by Gale Borger
Mark held out his hand and Chris looked at it. He then scanned the room, for what, Mark didn't know. No one said a word and Chris tentatively held out his hand. Mark grabbed it and clasped it warmly. "Honestly, Chris," he said softly, "great job."
Chris flushed and pulled back. Mark let him go, but walked next to him on the way out the door. He slipped a fifty into Chris' hand and smiled. "See you tomorrow."
Chris looked up for the first time. "But I'm done."
"I wasn't kidding about being promoted. You are hereby the first full-time employee of Cool Bean if you want it."
Chris' bottom lip trembled slightly. He swallowed hard. "I want it."
Mark slapped him on the back. "Good, tomorrow at nine. Be there, Aloha."
Chris said aloud, "Aloha?"
Buzz and J.J. yelled from the other room, "Aloha!"
Chris almost smiled. "Man, you people are out there," and left.
* * *
Deputy Daryl Peterson had been on the police force for eight years. He applied for and got accepted as a county deputy three years ago. In all that time, he could not recall one single time Sheriff Green called him by his real name. He worked with a couple of dolts, and had been christened "Larry" by Sheriff Green when early in his career, Phil Swanson bungled an investigation and the four deputies were known from then on as Moe, Larry, Curly and Shemp. Humiliating, but in a weird way, kind-of understandable considering the mental capacity of his co-workers.
When he received orders to look for the blue Escort, he recognized his big chance to earn the respect he deserved from Sheriff Green. About time J.J. let him do something on his own; he probably got the orders because J.J. thought the Escort was long gone.
Daryl drove down the north road looking up and down every side street in town. When he left the last street within the city limits behind him, he picked up speed. The only places north of town were Ian Connor's FBI outpost and science area, and the old gravel pit. Larry bet his bottom dollar if there was nefarious activity going on; it would be at the gravel pit.
Daryl made a right turn and drove slowly down the long drive into the old pit. Mounds of unusable gravel and sand still mottled the landscape, making it impossible to see the entire area. Daryl pulled off to the side before the last bend. He radioed his location at the old gravel pit to Edie and exited his squad car. Unsnapping his holster, he kept his gun hand on the butt of his weapon and scrambled up the gravel hill. Poking his head over the top, he scanned the vast open area. Seeing nothing, Larry slid back toward his squad.
He called in to Edie and told her he was going to drive around and see what he could see, and pulled back onto the drive. Rounding that last bend, Larry slammed on the brakes. Drawing his weapon, he cautiously opened the squad and exited. "Guess you should have looked straight down while you were looking around, Larry Fine. No wonder the Sheriff thinks you're a goof."
There, lying in on his face in what seemed like a growing pool of blood was the body of a man. Daryl pointed his weapon through the open window of the squad and said, "Police. If you are not dead, please show me your hands, sir."
The body did not move.
Daryl took a shaky breath. "Sir, police! Show me your hands."
He transferred his weapon to his left hand and groped for the police radio attached to the console with his right. It crackled loudly and he jumped and squeaked. He almost dropped his gun, but grabbed it with both hands. Swearing and fumbling with his weapon, Daryl stretched the cord on the microphone to the max and it popped out of his hand. He tried to grab it, but watched helplessly as the mike zinged across the driver's seat, bounced once, hit the console, rebounded off his coffee cup and fell to the floor.
"Shh—crap. What next?" He looked back to the body—still lying on the ground in front of the squad. "Hey, you there! Don't move. I'll be right back. I mean it now, I'll blow your head off if I see you walking around!"
The dead guy didn't reply.
Daryl dove across the front seat as Sheriff Green's voice blasted in his ear. "Larry! J.J. here. Anything to report? We haven't heard from you in a while. You okay out there?"
Daryl grunted as he hefted his body over the console. He grabbed the weapon he had slapped on the dashboard, glanced out at the guy on the ground, and keyed the microphone. Breathing heavily, he sounded rather a lot like Darth Vader. " 2-3-2 J.J., Larry here. You'd better get out here. I got something."
"10-4. Don't do anything. Wait for backup."
"But Sheriff Green, I—"
"Secure the area Deputy. I repeat, wait for backup."
Daryl sighed. "10-4: 232 out." He slumped against the squad and swore at himself. Looking again at the perp on the ground, Daryl said, "You're really dead, aren't you, fella?"
The body still did not respond. Crap. This could have been the big one for me. He let out a breath. The only consolation is that no one else is here to witness my humiliating performance.
"Maybe I am a goof." He looked again at the body. "Good thing dead men tell no tales, I might have had to croak you myself."
Suddenly, it looked like the body twitched. "Shiiiiii—"
Daryl rolled a pebble in the direction of the body. It bumped along the ground and stopped about ten feet short. He picked up another and rolled again. This one landed about four feet from the body. After a couple more tries, Daryl gave up. "Definitely dead. Should have told J.J., but he cut me off."
He stood, gun at his side and stared at the body, willing it to twitch. Guess I should call the coroner, eh, fella?"
Taking out his cell phone, He called Coroner Malcolm Evans and told him what he thought he had. Malcolm assured him he'd be out in ten minutes or so. Larry decided he should take a look around, and gave the body a wide berth. The pool of blood had not changed since he first looked at the guy, so he figured it his imagination had him thinking he saw blood flowing. Walking behind the pile of gravel, Daryl noticed tire tracks leading down and away from his position. He took out the small notepad he always kept in his shirt pocket and scribbled a couple lines.
Daryl turned to walk back to the squad. He was about even with the front bumper and froze when he heard the roar of a car engine. Stepping away from the squad and out onto the gravel road, Daryl cocked his head and listened. The way sound bounces off the old quarry had him facing the road when the old Cutlass careened around the bend behind him. For a split second Daryl stood rooted to the spot. With inches to spare Daryl dove for the side of the road, The Cutlass veered and caught Daryl in mid leap, spinning him like a helicopter blade and throwing him against the front quarter panel of the squad. His last coherent thought was Larry Fine again!
He came to when J.J. was slapping his cheek and yelling in his ear. "Daryl, Can you hear me buddy? The ambulance is on the way! You hold on for me, will you?"
Daryl looked up and saw three faces staring at him. He cracked a smile. "Car hit—"
"I know, I know. The blue Escort ran you over."
"No Escort. Big. Brown. Rust." Daryl sank blissfully into unconsciousness.
J.J. said aloud. "No Escort. That's weird. Hey, Buzz, call Edie on the radio, tell her we're looking for an older brown large car, as well as the Escort. Curly and Shemp should be able to handle that."
Buzz raised a hand. "Got it," she shouted from near the body, and flipped open her cell phone.
Malcolm Evans and his assistant M.E. Ivan Sligorsky rolled onto the scene, followed by the ambulance from White Bass Lake. The paramedics took over and J.J. strolled over to where Malcolm stood taking notes on his trusty clipboard. Malcolm looked over his half-glasses and shook his head slowly. He jerked his head toward the body. "You know this guy J.J.?"
J.J. moved his ball cap and scratched his forehead. "Nope. He kicked one of the rocks Daryl rolled toward the body. "But it looks like someone has been playing Bowling for Dollars with the corpse. When you're done, wrap him up and I'll meet you at the morgue."
Malcolm nodded and spoke softly with Ivan. J.J. turned away, looking f
or Buzz and found her trying to direct traffic across the gravel pit. Little old ladies unloaded camp chairs and large umbrellas from their trunks, and Buzz kept moving their chairs farther from the crime scene. As soon as she moved on to another chair, someone else with blue hair and a large sun hat would toddle over and move the chair forward once again. By the time J.J. hurried across the quarry, Buzz was in a tug-of-war with one of the women. He sped up when he saw who it was.
"Mother, you need to stay back from the crime scene. You are old enough to know better, now give me that chair!"
Buzz's mother tugged on her end again. "Alice Christine, you let go of that chair this minute! Wait until your father gets home. I mean it, young lady, so help me if I have to come over there. . ."
Buzz smiled and dropped her end. "I give up. You know, Mom, the only excuse you missed was 'the dog ate it'."
"Don't get smart with me, young lady."
"Oops, I forgot that one." She sighed and spotted J.J. and spread her arms wide. "James. Would you please explain?"
J.J. smiled and removed his ball cap. "Ladies, we're about to move the body. We do not know who the victim is at this point, and I'll take it as a personal favor if you would keep the evidence of this investigation under your belts for the time being. Buzz and I would like to thank you for your help thus far." He smiled charmingly and the Geriatric SWAT team sighed as one.
Buzz moved to help fold a camp chair. Her hand was slapped and she looked up into her mother's angry eyes. "I can do that, Buzz. You can run along now."
"But, Mom, I was only trying to help. . ." Buzz looked at four accusing faces and wisely backed off.
She huffed over to J.J. and grabbed his arm. "What is it with them, anyway? I didn't do anything terrible! How come you could tell them all to jump off a bridge and they'd wave and smile before they dove off, and I follow proper procedure and all I get is yelled at?"
J.J. grabbed her around the neck and noogied her head. "They just like me better—ouch!"
He rubbed his side where Buzz elbowed him. She smiled a sneaky little smile. "You know that pisses me off, James." Turning her attention to where Malcolm and Ivan were loading the body bag onto the truck, Buzz bumped J.J. with the familiarity of long time friends. "What's up with the stiff?"
J.J. leered at her and grinned. In his best Groucho voice he tapped an imaginary cigar. "Are you talkin' about the stiffy over there, or the stiffy over here?"
Buzz sighed and poked him again. "You idiot, can you be serious for once?"
He rubbed his side again. "Evidently I'd better learn. We don't know who the dead guy is. I was going to ask you to come back to the morgue with me. We could grab a cup of coffee along the way and give Malcolm a chance to get a head start."
"I'd love to, but let me see Mom home first. I don't put it past those guys to show up at the morgue. Look at them. Four sets of beady little eyes just waiting for us to make a move."
J.J. eyeballed the four elderly women across the road. "I see what you mean. Go ahead and I'll meet you at the office."
Buzz jogged to her SUV. Waving, she climbed in and gunned the engine. The SUV rolled slowly along behind a red Crown Victoria, a black Bonneville, and Gerry Miller's big truck.
Chapter 8
Night had fallen by the time J.J. and Buzz met back at the morgue. The initial report was the man had extensive pre-mortem bruising, and someone really whacked him a good one upside the head causing blunt trauma, but a single gunshot to the head killed him. Shemp called in to say they found the Escort half sunk in the small lake at the rear of the gravel pit.
Buzz was intrigued about the corpse. "Who do you think he is?"
"No clue. Why don't you go take a look? Maybe you saw him somewhere."
Buzz wandered into Malcolm's cold room.
J.J. scratched his head. "None of us recognized him, and I hate to let out too many details at this point, but I suppose I can get a picture and circulate it around."
Buzz called from inside the cold room. "Uh, no need, J.J."
J.J. and Malcolm appeared in the doorway.
Buzz dropped the sheet over the face of the dead man and looked at the two men. "'Cuz Santa's not comin' to town again anytime soon.
* * *
Mid morning the next day had Mark banging on the motel door where his new Santa said he'd be. "Yo, Ren, you're late! We have a schedule and a contract." He banged some more and Nilly Brookheimer, the owner, sauntered down the sidewalk. "You got a problem with one of my tenants, sir?"
Mark sighed. "Not so much a problem, as a dilemma. My new Santa is late for work and this is his room."
Nilly rubbed his belly and shifted the fat cigar hanging from the right corner of his mouth. "Well now, you might want to check with Sheriff Green down to the Sheriff's office. He and a couple of his boys showed up here last night and I let 'em in the room. My guest however wasn't home then and it looks like he ain't home now."
A sick feeling settled over Mark's stomach. "Uh, thanks." He walked across the street to the Cool Bean and into his office. The voicemail light blinked on his desk phone. With a feeling of foreboding, Mark pressed the button. When the single message finished playing, Mark left his shop and walked next door to Fred's Pet Shop. He poked his head in the door and Fred knew immediately something was terribly wrong. "Mark?"
Mark swallowed and told her what had happened. She went to him and placed a hand on his arm. "Do you want me to go with you?"
He nodded, Fred hung the "Closed" sign in the window, and they drove to the Sheriff's office.
J.J. filled them in, and Mark went to identify the body. He interviewed with J.J. about his involvement with the victim, and by the time they left, Mark was ready to hang it up for the day.
They returned to Miller's Menagerie to find the "Open" sign in the pet shop window, and Gerry Miller behind the counter, stroking a small kitten. "Oh, hi, kids, I thought you might be tied up so I opened the store for you."
Fred absently scratched the kitten, and he crawled up her arm. "We got held up at the morgue. The guy killed out at the old quarry happened to be Mark's Santa, but we can't figure out why."
Gerry gave Mark a speculative look. "And Mark is. . ?
"Oh, Mom, please, you and the entire town knows Mark owns the new coffee shop next door to Miller's Menagerie, but what you might not know is I am going to marry him sometime in the future if he asks me."
She must have realized what she said, because simultaneously turned a bright shade of pink and shot Mark a hesitant glance. Mark recovered nicely. "That's true, Mrs. Miller." He held out his hand. "Mark Malone, coffee shop owner and future son-in-law."
Gerry smiled. "Yeah, I did know, I just wanted to check you out. So now that some one decked your Santa, I guess you'll need a replacement. How about Bill?"
"Dad?"
"Yes dear, your father. He's not busy, and he comes with his own Santa suit. Perfect, I'd say."
Mark broke into a big smile. "Wow. Do you really think he'd do it?"
The roar of a truck engine outside the shop stopped and a door slammed. The door to the pet shop flew open and Bill Miller stepped through, wearing red velvet pants and carrying a hat, top, gloves, and beard. He sported a huge smile. "So when do I start?"
Chapter 9
"Deck the Halls" played in the background and twinkle lights sparkled gaily on the tree in the corner of the Cool Bean. Mark had unknotted them the best he could, and Chris came up with the brilliant idea to stuff the gnarly lights against the wall in the back of the tree. The smell of pine and cinnamon blended with the rich smell of fresh ground coffee and blueberry muffins. Kids squealed and the packed house consumed coffee drinks at an alarming rate.
Mark worked magic behind the counter with an espresso machine and Fred, dressed as a Christmas pixie, took pictures of kids on Santa's lap while the new guy Mark hired to play an elf handed out small wrapped presents. Kitty wore a red and green ribbon around his neck and Henrietta sported a big red bow fastened to her collar
. She flopped happily amidst the chaos, chomping candy canes and dog treats.
Mark looked up and saw Buzz and J.J. enter the shop. He hailed them from under ten tons of cappuccino foam and saw J.J. freeze. Buzz touched his arm and followed his gaze. Mark looked over and saw his new elf leading Henri down the back hallway toward the back door. He dropped what he was doing and followed. Stepping outside the back door Mark pulled up short because the elf had Henri by the collar and a gun on his new friends.
"Hey you little twerp, that's my dog!"
The elf swung the gun Mark's way and he held up his hands. "Back off, big guy. There you go, nice and easy."
Mark backed against the end of the dumpster. "Really, man, what do you want with a used bulldog? She farts real badly, you know."
"Shut up, asshole. I don't want the dog. All I need is the collar, and you can have her back. Now don't anyone do anything stupid."
Hack bent to remove Henri's collar and a guttural voice said, "Stick 'em up, you rat tailed varmint!"
Hack jerked his gun up and whipped his head in the direction of the voice. A sickening thud like dropping a ripe melon on the sidewalk resounded through the back hall of the coffee shop and everyone looked up to see Gerry Miller standing in the doorway with Kitty on her shoulder and a large coffee urn in her hand, grinning from ear-to-ear.
Buzz slapped a palm against her forehead. "They'll be no living with her now!"
Fred ran to her mother and wrapped her arms around her, soon joined by Buzz, J.J., and Mark. They all stood for a moment, and when the adrenalin wore off, Buzz and Fred had tears in their eyes. Mark picked up Henri's collar, noticing for the first time the small zipper on the inside.
The group started to break up when a surly voice said, "So what do we do now, start singing Kum-ba-Ya?" A woozy Hack tried to lift himself off the ground.
"Go away kid, ya bother me," squawked Kitty.
Buzz place a foot between Hack's shoulder blades. J.J. cuffed him and stood him up.
"Kum-ba-Ya? No way, it's Christmas time. We need a Christmas carol," Gerry said looking at the coffee urn clutched in her hand. What began as a chuckle rose to a belly laugh. She called down the hallway where J.J. was leading a handcuffed Hack to Mark's office. "But I think this gives new meaning to "Decked in the Halls."
