for each other, right? They stuck with me when times were rough, so now I’ll stick with them.” He shifted. “By the way, any news on the money that was stolen?”

  I shook my head. “No, not yet. I’m sorry.”

  “Hopefully you’ll know something soon. It seems like donations aren’t safe anywhere anymore, are they? Whoever the thief is, he’s brazen to steal from both the convenience store and bazaar.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Bryan shifted and glanced at his watch. “In the meantime, do you want me to tell Greg and Babette you stopped by?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll catch them again later.” And I’d catch them by surprise, I figured. The less warning they had, the better.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Chase and I pulled up to a skinny, rundown house on the north side of town. A late-model Oldsmobile sat in the driveway with the front bumper smashed like an accordion.

  “It appears there really was an accident,” I told Chase. “I’m surprised he still has the car.”

  Chase squatted to examine the vehicle. “He could have requested to get it back from impound. It can be a complicated process. The insurance company will give it back, even when totaled, but you usually don’t get as much money for it.”

  “I’d like to talk to Larry anyway.” Before Chase could stop me, I charged up to the front door and knocked. Larry answered a moment later, wearing a wife beater T-shirt and with a toothpick dangling from his mouth. His eyes narrowed when he recognized me.

  “What are you doing here, Cindy Lou Who?” he growled. “You want to accuse me of something again?”

  Well, yeah, I kind of did. For stealing Christmas or at least attempting to.

  Some of the anger on his face disappeared when he saw Chase. Probably not because he liked Chase but because he remembered Chase was a cop and could arrest him if things turned ugly.

  “I have a question about your accident,” I started.

  “What about it?”

  “I’d like to hear your version of what happened that day.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe of his grape juice purple house. “My version? What are you talking about, my version?”

  “You said the accident was Greg and Babette’s fault.”

  “That’s right. They ran that red light, causing me to T-bone them. Look at my car. It tells the story better than I do.”

  I couldn’t deny that his car was a mangled mess. “Did they seem injured afterward?”

  “Beats me.” He spit and then put the toothpick back into his mouth. “I had to be carried away on a stretcher. I wasn’t really paying attention to anyone else at that point in time.”

  “You seem okay now,” I pointed out. “Are you?”

  “Thank goodness—yes. I am good. But I was sore for about a month. It could have been worse. There were two witnesses at the scene who saw them run that light. Why else would I even be allowed to bring them to court otherwise?”

  That was a good question.

  “Do you have the names of these witnesses?” I asked. Chase would probably be able to get them from the police reports, but I thought asking Larry might save some time.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I had to get them for insurance purposes.” Larry pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons. A moment later, he spouted out two names and addresses. I quickly typed them into my phone.

  After we said goodbye and as we walked to Chase’s Jeep, his phone beeped. “It’s work. I’ve got to go in, Holly. There’s a new lead on one of my cases.”

  I nodded. “I understand. I have Christmas choir practice in a little while anyway.”

  “I’ll drop you off at your house then, and we’ll reconnect later. Sound good?”

  I was just about to say, “Sounds great” when Chase muttered, “Cindy Lou Who.”

  His eyes sparkled with so much amusement that I couldn’t help but punch him in the arm.

  I was never going to live that nickname down.

  * * *

  As soon as Chase dropped me off, I called Jamie. She picked me up a few minutes later in her beat-up minivan, better known as the Ghettomobile. Jamie had named it that, not me. I quickly updated her on what was going on.

  “All of that has transpired since we talked last?” she asked. “You know what transpired in my life during that time? I got my little brothers ready for bed, I slept, and I went to church.”

  “It’s crazy, isn’t it? I suppose it proves that persistence can pay off. On the other hand, though, I want to spread Christmas cheer and kindness, and I know there are people out there who truly need help, I don’t want to waste my time with fakers.”

  “I agree. I hope Greg and Babette wouldn’t do something this deplorable.” She glanced at me as we cruised down the road. “I’m assuming you wanted me to drive because of the van?”

  She’d caught me. “It’s the only bad thing about my Mustang. It’s recognizable.”

  “I’m always happy to be of service. Just tell me where to go.”

  Ten minutes later, we pulled across the street from the Sullivans’ house. I didn’t even start to get out. Instead, I settled back into my seat and watched.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to see if Greg or Babette come out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re probably not going to own up to faking their injuries. But I could catch them walking like they’re just fine or without a neck brace.”

  She nodded. “I tell you what, if you decide to switch careers, you should be a P.I. Insurance companies hire people for stuff like this.”

  “So I’ve heard. I really don’t want to make a habit of doing surveillance. Why is it that I always start with good intentions but end up being embroiled in messes?” I sighed and looked down at my candy-cane painted fingernails.

  “It’s easy to stay out of messes when you’re sitting on the sidelines. Once you get into the fight, it’s never pretty.”

  “It’s true. But I’d rather live life in the thick of things than as a mere observer.” I took a sip of my coffee. “However, sitting here for hours feels very much like observing.”

  “You said Larry verified that accident was real, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but something still doesn’t feel quite right. Someone isn’t telling the whole truth.”

  “And you think this all connects back with the missing money?”

  “I’m not sure how it all fits. But it does. Somehow. I’m going to figure out how.”

  “The thing I don’t get is this: why would the Sullivans
steal their own money?” Jamie asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I agree. I don’t know, Jamie. But something’s not right, and I’m determined to find some answers. I even wonder if Dr. Evans has something to do with this.”

  “Dr. Evans?”

  “The choir director from my church.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, him. I’ve never cared for him.”

  “Me neither. He has a reason not to like the Sullivans. Apparently Greg did some supposedly shoddy plasterwork for him. He was also wearing a Reds Santa hat at the bazaar. But he seems like the type who’d use a more clever way of getting revenge, not the type to steal canisters.”

  “People will surprise you, though.”

  “I can’t deny that.”

  Silence stretched for a few minutes.

  “Don’t you need to go Christmas shopping or something? I mean, it’s a busy time of year, and you’re getting mixed up in the middle of all of this?”

  I shrugged. “I started making things for people back in August. Scarves for the men. Jewelry for my mom and sister. I baked some orange-cranberry bread and froze it to give to the neighbors. I have a few other things up my sleeve. Like, I found this great charity where I can give monetary gifts in people’s names. I mean, really . . . we all have so much. Why feed the materialism?”

  “Stuff doesn’t make you happy. That’s for sure.”

  “Some people will never realize that. It’s a shame.” I elbowed Jamie. “Look, there’s Babette.”

  She walked from the house, a bag of trash in her hands. Sure enough, she was still limping. But, if I remembered correctly, didn’t she have a bad knee? It seemed like somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I remembered something about a knee replacement surgery she’d had several years ago. Mrs. Signet had a tendency to overshare and talk . . . a lot.

  “She’s definitely limping.” Jamie said, slumping low in her seat.

  I made a quick decision. “I’m not going to confront them. Not yet.”

  “What do you want to do instead?”

  “I’m going to go talk to a couple of witnesses from the accident. I just want to corroborate their stories. Because if I’m wrong then I’ve just sabotaged everything I stand for . . . and that would make me a Scrooge.”

  Jamie gasped, echoing the horror I felt at the mere suggestion.

  There was no way Holly Anna Paladin was going to rain on someone else’s Christmas parade.

  Chapter 10

  A quick Internet search helped me find the first witness whose name Larry Jenkins had given me: Allison Daniels. We pulled up in front of her ramshackle house, and I stared at it a moment. A huge blow-up reindeer stood in the front yard, but he was lopsided and almost looked in pain. A strand of Christmas lights stretched across the roof, but part of them hung down low, like a clip had fallen off, and the other half looked like they were being tugged toward the ground by the outlet where they were plugged in.

  “So, you have a story concocted, or are you just going with the truth?” Jamie asked.

  I nibbled on my bottom lip for a moment. “I’m not completely sure. It would be nice in times like this to have an official title, wouldn’t it? Saying I’m simply a concerned citizen who wants to ask really nosy questions doesn’t fly.”

  “We can always use my job title as a cover story. Reporters are always looking for information.”

  I nodded. “Maybe that would be the best idea.”

  We’d used it several times in the past, and it had been quite effective.

  Before I could exit the van, the front door to the house opened. I watched carefully as two women paused to talk inside, their backs toward me. One had dark hair, and the other was more of a redhead.

  Otherwise, it was hard to tell much about them. I supposed this would be a good time to go introduce myself, but something internal urged me to wait.

  “A Marshmallow World” blared over the radio, the happy song a sharp contrast to the tension I felt in my gut.

  “You okay?” Jamie asked.

  I stared harder, waiting for whatever realization that lurked below the surface to rush to the top.

  As soon as the women stepped outside, I knew what was wrong.

  That was Larry Jenkins’ girlfriend talking to Allison Daniels!

  She was a friend with one of the witnesses.

  I bit down. I knew what this meant.

  It meant that, as usual, things weren’t as they seemed.

  * * *

  I couldn’t concentrate during the final choir practice before our performance tomorrow night. I was participating in a citywide choir, which was taking place at the megachurch where I’d grown up. The choir probably had fifty members from all over town, and the whole experience had been fun.

  I kept my little black binder with sheet music in front of me. I sang alto, and we were in the middle of “Joy to the World” in the massive sanctuary of my church when I saw Chase step through the back door and cross his arms. I’d texted him earlier and told him we needed to talk ASAP.

  I licked my lips and made a quick choice. With apology in my voice, I slipped across the risers, trying my best not to step on shiny black loafers or expensive high heels. I heard several “umps” and “ohs” and other sounds of irritated exclamation. The space was tight, and people could barely see me over their choir binders until I’d already bumped into them.

  Dr. Evans gave me a teacherly look of scorn from over the top of his half-frame glasses. He treated us like we were part of Mannheim Steamroller and getting paid big bucks. He ran a tight ship, even though the choir members were volunteers.

  When I finally finished disrupting practice, I scampered down the steps leading to the massive stage and practically skipped to Chase.

  “That was a sight to behold.” His voice lilted with amusement.

  I took his arm and led him into the foyer so I wouldn’t interrupt the rehearsal any more than I already had. As strains about heaven and nature singing rolled in the background, I shut the heavy wooden door to the sanctuary.

  “Thanks for coming,” I murmured.

  “It sounded important. What’s going on?”

  As I told him what Jamie and I had discovered, his face twisted with different emotions. Surprise. Aggravation. Realization.

  “It must have been a staged auto accident,” he muttered, shaking his head and staring off into the distance.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s just what it sounds like. People are doing it more and more often. They carefully plan for accidents to happen in order to collect the insurance money. This may not have been the Sullivans’ fault. It could have been Larry Jenkins.”

  I let his words sink in. “So he T-boned the Sullivans on purpose?”

  Chase nodded. “These people who do this are truly amazing. They’ll signal for someone to pull over in traffic and, when the other driver does, they’ll merge also and collide with them. Afterward, of course, they’ll claim no responsibility and deny that they ever motioned for the person to move over.”

  “And, let me guess, they find witnesses who are actually people they know?” I remembered seeing Larry’s girlfriend with Allison Daniels.

  “Bingo. They make sure they have one or two friends around—friends who claim they don’t know each other. They’ll act as witnesses and tell the police that the other driver didn’t signal or that the light was red or whatever they need to say to get away with it. That’s how the accidents happen. I’d say there was a good chance Greg really didn’t run that red light. He was, however, in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I heard Larry had another auto accident earlier this year.”

  “We’re looking into that one also.”

  The more I learned, the more unsettled I felt. “What can we do, Chase?”

  “We?” His eyebrows shot up. “Nothing. I’ll take it from here, Holly.”

  “But—”

  “You have enough on your plate. You worry about the Sulli
vans. Speaking of which, did you ever talk to them about the Indiana incident?”

  I shook my head. “That’s what I plan to do next.”

  “If they’re innocent in all of this, then you’re running out of time to ensure they have a merry Christmas. I know you don’t want that.”

  I nodded like a sailor might when he received his orders. “You’re right. I’m focusing on the Sullivans.”

  He grinned and kissed the tip of my nose. “You’re cute, Holly.”

  “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Go get ’em, Cindy Lou Who.”

  Chapter 11

  After choir practice, I decided to stop by the Sullivans again. I had to talk to them and find out the truth. But before I got down to the nitty-gritty, half of the church choir volunteered to join me. Part of them sang Christmas carols outside the front door, while the rest barged into the Sullivans’ house with a Christmas tree.

  As we finished “O Come All Ye Faithful,” Dr. Evans stepped forward. “I’d like to apologize for my tirade on Saturday. It wasn’t very Christlike of me, and I’ve felt poorly about myself ever since then.”

  My heart lifted at Dr. Evans’ words. I hated to see believers not getting along. To show love and compassion went so much farther than showing bitterness and holding grudges.

  “We appreciate the apology,” Greg said from his perch in the doorway.

  “I hope we at least spread some Christmas joy.”

  “You did. Thank you.”

  Babette and Greg looked grateful but somber. Why was that?

  As soon as the choir left, I asked Babette if I could come inside for a moment.

  “Of course,” she said, pushing the door open. “Thank you for the tree and for trying to spread some Christmas cheer.”

  When I stepped inside, it was a madhouse. All the kids were home, as well as Mrs. Signet and Bryan. Boxes were scattered everywhere. The older kids and Bryan were acting like typical brothers and sisters. Bryan yelled something about dirty socks, and the oldest boy yelled back that Bryan liked to wear “griddles.” The two tackled each other.