by Krista Davis
“I’m just telling you that we’re not talking about crummy toys and cheap as-advertised-on-TV items. Significant high-ticket items were stolen, which I’m positive places this in a felony category, not something you can simply dismiss.” She placed her fists on her hips and glared at him. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Wolf, who had been talking to McGregor, winced. It was almost imperceptible, but I caught it and realized how well I had come to know him. I doubted that anyone else noticed that tiny flash of pain. After a rocky start to our relationship, my work as an event planner, and Wolf’s job as a homicide detective, had made it next to impossible to get together. But an unfortunate run-in with another detective forced us to meet secretly at my house, late at night, which turned out to be prime dating time for Wolf and me. We didn’t get out to restaurants or museums or shows, but we both liked to putter in the kitchen, and snuggling on the sofa with a late-night movie helped both of us unwind from the stress of our jobs. Some of my friends would have been very unhappy to be in a relationship like ours, but it suited Wolf and me perfectly. The best part was that most people butted out of our relationship because they didn’t know about it.
One of Wolf’s eyebrows arched a hair, and I knew he was about to pull a fast one. “McGregor,” he said to the cop, “why don’t you start by searching this kind lady’s house?”
Ginger Chadwick’s mouth dropped open. She leaned forward and shouted, “Mine? I didn’t take anything. I’ll have you know that I am a respected member of this community. You should start with some of the other houses. I happen to know that some of our neighbors have holiday guests and families with criminal pasts.”
A tall man with a rugged, square jaw and neatly trimmed silver hair that glowed under the sparkling Christmas lights glowered at Ginger and muttered, “Careful, Cruella. I wouldn’t throw any stones if I were you.”
“Who’s that?” I asked Jen.
“Mr. Thorpe. That’s his house with the Grinch and the train.”
Even though he towered over her, Ginger didn’t back off. “Well, if Santa’s boot happens to fit ...”
Huh? I looked to Jen.
“Mr. Thorpe played Santa at the pageant today.”
McGregor stepped between them. “Which house is yours, ma’am?”
Ginger’s lips puckered with displeasure. She waved toward her house, next to my brother’s, and in the dim glow of festive lights, the long, lean silhouette of her son, Edward, was visible sprinting home.
TWO
From “THE GOOD LIFE” :
Dear Sophie,
I love Christmas—the baking, the wrapping, the decorating—and then I see the tiny Christmas lights and everything sours. My husband and I have a cheer-killing fight every year about those tangled tools of torment. We put up a lot of lights and can’t afford fancy reels for all of them. Any suggestions?
—Tangled Up in Nanty Glo, Pennsylvania
Dear Tangled Up,
There’s an easy and free way to keep those lights untangled. When taking them down, hold the nonplug end in the palm of your hand. Wrap the cord loosely around your hand until it begins to form a ball, then slip it off and keep wrapping the lights around the ball. End with the plug on the outside so you can easily check to see if they still work the following year. They’ll stay in a ball all summer and be ready to use next Christmas!
—Sophie
As though it were a party, the entire crowd shuffled across the street behind Ginger and the policeman.
No snow globes or animated displays occupied Ginger’s yard. Two-foot-tall lighted pine trees lined her sidewalk. Fancy topiary trees flanked the short stairs to the front porch, and lights glittered in heavy white pine swags on the railing. On the lawn in front of the railing, a family of life-size caroler dolls, dressed in Dickensian fashion, posed, mouths open, as though they were midsong. I didn’t see Scrooge, but Tiny Tim, leaning on his crutch, appeared to join in the silent song. Faux streetlights with flickering flames flanked the carolers. On the door, more lights twinkled in a wreath loaded with sumptuous pinecones, pears, apples, and pomegranates. I’d seen the very same wreath at a florist shop in Old Town, but passed on it when I checked the price. Ginger had spent some major bucks on her Christmas decorations.
Natasha leaned toward me. “Nice, but uninspired, don’t you think?”
“Very Christmassy.” I wanted to point out that it related to Christmas, unlike her pink peacocks. Magnolia leaves and flowers were a time-honored elegant Christmas decoration in the South, but spraying them with turquoise glitter took them to a whole other level. In the spirit of the season, I bit my tongue and excused myself.
I cut across the driveway to my brother George’s house, where a Buick was backing into the street. My mother, Inga, and sister, Hannah, watched the goings-on from the porch.
“Is that Dad’s car?” I asked.
“Laci is beside herself that Jen won’t have anything to open tomorrow morning. She’s so distraught, poor dear, that Dad offered to drive her and Marnie around to see if they can find any open stores. It’s a hopeless expedition, I fear. She and George bought Jen a new camera and now—it’s gone.”
Poor Laci. She and my brother, George, doted on Jen, their only child. Who wouldn’t be distraught if Christmas was ruined for their children?
“Along with the turkey for tomorrow,” added Hannah.
“The thief stole food, too?” It had to be more than one person to have taken so much.
“They even snatched my Sweet Potato Spectacular. I hope you have a lot of leftovers from the goose dinner earlier tonight.” Mom held her arms crossed against her chest, even though she wore a puffy down coat. She stretched her fingers toward me. “Let me see your left hand.”
I looked at my palm to see if it was dirty.
“The other way,” said Mom.
I flipped it over, and she released a sigh big enough to have blown over the gigantic Grinch across the street.
“No ring. I was hoping one of my girls might receive an engagement ring for Christmas.”
Hannah snorted and laughed at me. “She must mean you, Sophie. I’m not seeing anyone.”
Just what I needed. Even the theft of Christmas gifts couldn’t distract Mom from her quest to marry off her daughters. “I’m really very content with my life exactly as it is.” It was the truth. After my divorce from Mars, I’d settled into a comfortable existence with loads of friends and a busy event planning career. Not to mention writing my domestic diva advice column. Newspapers all over the country had picked it up, and to my complete surprise, an increasing number of readers wrote to me about their domestic problems.
“I find that hard to believe,” Mom protested. “I thought Wolf might pop the question after we left tonight.” She paused, and when I didn’t respond, she continued. “I understand the neighbor across the street, Mr. Thorpe, is quite successful. He’s widowed and very handsome, but he’s too old for you girls.”
My sister pretended to smack her forehead against one of the porch pillars.
I couldn’t help grinning. Now that Hannah and I were both in our forties, not many people thought of us as girls. Eager to change the subject, I asked, “How could anyone take so much stuff without being seen?” I leaned against the railing and watched my brother’s neighbors in the yard next door.
“That’s what I want to know. Someone must have been home on this block. It’s almost inconceivable that everyone was out. Even if none of the neighbors were home, someone must have driven down the street, don’t you think?” Mom ticked her points off on her fingers as she spoke. “Plus, whoever did this must have pulled into the driveways and made several trips in and out of each house.”
“How did he ... they get in?”
“He came prepared,” said Hannah, beckoning me.
I followed her into the warm house, fragrant from the lush Fraser fir Christmas tree. Hannah led me to the kitchen but didn’t have to say anything. Frigid air blew in though
a perfect six-inch round hole in the window of the door. “Wow. They brought a glass cutter and unlocked the door by reaching through the hole? Does every house have this kind of door?”
“Laci said it was a feature offered by the builder.”
“Sounds more and more like an inside job by someone who lives around here. Who else would know that all the houses have doors with glass in the back?”
“Soph?” Wolf’s voice came from the direction of the living room.
Hannah and I joined him and George. Along with the other cop, McGregor, they stood near the tree, which was decorated with a delightful mishmash of glitzy ornaments—some blown glass, and some that Jen had made out of beads and sequins. I missed the old glitter glue paper chain garland that we had made with Jen when she was younger, but the popcorn and cranberry garland added a delightful homey feel. I could just imagine Jen and her mom, Laci, sitting by the fire, laughing and enjoying the holiday spirit while they created the garland.
Wolf introduced us to Sergeant Zack McGregor. Although he politely acknowledged each of us, his blue eyes lingered on Hannah, and some of his earlier exhaustion seemed to evaporate.
Hannah returned his interest with a coy smile. Not that I could blame her. McGregor might not be a big burly cop, but he’d been blessed with dimples that appeared when he smiled, and enough laugh lines to make me suspect he had a good sense of humor. Sandy hair fell into a good cut that framed his handsome face. Although he was fair and it was the middle of the winter, his skin bore remnants of a fading tan, suggesting he liked the outdoors.
Hannah had removed her bulky winter coat, revealing a green angora sweater with tiny beaded stars cascading from the shoulder to the V-neck. She wore her flaxen hair up, soft tendrils escaping to tickle her neck. No wonder the sergeant gave her a second look.
Sergeant McGregor spoke with George, asking what was missing. I couldn’t help noticing his continued glances at Hannah, who beamed like she’d been handed a new toy. She accompanied them as they toured the house.
I pulled off my coat, left it on a chair, and answered a knock at the door. Forrest Chadwick, a big bear of a man with a gentle voice, waited on the porch. A sprinkling of snowflakes clung to the wave of dark chocolate-colored hair that swept above his forehead. The rest of his hair was neatly trimmed in an expensive cut that screamed executive. A row of white Christmas trees adorned his blue ski sweater, emphasizing his broad shoulders. I invited him in and he headed straight toward Wolf. “I have to apologize for my wife, Ginger. She’s high-strung and doesn’t deal with setbacks well. Do you think there’s any chance we’ll find the culprit?”
Wolf, nearly as large as Forrest, but a little trimmer through the middle, said, “Unless Zack or one of his men happen upon something as they go from house to house to take reports, it’s extremely unlikely that you’ll have your gifts back by morning. I’m sorry.”
Forrest ran a fleshy hand over his face. “Why would anyone do this? Who would leave so many children without the joy of Christmas morning? I don’t understand. It’s one thing to take a package or two, but wiping us out—that almost seems like a vendetta.”
“Is there anyone in the neighborhood who might harbor that kind of anger?” asked Wolf. “Your wife certainly implied there are neighbors with issues.”
“We’re ordinary folks around here. Everybody has some kind of problem—a kid who got caught joyriding, a spouse who drinks too much, an estranged family member. Nothing that would trigger anything this coldhearted. Is there anything we can do to help find the thief? A lot of our neighbors have little kids who won’t understand why Santa didn’t come.”
“What if everyone contributed a toy or two that their kids have outgrown?” I suggested. “We could collect them here, and the moms and dads could come by to select something.”
Forrest clapped me on the back. “Brilliant. Half the fun is opening a package.”
“Mom? Could you gather some large boxes for people to put toys in? Maybe sort them by type? Stuffed animals in one, puzzles in another. I’ll go to the houses on this side of the street and tell everyone what we’re doing. Forrest, will you work the other side of the street?”
I grabbed my coat, and Wolf grabbed my arm. “Be careful.”
I made a don’t-be-silly face at him. George and Laci loved their neighborhood. It wasn’t like I would encounter an ax-wielding sicko.
“Don’t give me that look. I know how snoopy you can be. Maybe I should come with you.”
“Nonsense. I’m just going door-to-door.” As I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be able to dissuade Wolf from joining me, George called him, and I took the opportunity to bolt out the door.
The occupants of the houses on the opposite end of the block were grateful and relieved when I told them our plan. As I walked up the sidewalk to the Chadwick house, I saw a line forming on my brother’s porch as people brought toys to contribute to the effort.
Ginger Chadwick answered her door eagerly. “Have they found the gifts?” Reddish hair glided to her shoulders as perfectly as if she’d just had it done, but piercing black eyes and the perennially disgruntled set of her mouth dampened her natural attractiveness.
I hated to dash all hope, but when I explained about collecting old toys, her expression changed to one of bored tolerance. “I donate old items to charity.”
Her son, Edward, appeared behind her. Far enough back that she wouldn’t notice, but close enough to overhear.
“I’m sure your donations are appreciated. We’re just doing this so that neighborhood children will have something to open in the morning.”
“If anyone donates an expensive brand-new computer, let me know.”
Well, that was hardly the Christmas spirit! “I doubt that anyone will manage to find exactly what their children wanted, but we thought it would be nice ...”
“Who are you again? You look familiar. Where were you this evening?”
I resented the implication that I might have stolen anything but I controlled myself. “I’m George’s sister.” She stared at me without a hint of recognition. “George Bauer?” I prompted. “From next door?”
Boredom reigned on Ginger’s face. “Then none of this is any of your business anyway.” She shut the door.
I muttered, “Merry Christmas,” in a sarcastic tone and turned to leave.
But I stopped on her porch and watched a dark sedan roll down the street—so slowly that it scared me.
THREE
From “Ask Natasha” :
Dear Natasha,
Every Christmas it’s the same thing. I work until I’m a quivering heap and the joy of the holiday has been sucked out of me. Each year I promise myself it will be different, but between shopping, baking, and decorating, by Christmas Eve, I’m a grumpy Grinch. There has to be an easier way.
—Mrs. Scrooge in Humbug, Arizona
Dear Mrs. Scrooge,
You need a planner. A calendar from which you do not deviate. The key is to make lists, then plan to implement a few items each day. Start the day after Christmas and begin your lists for next year. You’ll be surprised how smoothly everything will go once you organize your time.
—Natasha
Had the culprit returned to steal more? Or was he hoping to gain some sick pleasure by watching the chaos he’d caused? I wanted to think it could be a Christmas-lights gazer, but the hour was a little late for that.
I cut across Ginger’s yard again, sticking to the shadows. I figured Ginger would be horrified to imagine anyone stepping on her grass but I was unwilling to go too close to the street and the creepy car that seemed to follow me.
I had nearly made it to George’s driveway when Edward Chadwick, Ginger’s son, loped up behind me.
Awkwardly, he held out a digital camera. “Maybe Santa could bring this to Jen. When her parents replace it with a new one, they can give it back to me. Just don’t tell my mom, okay? She wouldn’t understand.”
His generosity bowled me over. What kind o
f seventeen-year-old boy would give up his camera, even temporarily, to make a kid happy? “You must like Jen a lot.”
He grinned. “She’s a pretty cool kid. Hey, can I come with you and help organize the toy drive?”
“Sure, your dad’s pitching in, too. Should you tell your mother where you are?”
“It’s okay. She’ll assume I’m in my room ignoring her.”
I wasn’t at all sure that it was okay, but if it wasn’t any of my business to help arrange a happy Christmas morning for the neighborhood children, then it certainly wasn’t my business to boss Ginger’s son around.
My dad’s Buick pulled up in the driveway, and from the smiles on their faces as Laci and her mother, Marnie, stepped out, I gathered their mission had been successful.
I gazed up and down the street in search of the dark car, but it had vanished.
Dad handed bags to Edward to carry into the house and pulled more out of the trunk. Laci handed me shopping bags. “It won’t be a conventional Christmas, but at least the kids on our block will have something under the tree tomorrow morning.” She giggled and whispered, “We found a drugstore. A lot of little girls on this street are getting lip gloss in their stockings.”
During my absence, Laci and George’s home had come alive. “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” played, smiling neighbors poked through boxes in the foyer selecting gifts for their children, and Hannah held a tray of to-go cups of hot cider and cinnamon-spiced decaf coffee. The aromas mingled into a heady scent that made me wish for Christmas cookies to nosh on. I left the bags with Edward, who was already in the process of handing out the contents. Apparently he knew every child on the block and had suggestions for all of their parents.