Wreck The Halls

by Jeff Shelby

“We're actually going to use another Santa this year,” Oliver finally said.

  Bert didn't say anything for a moment. He just stared at Oliver, then scanned the faces of the others at the table. They were doing their best not to make eye contact.

  “Another Santa,” Bert said, his voice a little quieter.

  “We’re just using this year to freshen everything up,” Oliver said quickly. “It's not personal, and it's not about anything you've done or not done. We are just looking to change things up, to give the festival a fresh look.”

  Bert stroked his chin. “A fresh look.”

  No one said anything.

  “Well if that ain't the biggest load of bull puckey I've ever heard, I don't know what is,” Bert growled.

  There was a lot of throat clearing at the table.

  “Bert, really,” Oliver said, his voice wavering. “This isn't personal. We all appreciate the work you've put in over the years. It's just time for a change.”

  “I oughta change you, Oliver,” Bert growled. “Change you from sitting in that chair to throwing you right out on your tail feathers.”

  “Bert, please. If you—”

  Bert stabbed a finger in his direction. “You and I both know what this is about! This ain't about freshening things up! This ain't about a fresh look! I've been sitting in that Santa chair for ten years and you're just gonna yank it out from under me?” Bert stabbed the air again. “You're gonna get yours, pal. You'll get yours!” He turned on his heels and stormed out, much the same way Ava had.

  A voice behind the camera whispered “Whoa” and then the video shut off.

  I leaned back in my chair. I’d expended zero energy but my heart was thumping like I’d just jogged to the station.

  I glanced around the station, wishing Ted hadn’t already left.

  Nora seemed like a less likely suspect now than she had when Oliver first mentioned her.

  Because there seemed to be plenty of people who might have a much better reason to make Oliver Berg's first Christmas a big failure.

  NINE

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because I said so,” Priscilla Hanborn said.

  I was standing in her office, next to her desk. I'd gone straight to her after I'd finished the video and after she'd spent two minutes staring at me with a sour expression, she'd finally agreed to take a look at the footage. When she was done, she handed my phone back to me and told me she had no interest in looking any further.

  “Because you said so?” I asked. “I recall my parents telling me the same thing when they couldn't come up with a real reason to say no to something.”

  She grunted. “I'm sure your parents told you a lot of things.”

  I frowned at her. “Come on. This is legitimate and you know it.”

  “What I know is that this town has more important things to worry about.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “We aren't going to start sticking our noses into every single squabble that finds its way onto Facebook.”

  “This isn't just some squabble on Facebook,” I argued.

  “I just watched it,” she said, gesturing at my phone.

  “You know what I mean,” I said. “It may not have ended there. People made threats and now things are missing. You can connect some dots.”

  “The only thing I want to connect is my lunch with my mouth,” Priscilla said, frowning. “This is a waste of time.”

  “Oliver Berg filed an official report for stolen goods,” I reminded her. “He and Ted compiled a methodical list. This isn't hypothetical. These things were stolen.” I held up my phone. “And this seems related.”

  She rubbed her stomach. “My stomach rumbling is related to my being hungry for lunch.”

  I frowned at her.

  She sighed. “Look, we don't know anything. Yes, some things have been stolen. But we don't know that it was all done by the same person. And we don't know that it's related to everyone getting their stockings in an uproar over some town committee exercising its right to do as they wish. Which, I will emphasize, is entirely their right.”

  “I'm not saying it's not their right. But it's not anyone's right to make threats and then steal what doesn't belong to them, especially if it's being done as retaliation.”

  “What exactly do you want me to do here, Daisy?”

  “Your job,” I said. “Investigate what's happened.”

  “I'm sure Ted's on it,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “If he needs something from me, he'll ask.”

  Her reluctance to take it seriously was infuriating to me. I knew that plenty of folks rushed to the town police for things that didn't warrant an investigation. That was the nature of a small town. This felt different, though.

  “Why are you being so obstinate here?” I asked. “You and I have had our differences, but I think you're pretty good at your job. This is legitimate. So why are you ignoring it?”

  She stared at me through narrow slits for a few moments. “Because I hate Christmas in this town. There. You happy?”

  “Why do you hate Christmas?”

  “Because of this!” She pointed at my phone. “Every single year, something happens related to this town's festival and parade. And it drives me nuts. The lunacy never ends. And we really do have other things to be doing rather than chasing around some ornament thief. But, every year, something happens and everyone acts like it's the end of the world. So I'm sorry if I'm not up in arms over a bunch of missing wreaths and a giant, over-sized Santa, but I'm running a police department and trying to figure out the holiday schedule so people can take time off, and responding to the multiple car accidents that happen when snow starts piling up, and people trapped in their homes when they can't dig themselves out. Those are real problems.” She leaned back in her chair. “A missing Santa and a bunch of townsfolk getting on one another's nerves is way down my list.” She paused. “Ho. Ho. Ho.”

  I shook my head, turned, and walked out of her office.

  “You can quit at any time, you know?” she hollered behind me.

  “I won't give you the pleasure!” I shouted back.

  I understood what she was saying, but I thought she was missing the point. I knew that the residents of Moose River could get carried away very easily with issues that weren't of the utmost importance. The Facebook forums were great evidence of that.

  But she was letting her own frustrations get in the way of seeing something that really was a crime. Things had been stolen, and I thought the video had demonstrated that a few people might've had a motive in having a hand in their disappearance.

  She seemed adamant, though, about staying out of it.

  I sighed.

  Because that meant I was going to have to get involved.

  Well, more involved than I already was.

  Ho ho ho.

  TEN

  The snow started falling harder after lunch and by the time I was ready to head home at four, the streets were covered and I could see the cars sliding around the roads as they tried to navigate the fresh snow. I hadn't planned anything for dinner and decided to run by Big Mama's Tacos to pick up food for everyone on my way home. It was just down the block from the station and by the time I got there, I was covered in snow.

  I stepped inside and the overwhelming aroma of tacos made my stomach rumble. The diner was mostly empty, save for two tables near the back. I stomped my boots on the mat and a familiar-looking face with shaggy brown hair smiled at me.

  “Hey there,” Howie Bradshaw said. “Just one?”

  “I'm actually going to order to go,” I told him. “If that's okay?”

  He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. “Yeah, for sure.”

  “You're Howie, right? Ava's son?”

  He looked at me, confused. “Yeah?”

  “I'm sorry,” I told him. “I'm Daisy Savage. My daughter Emily worked here before she went to college.”

  “Oh, right,” he said, the confusion dissipating. “I've met her a couple times. She covers for peo
ple, I think, when she's home?”

  “Yeah, that's right,” I told him. “Sorry. Didn't mean to seem like I was stalking you.”

  He smiled. “That's okay.”

  We stood there awkwardly for a moment.

  “So. What can I get for you?”

  “Oh, right,” I said, shaking my head. “Sorry. Long day.”

  “That's okay.”

  I gave him my order and he told me it would probably be about fifteen minutes. He hustled back into the kitchen and I took a seat in the booth closest to the register. Five minutes later, another familiar face scooted out of one of the back booths and walked toward the register.

  Bert Peterson was fishing his wallet out of his pocket when he glanced my way, looked back to his wallet, then looked at me again. “Oh, hey, Daisy. Sorry. Didn't recognized you at first.”

  “That's okay,” I asked. “How are you Bert?”

  He patted his belly. “Full of tacos. Yourself?”

  “I'm alright,” I said. “Just grabbing dinner for the family.”

  “Very good,” he said. His mouth twisted for a moment. “You still working at the police station?”

  “I am.”

  “Thought I saw you in the window the other day,” he said. “You hear anything yet about all of the Christmas stuff being stolen?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. How about you?”

  “How about me what?”

  “You hear anything?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Nope. I'm not in the loop anymore.”

  “I heard,” I said. “I was sorry to hear that.”

  He pulled some cash from his wallet. “Ah, well. What are you gonna do?” He put his wallet back and glanced outside. “And doesn't sound like there's gonna be much of a festival now anyway. At least, if they can't find everything.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I guess that's what happens,” he said. “Karma will always bite you in the butt.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He walked over to the counter and dropped the cash next to the register. “Howie, I'm just dropping this off. I'm good, kid.”

  “Thanks, Bert!” Howie called from the kitchen.

  He waved toward the kitchen then came back toward me. “What I mean is when people start getting a little too big for their britches, karma has a way of making their pants fall down. I think Oliver Berg's pants are down around his knees right about now.” He paused. “And I can't say that bothers me all that much.”

  “I heard things got a little heated,” I said, which wasn't a total like, given that I'd listened to the video. “Between...everyone.”

  He made a clicking sound. “Heated. Yeah, that sounds about right.” His features pinched together. “That's what happens when you do stuff behind people's backs. Pull the rug out from under them without any warning.” He shook his head. “Wasn't right and it wasn't fair. It's one thing if I was doing a bad job or something like that. But when you make it personal? Because you're angry at me?” He shook his head again. “Just ain't right.”

  “Who's mad at you?” I asked.

  His mouth flattened into a tight line for a moment. Then he shook his head one more time. “I just don't think I should get into it. Good talking with you, Daisy.”

  I watched him push out into the snow, climb into a big pickup truck, and drive off.

  His reaction confused me. Why did he think it was personal? And did he mean just what happened with him, or was he including Ava in that, as well?

  Howie emerged from the kitchen with a couple of white paper bags. “Okay, I think you're all set.”

  I stood. “That was fast.”

  “Pretty slow tonight, with the snow and all,” he said. “We'll probably end up closing early if it stays like this.”

  He gave me the total and I handed him my credit card.

  “How's your mom doing?” I asked.

  He slid the card through the reader. “My mom? She's okay, I guess.”

  “I just meant with the whole Christmas committee thing and all.”

  “Oh. Right.” He punched a couple of buttons on the machine. “She's okay.”

  “She was pretty upset when it happened,” I said. “At the meeting?”

  He glanced at me. “Were you there?”

  “No, I just heard about it,” I said.

  “A lot of people heard about it.”

  “I'm sure. Kind of a bad situation all around.”

  “Yeah.” The paper printed out of the reader and he tore it off. He pulled a pen from a cup and then slid both the receipt and the pen toward me. “I just feel bad for her. It's, like, her favorite thing ever. She works on it all year around. She's always doing something or planning something for Christmas. She doesn't have a job. This was her job.” He shook his head. “Just sucks. And I don't understand why.”

  I signed the receipt and laid the pen down next to it. “I'm sorry. That's hard.”

  “I just want her to move on,” he said, picking up the pen and dropping it in the cup. He slid the receipt into a drawer next to the register. “She can't change it. They made their decision.”

  “She's still angry?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. She is. I mean, she's okay. But she's mad. I just want all of this to be over so she can move on.”

  “I understand,” I told him. “Well, just a few more days, I guess, right? Then the festival will be over and Christmas will be over and we'll be on to January.”

  He picked up a towel and wiped down the counter. “Yeah, I guess. You think they'll still have the festival? With all of the decorations being stolen and stuff?”

  “I honestly don't know,” I told him. “It sounds like everything is kind of up in the air at the moment.”

  He nodded and set the towel down. “Okay.” He nodded at the bag. “I put extra sour cream in there.”

  “Thanks, Howie,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

  He nodded, turned, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  I wasn't lying to him. I was sorry that both he and Ava were having a bummer of a Christmas season. I understood what he meant when he just wanted to get through it. I didn't blame him.

  As I picked up the bags, though, and headed out into the snow to feed my hungry family, I wasn't sure it was going to be that easy.

  ELEVEN

  I gathered up the wrappers on the table and shoved them into the bag. “It's just that no one's doing anything and I think that's wrong.”

  I'd gotten the food home and Howie had packaged it well enough that it was still steaming hot, despite my trip through the cold and snow. The family had devoured it in just a few minutes, leaving a trail of empty plates, wrappers, and tinfoil behind. Jake and I were cleaning up the table and I was sharing what I'd learned that day.

  “Well, what is there to do?” he asked, stuffing another bag with foil and greasy wrappers. “Oliver filed a report. There don't seem to be any eyewitnesses to the thefts, or at least not anyone who's come forward. The head of your police force has told you she's not interested in pursuing it.” He shrugged. “Unless someone comes up with some evidence, I'm not sure what else there is to do.”

  I wadded up some of the napkins and stuffed them in the bag. “She could, at least, be taking seriously the idea that someone is trying to make Oliver look bad.”

  “By interviewing his ex-wife?” Jake asked.

  “Sure. But Ava, too.”

  “I guess,” Jake said. “Although talking to the ex-wife seems like it would be a hornet's nest no one would want to step into.”

  “And what about Bert?” I continued, carrying the now-full bag to the kitchen trash. “He's on that video making threats. Don't you think she should at least talk to him about it?”

  He followed me into the kitchen. “How many times have you said things out of anger that you had no intention of actually doing?”

  “Maybe one time.”

  He laughed. “Right. But you get what I'm saying. It happens all of the time. If the poli
ce followed up every single time someone in this town got upset about something and made a threat, they'd have no time to do their actual jobs.”

  He wasn't wrong, but I didn't like hearing it.

  “What about Ava?” Surely two people fighting on camera with Oliver warranted some kind of attention.

  “What about her?” he said. “It's the same thing. Yeah, she was mad. I would've been mad, too. And I probably would've said things far worse than whatever she said.”

  I grabbed a sponge and headed back toward the table. “Well, you have a foul mouth.”

  “Exactly my point,” he said. “I would've gone off the deep end if I'd been angry like she was. I would've burned every bridge in that room and said lots of things that no one would've ever forgotten. But I wouldn't have done anything. I wouldn't have then come home and hatched a plot to ruin Christmas for the entire town. That's a whole other level of anger that most people don't get to.”

  His logic and reasoning were, like usual, annoyingly sound.

  “But most of the time, there isn't a crime after the threats,” I said, refusing to give up the fight. “This time, there is. And before you poke a hole in that one, the crime is somewhat connected to the threats. So it would seem logical that someone would do some type of investigation.”

  “Isn't Ted following up?”

  “Ted's doing the million things that Ted always has to do,” I said. “He can't focus on one thing. That poor man has basically run the whole department while Priscilla sits at her desk and plays Candy Crush or whatever it is she does all day long.”

  “Well, that's better than nothing,” Jake said. “And you know you won't win an argument with Priscilla. If she's already decided to set it aside, nothing's going to change her mind. Especially an argument from you.”

  I knew he was right. It probably didn't even matter if Priscilla thought I was right. She'd put it aside just to spite me. I wasn't doing anyone any favors by arguing for an investigation. The harder I pushed, the more Priscilla was probably determined to ignore it.

  I finished wiping down the table and tossed the sponge into the sink. “Well, I don't care. It isn't right and it isn't fair. And I don't want the festival or the parade canceled.”