A Crime for Christmas

by Carolyn Keene

  “I tested it,” Clarke said proudly.

  Gold is both heavier and softer than a lot of other metals, and one of the ways prospectors used to test whether a specimen they found was really gold was to see if biting it left an impression.

  “I wonder if the rumors about people finding gold at the lodge are true,” I said, setting the nugget back down on the table in front of me.

  Clark reached out to grab it back, but Archie picked it up before he had a chance.

  Archie eyed the nugget carefully, then put it down just out of Clark’s reach. “This is an old mining town. Little pieces of gold turn up now and again. They sell them to tourists in some of the shops on Main Street. He probably stole it from someone.”

  “Did not! I earned that fair and square!” Clark protested.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call sabotaging everyone’s dinner and killing Chef K’s plants fair or square,” I reminded him as he slunk back down in his seat.

  “I don’t think I need to tell you this, but you’re fired,” Archie said. “You don’t deserve it, but we are required to pay you for the time you worked on your final day of employment. I trust you won’t go anywhere until I return with your check?”

  “But what about my gold?” Clark whined.

  “I think we’ll display it behind the counter as part of our decor,” Archie replied, standing up and pocketing the nugget.

  I wheeled myself after Archie as he left Clark behind, whimpering.

  “Wonderful work, Nancy,” Archie said once he’d closed the office door behind him so we could talk freely in the hall.

  “Now if we can find out who gave Clark that piece of gold, we can wrap the case up for good,” I replied, already mapping out the next lines of inquiry in my head. Of course, Archie didn’t know that I’d be investigating the break-ins at the same time.

  “Clark!” Archie scoffed. “I think one of two things is going on with Clark. Either he’s off his rocker or he’s pulling our leg. As far as I’m concerned, the case is closed. We found out who did it, thanks to you. I just hope it satisfies Chef K so things can go back to normal.”

  “I really think we should follow the investigation through and at least rule out the possibility that someone else is behind it,” I argued.

  “It was irresponsible of me to let you do this much,” he said. “Not that I don’t appreciate it. You’ve saved my keister twice, and I won’t forget it. For now, though, I want you to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

  “But—” I tried to protest.

  “Nope,” he said, holding up his hand. “Doc Sherman got wind of you rolling all over the lodge and gave me an earful. It’s bad enough you broke your leg because of me. I don’t want to be responsible for it not healing properly too.”

  Chef K marched up as we turned the corner into the lobby, with Grant following reluctantly behind.

  “Where is he?” Chef K growled. She might have been the shortest of the group, but she had Archie, Grant, and me cowering.

  “I think it’s best for everyone if we just cut ties with him cleanly,” Archie said diplomatically. “Thanks to Nancy, we know for a fact that Clark is responsible, and I’ve already fired him, so there’s no need to—”

  “Of course he’s fired,” she snapped. “I want him arrested!”

  “Whoa, hold up a second,” Grant quickly interjected. “The last thing we want to do is get the police involved. The important thing is we caught the person behind all this. Let’s just get rid of him quietly and move on before we stir up any more bad PR.”

  “Oh, I’ll get rid of him, all right,” Chef K threatened. “I want that plant killer punished. And if you won’t get the police to do it, then I’ll have to do it myself.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Chef,” Archie said hastily as she took a determined step toward the hall leading to the manager’s office where unsuspecting Clark waited.

  “This is a bad idea, Archie,” warned Grant. “It’s bad for business, and bad for us. You know what Sheriff Pruitt is like.”

  Chef K scowled at Archie, balling her hands into fists.

  “It’ll be fine, Grant,” Archie reassured his partner, who looked anything but reassured. “We’ll hand Clark off to a deputy and that will be it. The sooner we can be done with all this, the better.”

  Archie called the station, and it wasn’t long before a tall officer with a gleaming, star-shaped sheriff’s badge on his chest sauntered into the hotel, a deputy trailing behind him.

  “Great,” Grant mumbled under his breath in a way that sounded like he meant anything but.

  Sheriff Pruitt had broad shoulders and a formidable potbelly. He wore a khaki uniform under a fur-collared bomber jacket with a cowboy hat on his head and a smug grin on his lips. The oversize pistol slung low on his hip made him look like he was itching for a shoot-out.

  “Grant,” the sheriff said, tipping his hat in Grant’s direction while conspicuously ignoring Archie.

  “Sheriff,” Grant replied with a forced smile.

  “Heard the call on the radio while I was passing by and thought I’d take this one myself,” he explained. “See what was so special about this place that y’all think it’s worth mortgaging the town’s future.”

  Grant shot Archie an I told you so look. I remembered Jackie telling us on the ride to the lodge that Sheriff Pruitt wasn’t just pro pipeline, he was one of the people who stood to profit from it by leasing his land. No wonder Grant was worried about getting him involved.

  “Let’s go on back to the office, where we can talk privately,” Grant suggested, clearly hoping to avoid a public scene with the police.

  “Nah, I think right here’s just fine,” the sheriff said, giving a leisurely look around the lobby, soaking in the gaze of curious guests.

  “All those poor folks in town gonna lose out on a lot of money if that pipeline has to go somewhere else,” he said, shaking his head mournfully. “But I guess to some people, saving trees is more important than helping people, huh, Leach?”

  “We can discuss the pipeline matter another time, Sheriff,” Archie said with restraint. “Right now we have an employee who’s been causing us quite a bit of trouble, and we’d like to bring a formal complaint against him.”

  “Funny, just realized that you’re named after an animal,” Sheriff Pruitt mused, ignoring him. “Is a leech an animal? Or are those slimy little bloodsuckers scientifically bugs? I know you tree huggers are prickly about your science facts, and I wouldn’t want to offend anybody.”

  Archie just gritted his teeth. I was seriously considering running over the sheriff’s foot with my wheelchair for him when Chef K did us one better.

  “Are you on duty?” she asked curtly.

  “Excuse me?” Pruitt said, taking a surprised step back.

  “Are. You. On. Duty?” she repeated one word at a time as if she were talking to someone who didn’t understand English.

  “It would appear so, ma’am,” he replied hesitantly.

  “Then save the lip flapping for the doughnut shop and do your job already,” she sniped. “I didn’t leave my kitchen to stand around listening to you chat.”

  Sheriff Pruitt cleared his throat loudly. “Now, excuse me, ma’am. Who do you think you—”

  “I’ll excuse you once you’ve completed your duties as a civil servant,” Chef K said, emphasizing the word “servant” in a way I’m sure the sheriff didn’t miss. “I think you need to work on the civil part of your job description, by the way. If I’m not mistaken, it’s taxpayer money that pays your salary, and I’m willing to bet this resort pays more taxes to this town than just about anyone else, and that means you work for us.”

  Diplomacy might not be her strong suit, but she sure could get your attention.

  “Now just you wait a second . . . ,” Sheriff Pruitt protested.

  Chef K didn’t. She launched into a detailed account of Clark’s crimes, from hot peppering the towels at the banquet to sabotaging the greenhouse and killing hal
f her herbs. Sheriff Pruitt’s expression turned from angry to amused as she talked, and by the time she wrapped up by demanding Clark’s arrest, he was laughing so hard he was nearly in tears.

  “What’s so funny?” Chef K demanded. “I want that criminal arrested!”

  By now the sheriff was leaning against one of the log beams with one arm and slapping his knee with the other as he tried to catch his breath from guffawing so hard.

  “I just . . . Whew! . . . Give me a second here. . . . That’s . . . Oh my . . . ,” he said between laughs. “Now I sure am glad I took this call, ’cause that’s one whopper of a tale. Hot-pepper hand towels! I gotta remember that one! Maybe try it on the deputies!”

  I was glad Chef K’s meat cleaver was nowhere in sight, because she was seething. “Well, are you going to arrest him?”

  “Fire him if you want, but he didn’t steal nothin’ but a handful of habaneros, and I ain’t wasting taxpayer money arresting a waiter for murdering some basil,” he quipped, and started walking away.

  He turned to Grant on his way to the door. “Talk some sense into your partner.”

  Archie put a gentle hand on Chef K’s shoulder before she could take off after the sheriff. “I’m sorry, Chef. We can’t afford to have you arrested instead.”

  She gnashed her teeth and stomped away in the other direction.

  While the sheriff waited at the hotel door, the deputy slunk over to us with a sheet of paper. He looked rather embarrassed by the whole thing. “I’m sorry, but I’ll just need you to sign the call report for our logs.”

  Grant reached for the pocket where his gold pen usually was, only to find it empty.

  “I, uh . . . ,” he said, patting his chest and then his pants pocket.

  “Here you go,” I said, pulling the pen from the little pouch on the side of my chair. “You left it in the lounge earlier.”

  “Um, thanks,” he said, giving me an uncertain look as he took back the pen.

  That was when I realized Grant wasn’t the only one looking at me in an unusual way. The brown-haired kid from the lounge was leaning casually against the far wall, facing away from us while he played around on his phone. Actually, there wasn’t anything suspicious about it at all this time—he was in a public space and he wasn’t even looking at us—or there wouldn’t have been anything suspicious if I hadn’t used the same phony phone-scroll plus reverse-selfie-spy-cam combo move on a recent surveillance job myself. I was willing to bet he had his camera app open with the camera flipped to selfie mode so he could watch us on the screen over his shoulder without ever looking in our direction.

  Gotcha, I thought, feeling every bit the Grand Sky Lodge house detective I’d imagined myself to be.

  “I picked it up after the kid who was tailing you borrowed it to make a rubbing from the notepad you used during your phone call earlier today,” I told Grant, pointing over his shoulder to the aforementioned stalker.

  Everyone turned to look. Including Sheriff Pruitt. I’d been pretty proud of myself for spotting the guy and must have spoken louder than I’d meant to, because the sheriff heard what I said and turned to look at me. Which was basically the last thing I wanted. I had pretty quickly decided less was more when it came to Sheriff Pruitt.

  “What did you say?” he demanded.

  I didn’t have to respond, because he could see my finger still pointing. The kid realized he’d been made, lowered his phone, and started walking in the other direction, but it was too late.

  “You!” the sheriff bellowed after him. “Get over here now!”

  The kid paused like he was contemplating running, but he must have thought better of it, because he turned around and walked casually back toward us. Or at least he was trying to look casual; I could see the apprehension in his eyes.

  “Can I help you with something, officer?” he asked.

  “I know you,” the sheriff spat, grabbing him by the collar as soon as he was within reach and slamming him up against the wall face-first. “You were up front at the protest with that stupid lizard insurance sign.”

  “Ouch!” the kid complained.

  I winced. I didn’t know who the kid was or why he was spying on Grant, but I had professional respect for his spycraft and hadn’t intended to get him roughed up by Pruitt.

  Archie watched in shocked silence. Grant looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and disappear.

  Pruitt frisked him roughly, pulling a Swiss Army knife and a phone from the kid’s pockets and tossing them both on the floor, before getting to his wallet.

  “Hey! You don’t have probable cause to search me! I haven’t done anything illegal!” the kid protested.

  “Spying on a state representative gives me all the cause I need,” Pruitt replied, twisting the kid’s arm behind his back.

  “Ow!” he yelped.

  “You’re hurting him!” Archie cried.

  “Sheriff, this isn’t necessary,” said Grant, trying to intervene.

  The sheriff shot him a withering look. “It wouldn’t be if you watched your own back.”

  Pruitt pulled out the kid’s driver’s license.

  “Frank Hardy from Bayport,” he read. “Where the heck is that?”

  He tossed the license over his shoulder and started flipping through the billfold.

  Frank Hardy, I thought. I know that name. While I was searching my memory banks to figure out from where, Sheriff Pruitt pulled a folded piece of paper from Frank Hardy’s wallet. I could see the Grand Sky Lodge letterhead and the edge of the ink rubbing as soon as he opened it.

  The sheriff read it silently to himself, clenching his jaw tighter as he did, then stuffed it in his own shirt pocket. This definitely wasn’t going how I’d envisioned.

  Pruitt turned to Grant, his expression deadly serious. “You told me yesterday you thought somebody broke into your suite?”

  Grant nodded sheepishly, avoiding looking at either me or Archie.

  “You didn’t tell me that!” Archie exclaimed.

  So he had reported it to the police. Or to Sheriff Pruitt, at least. But why would he hide it from Archie?

  “I saw a flashlight go on in Representative Alexander’s suite late the night before last, but it was too dark to tell . . . ,” I started to fill them in, but Pruitt didn’t wait for me to finish. He yanked the Hardy kid’s arms behind his back instead.

  “Frank Hardy,” he snarled, pulling out his handcuffs, “you are under arrest for breaking and entering.”

  “Hey! You can’t—” both Frank Hardy and I started to shout at the same as Sheriff Pruitt slapped the cuffs on his wrists and yanked them tight.

  “Ow!” Frank screamed.

  “I’ve got the little lady in the hot rod as my witness,” said Pruitt, nodding in my direction.

  I didn’t know what I was madder at, him misstating what I’d said or calling me little lady!

  “I didn’t witness any such thing,” I objected. “In fact—”

  “You can give a statement later,” he cut me off, shoving Frank in front of him toward the door.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” the deputy said, holding up the tweezers from the Swiss Army knife. There was a visible crease in one of the prongs, where it had been bent. “Check this out.”

  The deputy was able to easily bend the creased prong to a ninety-degree angle. Then he pulled out the plastic toothpick, which was gnawed up one side like it had been rubbed back and forth over something metal. Archie and Grant both looked at the deputy in confusion.

  “You can use the bent tweezers and toothpick from a Swiss Army knife as a DIY lock pick,” I clued them in, recognizing instantly what the deputy meant.

  “Been using these to pick your nose, Hardy?” the sheriff asked, giving him a shove.

  Okay, that was suspicious. It was only circumstantial evidence, though.

  “There’s nothing illegal about having bent tweezers!” Hardy argued. “It isn’t proof of anything!”

  “He’s right,” I agreed. �
�It’s a little suspicious, sure, but—”

  “Did I ask you, Hot Rod?” the sheriff said, cutting me off again. Argh, that was getting really annoying.

  “This is a wrongful arrest in violation of the Fourth Amendment pursuant to Title 42, section 1983, of the US code!”

  Frank Hardy and I exchanged a surprised look. We’d both quoted the same law at the same exact time!

  Pruitt glared daggers at both of us. “I’m not about to let a burglar and a little girl tell me how to do my job.”

  I bristled at the sheriff’s obnoxious barb, but any question I’d had about whether Frank Hardy was a fellow detective vanished. I still wasn’t sure whether he was one of the good ones or the bad ones—and the world definitely has both—but I knew he didn’t deserve to be arrested. Yet. The kid and his partner could very well have done it, but even if they had . . .

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but this little girl knows enough about law enforcement to tell you that you don’t have enough evidence to make a legal arrest,” I shot back.

  “If Frank Hardy here doesn’t like it, he can talk to the judge about it at the bail hearing,” Sheriff Pruitt replied. “Next week, when Judge Simers gets back from his Christmas vacation.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Dream Team

  “WHAT JUST HAPPENED HERE?” ARCHIE asked, looking from me to Grant as Sheriff Pruitt pushed Frank Hardy out the front door. “Why didn’t you tell me your suite was broken into?”

  Grant looked away. “I’m sorry, Arch. I didn’t want to worry you any more than you already are.”

  “And why was that poor kid following you?” Archie asked.

  Grant just shook his head and shrugged.

  “Hopefully that oaf Pruitt is right about that boy and this puts an end to the break-ins and everything else.” Archie sighed deeply and looked back at me. “I know your intentions are good, Nancy, but please, no more investigating. You need rest, and our problems are our concern.”

  Archie trudged back toward the manager’s office, where Clark was still waiting. Grant quickly walked in the other direction before I could ask him what the note said.

  Archie had asked what happened, and to be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure. It had hit me where I knew the name Frank Hardy from, though. He was one of the “Hardy Boys,” a pair of teen brothers from somewhere on the East Coast who’d made a name for themselves as amateur PIs. The under-twenty-one gumshoe crowd isn’t exactly a crowd, so I tend to notice when I hear about others with my unique hobby. I’d read a magazine feature on them called “A Con Artist in Paris,” about an international art case they’d cracked not too long ago. I think Frank was the older one, and thanks to me, he was about to spend Christmas in jail, whether he deserved it or not.