Colorado Christmas Magic

by Caitlin McKenna

  “Why didn’t you?” Charley asked.

  “I was hoping my daughter would want to come and see me, but she hasn’t, and I’ve waited years. Now she’s changed so much that even her husband doesn’t know who she is anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charley said sympathetically.

  “No need.” She smiled. “It’s all fixed now.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Jack asked.

  “Because I live in St. Nicholas. If you ask me, the Legend of Scrooge needs to be changed to the Legend of Miracles.”

  Miracles? Charley thought that was an interesting choice of words.

  “Ma’am?” Jack called as the elderly woman was making her way back down the walkway. “Do you know who collects the mail here?”

  She pivoted around. “I imagine it’s one of Santa’s helpers.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone pick it up—with your own eyes?” he asked.

  “No, but it’s always collected late at night. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get the house ready for my daughter’s visit.”

  Charley watched her hobble away. “What a sweet lady.”

  “I hope she won’t be too disappointed when her daughter doesn’t show.”

  “Maybe she will.” Charley eyed Jack. “I think it’s time we admit that something unusual is going on here. The Scrooge stories, this fickle-working mailbox, the fact that you and I are investigating the same story—the number of unexplained things is stacking up rapidly.”

  “Not unexplained. Yet to be answered. Take the mailbox, for instance. I bet the flag is triggered when the door opens.” He tried the handle, but it remained shut. “What the heck?”

  “The door doesn’t open without a suggestion.”

  “Absurd.” With all his might, he yanked on the handle to no avail. “Someone is messing with us.” He studied the trees above him.

  Charley cast her eyes upward. “What are you looking for?”

  “Hidden cameras.”

  She scanned the area with him. “See any?”

  “No.” He blew out a frustrated sigh and stared at the mailbox.

  “Try putting a name in there.”

  “What?” He gave her an odd look.

  “I want to see if it will open for you. I tried to deposit another name earlier, and I couldn’t.”

  Jack rubbed his chin. “I can’t think of anyone who has a problem with Christmas.”

  “It’s a wide net. Anyone who’s cheap or selfish or simply makes others miserable can be Scrooges. Surely in your line of work, you’ve met someone like that.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” He took out his pen and notepad, flipping to a blank page. “Wait. Will this person suddenly appear in town?”

  “Like you did?” Charley challenged, arching a brow. Even though she doubted the existence of Christmas magic, deep down she wanted it to be real. She wanted to believe Santa brought Jack to her. She wanted to believe that the world hadn’t singled her out for a lonely, loveless existence. If Jack’s Scrooge showed up, she’d be one step closer to believing in Christmas magic and a happy ending. “Yes, if this is real, your Scrooge will come to town.”

  “Forget it.” He put away his pen.

  “Why? Were you about to suggest a drug dealer or a bank robber?”

  “Drug dealers and bank robbers aren’t on Santa’s list.”

  “True. But they’re clearly Scrooges.”

  “Do you think I’d unleash a drug dealer or bank robber on the good people of St. Nicholas?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in Christmas magic,” she reminded him, crossing her arms.

  “I don’t. This whole thing is a hoax.”

  “Agreed, but we need to prove it.”

  “Right.” Jack jotted down a name. Curious, she leaned closer to him, attempting to see what he wrote, but he tore off the paper and folded it in half before she could make out one letter.

  “Ready?” He reached for the mailbox handle.

  “You bet.”

  He pulled on the door, and it opened with ease. “This is illogical.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  He shoved the paper in his pocket and struggled to move the flag while the door was still open, but it wouldn’t budge. He retrieved a small flashlight from inside his jacket and shined the light inside.

  “See anything?” She jockeyed for a better position over his shoulder, wanting to see inside the mailbox for herself.

  “The flag appears to be completely independent from the door,” he said, sounding disappointed.

  “Let go of it.”

  He released the handle and it banged shut. She attempted to open it for herself, but nothing happened.

  Jack shook his head. “How is this possible?” He yanked on the handle and it remained shut. He then withdrew the Scrooge name from his pocket, placed his other hand on the door, and it opened with ease. “I have no words for what’s happening here.”

  “Check the flag.”

  He made an effort to move the flag again, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Maybe the flag won’t move until a name is deposited.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” He tossed the name inside the mailbox and let go of the handle. He touched the flag again, and it suddenly moved up and down easily.

  She gasped.

  “This defies all logic.” Jack kept the flag in the raised position.

  “What now?”

  “We’ve got to find whoever is picking up this mail. He or she is the link to this whole operation.”

  “And who is that exactly?”

  Jack studied the buildings closest to the mailbox. “Do you see that?” He pointed to the bank building across the street.

  Charley shielded her eyes as she turned in the direction of the sun. “What am I looking for?”

  “Security cameras. C’mon.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charley trailed Jack through the park, trying to keep up as he hurried across the street and into the bank. Once inside, he assessed each employee before he homed in on a distinguished-looking man talking to a younger employee in the loan department.

  “I bet that’s the bank manager.” Jack motioned to the older gentleman. “Time to get some answers.”

  As they approached, the man glanced up. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Detective Brody.” Jack flashed his badge. “Are you the manager?”

  “I am.” The man skimmed Jack’s credentials. “Is there a problem, Detective?”

  “I’m not here on official business, but I was hoping you could tell me if your security cameras capture any area of the town square?”

  “Our high-angle cameras cover the street and roughly a quarter of the square closest to our building.”

  Charley locked eyes with Jack. “That’s where the mailbox is.”

  “Santa’s mailbox?” the bank manager asked.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  A small smile crossed the man’s face. “You must be a guest of our town.”

  “That’s a polite way of calling me a Scrooge,” Charley said, “but, yes, I am.”

  He placed his hands behind his back. “I prefer guest. Welcome, Ms....”

  “Dawson,” Charley finished for him.

  “Ms. Dawson,” he acknowledged with a nod, “would you follow me, please?” The manager buzzed them into the back and led them down a long hallway. “You impress me, Ms. Dawson.”

  She peered up at him. “How so?”

  “You’re the first guest I know of who’s brought her own detective.”

  “Oh, he’s not my detective,” she said with a laugh.

  The manager scrutinized Jack over the rims of his glasses. “Are you sure about that?” He raised a brow to Charley, unlocked a door,
and the three walked inside.

  There was a surveillance console with eight monitors recording various parts of the bank, including the outside.

  “Let’s see. You want camera five.” The manager sat down at the console and pulled up the digital files for camera five. “What time are you looking for?”

  Jack leaned in. “A few minutes after ten last night.”

  The manager selected the time and date, then opened the video file. “Here you go.” He hit Play, then moved aside so they could get a closer look.

  On the monitor, the playback showed the teenagers walking along the sidewalk with the mailbox clearly visible in the background. One of the kids threw a snowball and hit Charley’s window. When Jack got out of his car to yell at him, the video went black.

  Jack jerked back. “What happened?”

  “I’m afraid we lose picture every time the mail is collected.” The manager sounded almost bored with the question.

  “You don’t expect me to believe that,” Jack said.

  The manager remained calm, as if he had been through this exact scenario several times before. “Please continue watching.” He motioned to the screen.

  On the monitor, the video resumed at the point when they ran over to the mailbox.

  Jack frowned. “I find it convenient that the very footage we need to see is corrupted. Did you tamper with this?”

  “No, Detective, I did not, nor have any of my employees.”

  “Have you thought about replacing the camera?” she asked.

  “Yes, we’ve replaced the camera at least three times now.”

  Jack kept looking over the video file, no doubt trying to figure out if the missing material had been deliberately deleted.

  “It’s a shame the video is corrupted,” Charley said. “We wanted to identify the person who’s collecting the mail there. Have you ever seen anyone picking it up?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  Jack stood and leveled his gaze on the manager. “Isn’t anyone in this town curious?”

  “Very much so, Detective.” The man pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Our town has very discreet cameras covering that square in every angle imaginable.”

  “That’s great,” she said. “Where can we find the footage?”

  “Police department.”

  * * *

  Jack seemed fired up as they made their way to the police department. “Do you think the manager’s hiding something?” she asked, hoping he’d let her in on whatever was going on in his head.

  “Absolutely. He acted as if he already knew the video would be missing before we viewed it.”

  “But why would he destroy it? He didn’t even know we were coming.”

  Jack stopped, took a breath. “This town makes money because of the Scrooge Legend. If someone obtains evidence proving it isn’t real, tourism would fall dramatically.”

  “I thought the same thing, but look around.” She swept her hand over the town. “It’s all about Christmas here, all year round. They make plenty of money on that alone. We’re missing something.”

  “Maybe, but whatever it is, most of the town is in on it.” They reached the doors of the police department. “Our only lead is that ridiculous mailbox. It’s imperative we find whoever is connected to it.”

  “Then the local police should be able to help us, especially since you’re a detective.”

  “Only this town isn’t in my jurisdiction.”

  “Oh, right. You’re on the down low,” she teased. “Then I guess we won’t be shaking down anyone in there for answers.”

  Jack held back a smile as he opened the door for her. “I guess we won’t.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting with a police officer in a CCTV room, searching for the requested time from the previous night.

  “We’ve had so many skeptical guests over the years that we decided to install cameras overhead in that particular area,” the officer said.

  “Overhead?” Jack perked up. “Where?”

  “In the light fixtures along the pathway leading to and from the mailbox.”

  “Jack and I didn’t notice any surveillance out there this morning.”

  “They’re very well hidden,” the officer explained, “unlike the cameras outside the bank.”

  She moved closer to the row of video screens as the officer uploaded the files. “Who was monitoring the cameras an hour ago?”

  “No one. We continuously record the area but never play it back unless someone like you requests it.”

  “Have any of the cameras ever been hacked?” Jack asked.

  “Never. Why do you ask?”

  “The mailbox in the town square isn’t...working properly.” Jack swallowed his words, seeming reluctant to voice anything out of the ordinary.

  The officer eyed Jack. “What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t open automatically,” she answered, stepping in.

  “The mailbox is rigged.” Jack cut to the chase.

  “Impossible,” the officer said. “That’s Santa’s mailbox. No one messes with it.”

  “What happens if someone does?” she had to ask.

  “They’d probably get a lump of coal in their stocking,” he joked. Charley laughed but Jack did not. The officer cleared his throat. “As Detective Brody can attest, all mailboxes are protected under federal law, so any form of tampering is considered a crime.”

  “Crime or no, I think whoever picks up the mail has something to do with it,” Jack said, “so if you can start last night’s recordings a little after ten, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

  “You got it.” The officer synched up twelve recordings which covered every angle of Santa’s mailbox and hit Play.

  Charley and Jack watched the events of the previous night unfold across all twelve monitors in twelve different angles. At the exact same time, all monitors went black, like camera five had done at the bank.

  “What?” Charley’s jaw dropped at the now-black screens.

  “No!” Jack paced off a few angry steps. “That’s impossible.”

  The officer remained unfazed. “This happens every night the mail is collected. I had the same reaction the first time I saw this, but now you know why the bank manager showed you their footage instead of immediately sending you here. You’ve now viewed recordings from two independent surveillance systems. If you go to the jewelry store down the block, they will show you the same thing. Everyone loses picture when the mail is removed from that mailbox.”

  “Every time?” Jack gave him a skeptical look.

  “Without fail.”

  Jack scrubbed his face and let out a frustrated breath. “This is...unbelievable.”

  The officer shrugged. “So it goes in St. Nicholas.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Charley and Jack left the police department, she could tell Jack was stewing. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve been better. I’ve come up against weird stuff on cases before, but this is infuriating.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said, confidently. “Maybe there’s some kind of electrical interference that happens, or maybe the surveillance systems are actually all connected, but they refuse to disclose that information.”

  “Or maybe whoever is collecting the mail utilizes a jamming device to interfere with all the security cameras at the same time.”

  “Can someone do that?”

  “Sure. It’s highly illegal, but yes.”

  “Then why haven’t the police taken the ‘mailman’ into custody?”

  “You’ve got to be able to catch a criminal to charge him, and according to this town, there is no criminal. They’d be taking Santa or Santa’s helper off the streets because he was picking up his own mail. Think of the bad optics.”

  “It wouldn’t be the best PR
move.” She zipped up her coat, starting to feel the cold.

  “Looks like my California girl needs something hot to drink.” Jack stopped at a coffee vendor.

  I’m his California girl? She suddenly felt a lump of emotion in her throat. Did he really mean it?

  “Here you go.” He handed her one of the drinks. “I got you a white chocolate latte.”

  “They’re my favorite.” She wondered how he knew. “Thank you.”

  They decided to wander through town for a little while and not talk about the Scrooge Legend. She was fine with taking a break from the investigation because her mind kept drifting toward Jack anyway. “Did Mary bring you a cup of hot cocoa last night to help you sleep?”

  “She did. She sure knows how to take care of her guests. Only I didn’t sleep. I stayed up and read your blog.”

  “Really?” She was shocked, excited, embarrassed, and terrified all at once. “And?” She bit her lower lip.

  “I liked it.” He looked at her directly. “I was wrong to judge it so quickly. You lay out the facts nicely. You shine a light on the details and why you see things differently. You’d be a good detective.”

  “Aww, thanks.” She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “That’s a huge compliment coming from a real Denver detective.”

  “It’s the truth,” he said, as if he wanted to make sure she really heard him.

  And she did. Charley couldn’t remember a time when any of her ex-boyfriends gave her such glowing praise on anything she did. She wondered if Jack knew how rare a quality that was these days. “What got you interested in police work?”

  He hesitated for a moment before he said, “My uncle Bill went missing.”

  She came to an abrupt halt. “What? When?”

  “On Christmas Eve when I was ten.” A sense of heaviness flickered in his eyes before he cast his gaze to the ground. “He disappeared without a trace.”

  She could feel her heart breaking for him. “Oh, Jack. I’m so sorry. How come you never told me?”

  For a moment he appeared dazed, his thoughts far away, as if he were reliving it all over again. He cleared his throat, then took her hand without the slightest hesitation. That one gesture touched her deeply. He reached for her as though he needed her support in order to discuss something so painful. When they started walking again, Charley didn’t push him to talk about it, and they must have walked a good five minutes, in silence, before he spoke.