Chapter Seven
You’ll enjoy the holiday so much more if you look on each new day as a new adventure.
—Muriel Sterling, Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas
Tilda and Jamal had been on the job almost an hour and a half, and Jamal was lobbying for a stop at Bavarian Brews when the call came in. “Vandalism on Candy Cane Lane. Looks like you moved into a high-crime neighborhood,” he teased.
“Oh, man, do we have to take this call?” Tilda groaned.
“What, you gonna send Big Jer out to investigate?”
“I wouldn’t mind.” In fact, she’d love to dump this on their lone detective. Jerry didn’t have that much on his plate.
“Not his department unless it’s a hate crime.”
“It might be.”
“Yeah, somebody hates candy canes.”
By the time they pulled onto the street, several neighbors were gathered in front of the Donaldson residence. Jamal had just parked the patrol car when Maddy Donaldson came storming up to them, the pom-poms on her boots swinging wildly. She looked mad enough to bite the head off a tiger.
“I’m gonna let you take the lead on this,” Jamal said as they got out of the car.
Tilda scowled at him. “Thanks.”
“We have vandals!” Maddy pointed to the ruins of her candy canes. “They knocked over our candy canes and smashed them. They knocked over the Welkys’, too, and they wrecked the Gordons’ Santa. Who would do such a hateful thing?” she demanded as if Tilda were psychic.
“Kids, probably.”
Maddy made a face. “Kids whose parents don’t keep an eye on them. Juvenile delinquents. You know, just last week we had a carload of boys tearing through here.”
“Did you report it?”
“Well, no. I didn’t get the license number. But it was a black SUV.”
That narrowed it down to half the vehicles in Icicle Falls. “You really should report these things when they happen.”
“Well, I’m reporting it now,” Maddy snapped.
Mrs. Team Spirit was now Mrs. PMS. “Okay,” Tilda said in her most calming voice.
“I expect you to get to the bottom of this. We can’t have all our holiday displays getting ruined. People will be disappointed.”
“I understand,” Tilda said.
The tightly wound spring that was Maddy Donaldson unwound. “Thank you. I know you’ll give this your full attention.” She began making introductions as if they were all at a holiday cocktail party. “This is Tilda Morrison,” she told the others. “She bought the Schmerzes’ house. Tilda, this is Carla Welky.”
“I’m Geraldine Chan,” said a petite, fortysomething woman. “We live three houses down,” she added, pointing to a house that had almost every square inch covered in lights.
“Was anything damaged at your house?” Tilda asked.
“Oh, no,” Geraldine said airily.
“I’m Gabriella Moreno,” put in another woman. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
Tilda thanked her and turned her attention back to Carla Welky, a woman in her fifties with a parka thrown over her pajamas and a knitted cap pulled over black hair with not a hint of gray. “Did you see anyone loitering around your place?”
Carla Welky shook her head. “It’s hard to imagine someone doing something like this.” She gazed up at Tilda as though they were in a war-ravaged city and Tilda was their rescuer. “Thank God you’re living here now. Once those vandals learn there’s a police presence in the neighborhood, they won’t dare to try anything.”
“We can hope,” Maddy said. She didn’t sound very confident of Tilda’s protective powers.
A pretty girl, perched on the edge of becoming a teenager, approached the group. Tilda was no fashion queen but she knew trendy, expensive clothes when she saw them. She was willing to bet this kid was Maddy Donaldson’s daughter. Of course, the fact that she was the spitting image of her mother helped Tilda reach her brilliant conclusion. At this rate she’d make detective in no time.
“Mom, I’m gonna be late for school,” the girl said.
“Just a minute,” Maddy responded. “Get in the car.” The daughter heaved a sigh and trudged back to their car and Maddy looked expectantly at Tilda, waiting for her to go into Law and Order mode.
“Did you see or hear anything suspicious last night?” Tilda asked Mrs. Welky.
“Like a black SUV?” Maddy asked, helping Tilda do her job.
“Mrs. Donaldson, please,” Tilda said. “I’ll ask the questions.”
Maddy blinked in surprise. “Oh. Yes, of course. Did you, Carla?”
“No,” the other woman said. “I took a melatonin.”
“Maybe Earl saw something,” Maddy persisted. “Her husband,” she added, obviously for Tilda’s benefit.
“Mrs. Donaldson, why don’t you take your daughter to school?” Tilda suggested.
Maddy managed to look insulted, hurt and reproachful all at the same time, but she did start for her car. “Don’t forget to talk to the Gordons,” she said over her shoulder.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. “Don’t worry,” Tilda called back, then returned her attention to Mrs. Welky. “How about your husband?”
“He’d sleep through an earthquake.”
“Okay, well, if you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call the station.”
“Or come over to your house?”
“Just call the station,” Tilda said, and moved on to the next scene of the Christmas crime.
The woman who lived there was outside now, too, and Maddy had taken a detour to talk to her, as well as a hefty old man and a couple of older women. Big excitement on Candy Cane Lane. On seeing Tilda’s approach, Maddy, who’d still been hovering, made a beeline for her car. The others stood and waited, talking among themselves, shaking heads and frowning. The old man scowled at Tilda as if this was somehow her fault.
She reached the little group just as Maddy drove off. Thank God she was at least rid of the Queen of Candy Cane Lane. “Which one of you is Mrs. Gordon?”
“Well, it’s not me,” the old man said.
Everyone’s a comic. Oh, goody.
“I am,” said the youngest woman in the group. She seemed to be somewhere in her midthirties. Tilda had seen her around town with a couple of school-age kids in tow.
“Did you see or hear anyone out in your yard?” Tilda asked.
The woman shook her head. “We were busy helping the kids with their homework until nine. Then we watched a movie and went to bed. I didn’t hear anything outside. But I go to sleep listening to music on my iPod.”
“Was anything else damaged besides your Santa?” Tilda asked as Jamal went over to examine the decoration, which was tied in a giant knot.
“I wish they’d damage my candy canes,” muttered the old man. “Give me a good excuse not to put the stupid things out every year. They’re cheaply made, too. Don’t buy any.”
Tilda ignored him and studied the Gordon woman.
She shook her head. “They left our candy canes alone. And, actually, I don’t think the Santa’s damaged. I think we can untie him and inflate him again, and he’ll be fine.”
Tilda nodded. “Did anyone see anything?”
The others all shook their heads.
Okay, she was done here. “Well, if you do...”
“We’ll call you,” said one of the women.
“Call 9-1-1,” Tilda instructed her. “That’s the best way to get a quick response.”
“Unless you’re home, right?” the same woman asked.
“Even if I am home.” Why did people think that just because a cop lived nearby she’d be on call 24/7? Probably because if something did happen in the neighborhood she wouldn’t ignor
e it. No cop would.
The grumpy old man gave her some parting advice. “You catch these little shits and teach ’em a lesson. Make ’em spend a night in jail, that’s what I say.”
Tilda acknowledged him with a curt nod. She suspected that if his property was damaged he’d be out for blood simply for the fun of it. But he had a point. Kids needed to learn to respect other people’s property.
“That’s the most excitement we’ve had all week,” Jamal said as they drove away.
Tilda frowned. Something didn’t add up. “Hard to picture any of our local JDs out at night in the cold stomping on a few candy canes.”
“Well, whoever did it probably isn’t gonna stop. Hey, that could make second watch interesting next time we’re on it.”
“I just hope they don’t go near Maddy Donaldson’s again,” Tilda said. “She’ll have a stroke.”
* * *
“What is wrong with kids these days?” Maddy fumed as she chauffeured Jordan to school.
“How come you think it’s kids?” Jordan asked.
“Well, who else would do something so immature and inconsiderate?”
Jordan shrugged. “I dunno.”
“That’s because there is no one. No sane adult would do such a thing. Where are these kids’ parents?”
“Who cares, anyway? It’s just a bunch of dumb candy canes.”
“It certainly is not ‘just a bunch of dumb candy canes,’” Maddy corrected her. “It’s people’s property. You can’t go around wrecking things that belong to others. I’m going to write a letter to the editor.”
“Whatever,” Jordan said.
“Don’t you whatever me, young lady,” Maddy snapped. “Some things are important.”
“Yeah, like doing stuff with your daughter.”
“We did do stuff. We made fudge Thanksgiving weekend. And I would’ve watched the movie with you and Daddy if you’d waited for me.”
“We got tired of waiting.”
Okay, so she’d stayed out a little later than she intended that night, but the cars had kept coming and she hadn’t wanted any child leaving the neighborhood disappointed. Anyway, they could’ve had some time together the day before if Jordan hadn’t confined herself to her room.
There was no sense bringing that up, though. “We’ll do something tonight,” she promised. Thank God someone else would be on candy-cane patrol so she could earn back her good-mother merit badge.
“Like what?” Jordan asked suspiciously.
“Like making Christmas cookies.”
Jordan perked up at that, and by the time Maddy dropped her off at school, pouting Alien Implant Jordan had been replaced by Sweet Jordan. Okay, the day could only get better.
Once she entered her shop, she definitely felt better. All was well here, shelves lined with glass jars filled with every imaginable kind of spice, from smoked paprika to curry. Her shop also offered herbs, spice rubs, fancy barbecue sauces, vanilla beans and a variety of exotic extracts. Her customers ranged from tourists to epicures and foodies, and Maddy enjoyed helping them find that special something or that hard-to-come-by seasoning, and talking about recipes.
At lunchtime Ivy Bohn came in looking for rose water. “I’m going to make Christmas cookies with the kids tomorrow,” she told Maddy. “I’m using my mom’s recipe and she always flavors the icing with rose water.”
“I’ll have to try it. Jordan and I are making cookies tonight.” Maybe she’d put rose water instead of almond extract in the spritz Christmas trees.
“You should. It’s really good.”
“Anything with butter and sugar is good,” Maddy said with a smile.
“You’re right about that.”
“And making Christmas treats together, that’s such a special tradition to start.”
“I think so,” Ivy agreed. “I’ve got tomorrow off and I’m going to stay home all day and play with the kids. I’m following Muriel Sterling’s advice about creating memories together.”
“Great idea,” Maddy said. “They grow up so fast.” Too fast.
“Promise? Sometimes I think we’re stuck in limbo.” Ivy sighed. “Or maybe it’s just me.”
“You’re still rebuilding your life.”
Ivy made a face. “Is that what you call it?”
“You’re making progress,” Maddy assured her. “Your shop is doing well, you’re keeping your household running. That’s what counts.”
“I guess,” Ivy said dubiously. “Hey, what was going on this morning? What happened to your candy canes?”
Now it was Maddy’s turn to make a face. “Vandals. Some rotten kids were out last night tearing down candy canes.”
“That’s awful!” Ivy said. “What’s wrong with people, anyway?”
“I have no idea. I just hope the police catch the little monsters who did this and throw them in juvenile hall.”
“Or make them put up everyone’s decorations next year,” said Ivy. “Fit the punishment to the crime, and spare me from having to put up my lights. Not that I don’t like having them up,” she hurried to add.
“I understand,” Maddy told her. “It’s work. But it’s worth it. Our neighborhood looks amazing.”
“Yes, it does.” Ivy nodded. “Well, I’d better get going. Let me know if the cops find whoever did it.”
“I will.” But she wasn’t going to wait for the police to do something. Maddy Donaldson was on the job. Tonight she was planning to stay up and keep watch. If those rotten little miscreants returned, she had a cell phone and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
Even though the day started out miserably, it ended happily. Alan came home on his lunch hour and set up new candy canes in their yard and the Welkys’. She made turkey chimichangas for dinner, which were a big hit, and after dinner she and Jordan baked Christmas cookies.
The cookie-baking led to great mother-daughter bonding, with Jordan catching Maddy up on all the latest school gossip. One of her friends had cheated on her math test and was in big trouble. Another friend had just had her first period. This was shared rather wistfully.
“You don’t want to be in a hurry for that,” Maddy said. “I mean, yes, it’s an important rite of passage, but it’s kind of a nuisance, too.”
“I guess,” Jordan said dubiously. “But what if mine never comes?”
“It will. Trust me.”
That seemed to be all the reassuring her daughter needed. She went back to cranking out trees onto the baking sheet with the cookie press.
“Why don’t we take some of these over to Mrs. Walters when we’re done?” Maddy said.
“By that you mean me.”
Maddy smiled. “You run over with the cookies and I’ll stay behind and do cleanup. How’s that for a deal?”
Jordan was no fool. She took the deal.
The conversation moved into new territory. Boy Land. The new boy at school was named Logan and he was an older man: fourteen. He was reeeally cute and looked just like Riker Lynch. (“He was on Dancing with the Stars, Mom. Remember?”) Riker the Second was into video games and skateboarding. And could Jordan have a skateboard?
Skateboards. When Maddy thought of skateboards, she thought of kids with droopy clothes and bad grades. That might have been true twenty years ago but it wasn’t now, she reminded herself, and switched to visions of her daughter flying through the air and breaking her wrist.
“We’ll see,” she said. “So, tell me more about Logan.”
“What else do you want to know?”
“Is he interested in any sports?”
“No.”
“What’s his favorite subject in school?”
“I don’t know,” Jordan said, her tone of voice saying what she thought of that dumb question.
“Do
es he like school?”
Jordan merely shrugged.
So, not into learning. Maddy was beginning to get a bad feeling about this kid. “Where does he live?”
“On Alder.”
A few blocks over, an older, run-down section of town. Don’t be a snob, Maddy told herself.
“It’s just him and his mom. His dad left when he was ten.”
“Oh, that’s sad.” And it was. Was his mother managing to keep tabs on him?
Jordan switched to more interesting factoids about her dream boy. “He wants to become a street skateboarding champion. There’s this big competition in Seattle. You can win a whole bunch of money.” On she went, detailing Logan’s dreams of glory, all the funny things he did in English to disrupt the class. Oh, yes, Logan sounded like a real winner. But at least he had goals.
Anyway, there was no point in worrying about her daughter and Logan turning into Romeo and Juliet. At thirteen, Jordan had a crush on a new boy every other month.
The subject finally changed to clothes and Maddy proposed a shopping trip. “Ace your math test and maybe we can reward you with those new jeans you want.”
“Sweet,” Jordan said with a smile.
Maddy smiled, too. Moments like this made up for the times when mother-daughter relations were strained. There’d probably be a lot more strained relations over the next few years, but she hoped they’d always have Christmas cookies to bond over.
Jordan dutifully delivered goodies to Mrs. Walters when they were done, then retired to her room with a handful of gumdrop and spritz cookies to study for her math test and no doubt text all her friends. At least she’d have good things to text tonight.
Alan and Maddy watched a movie on demand and then called it a night. Or, rather, Alan did. “I’m going to stay up awhile,” Maddy said.
“You are? Why?”
“I want to see if whoever destroyed our candy canes comes back.”
“They won’t. They’ve had their fun.”
“Well, I’m going to make sure they don’t have any more.”
“Suit yourself,” said Alan, “but if you ask me it’s a waste of time.”
“Not if I catch ’em.”
“Knock yourself out,” he said, and kissed her good-night.
Christmas on Candy Cane Lane Page 11
