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

by Christy Barritt

  “Apparently, based on what the police found on the security cameras, this person hid in the bathroom after the mall closed. Once everyone cleared out, he vandalized the Santa area and escaped out a back exit. The police are wondering if maybe it was an inside job since the suspect knew about the back entrance. The alarm went off when the vandal left, but he was long gone by the time security got there.”

  “Song?” I asked, wondering what musical number the note referenced this time.

  “The note said, ‘The Crime that Stole Christmas.’”

  “Interesting.”

  “There’s one more thing. Charity told me she found a box from the M. H. Company with a snake inside at the parade last night, right in the same area where that horse got spooked.”

  I sat up straighter. “A box with a snake?”

  “Does that ring a bell?”

  “Marvin Harris owns a box company, and he’s a snake enthusiast. That can’t be a coincidence. Plus, he was the person who showed up at the pastor’s house, and that was right before he got hurt. I have to let Detective Adams know.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Riley handed me the phone. Luckily, I knew the detective’s number by heart. He asked me how I was doing, and I shared the news with him, waiting for the moment where he thanked me profusely for putting two-and-two together.

  “We have a lead we’re following. We’re closing in, you could say.”

  I stared at my empty Christmas tree and scowled. “You have another suspect?”

  “We do. And we don’t need you interfering with our investigation, Ms. St. Claire.”

  How could he have another lead? What had I missed? I thanked him, hung up, and relayed the information to Riley.

  Riley leaned against the kitchen counter and nodded. “By the way, Chad’s on his way up.”

  I noticed the change of subject but chose not to address it. I didn’t have the energy. “Why?”

  “We’re going to make fruitcake.”

  “Fruitcake? Why in the world would we make that?”

  “What better way to torture people at Christmastime? At least, I believe that was the way Chad put it. Anyway, we’re going to give them out tonight at Sierra’s Ugly Christmas Sweater Party.”

  The Ugly Christmas Sweater Party. I’d nearly forgotten.

  Maybe that would take my mind off crime and help me focus a little more on Christmas.

  Chapter 10

  Mopping Around the Christmas Tree

  I was thankful to say that I had to purchase my ugly Christmas sweater at a thrift store and that I didn’t already have one on hand. I was also thankful that I’d purchased it a couple of weeks ago, and that it was big enough to cover the bandages at my ribs.

  With a giant Christmas tree across the front—decorated with bells and little plaid bows, I might add—I blended right in with all of the other tacky attire at Sierra’s Ugly Christmas Sweater party. But I had to admit that I was having a hard time getting into the holiday spirit. Christmas was only three days away and I still hadn’t caught the person behind these crimes.

  As Riley and I lingered near the doorway at her party, I spotted various coworkers of Sierra’s from Paws and Fur Balls milling around the apartment, as well as Chad and radio talk show host Bill McCormick. I couldn’t help but notice the brochures Sierra had also strategically placed around her apartment, probably trying to convert some people into being vegan. She was passionate about what she did. I’d give her that.

  As soon as Sierra spotted me, she charged my way. She wore a red and green checkered Christmas vest over the most obnoxious reindeer T-shirt I’ve ever seen. Score one for my animal loving friend.

  “You’ll never believe this.” Her eyes sparkled. “I sent out word to all of my friends about the missing sheep. A couple of hours ago, we got a call about the sheep, so one of my friends went out to investigate. You’ll never believe this—they found it!”

  I knew that this news was like a Christmas present to her. To me too, for that matter. “They did? Where?”

  Her hand flew through the air. “It turns out the homeowner is some anti-Christmas guy. His name is Oliver Nichols.”

  “Oliver Nichols?” I nearly choked.

  “You know him?”

  I shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

  “He lives in a subdivision. All things considered, it was a really stupid place to try and hide a sheep of all things. He claims he was out of town and that the police were at his house when he arrived back home.”

  Exactly. He was smarter than that. Had someone set him up?

  Sierra grabbed my arms, nearly jumping with joy. “Isn’t that fabulous news? You can finally enjoy Christmas!”

  I tried to smile. I really did. And I did want to enjoy Christmas.

  So why did I find it so hard to believe that Oliver Nichols was behind this? He appeared to have some anger issues. He had an obvious hatred of the holiday. The vandalisms were great publicity for his book. So my doubts made no sense.

  Riley leaned close—close enough that shivers raced down my arm. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, of course. Just sore.”

  “Maybe you should sit down.”

  Maybe you shouldn’t act like you care so much. I didn’t say it aloud, but I wanted to. Would my heart ever leave this state of turmoil when I was around Riley? I sat and tried to dispel my thoughts as the evening went on.

  The night was fun, complete with a fashion show. Sierra even had everyone make Christmas ornaments that they then gifted me with. I’d finally have something to decorate my tree! Sharon, from The Grounds, dropped by some sugar cookies in the shape of ugly Christmas sweaters, of course. Sierra had questioned her intensely to make sure they were free of eggs and other animal byproducts before allowing her to come in. Meanwhile, the rest of us partygoers had been drooling, ready for some real food and not just the vegan variety. The fruitcakes had already been banned—not that anyone had wanted to eat them.

  Despite the holiday festivities, my heart remained nearly as heavy as my thoughts.

  I had to put this case behind me.

  Why was that easier said than done?

  ***

  The morning dawned bright and cheery. Or maybe that was because it was almost noon. Again.

  On Christmas Eve Eve.

  A small flutter of excitement whipped through me as I eased myself out of bed. The bad guy was behind bars—if law enforcement had gotten it right, at least—and tonight was the Living Christmas Tree.

  Everything should be smooth sailing from here on out . . . right? So why did I still feel that familiar knot of apprehension?

  It was just my imagination, I told myself.

  It took almost all of my energy to make myself some toast for breakfast. Then I went to the Christmas tree and placed each of the goofy ornaments that my friends had made me on the branches.

  I stepped back and looked at the finished product. Not bad. Not bad at all, for a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. I’d been too exhausted when I arrived home from the party last night to decorate. But seeing the tree filled with miniature ugly sweaters caused a sense of satisfaction to rise in me.

  A single girl could still have a great Christmas. It was a matter of choice. Charity had said so, and if Charity could have a good Christmas after everything she’d been through, then so could I.

  I’d bought a few presents—including a new computer modem for myself—right after Thanksgiving. Today, I’d spend the day wrapping those gifts and listening to Christmas music. Later I’d brave the elements and my ribs in order to go to the Living Christmas Tree.

  Most of all, I’d try to celebrate the case of Mr. Scrooge finally being solved. But try was the key word because I still wasn’t 100 percent convinced. Maybe it was the pain meds. Maybe I was just bored. Why couldn’t I let go of the idea that a crazed body part snatcher lurked unchecked?

  Three hours later, Riley chauffeured me to Towne Point Park in downtown Norfolk. It was a quaint
little park located on the Elizabeth River. From where I stood, I could see the Battleship Wisconsin—an older destroyer that was now open for the public to tour—as well as a waterfront museum called Nauticus.

  Riley opened a red camping chair for me and instructed me to sit. I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. Sitting sounded really nice. I looked up at him—he wore a Kelly green sweater with a striped red and green scarf around his neck. No tights or elf ears, however. “Someone did check out the area where you’re standing to make sure it hasn’t been tampered with, right?”

  “The person behind everything has been arrested, Gabby. Oliver Nichols is in custody. It’s been all over the news.”

  I pressed my lips together, unable to come to peace with the information. “He hasn’t confessed. I talked to Pastor Shaggy earlier, and he’s been in contact with some of the homeowners who are pressing charges, so he knows the scoop on everything.”

  “A lot of criminals don’t confess. Stop worrying so much. He sent nasty letters to the church and to the mall. He also has a brother-in-law who works for a funeral home up in Northern Virginia. He’s our guy.” Someone in the distance called him, and he took a step back. “Look, I’ve got to run and get ready to sing. Are you going to be okay?”

  I nodded. As he hurried to join the rest of the choir, I leaned back in my chair and looked up at the wooden structure built in the shape of a Christmas tree. Within the structure were five different levels of platforms where the choir would stand to sing. Wreaths, garland, and evergreen branches decorated the structure. It was really beautiful. I had to admit that.

  A crowd gathered, most of them dressed in scarves and mittens and knit hats. A bitterly cold wind swept across the river, bringing with it a few flecks of icy precipitation. Snow, maybe?

  Man, this would be the perfect moment for something to go wrong.

  I shook my head, which probably made me look like the crazy lady who talked to herself, but I didn’t care. Still, I couldn’t think like that. The person behind those vandalisms was behind bars. Leave it to me to always look for a mystery in the middle of something.

  My gaze scanned the crowds. I half expected Marvin Harris to show up picketing again. After all, this was being held on public property. Instead of seeing Marvin Harris, I spotted another familiar face, though. Warren—the ex-drug addict who’d taken the holy family hostage atop his house.

  He attends Pastor Shaggy’s church, I reminded myself. So naturally he was here to support the pastor and not for more sinister reasons. Still, my guard remained up.

  Thirty minutes later, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, an area-wide choir emerged in line formation and filled the Christmas tree. From a small stage up front, Pastor Shaggy announced them as a choir director took her place. Everyone quieted as “O Christmas Tree” began to waft across the park. My mind wandered to everything that had happened. What was I missing?

  What traits did my gut tell me the perpetrator had?

  A bad childhood memory of Christmas.

  Psycho.

  Access to body parts at a funeral home through their job.

  Psycho.

  Privy to everything going on, including where Pastor Shaggy lived.

  Psycho.

  Knowledgeable enough to make a bomb.

  One face appeared in my mind. My heart sped at the thought.

  No. It couldn’t be. I shook my head again.

  But I’d bet it was.

  My eyes scanned the crowd. Was that person here? Just what dastardly deed had the psycho planned for tonight?

  I spotted Santa, the person I was looking for from across the way. Here. At the Living Christmas Tree. I stood, my ribs screaming with enough pain that I winced. I had to reach this person before it was too late.

  The choir began “Silent Night.”

  My number one suspect disappeared behind the Christmas tree, and my worst fears were confirmed. Something bad was going down tonight. I had to do something. Now.

  I paused in front of the tree and began waving my arms at the crowd. “Stop everything!” I yelled. “Get back!”

  People could barely hear me over the music blaring from the speakers on either side of me. Where was Pastor Shaggy? I had to find him.

  My arm wrapped around my rib cage as pain ripped through me. I had to push through that. Finally, I saw the pastor. I lumbered toward him and gripped his arm. “You’ve got to clear the area out. Something bad is going to happen.”

  “What?” He cupped his hand around his ear.

  This silent night wasn’t so silent. “Something bad is going to happen!” I screamed.

  Just then, the music cut. Everyone stared at me. I looked up at Riley, perched on the top of the tree like the angel he was. “You’ve got to get down! Now!”

  Finally, my words seemed to sink in. People began scrambling down. Good, because I didn’t have time to wait around here. “Help them,” I shouted to Shaggy.

  I looked back up at Riley. He tried to tell me something, but I couldn’t understand what. There was no time to waste. I had to find the person responsible for these crimes before a lot of people got hurt.

  Jesus, help them.

  I didn’t pray often. But in my distress, the possibility of Jesus seemed like the greatest possibility of all times.

  Probably because it was. That’s what Riley would say, at least.

  As fast as my ribs allowed me to move, I ran until I reached the area behind the Christmas tree. In the distance, I saw Santa disappear behind a row of port-a-johns placed near the docks. I pushed myself harder.

  Just as I rounded the corner, something slammed into my head. Pain screamed from my temples, and my vision burred as I fell to the ground.

  Santa’s face appeared.

  Or should I say, Charity’s. Charity with a fake beard.

  Gone was her sweet innocence. It had been replaced with vengeance.

  “Goodbye, Ms. St. Claire,” she said in a singsong voice.

  She stomped on my ribs before rolling me away from the port-a-johns—and right toward the river.

  I had to stop rolling. If I hit that ice-cold water in my current state, I’d be a goner. No way could I swim. I could barely breathe.

  I clawed at the cement pavers lining the port and managed to drag myself to my knees. The tip of Charity’s boot collided with my ribs again. Tears rushed to my eyes as pain ripped through my midsection.

  She shoved me again, and I braced myself for an ice-cold death.

  ***

  “Charity, stop!”

  My head may have been aching, but I was pretty sure I’d heard someone. Pastor Shaggy.

  Charity paused, looking back quickly before glaring down at me.

  “Don’t do it, Charity,” the pastor said. He huffed and puffed as he came to stop in front of us. “We’re going to help you work through this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else.”

  “I want everyone to hurt, just like I hurt. You wouldn’t understand.” She had crazy eyes, and her voice had gone up an octave. This was a woman who’d already lost it—she’d just covered it up too well for too long.

  I gripped my ribs and tried to get a deep breath. Breathing hurt horrendously bad. But I had to get up. I had to do something before she focused all of her fury on me and the rest of the world again.

  Standing was useless, so I began to crawl back toward the grass.

  Charity looked back at me, a deadly sparkle gleaming in her eyes. She pulled out a gun from beneath her fur-trimmed Santa jacket and pointed it at me. “Not so fast.”

  The pastor raised his hands toward her in peace. “Charity, stop this. Now.”

  Her nostrils flared, and she cocked the little black pistol. “I might as well finish what I started. I’m going to jail anyway.”

  He stepped closer. “I want to help you.”

  Charity narrowed her eyes, not softened at all to his gestures of friendship. “You want to help everyone, don’t you?”

  Movement behind the port-
a-john caught my eye. Riley? Was that really Riley? He was okay. Praise Jesus, he was okay.

  Charity turned toward me, the gun pointed at my chest. All the moisture disappeared from my mouth. This was it—the moment I was going to die. The moment I’d meet my maker. My blood froze at the thought.

  Jesus, help me!

  A gun fired just as Riley dove in front of me.

  ***

  Riley had been shot.

  Oh no. Riley had been shot. How could Riley have been shot?

  Panic raced through me. I screamed until my ribs felt like they were being torn out of me.

  Riley . . .

  I tried to lift my head, but the weight of his body as he covered me made it nearly impossible.

  Jesus, help him. You saved the world. Save Riley.

  Just then, Riley moved. His head slowly rose.

  I studied his face, wondering if I was seeing things.

  His eyes looked dazed, and there was a cut on his forehead. But he was still here. Riley was still here. “You’re alive!”

  He wiped a hair out of my eyes. “Of course I’m alive. Are you okay?”

  I nodded, my arm still wrapped around my rib cage. “Thanks to you.” He’d been willing to take a bullet for me, and that was something that I would never, ever forget. He sat up and pulled my head into his lap.

  “I don’t want to move you until the medics are here.”

  That was fine, because I had no desire to move. Every part of my body ached. “Who fired that gun?”

  Detective Adams stepped forward, his gun going back into the holster at his shoulders. He’d fired, not Charity. I looked over and saw Charity clutching her hand as pain twisted her features. Pastor Shaggy kicked her gun out of the way and knelt beside her.

  I glanced up at the detective, my entire body rebelling at any movement. “How’d you know?”

  He motioned for another officer to arrest Charity before coming to my side. “Gut feeling. Those other clues implicating Oliver Nichols just seemed to come to light too easily. The question is how did you know?

  “I remembered her talking about working a part-time job. I also remembered Benjamin Videl saying that his part-time employee kept showing up late, if at all. Her tragic Christmas background gave her motive. She teaches high school chemistry so she would know how to make a bomb. She could have easily let that sheep off of the parade float. Everything finally came together and made sense.”