The Single Dad's Holiday Match

by Tanya Agler

  “The officer said nothing of value was taken, with value being negotiable. Was something stolen?”

  Of all the questions to ask, he’d have to ask that one. I promise I won’t tell anyone.

  She’d made a promise to Jonathan about the locker, and her word was her bond. She wouldn’t lie, but by telling the truth, she might be signing her resignation letter. Her shoulders tightened. “Yes, I am aware of something that went missing.”

  Only the soft hoot of a great horned owl broke through the long silence. “I’m waiting, Ms. Novak.”

  Mr. Whitley tapped his foot on the sidewalk, and she stopped from crossing her arms and rubbing her coat sleeves for extra warmth.

  My job or the investigation? Her boss’s stony eyes glinted at her. “I’ll try to find out if I’m at liberty to tell you, but I need the police department’s express authorization.”

  His frown reflected his clear displeasure. “I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon at one to talk about your contract. If you choose to disclose what is missing from the center where I contribute a lion’s share of the yearly budget before then, text me. Good evening.”

  No doubt he would consult with his attorney to find out what options he had for releasing her early from her contract.

  Jonathan had said he wanted to stop by on his way home tonight from the police station, but what commitment could she offer or accept if Mr. Whitley fired her tomorrow? Once again, she’d be facing small-town residents as the poor darling who had a bright future but couldn’t convert that promise into something permanent and real. No, that was the old Brooke talking, but still...

  Depending on tomorrow, she might have to search for yet another bright new beginning. She should never have made promises to Colin and Aunt Mitzi about not moving again. Would she be qualified for the few jobs available in Hollydale? She might have to apply in Asheville, saddling her with a long commute, which would leave little time for a fledgling relationship.

  She’d wait for Jonathan to say whether he could stand beside her if she had to start all over again. She loved him enough to ask and enough to respect his decision.

  * * *

  BROOKE WAS TOO QUIET. He pulled into Mitzi’s driveway and sneaked a glance at her in the passenger seat. Ever since Brooke talked to Frederick Whitley, she looked as though a strong wind would knock her over. He longed to hold her close until they both had enough stamina to face what lay ahead. Together.

  Her hand went to the car door. From here, he’d head straight to the police station, since his daughters were spending the night at Aunt Tina’s. His aunt was already excited about hitting the sales with Izzy tomorrow while Vanessa would assist Uncle Drew with decorating the house.

  Even though he’d be pulling an all-nighter reviewing video footage and writing reports at his desk, Jonathan couldn’t let this moment fade without telling Brooke how he felt. Life could disappear in an instant. Love in any form was too precious not to seize it.

  Love. He loved the way Brooke tackled every project, the big ones and the small ones, wanting to spread happiness to some person’s life. He loved the way she smelled the aroma of fresh coffee, holding the cup to her nose and taking a big sniff, then curling up one side of her mouth. He loved how she made him feel, energized, treasured and human.

  Somehow this beautiful woman brought depth to everything around her.

  On this day for giving thanks, he’d be remiss if he didn’t tell her half of what he felt inside.

  “Brooke, I...”

  She turned toward him, anguish written on her features. “I have a meeting with Mr. Whitley tomorrow afternoon. There’s a good chance he’s—”

  “I love you.”

  He blurted out the words and winced. Of all the places in the world to tell a woman he loved her. A squad car didn’t scream romance.

  And he wanted to be the man who shared that and more with her. Because in this world, connecting with someone was worth any price. Even the agony of putting himself out there without jokes, without his shield, without any promise of control.

  “I...” She shook her head. “I—”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” He leaned over until his forehead touched hers. She didn’t flinch, nor did she move away. All good signs. “This has been a hard day.”

  “But there’s a lot I should say. That I have to say.” Brooke sighed but held steady.

  “There are times when you don’t have to say anything. You just cherish the moment.”

  She leaned in and kissed him then, a sweet kiss of longing, of promise, of new beginnings. He clung to the feeling. He’d never expected love to strike twice.

  He brought her into his arms, not wanting to let her go. Now or ever. “You were right earlier. This is the day for new beginnings.”

  She crooked her head against his shoulder, and how she was nestled against him felt as though she were made for that spot and that spot alone. “Maybe so. Frederick Whitley can let me go and I’ll need another fresh start.”

  This was the woman who won Izzy over. She could win over anyone, even someone as hard as Whitley. If not...

  “There are other jobs in Hollydale.”

  She leveled a look in his direction. “I seem to recall discussing pride with a certain someone.”

  His career path still wasn’t resolved with the decision coming on Monday, but he’d stay in town regardless of the outcome. “A beautiful woman pointed out I have control over my choices, and my choice is to lay it all on the line. We’ll make it through this in Hollydale together.” She closed her eyes, and he rubbed her cheek with his index finger, her smoothness a balm against his calloused skin. “With any other person, I’d feel compelled to come up with a corny joke that would ruin the moment. With you, the only compulsion I have is to be myself.”

  She opened her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes dynamic and haunting. “That may be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “I’m glad I said it.” He offered a smile. “For so long, I vowed I wouldn’t let my job take over my life. I didn’t want to be like my parents that way.”

  “You’re nothing like your parents.” Her protests warmed his heart.

  “If I don’t get the detective’s position, I’ve made up my mind. The Maxwells are staying put.” He saw hope in her eyes. “I’m Izzy and Vanessa’s father, and I’d love for you and Colin to be part of my family.”

  Her breath hitched, and a fine puff of exhaled air dissipated in the car. It seemed to be growing colder by the second. “There’s so much I need to tell you.”

  With some reluctance, he let go of her. “You need to rest, especially so you can talk to Whitley with a clear head. No sense in assuming something will happen when it hasn’t. Neither of us can control the outcome. A wise woman taught me that.”

  He pulled away, but their connection still held. From now on, the mere smell of vanilla would make him stop and look for her.

  “The issue with Colin...”

  “Can wait until your situation and mine are settled. I’m sorry I doubted him, but not sorry I did my job.” Not for the first time, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “Get some sleep so you can convince Whitley you’re the best thing that’s happened to the Hollydale community center.” He smiled more. “Which you are.”

  A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she nodded. “Everything will come out tomorrow.”

  “Including every leftover turkey recipe known to humankind. Turkey tetrazzini, turkey noodle soup and, my personal favorite, turkey pancakes.” He couldn’t resist a little humor.

  “With gravy syrup. Sounds delicious.”

  A knock on her window caught them both by surprise, judging from her expression. He lowered the window, and a bark heralded Daisy and Colin, the boy’s wide grin the mirror image of Brooke’s. “It’s not every day you find your mom in a car with steamed w
indows.”

  Colin laughed, leading Daisy to the sidewalk. Brooke rolled her eyes before she hopped out of the car. She shut the door and then peeked through the window. “Are you free for lunch?”

  “My shift ends at three.”

  She removed her keys from her purse, then dropped them and bent to pick them up. “I’ll text you to let you know what time I’m available. Wish me luck that I won’t be permanently free for lunch.”

  She walked away, and he watched her unlock the front door. Keys. He blinked and considered everything he knew about the case. When she arrived at the center, she had the locks changed. At the Halloween event at the center, someone scratched the locker room door, a sign the culprit hadn’t had a key. Somehow, this case hinged on keys.

  He reversed the car, more eager than ever to review the camera footage and discuss his new lead with the sheriff before requesting search warrants. A theory formed, and he knew exactly what to look for in that footage tonight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JONATHAN TAPPED HIS finger on the steering wheel of his squad car and waited for the sheriff, who would arrive any minute with the search warrant. A quiet, ordinary neighborhood with ranch houses marked this residential street where Ray Hinshaw lived.

  While he’d given some thought to Ray, the former director was gone from the center before the trouble began. The one formal interview with Ray had taken place over the phone, but he’d sounded distracted, so Jonathan had kept it brief. Every time Jonathan had followed up, it seemed Ray was unreachable, but this morning had changed everything when Jonathan saw him coming out of The Busy Bean.

  And the more he’d thought about it, the more the clues pointed to Hinshaw. Why the exchanges took place at the center. Why the suspect felt comfortable hiding the stash in the lockers where Mr. Floyd seldom cleaned. Why keys kept recurring in his dreams along with a certain brunette.

  The sheriff slowed down as he passed him and held up his thumb. Mike parked his squad car in Hinshaw’s driveway, effectively blocking the exit of any cars from the garage.

  That was Jonathan’s cue to join Mike. Together they’d search Hinshaw’s house and determine if they found any and enough evidence to take him to the station for further questioning. Mike gripped the warrants, and they progressed to the front door.

  The hedges needed a good trimming, their spiky boughs sticking every which way. A rotted jack-o’-lantern sat next to the door, flies buzzing around the hollow orb. In the corners of the grimy windows, dew sparkled on strands of several spiderwebs. It looked like Hinshaw might have been telling the truth about being away from his house for a long period of time. Mike sent a careful nod in Jonathan’s direction, and adrenaline coursed through his body. In this line of work, they had to be prepared for anything.

  Mike did the honors of knocking. “Ray Hinshaw? Are you in there? It’s the police.”

  Seconds seemed like hours while they waited. Jonathan heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and he kept his hand from approaching his weapon.

  The front door creaked open to reveal a man in his late fifties with bloodshot eyes and unkempt hair. Scruff lined his prominent jaw. “Good morning, Sheriff Harrison, Officer Maxwell.” Ray opened the door the rest of the way, tying the belt of his black robe. He yawned and waved them inside. “I didn’t expect you to visit to pay your condolences.”

  Mike glanced at Jonathan and then back at Ray. “Condolences?”

  “I’ve been out of town for a month. Dad took sick and sadly died last week. My flight landed after midnight and I didn’t arrive home until three this morning. I went to The Busy Bean for a bag of my favorite coffee beans earlier, then came home and sacked out again.”

  Jonathan blinked back his surprise. Once they confirmed Ray was on that flight, he’d have an unbreakable alibi for the community center burglary.

  Mike stood there, a flicker of shock apparent on his face. “I’m sorry for your loss, but this is an official visit, Mr. Hinshaw.”

  “What’s with the Mr. Hinshaw business? Call me Ray. I’ve known your parents, Carl and Diane, for years, Mike.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned again. “Come on in. Mind you, I haven’t had my first cup of coffee yet.”

  Mike stayed on the stoop. “Officer Maxwell and I have a couple of questions about the community center.”

  “I guess now’s as good a time to talk as any. Besides, I’ll be moving to Cincinnati soon. Just came back to get the house ready to sell.” They entered, and Ray motioned them toward the kitchen. The room was a little small, but had plenty of space for the three of them. Ray located a coffee grinder and the bag of coffee beans. “With all the weekend trips to Cincinnati, I let my job performance at the center suffer. After I was fired, I stayed with my father until he passed away.”

  Jonathan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, the pain of apparently being wrong about Ray’s involvement made his collar that much more uncomfortable. Then the hollowness in Ray’s eyes tore through him. “I’m also sorry for your loss.”

  “Any distraction right about now works for me.” Ray inserted the filter into the machine and leveled the grounds. “Best to get the questions out of the way.”

  Jonathan reached for his notepad, determined to see this case through. A minor delay wouldn’t hurt either, considering the dressing down he was going to take from Mike back at the station. “I have a few questions about security procedures when you worked at the center and who all had access to your keys.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the vague text I had from Yolanda last night about a break-in?”

  “Yolanda, the assistant director?”

  “Yeah, we dated for a while, but it went nowhere.”

  Jonathan stopped taking notes and stared at Ray as the pieces fell into place. Yolanda wasn’t a mole, per se, but liked to pass along information.

  “I texted her on Monday to ask if she knew of anyone looking for a house before I put this one on the market.”

  That most likely solved the mystery of who informed Whitley about what was going on at the center. Jonathan would stake his fading reputation as a detective on the scenario that Yolanda had believed Ray would return to Hollydale and maybe even try to reclaim his job now that he’d no longer be flying back and forth to Ohio. Presumably she hadn’t known about the permanent move.

  “So, you haven’t even been in town for the past month.” Jonathan stuck his stub of a pencil back in his pocket.

  “No, although right about now, I sure wish I had been.” Ray bent over and picked up a pizza box off the floor. More takeout containers covered almost every inch of counter space. The older man ran a hand through his messy hair and shook his head. He opened the dishwasher and piled in plates. With the rattle of every dish landing in the racks, Jonathan heard the death rattle of the detective position, so close and yet so far. It, along with any chance of solving this case today, seemed a lifetime away.

  “Pardon the mess. My youngest son, Peyton, was supposed to take care of the house. I didn’t expect him to trash the place.”

  Peyton had never been one of Jonathan’s favorite people in Hollydale, not since he’d been the leader of the group antagonizing Caleb all those years ago. Still, this situation was rather embarrassing, and he kept his opinion of Peyton to himself.

  Mike placed his notepad back in his pocket. “We’ll come back another time.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind talking now.” Ray opened cabinets until he found a clean mug and poured a cup of coffee, stirring in powdered creamer. “I thought his new girlfriend would be a good influence on Peyton, what with having a steady job and all.”

  “A girlfriend?” Jonathan’s ears perked up. “Do you know where she works?”

  “In Asheville, at the Department of Motor Vehicles.”

  Goose bumps dotted Jonathan’s arms, and his gaze went to Mike, who retrieved the warrant from his fr
ont pocket. “Ray, we have reason to believe your son and his girlfriend might be selling fake IDs and using the community center as a front. I have a warrant to search your house for evidence.”

  “Go ahead.” Ray set his cup down so hard, coffee sloshed out the top. “Nothing will surprise me today.”

  The search commenced. Ray stood back, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. It wasn’t long before Jonathan and Mike uncovered a cache of burner phones and other evidence hidden in a mattress, more than enough to justify them tracking down Peyton for questioning.

  Although Jonathan’s gut instinct told him he had most of the story. Peyton used the center with an insider’s knowledge of its security measures. When Brooke changed the locks, he no longer had access to his father’s keys. When desperation struck, he apparently resorted to burglary.

  “Do you have someone you can call for support?” Mike asked.

  Ray nodded, his lips in a straight line. Noises came from the living room, and Jonathan and Mike hurried that way, with Ray following them.

  “What’s going on?” A burly man in his midthirties stood at the front door.

  Ray blurted, “Peyton, tell the police you had nothing to do with whatever happened at the center.”

  Peyton pursed his lips. Then he turned and ran. Jonathan hurried to the door as a white Ford Focus barreled down the street. Tires squealed as Peyton ran the stop sign. Jonathan rattled off the license plate number to Mike.

  “Right house, wrong Hinshaw,” Mike said while grabbing his two-way radio.

  Mike informed Dispatch and issued an all-points bulletin for Peyton and the Ford Focus, stopping short of issuing a pursuit order. “The crime doesn’t warrant a chase, not with traffic on the uptick today.”