Death, Taxes, and Mistletoe Mayhem: A Holiday Novella

by Diane Kelly

  “Count me in.”

  Perfect. The plans Tara and I had made to play matchmaker were falling into place.

  “Later on, Chris Kringle.”

  Step one of Operation Secret Santa now complete, my partner and I headed out of the center section and down the extension to the Victoria’s Secret store. I repeated the name-drawing process with Charlotte, though I pulled the folded name slips from my pants pocket instead. Every one of this set read Tara Holloway.

  Charlotte selected one of the slips, unfolded the paper, and smiled when she saw the name inside. “This will be easy.”

  I leaned toward her and whispered. “Who’d you get?”

  She held the paper close to her chest. “I’m not saying.”

  I gathered up the extra slips of paper and stuck them back into my pants pocket, returning my hat to my head. “A bunch of us are meeting at the Flying Saucer after work. Why don’t you come with us?

  Charlotte’s face brightened. This woman was definitely in need of a good time. “Sounds like fun! I haven’t been out since I can’t remember when.” She retrieved her cell phone from behind the counter. “I’ll call my sitter.”

  I hung around, sniffing the seasonal scents on the bath display while eavesdropping on her call.

  Charlotte’s shoulders slumped. “I understand,” she said into her phone. “Enjoy your time with your grandparents.” She ended the call and looked over at me. “My sitter’s in Tulsa visiting family for the holidays.” Disappointment darkened her eyes. “I don’t have anyone to watch Cameron.”

  “My little sister babysits.” At fifteen, Gabrielle was a full ten years younger than me. As the only girls in the family, bookending the three brothers who came between us, we shared a tight bond despite our age difference. “I’ll see if she’s free.”

  “Got my fingers crossed.” Charlotte held up both hands for proof, her face anxious.

  I called Gabby, who said she’d be happy to do it.

  Charlotte lowered her hands when I told her she was covered. “Great!”

  “I’ll drop my sister off at your place,” I told Charlotte. “Then you and I can ride to the bar together.”

  “Perfect.”

  As Charlotte rattled off her address, I typed it into my phone’s note-taking app. I raised a hand in a good-bye gesture as a customer stepped up to the counter.

  Step two accomplished, my part of the scheme was done. I walked out of the store and onto the sidewalk, where I sent a text to Agent Holloway.

  The Xmas goose has landed.

  Chapter Nine

  What’s Up, Pussycat?

  Brigit

  Something was up.

  Brigit knew from the excess of sounds and activity at the mall that a special occasion loomed. She knew these occasions often meant she’d get a special treat, perhaps a new ball or chew toy. She was hoping for a Frisbee this time. Her old one didn’t fly as well since she and that border collie had played tug-of-war with it at the dog park.

  But there was more to it than the sounds and activity. Her partner had emitted an aroma of adrenaline as she held out her hat to Santa and the lonely woman who worked in the floral-scented shop. Her partner was keeping a secret from them.…

  Chapter Ten

  Evidence

  Tara

  In the late afternoon on Thursday, as I sat at Phil’s desk in another sugar-cookie induced haze, I turned to the next invoice. This one was from Gramercy Gems and Jewels.

  I ran my eyes down the list of itemized jewelry pieces.

  Two dozen turquoise necklace and earring sets.

  Nope.

  Silver ladies’ watches.

  Nope.

  Diamond and amethyst bracelets.

  Wait a minute.…

  I glanced over at Deidre, who’d dressed today in a holly-print turtleneck and a red and green elf hat with a white pom-pom on the end, holiday haute couture. I quietly slid the most recent police report from my briefcase and compared the itemized list of stolen items to the pieces noted on the invoice. Sure enough, the style number on the invoice Nadine had received from her supplier matched that on the invoice she’d issued to Freitag’s Fine Jewelry. The invoice also reflected a dozen topaz necklace and earring sets in style number TS9876, as well as fifty opal pendants in style number OP7321 and thirty sapphire rings in style number SR5352. The emerald cuff links and gold chains were listed as well.

  Squee!

  Oops. I’d inadvertently let out a squeal of delight.

  Deidre glanced my way, a questioning look on her face.

  Uh-oh. “Toe cramp,” I said quickly, hoping she’d believe me. A squeal’s a squeal, right? They sound the same whether it’s a happy squeal or a pained one.

  She glanced down at my feet, taking in my loafers. “You’re wearing comfortable shoes, so your footwear probably isn’t the cause.”

  I hoped she couldn’t tell my shoes were steel-toed. At least there was no risk of her spotting my gun. After Officer Luz detected my ankle holster earlier in the week, I’d taken to carrying my gun in my briefcase.

  Her face scrunched in concern. “Toe cramps can be caused by a vitamin D deficiency. Try some orange juice or spend some time in the sun.”

  “Good advice. Will do.”

  Luckily, Deidre turned back to her work so I could celebrate finding this evidence. Of course I had to do so surreptitiously. I put my hands together, giving myself a soft, silent high five, while mentally chanting HOLL-O-WAY! HOLL-O-WAY!

  I looked back at the evidence in front of me.

  The invoice was dated three months after the reported theft. Enough time for the police to lose interest and move on to other investigations. I wondered what Nadine had done with the jewels in the time between the alleged theft and the delivery to Freitag’s Fine Jewelry. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say she’d secreted the jewelry somewhere in her own home.

  Interestingly, Nadine charged the Freitags three times the amount she’d paid her supplier. So much for a family discount, huh? I understood that Nadine had to make a living, but a 300 percent markup at the wholesale level seemed a bit excessive. Her prices didn’t leave much room for the Freitags to make a profit.

  On my legal pad, I jotted down the date and number of the invoice, as well as the number of the check Deidre had used to pay Nadine. I went to the filing cabinet and retrieved the bank statement for that month.

  The stamp on the canceled check the Freitags had used to pay for the jewelry indicated that Nadine did not deposit the payment in the Gramercy Gems and Jewels business account. Rather, she had cashed the check at one of those quick-money outfits that charged outrageous fees and catered to two types of customers. The first type were credit-challenged, cash-strapped folks who’d bounced a few too many checks and, as a result, either been denied accounts at reputable banks or would be refused credit for a deposited check until it had cleared the issuing bank. These customers often couldn’t wait two or three days for the checks to clear and their bank to cough up the cash. They needed money now. The second type were shady characters trying to keep their financial transactions off the radar. With her near perfect credit score, Nadine was of the latter variety. The only reason she’d sacrifice such a significant portion of the payment was to hide the transaction from anyone looking into her records.

  “Mind if I make a few copies?” I asked Deidre.

  “Help yourself.” She gestured to the copy machine in the corner. “If it jams, just give it a nice kick.”

  When I finished copying the evidence, I returned the paperwork to the filing cabinet. The only thing left to do was to contact Nadine’s supplier to verify that she hadn’t placed multiple orders of the same styles of jewelry listed on the police repot. The last thing I needed was to wrongfully accuse her and Deidre of conspiring to commit tax fraud.

  Just as I closed the cabinet drawer, the office phone rang.

  Deidre picked it up. “Freitag’s Fine Jewelry. This is Deidre.” She paused to listen.. “Oh
, hello, Nadine.”

  Deidre’s tone was cordial, but not excessively friendly. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, to read into that.

  “New catalogs? Sure, we’ll take a look. Can you come by the store at ten thirty on Monday?” Another pause. “Good. See you then.”

  Nadine would be here in the store on Monday morning? Perfect. I could arrest her and Deidre together. The only thing better than making a bust was making an efficient bust.

  Deidre set the phone back in its cradle and simply stared at it for a second or two. Emitting what sounded like a resigned sigh, she turned back to her work.

  Hmm …

  I packed the paperwork in my briefcase and stood to go. “I’m done,” I told Deidre. “The only thing left is for me to compare your numbers to those in the mall’s accounting records. Your records were well kept, so I don’t anticipate any discrepancies. How about I stop by Monday morning to let you know how things look?”

  She dipped her head. “Sounds fine. I have to say I’ll miss your company. It’s awful quiet back here by myself.”

  A twinge of guilt twisted my gut, but then I remembered the false theft report and my resolve returned. As unbelievable as it seemed, this woman in the holly-print turtleneck had been party to tax fraud, ripping off Uncle Sam and honest taxpayers. For that she deserved to be punished.

  I forced a smile.

  She stood and snapped the top onto the plastic container of Christmas cookies. She held the container out to me and offered me both the cookies and a sweet smile. “Take these with you. If I eat any more of these, my butt’ll get too big for my chair.”

  No sense letting her become a fa-la-la-lard-ass. I took the container from her. The woman might be a criminal, but she baked a darn good Christmas cookie. Maybe they’d give her a job in the prison kitchen. She could put orange frosting jumpsuits on the gingerbread men, maybe add their inmate numbers on the chest for that extra personal touch. “Thanks, Deidre. See you Monday.” When I’ll slap cuffs on your wrists.

  I raised a hand to Phil as I left the store. He responded with only a curt nod.

  When I reached the mall’s sidewalk, I had to fight the urge to turn cartwheels. I spotted Officer Luz, her K-9 partner, and Santa chatting near the courtyard doors. I stepped over with my tub of cookies and lifted the lid. “Deidre gave these to me. There’s no way I can eat them all.” Actually, I had no doubt I could polish the yummy things off in one sitting. But whether I could and whether I should were two different things. I didn’t want to “come a waddling” when I “came a wassailing.”

  “After you,” Megan said, gesturing to Santa.

  Santa glanced into the tub. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” He fished out a green Christmas tree decorated with colorful candy balls.

  Megan selected a gingerbread Santa cookie. “I had plain oatmeal for breakfast. I’ve earned this.”

  Before Megan could take a bite, Brigit leaped up and snapped a piece from between the Santa cookie’s legs.

  Chris eyed the cookie. “Ouch! She got Santa right in his sack.”

  Megan shook a finger at the dog but then fed her the rest of the cookie and selected another for herself. “Thanks.”

  After a quick good-bye, I put the lid back on the tub, hooked a right, and scurried toward the parking lot, where I could make a phone call without risk of being overhead.

  I rushed past the herd of bronze cattle to my G-ride, parked in the third row back. The driver’s side bore a fresh dent and a blue paint smudge thanks to some inconsiderate motorist who’d banged their door into it. Gee, thanks. The car parked next to me now was a maroon Saturn, obviously not the car of the culprit. Darn. I so wanted to put a bullet in the moron’s engine block.

  Still, I wasn’t going to let a door ding get me down. I was buzzing with excitement about the potential bust. No sense wasting a perfectly good buzz, huh?

  Once inside my car, I retrieved the invoice Nadine had provided to the cops and dialed the phone number listed for the jewelry manufacturing company. I asked the receptionist to transfer me to the billing department. When the billing clerk answered, I used my best cheery voice to say, “Hello, there! I’m hoping you can help me with something. I can’t seem to put my hands on the records for account number 5678932, and gosh, my boss won’t be happy with me if she finds out I don’t have them.”

  Okay, okay. So I was misleading the clerk into thinking I worked for Gramercy Gems and Jewels. Still, I hadn’t lied outright. And, after all, my boss wouldn’t be happy with me if I didn’t get all my ducks in a row. She expected her agents to build airtight cases, to dot all their i’s and cross their t’s.

  I kept up my charade. “Any chance you could fax me a complete copy of all the orders to date? I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’d be doing me a huge favor.” By helping me bust a dirty, lying, no-good tax cheat and her accomplices.

  The clerk said she’d be happy to do it.

  “Thanks!” I rattled off the fax number back at the IRS office. “Send them to the attention of Anne Oakley.” A little inside joke there. Given my mad shooting skills, my coworkers had deemed me the Annie Oakley of the IRS. When Lu’s assistant received the fax, she’d know to route it to me.

  I had just one thing left to do before heading home—perform a short, modified version of the classic Christmas Carol. Yep, it was time for a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Presents, aka me.

  I unlocked my glove box, removed two green envelopes tied with red curling ribbon, and tucked them into my purse. Climbing back out of my car, I headed through the lot, down the wing of stores, and walked into the lively courtyard. The organ played “Angels We Have Heard on High.” As I continued on to the administrative wing, I sang the extended “gloooooorias,” my notes going up and down the scale. A little boy in line to see Santa tugged on his mother’s arm with one hand and pointed at me with the other. “Why is that lady yodeling?”

  I slipped into the mall’s mailroom. I lucked out. Nobody else was around.

  While items from the U.S. Postal Service were placed in metal lockboxes, the room also contained a wall of cubbies used by the mall management to distribute information to the mall’s tenants and employees. My eyes ran over the labels below each cubby until it found the one for Victoria’s Secret. I slid the envelope marked “To Charlotte from your Secret Santa” into the slot. Next, I found the space marked SEASONAL STAFF. I slid the second envelope, this one marked “To Chris Rasmussen from your Secret Santa,” into the cubbyhole.

  My role in this one-act play now complete, I texted Officer Luz.

  The Xmas goose has been stuffed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Happy Hour

  Megan

  At six o’clock Thursday, I turned my Smart Car into a lot near the Flying Saucer. Off duty now, I’d pulled my long black hair out of its workday bun and let it hang loose and wild about my shoulders. I’d also ditched my uniform and changed into a fitted black sweater dress, a pair of tights, and my spike-heeled black boots. While I’d left my partner, gun, and Mace back at my apartment, my baton rode along in my purse like an ever-present steel security blanket. I might have ranked the lowest in my training class on my shooting skills, but none of the other recruits matched my talent with that skinny steel stick. I could bludgeon a suspect with style and grace. Swish-swish-whomp! Not that I’d ever actually hit anyone other than the practice dummy. But there’s always tomorrow.…

  Charlotte and I climbed out of my car and headed inside. At a long table in the back sat Chris, one of his elf assistants, a security guard, two female salesclerks from Macy’s, an older male custodian, a barista from the mall coffee bar, and four other assorted mall employees. Not a bad turnout for an impromptu get-together, and the crowd made it less obvious that this whole thing had been a setup, the brainchild of me and Agent Holloway to give Chris and Charlotte a chance to get to know each other.

  Chris had traded his Santa suit for faded jeans and a sweatshirt featuring the charging bull masco
t of the Fort Worth Brahmas hockey team. In his everyday garb, he looked younger and sexier, despite the whitish hair and beard.

  “Officer Luz.” Chris raised his glass of beer in greeting, his eyes flashing when he spotted Charlotte behind me.

  “It’s Megan tonight,” I told him, though he didn’t seem to hear me. His focus had shifted from me to the gorgeous and newly single blonde stepping up beside me.

  Hoping Charlotte would follow my lead, I grabbed a chair from an empty table nearby and pulled it up. Not directly across from Chris, but close enough that we could talk easily. Charlotte did the same. The rest of the crowd scooted their chairs sideways to give us room.

  A waiter with a round tray perched on his palm appeared. “What can I get you ladies?”

  I took a quick look at the menu. The hummus sounded good, though it was garnished with Kalamata olives, imported from Greece and leaving a 6,500-mile carbon footprint. I decided to go for the Hippie Burger instead. The selection featured a vegetarian patty and the garnishes were likely from Mexico, a much shorter commute for the cucumbers and tomatoes. “Hippie Burger, no mayo.”

  “And to drink?” the waiter asked.

  While most of the beer offerings were imported, they offered a small selection of domestic beers, including a Brooklyn Brown Ale brewed in New York and an Ace Pear Cider from California. Fort Worth was virtually equidistant between the two coasts, and I’d just mentally flipped a coin when my eye spotted the Abita Turbodog, brewed in our neighboring state of Louisiana. I opted for the Turbodog, leaving the mental coin to fall noiselessly through a trapdoor in the bottom of my brain.

  Charlotte ordered a pizza and a Belgian beer. When she turned back to the table, Chris pushed his platter of nachos toward us. “Help yourselves, ladies.”

  His eyes met Charlotte’s over the heaping plate of loaded chips. The look that passed between them was so hot, it would’ve melted the cheese had it not already been reduced to a warm orange goo. For two people who’d sworn off love, they seemed to be devouring each other with their eyes. Or perhaps it was the nachos that gave them that hungry look.