by Nic Saint
“If that was Santa, I’m Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” said Chase.
“No, you’re not. You’re my hero, that’s what you are. My dashing knight in shining armor.”
He grinned. “I like that.”
We got into the car and Chase drove off in the direction of Midtown Manhattan. Traffic was heavy, as was to be expected, though the streets were all pretty much snow-free. Cars were honking, and we moved along at a snail’s pace each time we got to an intersection. Chase still managed to make good time, proving he knew his way around Manhattan. He navigated some of the back streets and side streets until we suddenly arrived on Fifth Avenue and at Thornton’s, the well-known department store. He ducked into a parking garage, managed to ditch the car and we got out.
The window displays of Thornton’s depicted the nativity scene and various other Christmas-themed representations. They looked really neat, and kids stood with their noses pressed up against the glass, their parents resisting the urge to do the same. Tourists snapped pictures and when I saw that one window display featured a very realistic Santa and his elves, I knew this was the place to be.
Rockefeller Center was just around the corner, with its huge Christmas tree and its ice skating rink, so I said, “Maybe we can go ice skating after this.”
“Maybe we can find my grandpa first,” he retorted.
“Right.” I kept forgetting we were here on a mission, and not to take in the sights.
“We can go ice skating in Hampton Cove when we get back,” he offered when he saw my disappointment. “It’s not the same as Rockefeller Center but it’s pretty neat all the same.”
“Deal,” I said, and we walked into the store.
Inside, the Christmas decorations were even more pronounced than outside, and so were the crowds. We muscled our way through the milling throngs, and finally arrived at the Christmas village that had been set up in the toy section. A long line of kids stood waiting for a chance to say hi to Santa, who looked pretty juvenile, even with his white beard. I wondered if the kids were fooled.
A handsome woman with long dark hair stood watching nearby, dressed in the Thornton uniform of black slacks, white shirt and green vest, and I approached her. “Excuse me, Miss, but I’m looking for one of your previous Santas.” I showed her my press pass. “Hampton Cove Gazette. Our new Santa is rumored to be your old one. What can you tell me about him?”
She smiled. “Not much, I’m afraid. I haven’t been here all that long myself. All I know is that the previous Santa was let go because he was too old. Management wanted to hire a younger Santa this year, so they went with this one.”
We both stared at the new Santa, who was so young he should be the one dandling on Santa’s knee. “Isn’t he… a little too young?”
“He is pretty young,” the woman admitted. “But so far he’s doing a great job.”
Just then, the kid sitting on Santa’s knee slapped his face. “I want Iron Man! Not stupid Santa!”
“Well, you’re gonna get Santa, you snot-nosed little—” Then he caught sight of the parents watching on from the sidelines and he quickly corrected himself, lowering his voice to the Santa timbre. “Ho ho ho. Aren’t you a feisty one?”
The kid jumped from Santa’s lap and kicked his shin. “I want Iron Man!”
Santa winced. “And you will get Iron Man, unless you’re naughty.”
“I’m not naughty. I’m nice! I’m always nice! Everybody says so!”
Santa, having had enough, said in his regular voice, “I saw Iron Man on the second floor, buddy.”
The kid’s face lit up. “For real?”
“Sure. Now run along. He’s waiting for you.”
“Yay!”
“Go get him, tiger.”
The kid’s mother shook her head disgustedly and stalked off, her kid prancing happily by her side. “Mommy! Iron Man is on the second floor. Can we go—pleaaaaaaaase!”
“He lacks experience,” the woman said, after witnessing the scene. “But he’ll grow into it.”
“The previous Santa—the one that grew out of it—what was his name?”
She frowned. “Um… Kris something. I think.”
I crooked an eyebrow. “Kris Kringle.”
She pointed a finger at me. “That’s it. Kris Kringle.”
“Are you sure?”
She shrugged, losing interest. “Pretty much.”
Yeah, right.
“And? How did it go?” asked Chase as we left the department store.
“The name of Hampton Cove’s new Santa is Kris Kringle.”
He frowned. “Now why does that sound familiar?”
“You never saw Miracle on 34th Street?”
“Is that the new Leonardo DiCaprio? No, wait. You’re more a Tom Hanks fan, right?”
I hooked my arm through his. “You’ve got a lot to learn about Christmas, Mr. Scrooge.”
Chapter 7
Our next stop on this impromptu tour of New York was the soup kitchen where Chase’s grandpa volunteered. The charity was located in an old church on Ninth Avenue, and when we arrived, there was a long line outside, waiting to get in and be served. The Holy Emergency Soup Kitchen was one of the largest in the city, and made sure over a thousand people a day got a good meal in them. We entered the building and I was surprised to see round tables set up inside the church building itself, right where I would have expected rows of pews, parishioners kneeling to catch a sermon. Instead, hundreds of people sat eating quietly, a piano player tickling the ivories.
“This is amazing,” I said.
“Yeah, it is. And this isn’t the only soup kitchen in the city either. There are dozens.”
“The needs are certainly a lot greater than in Hampton Cove.”
“A lot of homeless and hungry people in the city. It’s a good thing these charities exist.”
“And these volunteers.”
I watched as dozens of volunteers moved around, replenishing drinks in plastic cups and manning the long line where food was served. The line ran very smoothly, and it was obvious the people taking their trays were grateful for this service.
“For many of them this is their only meal of the day,” said Chase.
I watched as a mother with two kids sat at one of the tables, the kids happily biting into thick slices of brown bread and ladling up their soup. “But they’re so young,” I said, choking up a little.
“Tough times,” Chase said softly, also clearly touched. “I actually used to volunteer here myself, along with my grandpa. He’s the one that got me involved. It’s a very special feeling to be able to help others. Grandpa taught me that lesson, and it’s one I’ll never forget.”
We walked up to the person in charge, a heavyset woman with a can-do, no-nonsense attitude who oversaw the whole setup. When she caught sight of Chase, the frown on her face instantly lifted and was replaced by a smile. “Chase Kingsley as I live and breathe. Where have you been, Detective?”
“I got transplanted to The Hamptons,” he said with a smile that matched hers in brightness.
She raised her eyebrows. “The Hamptons, huh? A lot of soup kitchens there, I imagine?”
“Not really,” he admitted.
“Well, I sure hope the powers that be had a reason for taking you away from us.”
Chase cut a quick glance to me. “I’m sure they did, Macey. So how have you been?”
“Busy, as you can see,” she said, gesturing around. “The lines keep increasing every day, Detective. It’s as if the world just keeps on getting a little poorer with each passing year.”
“At least the world has you to make sure these people are fed,” said Chase.
“Well, that’s for damn sure.”
I raised an eyebrow of my own. And here I always thought cussing in church was a big no-no. Obviously things were different here in the big city.
“And who is this?” asked Macey, directing a curious eye at me.
“This is Odelia Poole. We work toge
ther in Hampton Cove. She’s a civilian consultant.”
“Oh, is that what you kids call it these days?”
Chase had the good decency to blush, then cleared his throat. “What can you tell us about my grandpa, Macey? I’ve been trying to locate him but he seems to have vanished from the face of the earth.”
“Your grandpa, huh? Well, to be honest, I haven’t seen him in days. I think he came in last week, but he hasn’t been in since.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“Nope. I just figured he was busy doing other stuff and he’d be back.”
“Did he… look different?”
Macey frowned. “Well, now that you mention it, he did seem pretty downcast last time I saw him. He wasn’t his usual cheerful self. Well, you know your grandfather. Always a joke and a kind word. But that last time he was here he was unusually quiet. He also left pretty quick. Didn’t stay to help with the cleanup like he usually does.” Her face had taken on a worried expression. “Do you think something happened to him?”
“I don’t know, Macey, but I’m starting to think something might have.” He told her about the well-dressed man his grandpa was seen arguing with, and the fact that he didn’t respond to his messages.
“Oh, dear,” said Macey, raising a hand to her cheek. “I do hope you find him, Chase. And that you find him just fine. He’s such a wonderful man, and he’s done so much for this community. I would hate for him to be in trouble and not reaching out when he needs help himself.”
“Yeah, that would be just like Granddad.”
Macey nodded, and fixed Chase with a keen look. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
When we were walking back to the car, I asked, “What did Macey mean by that?”
He shrugged. “Beats me.”
“She sounded like she was talking about you. Have you ever been in trouble and refused to reach out and ask for help?”
“That may have been me,” he admitted. “But that was before I met a certain stubborn female, who, in spite of my obvious refusal to ask for help, insisted on offering it anyway.”
I smiled at that. When we first met, Chase had been a different person. Obstinate, surly, standoffish and generally insistent on doing everything his own way without any help from anyone, least of all some nosy reporter like me. How much things had changed since then.
“Sounds like this move to Hampton Cove has done you some good.”
“Yes, it has,” he admitted, and placed an arm around my shoulder. And as we passed another Santa, this one not inebriated but also armed with a very large bell and happy to use it, I was starting to think this little field trip to New York might offer a glimpse at a side of Chase I didn’t know. A chance to get to know the burly cop just a little bit better.
Chapter 8
The police station where Chase took us next was exactly the way I’d imagined it: a bustling hubbub of noise and activity, where police officers worked at their desks while others interviewed civilians as they came in to file complaints, testify to crimes witnessed, or generally tried to make sure that wrongs were righted by New York’s finest. I could just imagine Chase in action, and the moment we entered, it was obvious he was in his element, as he waved greetings at various former colleagues, and bumped fists with uniformed officers and received hugs from more than a few of them. It was as if the long-lost son had finally returned home, and they were all happy to see him.
They also darted curious glances at me, probably wondering if I was one of them, or, more likely, a suspect Chase had dragged in here to be processed and locked up.
I followed Chase to a desk at the end of the large space, and a woman looked up from her computer. “Kingsley! Imagine seeing you here!”
“Hey, Borrell. Long time no see, huh?”
The woman rose from behind her desk and enveloped Chase in a warm hug. She was a slim and pretty young woman, with olive skin and pitch-black braided hair. She was also busty, or at least a lot more busty than me, and I had to admit to experiencing a pang of jealousy as I watched the two former colleagues exchange an obviously heartfelt embrace. Former colleagues or… former lovers?
The woman’s dark brown eyes turned to me, and she asked, “Is this my replacement?”
They ended their embrace and Chase said, “This is Odelia Poole. She’s a reporter and civilian consultant. Odelia, meet Sally Borrell. My partner back when I was with the NYPD.”
“A reporter, huh? I seem to remember you hated reporters. Called them scum of the earth.”
“Not scum of the earth, exactly,” said Chase with a smile.
“Oh, no, that’s right. You called them spume. That dirty foamy stuff that floats on top of the waves. The stuff that makes you afraid to go into the water and get all dirty and yucky.”
“Yeah, I might have been talking about a different kind of reporter,” Chase said. “The kind that works for one of the tabloids, not the Hampton Cove Gazette, which is a reputable paper.”
“So you’re the exception to the rule, huh?” asked Sally, folding her arms across her chest. “The small-town reporter who managed to turn Chase Kingsley’s head.”
“For your information,” I said, also crossing my arms, “I didn’t turn anyone’s head.”
“Yeah, she’s not the reason I got canned, Sally,” said Chase. “The opposite, actually. Odelia got that bogus charge against me dropped. If not for her, I would have been suspended from Hampton Cove PD as well, and might now be working private security in Poughkeepsie or something.”
“Huh. Is that a fact?”
Sally narrowed her eyes at me, so I did the same to her. And we would have stood there indefinitely, scowling at each other for no good reason other than that the woman seemed to have developed an instant dislike to me and me to her, if Chase hadn’t gotten between us and said, “Look, I’m looking for my grandpa. He’s gone missing and I could use some help finding him.”
Sally, after giving me one final disdainful look, finally relented. “So you want to file a missing person report?”
“I think that might be best. After you went round to his apartment, I did the same thing.”
Sally sat down and directed a worried look at Chase. “And?”
“Nothing. A neighbor said he saw Grandpa engaged in a verbal altercation with some guy, and that’s the last he ever saw of him.”
I studied Sally. So she was Chase’s former partner. She was obviously very protective of him. And as Chase supplied her with all the information about his grandfather, I glanced around. And that’s when I noticed that all eyes in the room were fixed on the three of us. The minor squabble between me and Sally had apparently been a lot louder and had attracted a lot more attention than I thought. The moment I looked around, they all looked away, and the hush that had descended upon the station was lifted as conversations resumed and the hum of activity returned in full force.
Finally, Sally had entered everything into the computer and she turned to me. “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I guess I got a little carried away just now.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “You guys must miss Chase a lot. He’s a great detective.”
“Yeah, we do miss him a lot. It just wasn’t fair the way he was set up like that. The Commissioner and the Mayor conspiring against him—it was a terrible thing they did.”
“Wait, you knew about that?” asked Chase, surprised.
“Sure. Who didn’t? Word gets around, especially since the Commissioner and Mayor Putin’s wife ended their affair and the Putins are getting a divorce. It’s all out in the open now, Chase.”
Chase had had the misfortune of walking in on Commissioner Montague and Malka Putin, prompting them to fabricate a complaint that got him suspended. Everything had been settled, and Chase had even been offered his old job back, but he’d decided he liked Hampton Cove a lot better than New York City. A lot less hassle. At least that was what he’d told the Commissioner.
“You could always come back, you know? We ne
ed you here, Kingsley.”
Chase smiled. “I’m fine with Hampton Cove. The atmosphere, the people, the peace and quiet. It just feels right, you know. Somehow this whole affair has been a blessing in disguise for me.”
Sally cast a dark look at me. “The people, huh? We’ve got people here in New York, too, you know. A lot of great people—people who appreciate you plenty.”
I rolled my eyes. This woman was just too much.
“Thanks, Sally,” said Chase, pressing her hand warmly. “But I feel like I’m just where I’m supposed to be.”
“Great,” she said acerbically. “I hope she’ll make you happy.”
“Who?” he asked, confused.
“Miss Spume here! Who else?”
“Hey!” I called out. “You take that back.”
“I’m not taking anything back! You deprived this department of a great detective.”
“I did no such thing!”
“You’re the reason he’s out there in the middle of nowhere, protecting rich fat cats from other rich fat cats! While he should be right here, helping us solve real murders of real people.”
“He is solving real murders of real people.”
“Admit it, honey. He’s just a glorified bodyguard these days.”
“I’m not a glorified bodyguard, Sally,” said Chase with a laugh.
She turned on him. “Yes, you are. Don’t think I haven’t followed your career. The only crime you’ve got out there are a bunch of celebrities getting whacked.” She threw up her arms. “Who cares about celebrities being whacked? Nobody!”
“They’re also people,” Chase said.
“Yeah, celebrities are also people,” I added. “And for your information, we don’t just have celebrities out in Hampton Cove. We have regular people too. People who deserve good police work.”
“Oh, you’re just too much,” said Sally, sitting down again.
“Sally, I…” Chase began.
“Go away, Kingsley. You and Miss Spume deserve each other. In fact you’re made for each other, anyone can see that.”