It Came Upon a Midnight Crime: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 2.5 (a Christmas novella)

by Christy Barritt

  I straightened my back. Just who did this man think he was? “What gives you the right to think you’re better than everyone else, Mr. Harris?”

  “Religion is for the weak. It’s a crutch. But it’s not just the religious that I’m concerned about. It’s anyone who wants to push their views down my throat.” He scowled at me. “Like you.”

  “But aren’t you trying to push your views down other people’s throats?”

  His face reddened into a dark, menacing scarlet. “Young lady, I think it’s time you leave.”

  Why did people always say that? I stood. I really didn’t think this man was guilty. I mean, he had some serious issues, but was he destroying nativity scenes? I doubted it. I didn’t bother to offer him my hand this time.

  But I did call over my shoulder, “Merry Christmas!” as I departed.

  Man, it had never felt so good to say those words.

  Chapter 4

  Santa Claus Is Killing in Town

  Marvin Harris had been my best lead. So where did that leave me now? I had two choices that had materialized in my mind. I could go home to a plain, lopsided Christmas tree that I wasn’t sure would ever get decorated. Or I could go to The Grounds.

  I was going to The Grounds—and for more than one reason. I could investigate and get a good cup of coffee in the process.

  I strode up to Sharon, the pink-haired and more-piercings-than-a-pin-cushion owner of the place. “Any chance I could look at the video footage from your security cameras?”

  I wondered if I looked at the video, if I’d pick up on something—anything—strange that had gone on outside of my apartment on yesterday evening. I was pretty sure that one of the cameras would include a glimpse of my parking lot.

  She shrugged and pointed behind her to the cubbyhole she called an office. “Sure, have at it. I’m not sure how much you’ll be able to see, though.”

  I decided it was worth a shot. I sat in a chair at her crowded desk and figured out how to review the tape. I’d done it a couple of times before, so it wasn’t too hard. I found the time stamp for yesterday evening and hit play. I saw groups of college kids walking past, numerous cars, and a couple with their dog. What I didn’t see was anyone get close to our apartment building.

  Until I got to ten o’clock. That’s when I saw a figure dressed in black creeping close to the building. I held my breath. What were they going to do? I mean, I knew what they were going to do, but how exactly were they going to do it?

  The figure in front of my apartment building looked around. Then he grabbed the manger and put it in a sack, hoisted it onto his back and disappeared around the backside of the house. He returned a few minutes later and dumped out pieces of the scene into their original spot.

  Interesting.

  But who was it? I needed to get a better look at his face.

  He walked back toward the street. It couldn’t be this easy, could it?

  Apparently it was. The man walked right up to the coffee shop. As he got closer, he looked up at the camera.

  I moaned when I saw the man’s face.

  He was Santa Claus. Of course.

  ***

  I rewound the tape and watched it over and over and over again, looking for something—anything—that might set this Santa apart from any other Santa in the area. I couldn’t find anything, unless you wanted to count the machete he apparently carried in his bag of presents. The tape was too grainy, the sky too dark, and the man’s beard too darn big and furry.

  I wandered back into the café section of the coffee house and leaned across the counter toward Sharon. I didn’t drink alcohol—my dad was an alcoholic, so I’d seen the effects of the stuff firsthand—but this coffee house was my hangout, and Sharon was like my bartender I supposed. She was the one person who’d always been there to listen. She also threw me a couple of shifts here and there when I was low on cash, which readily made her one of my favorite people.

  “Did you find anything?” She smacked her gum as she wiped down the counters.

  “Maybe. Did you see someone dressed like Santa come in last night?”

  She glanced up, staring at me for a moment, before going back to her intense wiping. “No. Why?”

  “The person who destroyed that manger scene was dressed like Santa.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but we have a lot of people dressed like Santa come in here. There’s an annual meeting of Santas that takes place in here every Christmas.”

  “No . . . ” I thought goofy meetings like that only took place in my twisted imagination.

  “I’m serious, Gabby. It started around five years ago. About twelve of them meet in here once a year to tell crazy stories about the Christmas season. It’s great fun to listen to them.”

  I’d bet it was. “When are they meeting this year?”

  “Tonight.” She stopped wiping long enough to grin.

  It looks like I had plans for the evening after all.

  ***

  That evening, Riley and I walked into The Grounds. I blinked at what I saw there. Sure enough, a dozen men—and one woman?—dressed like Santa all sat in the corner with glasses of milk. Okay, they were actually mugs of coffee and lattes. But didn’t milk sound so much cozier? All they needed was a plate full of cookies and a sign reading “For Santa” written in four-year-old scrawl.

  We sat at the nearest table, and I tried to look casual. Apparently, I’m not very good at looking casual because Riley reached across the table and rubbed my shoulders until I loosened up some. The Santas were talking about the weather, so I tuned them out for a moment and tried to unwind.

  “Busy day?” Riley asked.

  “Chad and I were at a crime scene, a non-fatal shooting.” It hadn’t taken us long to clean, and I made enough money to buy groceries for the week, which meant I could eat, which was always a plus.

  The Santas began sharing children horror stories—the criers, the biters, the kickers. Riley and I smiled across the table at each other.

  What would it be like if Riley and I had children one day? Would we take them to sit on Santa’s lap? Would we even teach them about Santa? Riley was a devout Christian, and I wasn’t sure if someone as devoted as he was would perpetrate a ruse on his own kids.

  But, of course, I went there. Again. When would I ever learn to stop dreaming about a future with the man?

  I tried to get a good look at the Santas, tried to see if there was anything that would allow me to identify the man from the video. I was highly doubtful, but I’d gone on lesser leads before. Sometimes it was the leads you were sure wouldn’t pan out that actually turned out to be the most valuable.

  An hour later, I’d heard about which malls you didn’t want to work at, which parties paid the best, and which charities were looking for volunteers. What I hadn’t heard was anything that would help me.

  That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands. I stood, cringing as my chair scraped across the floor. Riley had just started to mutter my name when I approached the group of jolly old St. Nicks.

  “Have you guys heard about the Christmas scenes that have been destroyed in this area?”

  The conversation went North Pole cold and everyone stared up at me. Finally, one brave soul—a twenty-something-year-old kid with the worst looking fake beard ever—spoke up. “I did hear about that.”

  “Anyone know of an angry Santa who might be behind it?”

  “An angry Santa? You think one of us is guilty? For love of stocking stuffers, you’re off your rocker, lady,” said a grandfatherly Santa with a real—but brittle—white beard.

  There were many approaches I could have taken at this point. I decided to play naughty instead of nice. “Maybe. There’s a rumor that the person is dressing up just like you.”

  I was pretty sure that was a collective gasp if I’d ever heard one.

  “Anyone can get a Santa costume, lady. You’re crazy if you think one of us is behind it.” Brooklyn Santa spoke up from the other side of
the table.

  If I wasn’t careful, I might have an angry mob of Santas throwing coal at me. Maybe I should tread more carefully. “I didn’t say one of you were behind it. But I thought you might have some information.”

  Riley appeared beside me. “We’re just looking for information. We’re not accusing anyone.” He gave me a lingering look that clearly reminded me of my promise to use all of my caution and logic.

  “We all love Christmas,” Brooklyn Santa said. “You’re climbing into the wrong sleigh here, little lady.”

  I shoved a picture from my purse at him. “Does anyone recognize this man?”

  The picture moved from hand to hand, each person shaking their heads and mumbling things like, “I have no idea,” “don’t recognize him,” “beats me.”

  I needed more information and fast. The problem was, I didn’t even know what to ask because the lead had proven to be pretty pointless. “Is there a place in this area that’s known for renting Santa costumes? You have to admit that the beard looks pretty authentic.”

  “That’s easy,” Brooklyn Santa said. “Try Chadwick’s on 21st Street. They’ve got the best suits there.”

  Chadwick’s? Interesting. A Christmas-green light bulb flashed on in my head. The chicken wire nativity scene lady had mentioned that store also. And that couldn’t be a coincidence.

  ***

  The next morning, my cell phone rang at 8 a.m. It was Charity, the woman Pastor Shaggy had a thing for.

  “You remember me from yesterday?”

  “Of course.” I pushed myself up in bed.

  “Well, I was talking to the pastor yesterday, and he told me what you were doing. I don’t know if this will help or not, but he encouraged me to let you know about a possible suspect.”

  Her words were like feather dusters to the cobwebs in my brain. I was suddenly alert. “Go on.”

  “As a teacher, I always have to take on part-time jobs to make ends meet. That said, I used to work for a local mall. Someone complained about our Merry Christmas signs last year and threatened to bring a lawsuit against us if we didn’t remove them.”

  “Was it the Coalition Against Christmas?”

  “No, actually, it wasn’t. It was a man named Oliver Nichols. He’s an atheist. Apparently, he’s brought lawsuits against other businesses in the area. He has some kind of tragic back-story. I guess his father died on Christmas, and he’s hated the holiday and God ever since then.”

  “That is tragic.” Although part of me could relate. My brother had been kidnapped and my mother had died, leaving just me and a freeloading father who’d rather keep company with Jack Daniels more than anyone else. “Do you have any idea where I might find Mr. Nichols?”

  “He actually wrote a book on why Christmas is of the devil. He’s doing a book signing today in downtown Norfolk. I thought you should know.”

  “That’s really helpful, Charity. Thanks for the information.”

  “No problem, Gabby. I hope you catch this guy.”

  “Will you let me know if anything like that happens at the mall again this year?”

  “I would, but I took a different part-time job a few months ago. This one has better hours.”

  “Got it.”

  I didn’t have any jobs lined up for the day, and since Chad decided to drive to the mountains and get some snowboarding in, that meant I could investigate the case as much as I wanted today without any guilt that I was neglecting my responsibilities.

  The first place I would visit was the costume shop.

  On my way out the door, I glanced over at my pitiful looking Christmas tree. I’d bought that one because it seemed neglected. But here in my apartment it still seemed neglected, and that was all my fault. I needed to do something about that later.

  When I stepped out of my apartment, Riley was waiting there with two cups of to-go coffee in hand. He leaned against the wall, his hair still shiny wet as if he’d just stepped out the shower.

  I stared at him a moment, feeling like he’d read my mind and knew I had “trouble” on my radar. “How’d you know?”

  He stood and shrugged, a small smile playing across his lips as he thrust the coffee into my hands. “I’ve known you awhile now. I know how you think.”

  “How long have you been waiting out here for me?” I took a sip and savored the caffeinated warmth that filled me as we started down the steps.

  “Only a few minutes. I wanted to catch you before you left. I know you’re investigating today and want to go with you, if that’s okay.”

  “If you insist.” Some company would be nice. Especially Riley’s company.

  “You’re still coming to the Living Christmas Tree aren’t you?”

  We climbed into his car. “I wouldn’t miss seeing you singing while standing in evergreen formation. Are you wearing tights also? Maybe an elf costume?”

  He chuckled as we started down the road. “You have a way with words, Gabby. That’s just one more thing I love about you. And, no, I’m not. We will be dressed in red and green, however.”

  “Well, maybe you can find an outfit at the costume shop. I really think the tights would be a good idea.”

  The shop was only a few minutes away. We parked and made our way inside the store. The woman behind the counter, oddly enough, reminded me of Mrs. Claus with her gray hair pulled back into a bun, the tiny wire-framed glasses she wore, and her hefty figure. She looked like the sweet grandmotherly type as she pored over some papers with a pen in hand. I knew Arlene said the woman was difficult, but I just couldn’t picture it.

  I plastered on a grin as I approached the counter and pulled out the picture. “I know it’s not much to go on, but do you recognize anything about this picture? The costume? The person wearing it?”

  She put the pen down and, with her glasses on the end of her nose, stared at the picture. “It’s ‘not much to go on’ is right. I’m afraid I can’t help you. Not that I would, even if I could. There is something called the ‘right to privacy.’ Ever heard of it?” She shook her head and handed the paper back to me.

  So much for the sweet Mrs. Claus image I had. “Are you sure? It’s very important.”

  Her beady eyes narrowed at me. “Quite certain. Did I stutter the first time?”

  Wow. That was all I could say. Mentally, at least. “Do you have a record of who might have purchased a beard like that over the past couple of weeks?”

  “Young lady, we don’t keep that kind of inventory. It would take up too much time if we did. Do you have any idea of what’s involved in running a small business?”

  “I do, actually.”

  Someone else stepped into the shop. “Then you’ll understand why paying customers are priority. Good day.”

  I couldn’t resist calling over my shoulder as I left, “If you talk to your husband, tell him that all I want for Christmas is my two front teeth . . . or maybe a hippopotamus.”

  “Gabby . . . ” Riley shook his head and chuckled. “You have a way with words. Have I ever told you that before?”

  “Maybe once or twice.” We walked out the door and onto the busy street where Christmas shoppers carried bags upon bags of what I presumed to be gifts. “Well, that was a waste of time. That woman could take joy in human form and body slam it senseless.”

  “Sometimes you have to turn over a lot of rocks before you find what you’re looking for.” He glanced over at me. “What next?”

  “Next, we’re going to a book signing.”

  “Why are we going to a book signing?”

  “Come on and I’ll show you.”

  ***

  The crowd of people waiting to see Oliver Nichols was larger than I’d anticipated. A big sign hung at the front of the store reading “The 12 Crimes of Christmas.” Apparently, this man thought anything having to do with Christmas was a crime. Riley and I joined the crowds, no book in hand.

  On second thought, maybe I should buy a book. If he was guilty, maybe there was a clue inside.

&nbs
p; I grabbed a copy at the last minute and joined a bunch of sour-faced people who were waiting in line. As much as I wanted to talk to Riley, I decided I wanted to listen to the conversations around me even more.

  My ears immediately perked when I heard mention of the crimes taking place around town. The conversation was between two middle-aged people in front of me—a tall man with graying hair and a plump woman with poofs of dyed red hair around her face. I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what I would look like in twenty years? I didn’t dwell on that thought long, though.

  “Someone blowing up a nativity scene. Now that’s a hoot,” the woman said. “I wish I had thought of it.”

  “There are a few other things I’d like to blow up,” the man muttered. “But I don’t think violence is the answer. I just fantasize about it. It’s about time we had an anti-Christmas vigilante. He’s like Robin Hood for our types.”

  Did they know about the human hair or ear found at the scenes? I was pretty sure the police hadn’t released that information. At least, I hadn’t heard about it if they had.

  We moved four steps closer.

  “This book,” the woman raised her copy. “This book should be reading for every elementary school child. It’s well written and well thought out. As far as I’m concerned, this war on Christmas is just starting. Those religious folk think they own our country, that they’re morally superior. It’s time to let them know they’re not.”

  “Preach it.”

  The man and woman laughed.

  What a polarized society we’ve become, I thought.

  Suddenly, I felt old fashioned. Was I out of touch with reality? Was this the way people were starting to think? Was I the one behind the times?

  I didn’t know the answers to those questions. At one point in my life, I’d felt so certain of so many things. It seemed with age, I experienced more doubts and saw more gray areas.

  Riley might say that God was working on me, that he was trying to soften and change my heart. I just didn’t know.