by Becki Willis
“What can you tell me about Dickey Fowler?” she asked the fire chief.
“Not much, other than he’s a thug.”
“Brash thinks he’s the one who not only robbed me, but Mrs. Bashinski, as well. So, it stands to reason he was in on the other crimes.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him. Stealing Christmas presents sounds about his style.”
“At least he didn’t ruin things for the Angel Tree program. The local merchants pitched in to replace everything that was stolen, and then some. We should have everything ready for Saturday’s parade.”
“I’ll have the engine tanked up and ready to go. You have a Santa lined up, right?”
“Allen Wynn agreed to take over this year. He said he was eating plenty of Gennydoodle cookies to get him ready for his role.”
Cutter laughed at the man’s lame excuse for weight gain. “Blaming it on Genny, huh, and not his own lack of willpower?”
“Granny Bert said she’s willing to overlook the fib because she’s desperate. Something about Berle Shubert being sick this year, and not able to play his normal part.”
“Berle Shubert has played Santa for as long as I’ve been involved in the parade. Being the local pharmacist, he knows most of the kids by name.”
“That would come in handy,” Madison agreed. “I can see where the kids would think he’s the real Santa, knowing their names and all.” She thought about the countless department store Santas she had taken the twins to see when they were young. Faced with an endless line of excited, noisy children, most of the costumed actors had been less than jolly. Not a one knew the children’s names, not even the Santas at the country club. Given the exclusivity of Gray’s favorite venue, the number of children visiting there with parents and grandparents was small; learning their names wouldn’t have been so difficult.
Each day she lived here, Madison was reminded of the differences between small towns and cities. Madison was the first to admit that when she first returned, the small things had mattered most to her: no Starbucks in either of the towns, no mall, limited phone and internet providers, no home delivery from fast-food restaurants. Now, it was the big things that mattered: an invitation to have coffee in someone’s home, stores with clerks who knew you not only by your name but by your family’s history, a network of caring and helpful neighbors who shared information (particularly gossip) as quickly as any 4G carrier, and meals delivered by neighbors who knew you were sick or in need.
Madison smiled and added another important distinction between small towns and big cities: a Santa who knew the children by name.
“We won’t let these Christmas Crimes ruin our holiday,” Cutter insisted. “The parade will go on like always, and when it’s over, we’ll hand out bags for the Angel Tree.”
“What about the rest of the children? Don’t they notice?”
“All the kids get some small gift. The church ladies sew up little felt stockings and fill them with candy, coloring books, that sort of thing. They also make large Santa-style bags for the Angel Tree, so parents can claim the gifts came from the big guy himself. Those are handed out discreetly to parents while the kids are busy hearing Granny Bert, a.k.a. Mrs. Claus, read them a Christmas story.”
“It sounds like a great tradition,” Madison smiled. “And you are right. We won’t let the Christmas Crimes, or Dickey Fowler, or anyone else ruin this for the children!”
With his prime Christmas Crimes suspect in the wind, Brash was more frustrated than ever. While Dickey Fowler was fleeing—first by bus, then by foot—Brash and his officers were chasing a dead-end lead on the gambling ring.
Another coincidence? Possibly, but he doubted it. An anonymous tip came in to the police station a half hour before the bus rolled into town. Brash and company rushed out, in hopes of finding the evidence they needed. That meant Dickey Fowler had ample time to leisurely board the outbound bus. Security cameras confirmed he hadn’t even bothered with a disguise this time.
Maybe, Brash decided, he was too close to the case. Maybe he needed to put some distance between it and him. At least for the afternoon, he needed to get out of the office and away from work. Clear his head.
Deciding it was the perfect time to do his Christmas shopping, Brash took the afternoon off. Like Granny Bert, he preferred to shop local when possible. But for what he had in mind today, only a bigger town would do.
When Madison first mentioned Premium Jewels, he knew a moment of pure panic. Did she know he had visited the new jewelry store on numerous occasions, trying to decide on just the right ring? Did she know he had finally narrowed it down to two?
It took him another hour to do so, but after studying the two finalists and imagining them each on Maddy’s hand, he finally made his decision. He chose the simple marquis diamond because, like his ladylove, it was long and elegant. Brash left the jewelry store with a much lighter wallet and a satisfied smile upon his face. He was even humming a Christmas carol while he finished the rest of his shopping.
It made for a late evening, but he marked off every item on his list. He treated himself to a celebratory treat on the way home.
While waiting in line for his food, he couldn’t resist taking the ring out for one more peek. It truly was a stunning ring. He could hardly wait to place it on Maddy’s finger…
“Sir? Here’s your cheesy fries.”
The woman’s voice jolted him back to reality. Brash looked up and realized he was so lost in his fantasy, the woman at the take-out window had to repeat herself. For good measure, she shook the bag she dangled toward him.
“Oh. Sorry.” Embarrassed to be caught daydreaming, Brash snapped the velvet ring box closed. He took the food bag with a sheepish smile and a hurried, “Thanks.” Pausing only long enough to stow the ring away inside the glove compartment, he couldn’t pull away from the window fast enough, particularly when he saw the woman’s knowing sneer.
“Guess she’s not a romantic,” he muttered aloud. He popped a hot cheesy fry into his mouth as he pulled his truck onto the highway. As this trip was strictly personal, he had left the police cruiser at the station.
On the way home, he plotted the best way to give Madison the ring. Should he wrap it and put it under the tree? Slip it into her stocking? Go down on one knee and present it under a sprig of mistletoe?
That last thought made him rub his knee in silent protest. These old joints popped enough without aggravating them more. Maybe he should skip the ‘on bended knee’ idea.
He still hadn’t come up with a plan of action by the time he crossed the River County line. He wanted something romantic. Something she would always remember.
Five miles out of Juliet, he rounded a curve and saw break lights ahead. One car sat sideways in the middle of the road, as another came to a stop behind it. Easing his truck off onto the side of the road, Brash grabbed his handheld radio and got out to offer help, calling in the plates as he approached.
He bypassed the second car and went around to the driver’s side of the sedan dominating the two-lane highway. He made a quick assessment before rapping on the window.
Female driver, twenty-one years of age, brown hair. On her way home from work, if the uniform she wore was any indication. Stunned expression on her face, rigid posture. Shock, or something close to it.
“Ma’am?” he called through the glass. “Are you all right? Can I help you?”
With jerky movements, she turned toward him and nodded her head. She glanced nervously into the rear-view mirror, then at Brash. When she just stared at him, he motioned for her to roll down her window.
He didn’t wait for it to go all the way down before asking in concern, “Miss? Are you okay?”
“Y—Yes, I’m fine,” she stuttered. “A deer ran across the road.” She looked into her mirror again, as if expecting it to return at any moment. “I swerved and… ended up like this.”
Her foot was still on the brake. Brash stepped forward just enough to assure himself that her car wasn’t damaged. “Look
s like you managed to miss it,” he confirmed.
“It all happened so fast.”
When she darted another nervous glance into her rear-view mirror, Brash worried she exhibited signs of shock. “Will you be able to drive, ma’am, or shall I call someone to come get you?”
She looked momentarily panicked, as if giving personal information to a stranger frightened her.
“It’s all right, miss. I’m an officer of the law.”
“I—I’m fine,” she repeated. She sat up straighter in her seat and vigorously shook her head, causing her hair to shake loose of its confines. Something about it struck Brash as odd. Perhaps it was the new strength in her voice as she insisted, “Seriously, I’m fine. I should get out of the road.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I am.”
He barely had time to step away from the car before the young woman stomped her foot onto the gas and shot forward. The car wobbled as she struggled to contain it within the lane markings.
Brash scowled. Had the near-accident not taught her a thing? Speed may have been a factor in the ordeal to begin with. He considered going after her and issuing a citation, but the second car started forward, thwarting immediate progress back to his truck.
Deciding the young woman had suffered enough trauma for one night, Brash chose to give her a break. Besides, it was the holiday season. Christmas cheer, and all that.
He kept an eye out for wildlife as he made the short trek into town. Pulling up at home, he gathered all his packages from the seat and popped open the glove compartment.
A block of icy dread sank his heart right down to his toes.
The ring was gone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
If the perpetrators of the Christmas Crimes hoped to capture the police chief’s attention, mission accomplished.
By stealing the engagement ring intended for Maddy, the criminals had vaulted their way into becoming his new number one priority. For now, even the gambling ring was pushed to the back burner.
The plate number for the girl in the road turned out to be fake, registered to a wrecked Chevy van that currently took up residence at Bobby’s Boneyard in Riverton. The car he had seen in the middle of the road fit the description of hundreds of vehicles in the county. A light-colored basic sedan, completely forgettable.
Brash blamed himself for not being more vigilant that night, for not paying closer attention. He had been thinking about the ring, his head still somewhere up in the clouds as he approached the stalled vehicle. He should have asked to see her license, he chided himself. Gotten her name. At least paid attention to what kind of uniform she wore. He thought he remembered seeing pink, but it had been dark. With no vehicle damage and no personal injury, he hadn’t taken the event seriously enough.
Brash saw two possible scenarios.
One, the near-accident happened as the girl described. While Brash was out of his truck helping the startled driver, someone in the second car had seen an opportunity and taken it. Searching his unlocked truck—a foolish mistake he realized now, but Brash was focused on helping a driver in need—they discovered the ring, pocketed the tiny treasure, and drove off with Brash none the wiser. He didn’t even know what kind of vehicle it had been. Dark blue, perhaps, or black. Maybe a Ford product, judging from the brake lights. A crime of convenience.
Possible, but it didn’t explain why the girl had fake plates to begin with.
Two, the near-accident had been staged. While Brash stopped to render aid, an accomplice hid nearby, waiting to slip into his truck. That would explain why the young woman kept looking into her rear-view mirror. There were plenty of trees and shrubs along that part of the highway where a person could lay in wait. He had even seen the plastic bag still tied to the bush where Madison had been robbed. Definitely a secluded stretch of roadway, perfect for an ambush.
There remained the question of whether he was the intended target or simply a target at random. How would someone know he would be traveling the road that particular night, with a valuable ring in his possession? For that scenario to work, it would have to be an inside job from the jewelry store. Again, a definite possibility, but he had made the purchase hours ago.
The other likelihood was that this was an experimental endeavor, targeting random travelers. Staging an accident or flat tire—such as was the case with the man from Riverton—the thieves had no idea of whom they might stop or what they might find, but the odds were favorable they would find something of value. It was the Christmas season, and many people from The Sisters traveled this highway after a day of shopping in the city. Again, a crime of convenience.
But it galled Brash to think he made breaking the law any more convenient than it already was.
Brash retraced his trip in the daylight, stopping along the road to look for clues. By day, the highway was a busy thoroughfare. It made getting out of his police cruiser difficult, if not downright dangerous. Brash thought he detected faint footprints in the bushes along the road, but the soil was dry and the wind had it scattered like a covey of quails.
One thing he didn’t see were any skid marks. If, indeed, a deer ran out in front of her, the young woman hadn’t ended up sideways because she locked up the brakes.
Back at the mall for the second day in a row, Brash asked to speak with the manager at Premium Jewels. As he waited, he observed the clerks moving about the sparkling glass cases. He recognized a few of the faces from previous visits, but one woman was new. She looked vaguely familiar, however. Perhaps he had seen her at a different store, or maybe even in The Sisters. To his relief, he didn’t see the clerk who sold him the ring.
Probably having a day off at my expense, he grunted to himself. Commission on a ring I’ve already lost.
A voice spoke from behind him. “I’m Tobey Washington, manager of the store. How may I assist you, sir?”
Brash turned and saw a large black man, dressed in a neat navy suit and tie. Extending his hand, he introduced himself. “Brash deCordova, Chief of Police in The Sisters and Special Investigator for River County. Can we speak in private?”
The manager’s face split into a smile. “I know who you are.”
Brash leaked a weary sigh. “The television show.”
“No. Front line, Aggie defense.” With a roll of his bulky shoulders, the man assumed his old football position. “It’s me, Coach. Big T.”
Recognition dawned in Brash’s returning smile. “Big T Washington, of course! How’s life treating you, man?” They exchanged another handshake, this one more exuberant and punctuated with an affectionate slap to the shoulder.
White teeth flashed in the manager’s dark face. “I can’t complain. Doing pretty good for myself these days. Got a pretty little wife, three kids, and a mortgage. Livin’ the dream, Coach, livin’ the dream.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Big T. Do you ever hear from any of the guys on the team?”
They exchanged a few minutes of small talk and reminiscing before Tobey led the way to his back office. Brash was surprised to see his own framed face upon the wall. It was a photograph of him presenting a much-deserved award to the former football player.
“How can I help you, Coach? Name it, and it’s yours.”
“I need your help on something, Big T. We’ve tried to keep it out of the news, but we’ve had a rash of burglaries in The Sisters over the last few weeks.”
To his surprise, Tobey nodded. “I’ve heard about that. One of our associates is originally from Naomi and was telling me about it,” he explained. With a perplexed frown, he added, “But I’m not sure how I can help you. Other than you and Danielle, I don’t know a soul who lives there.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure how you can help, either. But some of the items stolen were purchased here in your store. I’m trying to see if I can establish some sort of connection.”
“Wait a minute. You’re not accusing one of our associates of something illegal, are you?”
“No, no, nothing l
ike that,” Brash assured him. “At least, not at this point. I’m simply following leads.”
“You won’t find any here,” Tobey Washington said with confidence. “Given the nature of our merchandise, we do strenuous background checks on all our employees. If they have as much as a smudge on their record, we don’t hire them.”
“It might not be an employee. It could be a customer. Have you noticed any suspicious-looking people hanging around the store?”
The manager bristled. “You mean black men wearing hoodies?”
“No, I mean anyone, male or female, black, white, or polka dotted, hanging around for extended periods of time. Maybe they keep their heads down or angled away from the cameras. Maybe they keep their hands in their pockets. Do you recall anyone like that? Someone who looks nervous or out of place in a fine jewelry store?”
“You’re describing a fourth of our customers. Ain’t no harm in lookin’, man. Everyone likes to look. Everyone likes to dream.”
“Of course they do. But help me out here, Big T. You’re a salesman. You know how to read a customer.”
He pursed his lips in thought for a few moments. “Can’t say I remember anyone in particular. We’ve been running some big sales, doing a lot of advertising. It brings in folks from all over. All walks of life, too. If I had a dime for everyone who’s walked through those doors just to look, I could retire tomorrow.”
Brash glanced at the oversized television screen hung from the ceiling. With one glance, the manager could view real-time footage of a half-dozen angles throughout the store. “You keep that footage on tape?” he asked.
“Of course. It backs up to the corporate server. After thirty days and at their discretion, they either save it or delete it.”
“Any way I can get a copy of last night’s footage?”
Not one to let personal connections get in the way of professional duties, the manager countered with, “Can you tell me why?”
Brash hesitated before divulging the full story. “The latest item stolen was purchased here yesterday afternoon. I’d like to see if I recognize any persons of interest in the background, or anyone casing the place.”
