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

by Christy Barritt

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “We got notice that we had to be out. The bank is taking our house.”

  My lower jaw dropped open. “What? At Christmastime?”

  Babette nodded, wiping away the tears from her eyes. “It’s true. I wish it weren’t. Apparently the notice came in the mail on Friday, but we didn’t open the letter until today. You get tired of seeing all of the bills.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Holly Anna!” someone said, walking toward me with outstretched arms. Mrs. Signet. Of course. Guilt pounded in my heart.

  “Hi, Mrs. Signet.” I returned her hug.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re such a blessing throughout this nastiness, as is Bryan. Thank you for your help.”

  Guilt pounded harder. “You’re welcome.” I cleared my throat and turned to Babette. “Actually, I was wondering if I could speak to you and Greg for a moment.”

  A new emotion rushed through Babette’s eyes. Was it fear? Concern? Maybe just curiosity. I wasn’t sure.

  Babette called Greg, and the three of us stepped out onto the porch. Greg still wore his neck brace and Babette limped.

  “First, let me start by saying that I believe Larry Jenkins staged the car accident with you.”

  “What?”

  I nodded. “Apparently, it’s the hot new thing. People devise ways to have fender benders, make it look like it was the other driver’s fault, and then they collect the insurance money.”

  “I knew there was something off about that man,” Greg muttered.

  I shifted, feeling uncomfortable at the next subject. I couldn’t avoid it, though. “There’s one other thing I need to tell you. I know about what happened in Indiana. I know about the fake account you set up for an imaginary family whose house burned down.”

  Babette glanced at Greg before wobbling her head back and forth slowly. “I was afraid that might come out.”

  “What happened? Is it true?”

  Babette looked at Greg once more before nodding. “I wish it weren’t true. But it was.”

  “We were going through a hard time,” Greg chimed in. He lowered himself into a rusty metal chair and let out a long sigh. “I knew if people found out about that then no one would want to help us. Maybe we deserve it.”

  I leaned against the porch railing and crossed my arms, my wool coat barely keeping me warm. A cold front had swept through, and the wind felt wicked. “What would lead you to do something like that? Please, help me to understand.”

  “Have you ever known what it was like to not have enough money for groceries?” Babette asked.

  My heart pounded in my chest. “I have to say no, I’ve never been there before.”

  “That’s the point we were at. They cut back Greg’s hours at work—this was before he owned his own business. I was at home on bed rest with my pregnancy. I also had two little ones running around, and I had no one to help me with them. If we moved back home to Mom’s house, then Greg would have to drive an hour-and-a-half to his job. It seemed like a no-win situation.”

  “So you scammed people out of money?”

  Babette squeezed the skin between her eyes. “We didn’t mean it like that. But we saw so many other friends who were prosperous. They didn’t know what it was like to want for anything. And here we were, struggling financially. Again. We made all the right choices, but we were still being punished, it seemed. We didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t exactly go back to work. Greg looked for a second job, but he couldn’t find anything.”

  “I know times can be tight sometimes,” I finally said, compassion and justice colliding inside me. I still wasn’t sure which one would win.

  “A friend out in California had their house burn down. Through a community fundraiser, they were able to collect around ten thousand dollars for the family. We knew it was wrong. We knew we shouldn’t do it. But when you’re at wit’s end, you’ll do things you never imagined you could do.”

  “Is that what you’re doing now?” I asked quietly.

  “No! Of course not.” Babette’s wide eyes latched onto mine. “What you don’t know is that when we got on our feet again, we paid that money back. I felt so terrible during that time. I vowed I would never do it again. Never.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Babette asked.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Here. Look at this. It’s proof about our situation now.” She thrust a paper in my hands.

  It was her foreclosure notice. And it looked real.

  After a moment, I nodded. “I believe you. But this puts me back to square one. I have no idea who’s behind the thefts, but I’m going to keep trying to raise that money to help you.”

  * * *

  That evening, Chase was back at work and Jamie was babysitting her siblings so her parents could Christmas shop.

  I sat in my home office, trying to get into the Christmas spirit, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the Sullivans. Was I really back to the start? That didn’t seem possible.

  I made a list of what I knew so far.

  The man who’d stolen the canisters was relatively young—probably in his late twenties or early thirties.

  He was white, average height, average build.

  He liked the Cincinnati Reds.

  He probably lived in the Price Hill area, based on the stores where the canisters had been stolen.

  He seemed to have a personal vendetta against Greg and Babette.

  He’d most likely been at the Christmas bazaar and somehow escaped undetected.

  He was aware of the incident with Larry Jenkins. He had to be because he’d planted the money in Larry’s bags.

  He somehow had access to the key to the hotel restrooms because he’d turned the lights off.

  The culprit had also somehow known I was going to be at the party at the hotel.

  Put all of that together, and who did you have?

  That was the question of the hour.

  Identifying the man simply from his photo on the security video seemed unlikely, like finding Waldo in a sea of Santas.

  Spontaneously, I picked up the phone and called a friend from church who worked at a local hotel and asked her which employees generally had access to bathroom keys. The list seemed long and included management, the front desk, and janitors.

  Did any of my suspects have connections with the hotel? Did anyone know my schedule as well as the Sullivans’ schedule? Who had motive, means, and opportunity?

  I chewed on the questions a few more minutes.

  The plasterwork at the hotel was amazing . . . could Greg have done it? If so, did that mean he had access to the hotel bathrooms? But that wouldn’t make any sense because why would he implicate himself by delivering that cryptic message to me there?

  Amar Kumar was at the hotel that day, celebrating with his management team. Could he have swiped the key from someone? He still didn’t have a motive, though, and as hard I tried to find one, I couldn’t.

  Dr. Evans had apologized, but was that just a distraction? Would he have gone so far as to steal money from the Sullivans? I didn’t want to believe it. He had been at the bazaar, though. If I remembered correctly, he worked part-time as a concierge somewhere. Maybe at the hotel where Chase’s police party had been?

  The idea of Bryan being guilty had briefly fluttered through my mind. But he’d said he was at a training session in Indy when the thefts occurred. Besides, he seemed to honestly love his family and want to help.

  Then there was Larry Jenkins. Was he somehow still connected? I’d pretty much ruled him out, but maybe that was a mistake.

  I sighed. What if there was another suspect I was missing entirely? Some sort of small detail kept nagging at the back of my mind. Something that I must have missed. But what was it?

  The answer smacked me in the face.

  Could it be? How could I have missed that detail?

  I leaned b
ack and tapped on my chin a moment. I had an idea, but I needed to make a few calls to confirm my theory.

  I might be able to even catch the thief, if my idea panned out.

  But I was going to need some help. I had to get busier than Santa’s elves on the night before Christmas if I was going to make this work.

  Chapter 12

  Nervous flutters swarmed wildly in my stomach as I held the choir binder in front of me in preparation for tonight’s concert.

  This was going to work, I told myself. It had to. Otherwise, Jamie was right, and I was the one who’d end up being a Scrooge.

  Dr. Evans walked backstage and barked, “Is everyone ready?”

  The choir members mumbled, “Yes,” and we lined up and headed out front. My shoulders felt tense as I took my place on the risers and gazed out at everyone filling the pews. The church probably held seven hundred people, and there didn’t appear to be an empty seat in the house.

  My gaze scanned the crowds. Near the front, I spotted my family—my mom and Ralph, as well as my sister, Alex, and her husband, William. Chase sat beside them, giving me a little wink. He knew what was going on. I’d gotten his stamp of approval before proceeding, which was a step in the right direction for me.

  Jamie was also here with her family, as well as several people from the youth center. The rest of the faces blended together. It was hard to tell one from the other. People from all around town liked to come for the church’s annual Christmas cantata. It was a great way to be reminded about the real reason for the season.

  Most importantly, I spotted Mrs. Signet, Greg, Babette, Bryan, and all of the children. Perfect. I’d invited them last night and told them it was imperative that they come. They didn’t realize yet that they were the guests of honor.

  Pastor Stephens had agreed that we could collect a love offering for the family. I considered this a win-win. The family would get money, and the whole process would allow me to catch the person behind these thefts.

  I hoped.

  After the pastor said a few words to the audience, Dr. Evans turned to us, tapped his baton on the music stand, and we all stood at attention. The music began playing from the mini-orchestra located in a makeshift pit below the stage. We sang “Carol of the Bells,” but I was having trouble concentrating.

  Jesus. Focus on Jesus.

  While some people got distracted by commercialism, I got distracted by philanthropy. I suppose both could be negative, at least if they took my focus off of the gratefulness I should feel when I considered the fact that the Savior of the world came to earth as a baby, and later died for my sins before rising again.

  I had to bring the sacrifice of praise to Him at this moment, and that meant giving my attention to earnest worship. Not showmanship. Not bringing glory to myself. Not making an idol out of helping other people.

  Right now I had to focus on Jesus.

  The rest of the cantata passed with ease. The music absorbed me as the words of the songs flowed like a prayer from my heart.

  I was thankful for Christmas. Thankful for the real meaning of the season. Sure, I loved the other Christmas traditions that came with this time of year. I liked decorating and baking and presents and lights.

  But, mostly, I liked celebrating Jesus.

  As the concert ended, the flutters in my stomach returned. This was where our plan would be set into motion.

  Dr. Evans turned to the crowd. “We have a family here tonight who has gone through the tragic circumstances of a car accident that has left them with health problems. As these things go, bills have been piling up. Tonight, we’re asking the community to step up and help to spread some Christmas cheer. If you feel inclined, we’re asking you to give a donation to the family. The offering plates will be passed.”

  My hands were sweaty now. So much could go wrong. But so much could also go right. If the thief was here, he would be salivating right now.

  Chase stood. He was going to help take up the collection, which would also allow him to keep an eye on the money.

  I felt certain the person behind these thefts was here tonight. I also felt certain he would strike again. The amount collected this evening would probably be bigger than any of the previous ones. And this would be the perfect opportunity to hit the Sullivans where it hurt.

  A few minutes later, the choir was dismissed from the stage and everyone was invited to a church social out in the fellowship hall. Meanwhile, the money would be counted in the finance office, and the door would be left unlocked.

  If everything went according to plan, the culprit would sneak into the office and try to steal the money. Chase and I would catch him red-handed, and this headache would be over faster than I could list the Twelve Days of Christmas.

  Chase and I stood against the wall in the fellowship hall. Across the room, people surrounded the Sullivans, offering them encouragement and warm smiles. It was a beautiful sight.

  “You did great,” Chase said.

  I straightened the tailored jacket of my red dress. “All of this could backfire. I could be wrong.”

  “If the MO of this guy is correct, he’s here tonight, somewhere among these faces. He won’t be able to resist making a move. When he does, we’ll catch him.”

  Pastor Stephens approached us with a wide grin. “I just checked with the treasurer. So far we’ve collected almost ten thousand dollars for the Sullivans.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I murmured.

  “All but fifty dollars will be locked in the safe,” he continued. “Everything is on schedule for our guys to leave the office at 9:30 sharp.”

  “We’ll take it from there,” Chase said.

  “I hope this works,” the pastor continued. “It’s not the way we normally do things around here.”

  “The police department thanks you for your cooperation,” Chase said.

  Other officers were waiting in the parking lot in case things went wrong. I truly hoped nothing would.

  I glanced at my watch. “We have about five minutes.”

  Chase nodded across the distance. “There’s a surprising face. It’s Amar Kumar.”

  Amar approached us and offered a quick, curt nod. “Detective. Miss.”

  “Fancy seeing you here,” I told him, my gaze still surveying the rest of the crowd. I thought I knew exactly who the thief was. I had a clear image in my mind of whom I was drawing out. But what if I was wrong?

  “My wife, Veena, sings with the choir.”

  My eyes widened as I pictured the lovely, soft-spoken woman I’d briefly gotten to know. “Veena is your wife? She sings a lovely soprano.”

  Amar nodded. “That she does. I thought you looked familiar when you came into my store. I must have seen you when I picked her up from practice before.”

  That had been why he’d given me that look on the day we’d first met. “Of course.”

  “It’s great to see you, Amar,” I said, afraid time would get away from us. “If you’ll excuse us a moment, though.”

  “Of course.”

  Chase and I slipped from the social and walked toward the finance office. Instead of going inside the room, we disappeared into the library across the hall and kept the lights off.

  “Here goes nothing,” I muttered. “The carrot is dangling. Now we have to see if the culprit takes the bait.”

  We waited in the darkness, eyes pressed close to the crack in the door. Nothing happened.

  The happy sounds from the church social drifted down the hallway to the quiet solitude of the administrative area.

  Finally, I saw a shadow moving in front of the door.

  “It worked! Someone’s trying to get in the office!” I whispered.

  We waited a few minutes until the door across the hall closed. Then Chase and I made our move.

  We crept from the library and moved to either side of the office door. At Chase’s signal, we burst into the room and flipped on the lights.

  Sure enough, Bryan Sullivan stood at the desk, his hand buri
ed in the offering plate.

  He raised his hands when he saw us and dropped the dollar bills. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting this. I was just . . . checking on the money. Greg asked me to.”

  I shook my head, anger heating my cheeks. “Tell the truth, Bryan. You’re behind the thefts.”

  Sweat sprinkled across his upper lip and his gaze skittered all over the room, almost as if he was looking for an easy escape. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I stepped closer, raising my chin higher to let him know I wouldn’t be making this easy on him. “Admit it, Bryan. You’re the guilty party here. You weren’t out of town with E.L.F. Deliveries when that money was stolen. In fact, you were making runs that day—in the same area where the convenience stores were located. Of course, your truck was too big and obvious to park in the lots, so you had to park on the side streets, which really worked in your favor.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He wiped his forehead and shifted uncomfortably. His gaze jerked behind us again, as if he hadn’t given up on making a run for it.

  “You’re the same size, height, build, and age as the suspect,” I continued. “Apparently, you really do wear a ‘griddle,’ and that’s why you looked thinner in the videos.”

  He scoffed before stepping back a nudge and raising his hands in a silent “back off” motion. “Those are all just guesses or coincidences.”

  “I confirmed that Greg did some work at the Mulligan Hotel downtown before his accident,” I said, pacing slightly as I formed my thoughts. “You found a key he used there, and you used it at the party that night to cast suspicion on your cousin.”

  “Holly, you’ve got this all wrong. I would never do that. I was trying to help. Just like you. We’re both good people, cut from the same cloth.”

  “Oh no. Don’t even go there.” I shook my head, repulsed that some people could be this selfish. “You mentioned the money that had been stolen from the bazaar when I never mentioned it to you or your cousin. I should have realized your slip up right away, but I had too much on my mind.”