Mary reached out and plucked the menu from Nick’s hands. “Apparently it is important if you think charity is all about the giver. You obviously haven’t seen the faces of all those children when they see Santa for the first time.”
The oaf sat back against the vinyl cushion, his fingers tapping on the table. “Probably scares them half to death.”
“Wow, someone must have put coal in your stocking when you were a kid to make you so down on Christmas.” Mary stared at Nick, realization dawning and a huge lump of remorse choking her throat like a dry sock. For a long moment, she fought off a rise of tears before she could steady her voice enough to ask, “You didn’t have happy Christmases, did you?”
Nick scowled. “Look, whether or not I hate Christmas has nothing to do with your father’s disappearance. Can we just stick to the case?”
“Yes, of course.” Obviously, he was very touchy about his childhood and hated sympathy more than Christmas.
“Do you still have that newspaper you picked up at Moose Lodge?” Nick asked.
His words didn’t sink in at first. All Mary could do was stare at Nick, seeing a sad, dark-haired little boy looking through a store window at all the Christmas decorations, knowing he wouldn’t be included.
His frown deepened. “The newspaper?”
“Oh, yeah.” She fumbled in her jacket for the crumpled paper and spread it out on the table between them. If she didn’t get back on task, she’d find more reasons to fall for the interloper who pretended not to care.
On the front page a smiling senator waved from the door of an airplane, the caption reading California Senator Seeks Alaskan Vote.
“Gordon Thomas. He’s a highly decorated war veteran. In the running for the presidential race,” Nick stated.
“What could Gordon Thomas have to do with my father’s disappearance?”
“All I can do is to speculate at this point. Frank Richards was a war veteran as well. But then so were a lot of men their age.”
The roar of snowmobile engines outside the window made Mary and Nick look up at the same time. The frost on the outside of the windows plus the condensation on the inside blocked their view. They rose from their seats to get a better look.
Two snowmobiles raced down the street, one man wearing a navy-blue snowsuit, the other dressed all in white.
Nick reached the door before Mary. When he jerked it open, Chris Moss fell into the diner.
“Thanks, but I could have gotten it myself.” He grinned at Mary and Nick.
Nick brushed past him and ran outside coatless.
Mary followed.
The two snowmobiles disappeared around a corner in a veil of heavy snow.
By the time Nick and Mary got their coats on and followed, the riders would be long gone.
Nick muttered a curse beneath his breath.
Cold sliced through the sweatshirt and turtleneck Mary wore, driving her back inside.
“For a moment I thought the diner was on fire. What gives?” Chris slipped out of his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door.
“Any idea who those two men were on the snowmobiles that just passed by?” Mary asked.
“Looked like Silas Grentch and that man he’s been showing around town, Nelson Barney or Bailey or something. Not the best weather for a tour, if you ask me. But a great day to be off work.”
“Did Jasmine close the store early?” Mary asked.
“Not early...all day.” Chris grimaced. “I didn’t need a day off. I could use the money to make my truck payment.”
“All day?” Her father only closed the store on Monday and during really bad weather. But the weather hadn’t been bad all day. “Is she ill?”
“No, she said she had business in Fairbanks, something about hiring a private investigator because the police couldn’t find snow in a snowdrift. She didn’t want to be bothered opening. I told her I’d be happy to hold down the fort, but she didn’t take me up on it.” Chris shrugged.
