“It does appear that way.”
At which point, in the cramped hallway by this door to the outside, Todd laughed.
“You two! I heard about how you work things out. Real detective stuff. Funny to see it up close.”
Jack smiled.
“What is it Sherlock Holmes says? Just ‘the science of deduction’, Todd. All right, let’s go out and see what we can see.”
With another nod to the electrician, he pulled open the door, snow blowing in with the draught.
And then Todd stood to the side to let Jack take the lead as they walked out.
4. A Look at the Snow
Sarah was just steps behind Jack as he stopped.
He turned to her. “Not much light out here.”
And Todd, with an eagerness as if he was now part of the team said, “I’ll go get a torch.”
And when he was gone …
“Sarah, back here, with the Christmas lights about to be turned on, there’d be nobody, right?”
“Everyone would be round at the front. Except for Bill. Getting ready for his big moment.”
Todd came back and handed Jack a long silver torch which — when Jack slid it on — created a bright circle of light.
And following Jack’s lead, Sarah remained planted just steps outside the doorway while Jack slowly aimed the light from the door, moving it slowly back and forth on the ground outside.
And at first, she didn’t see anything but the soft white eddies of snow, heavier now, apparently the wintry blast kicking in again. The car park, half-full of vans, the snow around them dirty and grey.
But then …
She touched Jack’s arm — he stopped moving the torch back and forth.
“Wait a second. See there?”
She pointed to the pavement at the side of the hall, and Jack kept the light locked in that direction.
“What is it?” Todd said.
Jack nodded.
“Footsteps. Barely visible, with the snow filling in spaces. Still … you can see them there. Good spot, Sarah.”
And as Sarah looked at the footsteps that were rapidly disappearing, she noticed something else.
“Jack — those steps …”
But then, in the hushed quiet, Todd’s phone trilled.
“Oh, sorry. Praveer’s looking for me. Upstairs. Got to get things tied down for the night.”
“We’re good, Todd. Thanks.”
Todd started to turn away.
“Oh, and Todd … maybe for now, don’t mention the door, the steps … any of that. For a bit?”
Another big smile. “Gotcha. Could be evidence, eh?” He looked away for a second. “Just hope nothing bad has happened to old Bill.”
And then Todd disappeared back into the building.
*
“You were saying?” Jack said.
Sarah had to wonder: did Jack not really spot what she had noticed? Or was he just curious how her observational skills were working tonight?
“The footsteps … hard to see, really … but look at them. Steps to the left, then to the right. Just back and forth, right? But apart from those steps that lead straight from the door …”
“None lead back.”
“Exactly.”
And for a moment they both stayed still.
Until Jack walked closer.
Though he had to step on some of those prints, it wouldn’t matter, Sarah guessed, not with the falling snow quickly erasing any sign that someone had stood here, paced back and forth here.
He crouched down, the torch hovering only inches above the snow.
“What are you looking for?” Sarah said, coming closer as well.
“Not sure.”
He brushed at the soft snow with his right hand, slowly, as if sifting through the white powdery flakes.
One spot, then another.
Until—
“Okay.”
She saw it as soon as the wave of his hand had overturned some more snow.
He picked up the cigarette. Sniffed it.
“Menthol.”
“Wow,” she said. “This spot, back here, is telling quite a story.”
“Yeah. Bill comes out …” Jack flashed the light back to the door. “Leaves the door open so he can dash back for his big moment. Paces a bit as he smokes a cigarette.”
“And he doesn’t go back in.”
“Appears that way. But why?”
Sarah kept looking at the cigarette. She didn’t know Bill Vokes.
But …
“Jack, the cigarette …”
“Hmm?”
“He didn’t finish it.”
Jack held the half-finished cigarette in his hand like a crucial piece of evidence.
Which — she thought — just maybe it could be.
“Yeah. So?”
“You come out for a smoke. You’re going to finish it, then head back in, right?”
Jack stood up from his crouch.
“Yeah, most likely.”
Sarah still as well. “That is, unless something interrupts that smoke. Something happens so you don’t tromp back inside, ready for your performance.”
Now Jack scanned the road back here.
“Lot of car tracks.”
And Sarah saw that a few cars had been through here, churning the snow into well-carved ruts.
“Main parking area for the Christmas stalls,” said Sarah.
Jack walked over. “Could be … car comes here … right next to Bill. And then — cigarette dropped — Bill vanishes.”
“Maybe a friend,” said Sarah.
“Makes him an offer he can’t refuse?”
“But if he’d gone off somewhere — even on a whim — you’d expect him to get changed, right? Take his wallet with him?”
“And his cigarettes,” said Jack.
He turned to her.
“So — we still don’t know what happened?” she said.
Jack was still looking around as if this back area of the town hall had more secrets to reveal.
“Nope. Doesn’t make much sense to me.”
And as if the evening turning blustery wasn’t enough of a chill, Jack’s words only made the evening feel icier …
Which is when her father came out through the open door, with a cheery “Hello, you two? What are you up to?”
And that sudden chill that had nothing to do with temperature, faded.
*
She followed her father back into the building, Jack behind them.
“’Fraid,” her father said, “we’ve been all over this place. Top to bottom. No sign of Bill, sorry to say.”
She followed her dad until they reached the main hallway, and the stairs up.
A few of the other men were walking out of the building, their search turning up nothing.
She saw Praveer off to one side, nodding, talking to Todd.
Her father stopped, turned, and looked from Jack to her. “I just called his wife. Emily. Dear lady.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Not much. That Bill seems to have gone missing. Of course, she knows his habit of vanishing for time to time.”
“Michael — did she sound worried?”
“A tad. But I said, ‘well … it’s old Bill. He’s bound to turn up’. Though I didn’t say to her … can’t imagine him missing this tonight, disappointing all those kids.”
Her father looked down.
And Sarah thought: this doesn’t make sense to him either.
And when he looked up again … “Did you find anything down here?”
She looked at Jack.
She knew — early days, whether this was a mystery or not — Jack liked keeping what they knew close. Even from her dad, of whom Jack was especially fond.
“Well, he dressed down here. Stepped out. Maybe for a smoke. That’s about it.”
An edited version of what they thought they knew.
Michael nodded.
“Damned peculiar thing, right
in the middle of the holidays. I wonder—”
And now he looked right at her.
“I think we need to wait. Overnight. See if he turns up. Could all be nothing.”
The tone of his voice showed that he didn’t believe that at all.
“Does that make sense?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. I know what Alan would say … it isn’t a missing person case when someone’s just been gone for a few hours.”
“Right. So — how about I call you in the morning? Let you know if anything happened?”
Sarah didn’t like the worried tone in her father’s voice.
She knew that for him and her mother the holidays were special. A joyous event, filled with music, friends, toasts to the new year to come. And of course her mother’s extravagant — and experimental — meals. Which could often go awry. (Not that anyone would whisper a word about that …)
“Sounds good, Dad.” Then, giving him a hug. “Nothing more to do here. We should all head home, hmm?”
And Michael seemed to be stuck for a moment, as if he was missing something.
While Sarah thought maybe we all are.
But then he snapped out of it, gave a hearty, “carry-on” smile and led the way out of the Town Hall.
Away from the place where Bill Vokes had just … vanished.
5. A Christmas Goose
“What do you think, Riley?” Jack asked his dog. The spaniel watched as Jack wove the string of coloured lights through the beams of his narrow saloon.
And not only would he have coloured lights, he actually had a tree this year.
Small, by the standards of what most people in the village put in their parlour, but still, though only four feet tall, a real tree, that filled the boat with that never-to-be-forgotten aroma of pine.
Riley — for his part — sat with a cocked head looking at the glowing lights, his expression … not at all sure.
Jack walked over to the tree. That too had a small string of blue lights and a handful of ornaments.
A very few of them with a special meaning.
One made by his daughter in kindergarten, her tiny handprint in plaster.
And then another, a stuffed bear with a small photo frame on his belly. The picture … his grandchild.
And finally, one that — well, could be hard to look at.
Written on the back: “Metropolitan Opera, 1989”.
A golden silhouette of the great opera house.
He remembered the night he bought that with Katherine.
Not even married yet, but somehow buying this ornament … together.
And the opera … that magical production of “La Boheme”, the streets of Paris bursting off the giant Met stage, snow falling on the starving artists’ garret, Puccini’s music just taking them away, and, and—
He stopped.
That ornament in his hand.
With his free hand he wiped at his eyes.
That one, he thought, sneaked up on me.
And if as sensing something — and boy, are dogs ever smart? — Riley had finally moved from his position observing the lights and walked over to Jack, brushing his leg.
“Right, time for a walk, boy. Hmm?”
Though looking down at the soulful eyes of his springer, he wondered if Riley knew, that for a few moments, Jack had been somewhere else.
Long ago. Far away.
“A walk will do both of us good.”
But before he grabbed Riley’s leash — more of a prop in case someone on the walk objected to the free-roaming dog racing through the snow-filled field — he arranged the gifts a bit better under the tree.
Not a lot of presents. Daniel, Chloe, Michael and Helen. All due to visit for festive holiday dinner on The Grey Goose in a few days’ time.
But still … no gift for Sarah.
So far, in his haunting of the shops in Cherringham, and then Bourton-on-the-Water, and even as far as Oxford, nothing had leapt out at him as the perfect gift.
He advised Riley of his predicament: “Still got a bit of time, hmm?”
Riley turned from the tree, to the steps leading out of the Goose, the way to the field.
The clock for that gift though … was ticking.
*
Riley leapt off the boat ramp, headlong into the fluffy snow.
Only inches deep, but enough, Jack saw, for his dog to land with a slippery roll — before springing up and dashing away across the meadow.
As Jack walked, he watched Riley cut crazy trails through the snow, criss-crossing the occasional track of some other dog, those straight lines showing a more orderly progression through the meadow.
And though it still hovered around freezing, he guessed the snow might melt some by this afternoon.
Not like back in New York where a pre-Christmas snow might just stick around until spring. Some winters — could be amazingly tough.
Not so here, and that was a good thing.
Jack smiled at that: don’t even own a shovel.
He saw Riley stop as if spotting some invisible rabbit, look back at Jack, and then rocket away for some more crazed running.
After a romp like this, a long snooze would be in order.
And Jack thought about the previous night.
What should have been a special night. The great tree, the lights thrown on, the stalls filled with customers, the whole Dickens image of it — perfect.
Except, in this case, Santa had gone missing.
But then again … maybe not.
This Bill Vokes had some peculiar habits apparently.
So, who knows, could all be nothing. And the holidays could roll on with the only difficult question being what to get for that last all-important gift.
Riley had just about reached the road all the way on the other side of this rolling meadow. The dog stopped — as he always did — about to begin his curlicue race back to Jack, his own slow amble more or less in the same direction …
When his phone trilled.
Amazing to be so far away from anything here, and yet — as strong a signal as you’d get in central London. Soon, no place on the planet would be free of ring tones, Jack guessed. He dug out his phone, sliding to answer, not noting the number as he brought the phone up.
“Hello?”
Riley was reaching the end of his zig-zag race back to Jack, and ready to get back on to the boat.
“Jack, Michael here. Bad news, I’m afraid …”
*
Sarah leaned over Grace’s chair.
With great graphic skills, a good creative sense, and a personality that charmed potential clients, her assistant was one amazing asset.
Now this — a massive post-holiday sales brochure — was one of the last of her projects to get done, tidied up, and they could close for a blessed respite.
“What do you think?” Grace said.
“Hmm, I think the colours are great; definitely pop. And I think the shops will love it.”
“So, are we done then?”
“Maybe run it by them first — but really, I think they’ll be more than happy!”
Grace beamed. Though now they were as good as equals in the small company, she still relied on Sarah’s eyes.
Meanwhile, Sarah had to get back to her own dangling projects. A gaggle of new business cards and website updates.
Not the most exciting jobs, but with a mortgage to pay …
And she couldn’t even begin to think about university costs to come in the next few years for Chloe and Daniel.
Purse strings and belts would both have to be tightened.
And as she reached her desk — a mini-tree with tiny electric lights perched on one corner, surrounded by cards sent by other businesses and clients — she heard a bell, the door downstairs opening.
That had been Grace’s idea.
Why not something old-school … the tinkling of a bell over the door to signal the arrival of a customer?
With the sound of steps, Sarah turned to the stair
s to see who was coming — no appointments were booked. The door opened and Jack walked in. Grace popped out of her seat.
She always loved it when Jack dropped in!
Jack was all smiles to her, then looking at Sarah.
But in a flash Sarah thought: This is not a social visit.
Something was up.
6. The Trouble with Bill
“Jack!” Grace said. “You should have called. I’d have popped over to Huffington’s for some mince pies. And put the kettle on.”
“Grace, nothing I’d like better. Actually just wanted a quick word with Sarah. But I’ll make sure I call ahead next time if you’re going to buy me cookies.”
Sarah saw Grace beam at that.
But now she knew Jack wanted to talk.
“Grace, why don’t you take a break anyway? Grab a proper coffee. I’m good here.”
Grace looked over. Sarah knew that her assistant understood that she tried to keep a wall between their friendship and the detective work that she and Jack did.
“Brilliant! I’ll leave you two to your plotting.”
Jack smiled as Grace grabbed her winter coat, a puffy knee-length thing with a faux fur collar and hood. Very cute, Sarah thought, thinking she herself needed to update a few things in her own wardrobe.
Never enough time.
As Grace leaned up to give Jack a quick goodbye peck, Sarah waited. And when she was gone, Jack looked over.
“Now, actually, I think I will have that cuppa. Cause I think we have some planning to do.”
“What’s happened?” she said.
“Bill Vokes,” said Jack.
“Oh. Has he turned up?”
She saw Jack shake his head, his face serious.
“Nope. Not a sign.”
Sarah waited for Jack to explain.
“Your dad called me,” he said. “Figured you were pretty hectic this morning — said he felt a bit awkward asking you.”
“He wants us to get involved?”
“Yep,” said Jack. “You got time?”
Sarah didn’t have to work it out. For all his apparent peccadilloes, Bill Vokes was someone who gave a lot to Cherringham.
It was the least she could do.
“I’ll make the time,” she said. “How do we start?”
“We start with a cup of tea,” he said.
*
Sarah opened the main office door and took the icy steps down onto the High Street, her hand on the cold iron railing.
Cherringham--Secret Santa Page 3
