It Came Upon a Midnight Crime Read online

  I nodded toward ground zero, as if it were my business. “Hate crime?”

  “I’d say it was just teenagers up to some mischief with a bottle bomb, if it wasn’t for—” He stopped himself, but I knew what he was going to say, If it wasn’t for the ear.

  “I still think this should be considered a hate crime.”

  “I appreciate your opinion. As always.” His voice did not match his words.

  Yes, I did have a lot of opinions. I couldn’t deny that. Riley said that was just the way that God had made me.

  I turned away from the detective. There was nothing more I could do here. I was not an explosive expert, not in the least—unless you counted the time I accidentally blew up the chemistry lab in high school. But that was an entirely different story.

  Now, I had a promise to make good on.

  ***

  Riley had given me a ride back to the apartment, where I’d grabbed my van and rode out to yesterday’s crime scene. I’d promised I’d clean it—something I was regretting at the moment. I didn’t mind working for free sometimes, but that was usually when I had money coming in from other sources, which I didn’t right now.

  I was hoping that I might discover something new today, but I hadn’t. Mostly, I’d tried to pat the homeowner’s back, tell her everything would be okay, and piece back together the nativity figures. I’d counted on being there maybe a couple of hours, but ended up being there nearly six.

  Now it was time to unwind with my friends.

  I climbed into my unmarked work van, and a few minutes later I pulled up to my favorite coffeehouse, The Grounds, which just so happened to be located right across from my apartment. The sun was already beginning to sink and the air felt crisp with winter. All along the road, fake boughs of holly had been shaped into twirls around light poles. I resisted the urge to mutter, “Ba-humbug!” I didn’t have great memories of Christmas. My mom had mostly cried because my brother wasn’t with us anymore, and my dad had gotten drunk. I spent much of the time feeling guilty that my brother was gone. There was absolutely nothing merry about any of that.

  As I pulled open the door to The Grounds, the scent of cinnamon and coffee warmed me. “Run, Run Rudolph” played from the overhead speakers and made me want to put a little swing in my step, but before I could fully engage my jazz hands with the two-step, my friends waved me over from a corner table. I composed myself as I approached the table where Riley, Chad, and Sierra sat.

  “What took so long?” Riley asked, pushing out a chair for me. “Everything okay?”

  I plopped down suddenly weary. “Long story.”

  Riley shoved a vanilla latte in my hand. “You’re going to have to drink this on the go, then.”

  “Where are we going?” I took a sip of my drink and noticed there was some cinnamon, nutmeg, and maybe even caramel in this latte. I just couldn’t get away from the reminders that Christmas was approaching, could I? I mean, it wasn’t that I really wanted to forget. It was mostly that when you’re single and without a close family, Christmas isn’t that exciting. Sure, my aunt would send me oversized granny underwear and my dad might spring for some cheap chocolates. Heck, he might even wrap up some of his bills and give them to me as a way of saying “Aren’t you glad I’m your dad?” But Christmas . . . it was just another day, one I’d just as soon pass by.

  “We’re buying you a Christmas tree,” Riley announced

  I nearly spit out my latte. “What? I don’t want a tree.”

  “Come on, Gabby. You’ve gotta have a tree,” Sierra chimed in, pushing her plastic framed glasses up higher on her tiny little nose. “My Christmas won’t be merry and bright if I think you’re miserable.”

  “I’m not miserable.” Okay, so maybe a little.

  “We’ve developed a plan,” Chad added. “The Christmas tree is first on the list. Then we’re taking you to a Christmas parade and we’re dragging you to the Ugly Christmas Sweater party at Sierra’s.”

  “Guys, I have more important things to do. I’ve got to figure out who’s destroying Christmas around town.” That sounded more noble than being nosy, didn’t it?

  “I really don’t think you should . . . ” Riley started.

  I raised a hand. “I know. But I’m a big girl. And I’m not totally investigating. I’m just nosing around. You know, what I do best.”

  Sierra, a second-generation Japanese American and animal rights activist, stood to her full four-foot eleven-inch height. “Okay, enough arguing. We’ve got to concentrate on the mission at hand, and that mission involves visiting a tree stand run by Boy Scout Troop 14 and maybe admiring some Christmas lights along the way.”

  There was really no use in arguing. We left the coffee shop and padded down the sidewalk in Ghent, an artsy little neighborhood located in Norfolk, Virginia. Sierra and Chad bantered back and forth as we walked, arguing about whether reindeer could fly and, even if they could, how ethical it would be to force them to pull a sled. I tuned them out, walking in companionable silence beside Riley. My breath came out in frosty puffs and somewhere nearby—from Sierra maybe?—I could hear little jingle bells tinkling with each footfall.

  “You find out anything today, Ms. I’m-Not-Investigating-Just-Being-Nosy?” Riley asked. He was tall and lean with a head full of dark hair that was just a little too long—his hair was probably the only part of him that ever rebelled. He had crystal blue eyes, a knock-your-socks-off grin, and I was convinced he was the secret twin of the guy who played the lead character on the TV show Grimm. I seriously needed for him to grow some warts, gain a ton of weight, and obtain some bad body odor. Then maybe he wouldn’t be so endearing to me.

  I shrugged. “Not really. Nothing good, at least.”

  His hands were shoved down into the pockets of his black leather coat. I wondered if Sierra had admonished him yet for wearing that jacket and therefore supporting animal cruelty—those would have been her words, not mine. I wasn’t a fan of animal cruelty, but I was a fan of eating meat.

  By the time we reached the tree stand, my latte was long gone and my hands were freezing. The makeshift business was located in the parking lot off to the side of a strip of upscale shops. I walked through the rows of trees, absorbing the scent of evergreens. Finally, I pointed to a tree nearly buried between some other behemoths. “I want that one.”

  Riley squinted at it. “That one?

  I nodded most assuredly. “Yep, that one.”

  “It’s . . . small and lopsided.”

  “Yep, and that’s why I want it. No one else will.”

  His piercing blue eyes met mine, and I could see in their depths that he was trying to understand me. Finally, he said, “Trees don’t have feelings, you know. It’s not going to spend all night crying because it was picked last.”

  Everyone had to be a smart aleck, didn’t they? “I know. I just . . . I don’t know. I feel a kindred spirit with it, I suppose. I know it sounds corny. I just know that I want this one.”

  Riley pulled it out from its hiding spot and stood it on end. The tree probably only came to my shoulders and about half of its branches were either missing or broken. Like I said, it was perfect.

  Riley nodded. “It’s a done deal then.”

  I paid for the tree and then Riley hoisted it over his shoulder. I was going to have to find some Christmas ornaments somewhere to decorate the pitiful little evergreen. I’d think about that later. Maybe I’d get creative and use some of the gag gifts people had gotten me throughout the years, things like bouncing balls that looked like eyes and crime scene tape. I’d bet I could get on Pinterest and find some ideas for making my old rubber work gloves into angels or something.

  We stopped outside of my apartment building, and Sierra turned to all of us. “How about if I meet you guys up in Gabby’s apartment? I want to grab some brownies from my place. I made them today.”

  I paused by the steps, remembering the last time Sierra made brownies for us. I had to think of a way to say no and fast. Or sho
uld I simply pretend to eat the brownie while secretly throwing the rest of it out of the window for the squirrels?

  Just as I opened my mouth to speak, my gaze focused on a wooden manger scene Riley had placed outside of our building. It looked like someone had taken an ax to the set and chopped it up in pieces. My jaw dropped open. “No . . . ”

  Sierra’s hands went to her hips. “What’s wrong with my brownies?”

  Riley followed my gaze. He walked over to the scene and bent down, shaking his head as he picked up a chunk of wood. “Why would someone do this?”

  “That’s a great question.” It couldn’t be a coincidence that someone had destroyed this manger scene. I joined Riley and knelt down to examine the destruction. I knew this meant a lot to him. “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head again. “It’s okay. I just don’t understand . . . ”

  I pointed to the blanket under the manger. “Look, I think there’s a piece of paper there.”

  Riley reached over and tugged at the corner. Sure enough, a note was there. He pulled his shirtsleeves over his fingers—careful not to damage any prints—and opened the paper. The message was simple—and eerie: Away in a Danger.

  “Away in a Danger?” I questioned, trying to process everything aloud.

  Riley shook his head. “Someone is sick.”

  I knew one thing. Someone had just sent me a personal invitation to get involved in this investigation.

  And I was accepting.

  Chapter 3

  Mr. Grinch

  The next morning, I pulled to a stop in front of a white-steepled church in downtown Norfolk. I was pretty sure this was one of the historic buildings that people always talked about with local pride. I had to admit that the place was gorgeous and picturesque with its white-planked sides, stained glass windows, and neat cemetery surrounded by a picket fence.

  I put the van in park and glanced at my watch. Pastor Shaggy was holding a meeting for Operation: Save Christmas, and I wanted to be there and check out the crowd.

  I yawned and rested my head against the seat. Seven o’clock still felt early to me. I’d had another late night since we’d called Detective Adams to the manger scene massacre at my apartment building. He’d offered no insight and had again warned me to leave this investigation to the authorities. What fun was that?

  Finally, a few more cars pulled into the parking lot and people straggled toward the front door. They looked like they needed coffee more than I did. When Pastor Shaggy arrived, that’s when I decided to go inside. I put aside the piles of paperwork I’d been working on for my business.

  He paused at the front door, and as the sunlight hit his hand, I noticed the scrape across the top. “I’m glad you could come, Gabby. This means a lot.”

  I wasn’t sure he realized that I was here more for the crime part than I was the “save Christmas” part. “Someone made it personal, so I didn’t have much of a choice.” I softened my voice. “But I’m glad to help out.”

  I was about to ask about that cut on his hand, when someone else called him away to begin the meeting. Instead, I found a seat in the hard wooden pew located at the back of the room.

  I looked around the sanctuary at the twenty or so people who’d gathered. There were all kinds of people there—all races, social statuses, and ages. All concerned citizens. Pastor Shaggy had told me there were teachers, preachers, chaplains, civic group leaders, and everyday people who wanted to make a difference.

  And they all listened to Pastor Shaggy as he walked on stage and began talking about various Christmas events going on around town and what people’s legal rights were. People nodded and listened and asked questions.

  The whole scene was very inspiring, but it didn’t give me any leads as to who might be behind the dastardly anti-Christmas deeds.

  As people filed away and another hour of my life dwindled past, I approached Pastor Shaggy. Just as I was about to launch into my questions, a woman ran up to him. She was probably in her thirties, tall with an athletic build, and long brown hair.

  “You were fabulous today, Pastor. I just wanted to let you know that.”

  I was pretty sure that Pastor Shaggy blushed. “Thanks, Charity.” He glanced back over at me. “Charity, this is Gabby St. Claire. Charity is a high school chemistry teacher and also has been my right hand in trying to get everything organized here.”

  Charity offered a wide grin. “All of this talk about Christmas being banned just fired me up. I knew I had to get involved. For the children’s sakes, mostly.” She looked back at Pastor Shaggy. “We’ll talk more about the Living Christmas Tree this afternoon. Is that okay? I’ve got to be at school in ten minutes.”

  “Sounds perfect, Charity.”

  As she trounced away, I looked back at Pastor Shaggy. “You like her, don’t you?”

  He blushed. I promise he did. “No, don’t be silly.”

  I shook my head, veering way too far off topic. “Okay, let’s cut all the politically correct niceties out. Who do you think would do this?”

  He raised his eyebrows as if surprised then rubbed his chin. “My number one suspect would be the Coalition Against Christmas. Only, I’m not sure anyone in the organization is capable of murder. They’re certainly capable of trying to ruin Christmas, though.”

  I blinked, certain that I hadn’t heard him correctly. “There’s a Coalition Against Christmas?”

  He did that throaty chuckle that always made me want to ask if he wanted a Scooby Snack. “Yeah, the organization is bigger than you would think. It’s their goal to destroy anything that hints of religion, specifically at Christmastime.”

  “Don’t people have anything better to do?”

  He shrugged. “Apparently not. There is a war on religion, you know. We have to be tolerant of everyone and everything except Christians and Christian beliefs and traditions. It’s the new American way.”

  “So I’ve heard.” I crossed my arms, realizing with a touch of shame that I’d been on the other side once. I was just now starting to come around to another way of thinking and considering giving Jesus a chance. But I wasn’t sure I really wanted to jump in on either side of this “war.” “Tell me about this Coalition.”

  Pastor Shaggy’s voice suddenly lost its laidback twang as passion tinged his words. “They’re determined to get Christmas taken out of everything. They’re not even that fond of the word ‘holiday’ anymore, but it’s more acceptable than Christmas. They keep filing lawsuits against anyone or any organization that dares mention Christmas.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “They can, and they do. They had one local school remove all songs about Christmas from their program. But what really bothered me was when a little girl drew a picture of the nativity scene and the art teacher hung it in the hallway. The school administration forced her to take it down.”

  “Have any names for this Coalition?”

  “The local contact is Marvin Harris. I can do you even better.” Pastor Shaggy reached into his pocket. “Here’s the phone number and address of his local office.”

  ***

  The next thing I knew, I was driving down the street, ready to pay Marvin Harris a visit. I had no work lined up for the day, so why not? Maybe he would be surprisingly nice and point me in the right direction. Maybe his moral compass wasn’t totally screwed up.

  But, when I walked into his office at the M. H. Company and saw the immense scowl on his face, I figured I was wrong. Apparently, he owned a company that made cardboard boxes by day and was president of the local chapter of the Coalition Against Christmas by night. Owning a cardboard box company just might be reason enough to be utterly miserable. Quite possibly, the man also wore a near-real-looking Scrooge mask when he became his alter ego.

  I’d told his secretary that I had to see him now. I may have even mentioned something about being from the coalition’s corporate office.

  One look at my jeans and long sleeved T-shirt, and Marvin Harris had to have known I
wasn’t.

  “Mr. Harris, I’m Gabby St. Claire.” I extended my hand. He didn’t take it. Instead, he stared at me from his oversized desk, which was filled with mounds of papers and files. Around the perimeter of the room were boxes and on the walls were pictures of snakes, which I found to be rather creepy.

  I halfway expected him to spit out, “Ba-humbug!” He didn’t. Instead, he stared at me. Finally, he said, “What brings you here, Ms. St. Claire? Unannounced and under false pretenses, I might add.”

  I plopped myself into the chair across from him. “I’m wondering if you might help me to figure out who’s trying to destroy Christmas.”

  He leaned closer. “I am.”

  It couldn’t be that easy. I’d never, ever gotten a confession that quickly. “You? Really? Is it okay if I tell the police that?” I had to tread carefully. I had a knack for nearly getting myself killed.

  He leaned back, his eyebrows shooting up. “The police? What do they have to do with this? Unless they’re the pro-Christmas brigade.”

  Wow, he was not a sunny person, was he? “No, but someone has been vandalizing Christmas decorations around town, and I’m trying to figure out who.” I purposely left out the information on the body parts, wanting to gage his reaction to some less morbid news first.

  He leaned back, his lips pursed thoughtfully. “Vandalizing? Christmas decorations? Interesting. But I can’t help. I know nothing about it. I’m certainly not responsible, but I’m certainly not displeased to hear this, either.”

  “You do realize that people have the right to worship as they please. They do have freedom of religion, and putting evidence of their faith and beliefs in their front yard isn’t a crime.”

  He scowled again. “It should be. At the very least, it’s a badge proclaiming to the world that they’re idiots.”

  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?”