by Kacey Gene
She stands up and is about to open the front door when Jake flings it open.
“I lost him,” Jake says, out of breath. “But I got a good look at him. It was a young guy. Maybe eighteen or twenty. Blonde hair. And he was so fast.” Jake bends over and puts his hands on his knees.
“Look at these,” Jennifer says. “I found these under the rocks in the entryway.”
Jake stands up and moves next to Jennifer. The first picture is of Fred Gailey, maybe taken a few years ago. He’s standing outside a large red building, and he looks so happy and proud.
“Where is that?” Jennifer asks.
“Not sure,” Jake says. “Wait a minute,” he says, when Jennifer flips to the next picture. He grabs it from her hands. “That’s the kid I just chased,” he says, looking at the young boy who Fred Gailey is proudly standing next to. “He’s a few years younger, but that’s definitely him,” Jake says incredulously. Fred and the young man are photographed in front of the same building from the first picture. Jake is absolutely stunned by this, but then he looks over at Jennifer. She’s as white as the snow that is starting to come down again.
“What is it?” Jake asks.
Jennifer doesn’t say anything. Instead, she holds up the next picture. It’s Fred and he’s smiling warmly. But the important part is that he has his arm affectionately around the man from 9N. The same man they found dead this morning.
Chapter Ten
Pelznickel is a Real Thing?
Back in her apartment, Jennifer places the Dickens novel she saved from the fire and the photographs from Fred’s house on her countertop.
“You check on 9N,” Jennifer tells Jake, who moves to the back of her place and grabs the binoculars. “We have to make sure they take those Dickens books with them.”
Jake nods.
Knowing that Captain Sharb isn’t going to listen to anything Jake has to say, let alone take a request from him, Jake texts his dad and asks him to grab the books from the victim’s closet.
As Jake points the binoculars toward 9N, Jennifer grabs the dish soap from the kitchen and runs around the corner to her bathroom. Throwing open the doors under her sink, she pulls out her bag of cotton balls, heads back to the kitchen, and mixes up a bowl of soapy water.
Then, she carefully opens the cover of the Dickens novel. The pages of the book are covered in black soot, and the front cover -- the part Jennifer is the most interested in -- is charred like the inside of a well-used chimney.
Yet, the title page is only slightly smudged with fire remnants, so Jennifer easily reads the title, A Tale of Two Cities, as she dips a cotton ball into the soapy solution.
“The officers are clearing out 9N’s closet,” Jake says. “And my dad just text back and said he’ll get the books.”
“Good,” Jennifer says, completely focused on her cotton ball procedure. Jake joins her at the kitchen counter. He watches as she carefully runs the solution-dipped cotton ball over the soot-coated novel. The cotton ball turns completely black. Jennifer continues to move the doused cotton balls slowly and carefully across the page until finally, they see the full message and the sticker below the soot.
“33314 To keep the Christmas Spirit Alive.” Jennifer says, reading the inscription. “What in the world does that mean?”
“On it,” Jake says, pulling a pad of paper and pencil from Jennifer’s junk drawer. This is what Jake does. He can basically crack any code or puzzle in a fraction of the time it takes an average person, as long as he has silence and concentration.
Jennifer doesn’t give him either of those when she fully reveals the sticker in the book. “Jake, look at this,” she says, angling the book toward him. The sticker on the inside cover is peeled and faded, but the word, which is scrolled across the label in black ink, clearly spells out:
Pelznickel
“Pelznickel,” Jake repeats, but his pronunciation of the word is as slow as a lost snail.
“What in the world does that mean?” Jennifer asks. “ Do you think it’s a place? A person? A sticker that someone just slapped in this book without much thought?” The questions fall out of her as her eyes re-examine the word.
Jake looks at her, at the book label, and then at the number combination he’s supposed to decipher.
“Which one do you want me to work on?” Jake asks. “The label or the number inscription?”
Jennifer sometimes forgets that Jake can really only focus on one thing at a time. While she has at least three stories, a constant scrolling of her to-do list, and ideas about crafts, projects, and lesson plans spinning through her head every minute she’s awake, Jake’s mental focus is much more defined.
“You do the numbers,” Jennifer says, with a nod. “I’ll research this ‘Pelznickel.’”
Grabbing her laptop, she heads to her couch and plops down on the soft, white cushions. She plugs the word “Pelznickel” into her computer’s search engine, and the first thing to pop up is some kind of creature. It has giant, curved horns coming out of its head; its face is pale and skeletal with a large black smile taking up the entire lower half; and the creature is covered in fur. Dingy fur. Jennifer can barely look at the photograph of the fur without wanting to vacuum it.
She leans closer to her computer screen and what she reads makes her heart and her mouth gasp.
“It’s Santa Claus,” she says. She continues to read.
There are various names for Santa Claus. Some are common and known to many, such as Kris Kringle or St. Nicholas. But there are others that are a bit less familiar. For instance, Pelznickel.
“Unbelievable,” Jennifer says as she continues to read how the name “Pelznickel” was a name created by Germans and preserved by the Pennsylvanian Dutch.
Pelznickel, or Belznickel, is often depicted wearing a mask with a long tongue, and he wears dirty, tattered clothes. He carries a switch in his hand to beat the naughty children and carries cakes and nuts in his other hand for the good children.
“Well, that’s creepy,” Jennifer says, as she reads more about Pelznickel and his desire to “reform” naughty children with the powers in his switch.
“I got it,” Jake says, throwing down his pencil and proudly looking up from the pad of paper. “But you’re not going to like it.”
“It can’t be worse than this guy,” Jennifer says, returning to the kitchen and turning her computer toward him.
Jake retracts his head and grimaces when he sees the dead-eye mask and long tongue. “What is that?”
“That, my friend, is Pelznickel. Also known as...” Jennifer pauses, “Santa Claus.”
“That is not the Santa Claus I know.” Jake says, shivering at the sight of the ghoulish smile and dead eyes on the horned creature. “And what kind of fur is that?” he asks, getting closer to the screen. “Is it rodent fur?”
“Okay, I can’t even think about that,” Jennifer says, quivering at the mere idea of rodents. She isn’t afraid of spiders; she has no problems with bats, but something about small nails connected to tiny legs attached to a fur-coated body that scurries low to the ground just does her in. “Tell me about this code.”
“You ready for this? The numbers come out to 9N,” Jake says, and Jennifer feels chills fall down her spine. “The 333 is the 9, obviously, and then 14 corresponds with the letter N if you count the letters of the alphabet.”
“So this set of books that was in Fred’s house would have led someone to 9N -- the apartment where we found a man murdered this morning, and the apartment someone launched pudding-filled balloons from?”
“Well, this specific book leads them there,” Jake says. “We can’t be sure if the same message is in the other books.”
“Which are now a pile of ashes,” Jennifer says, despondently.
“And,” Jake says, his face changing from informative to skeptical, “I’m not convinced someone would know that the 9N referenced in this code led to the apartment across the way. There are, what, three large apartment buildings around
town?”
“Two,” Jennifer says. “And this is the only one with nine stories.” Jennifer remembers this fact from her apartment search three years ago.
Jake runs his hands through his hair and paces around her kitchen. “So Fred knew the guy in 9N; we know that from the pictures, but why would he reference 9N’s apartment in a code?”
“And the guy in 9N was a Santa somewhere, and the book label literally means Santa,” Jennifer says, wishing these pieces of information would lock together rather than float separately in her mind. There’s also the younger guy they found in Fred’s house today, who was there to destroy the Dickens books. He must know more about these books, hence the in-house bonfire, but how does he fit in with Fred and the victim in 9N?
Before Jennifer can let her mind dig into any more details, her phone goes off. She looks at it and sees a message from Matt Kiley.
Matt: Hey, it looks like I’m going to have to go out of town sooner than I thought. I know it’s last minute, but how about we grab that drink tonight?
“Who is it?” Jake asks, seeing Jennifer’s face turn from intrigued to terrified.
Jennifer thinks about hiding the message. She even thinks about lying and just saying it’s her mom, but she can’t do that to Jake.
“It’s Matt Kiley from work,” Jennifer says. “He wants to have that drink tonight.”
“You mean the guy who almost killed us in the car chase?”
Jennifer’s shoulders fall, and she looks at Jake. “Come on. Your dad said he reported the plates as stolen--”
But Jennifer’s words stop there. The plates. The letters on the plates. She looks back at the sticker in the book: Pelznickel.
“Uh, Jake,” Jennifer says, turning the book toward him. “Do you remember the letters on those plates Matt reported stolen?”
They both look at each other as the letters from the plates run through their heads:
P -E-L -Z -N - K - L
In that moment, Jennifer makes two definitive conclusions.
One: Somehow Matt Kiley’s license plates, the car that tried to kill them yesterday, the sticker in this book, and the murders are all connected.
Two: There’s no way she’s not going on this date tonight with Matt Kiley, no matter what Jake argues. Because she can feel in her bones that Matt will lead to some answers, and that’s the route she wants to take.
Chapter Eleven
Judy’s Diner Serves up Information
Not even when she lived with her very restrictive mother did Jennifer have this many rules for going out. She and Jake are at Judy’s, their usual spot. It’s a diner that’s been in town for over sixty years.
It’s not a big place by any means, but it’s big enough to be the most popular breakfast spot in Middlebridge. It has a curved counter that lines the entire right side, and that’s where the morning regulars sit, drink coffee, order their eggs, and read the newspapers and magazines that are replaced and replenished every morning by Doug Caster.
Doug, who eats at Judy’s every morning, is known around town for two things. The first is that he’s the town’s main exterminator. As the slogan on his van says, “Don’t be bugged, call Doug.” And the second thing he’s known for is that for at least twenty years, Doug has gone around town every morning to gather and buy the day’s papers and publications. That way he can bring them to Judy’s for everyone to enjoy.
Jake and Jennifer give a wave to Doug and the others sitting at the counter, which has garland covered in white lights and red bows swagged all around it. There are three small Christmas trees dotting the counter, and Jennifer can see that Doug is enchanted by these trees and their twinkling lights while Jim Shriner looks beyond annoyed that they’re blocking his view of everyone. Jim is a house painter, but what he really loves is drawing. Jennifer once had him come into her second-grade class to give a drawing lesson, and she’s never seen Jim so alive and happy.
“Hi, my favorites,” Judy, the owner who also works the register, waits on customers, and always has a pot of coffee in her hands, yells at Jake and Jennifer. “Your table is open.”
This is what Jennifer loves about Middlebridge. Even though some parts of it are still a mystery and unexplored by her, like Fred’s neighborhood, there are also these corner pockets, like Judy’s, that truly are like home. Jennifer loves that she has a table here, that she’s known the owner her whole life, and that as she and Jake make their way to the corner of the diner, Jennifer smiles and says hello to every person that they pass.
Their table is actually a booth on the far side of the diner. It’s nestled in the corner, which means it’s the perfect place to hide while also being the perfect vantage point to see everyone in the place.
Their booth is also dripping in garland, and there’s a small plug-in Christmas tree at the edge of the table. Jennifer has barely sat down and taken off her coat by the time Jake slides a piece of paper to her. On it, it says:
The Rules for Tonight
Rule 1: No eating or drinking with Matt Kiley (easiest way to slip you something)
Rule 2: You must stay in a public place the entire time
Rule 3: I will watch you the entire date (non-negotiable)
Rule 4: Matt Kiley is never allowed to touch you
Rule 5: No ponytails, necklaces, or dangling earrings (they’re an assaulter's dream)
Rule 6: You take pepper spray on your keychain
Rule 7: If you ever, EVER, feel like you are in danger, wave your hand in the air. I will step in.
“I won’t agree to this meet-up unless you agree to these rules,” Jake says, seriously.
Jennifer notices how Jake refuses to call her meeting with Matt a date. Although, she’s not sure she wants to call it a date either. Eyeing the list, Jennifer thinks these are rather reasonable restrictions, but before she can say so, Judy -- wide-hipped, strong-voiced, brown-haired Judy -- comes over to their table.
“How are my two favorites?” Judy asks, and without a moment's hesitation, she flips Jake’s cup over, fills it with coffee and hands him two creams. “Jennifer, how’s your mom?”
Everyone in town knows Jennifer’s mom, Eleanor, seeing that her mom lived here for fourteen years and Eleanor is always one to leave an impression.
“She’s good. Getting ready for the holidays. I’m talking to her tonight and then flying out to see her and the family on Christmas Eve in two days.”
“You give her my love,” Judy says, winking at Jennifer. Then, Jennifer feels herself unintentionally wait for the question she always waits for but never gets. People in Middlebridge constantly ask about her mom, but no one ever asks about her dad.
Judy turns straight toward Jennifer and says, “You having the usual, sugar?”
And just like that, the moment’s opportunity passes, and there’s no way Jennifer is going to bring up her dad unless someone else does.
Quickly eyeing the menu that she knows by heart, Jennifer remembers the croissants and jam she was hoping to have with Jake this morning. That morning breakfast was hijacked by an attack on her apartment, a dead body, an in-house fire, and new clues to the murders. Feeling that she deserves a treat, Jennifer ups her order and says, “Actually, I’ll have the blueberry pancakes this morning.”
“That’s my girl,” Judy says, taking out her pad of paper and writing it down. “You want whipped cream?”
“Why not,” Jennifer says. “And I’ll have my usual peppermint tea.”
“How about for you, Jake?”
“I’ll take my usual.”
“Two eggs and a side of toast coming up,” Judy says. When she walks away, Jennifer sees Bradley Pritchard in the corner booth directly caddy corner from them. It’s the only other booth in the place that has the same vantage point as her and Jake’s booth. And Bradley Pritchard will wait hours for that spot; it’s the only place he ever sits.
Bradley, who always keeps his coat and his scarf on wherever he goes also has his black fedora hat on this morning -- the
one with the small red feather in it. Bradley grew up in the late 1950s, and it’s like he loved that time so much that he refused to ever let go of it.
He has a newspaper in front of him, but Jennifer knows he’s not reading that paper. He’s eyeing everyone in the place, trying to size them up and find out any new gossip.
“About this list,” Jake says, needing Jennifer’s full understanding and agreement to the rules. But Jennifer is on another track.
“We’ll get to the rules. I promise,” Jennifer says, “but Bradley Pritchard is here.”
Jake leans back in the booth, and without even hesitating, he looks straight at Jennifer and says, “Then go do your digging, girl. Oh, and...” Jake says, grinning like a secret-filled child, “don’t forget to smile. You know how he loves your smile.”
“Oh, shut up,” Jennifer playfully says, and she gives Jake a small shove as she gets up from the booth. Not that Jake is wrong. Bradley Pritchard does love her smile. And her personality. And her looks. And everything about her. That’s why he’s happy to impress her with any and all information he has on the people that live in this town. For everyone else, he’s tight-lipped and straight-eyed, but with Jennifer, it’s like all of him turns into uncooked dough.
Jennifer says hi and smiles at the ladies who go to her church, the couple who runs the pharmacy downtown, and Erin Tee, who makes the most beautiful candles in town.
And then she gets to Bradley Pritchard’s table.
“Well, Jennifer Hunter,” Bradley says, folding his paper and tossing it to the side like it is a piece of coal compared to the shiny diamond that just appeared.
“Hello, Bradley,” Jennifer says, and she gives him a grin that makes his eyes light up with hope and possibility. Jennifer knows her smiles and sweet words are harmless. Bradley is eighty-two years old. He’s also been married four times, his last wife having died two years ago.