Chapter One
Sergeant Tom Applegate parked his Echo Falls patrol car in front of Clem’s Restaurant and wondered, not for the first time, why decent men lost their heads over simple things. A stolen Santa wasn’t usual for the small town, nor was this a case that would normally land on his desk. With two officers out sick, he took the call.
He straightened his gear and scanned the neighborhood. The air smelled faintly of apple pie and diesel. Holiday lights blinked from shop windows, and somewhere between Slade’s General Store and the diner, the eight-foot stuffed St. Nick had vanished.
Probably a prank.
But around here, even grand theft holiday had a way of turning personal.
He stepped out of his car. The door creaked against the chilly wind, hinting at an inbound cold front. Two weeks before Christmas and every person in Echo Falls knew what that meant. A bad weather threat could stir up folks faster than a full moon. Still, the sun was shining, and Main Street bustled with the usual breakfast rush at Clem’s, neighbors laughing in street conversations, and shoppers balancing bags. The whole town hummed with anxious, joyful pre-holiday energy.
The decorating process on this block escalated to the ridiculous last Christmas; and this year’s decorations vied for the attention of the space station. Strings of colorful lights tangled with a blinding array of white ones flashing in chaos from every surface, tree, and window. Personally, he preferred the lighted Santa and reindeers from the roof of Carlsson’s Cars – classic, yet mysterious. Not that his grandmother’s mechanic shop being in the same building had anything to do with hisfondness. Or a long-ago, clandestine high school memory he would never confess. No, tradition spoke to him.
He thumbed his shoulder device. “Unit 1-2 out at Clem’s.”
“Copy, Sarge.” Norah Albright, their new day-time dispatcher, brought smarts, calmness, and efficiency to a thankless job using a touch of humor that was appreciated.
He winced as the roar of Christmas music from Slade’s Clothing Store vibrated in his ears overwhelming Clem’s choice. The decorating competition had branched to music, too. WasGrandma Got Run Over by a Reindeeron blast? Sweet baby Jesus.
He put on his cop face and stomped across the lot to the restaurant entrance where Garrett Slade and Clem Harlowe were in an animated, finger-poking, ear-splitting argument with an audience.
Fortunately, no shoving or fists were involved. Yet.
But the windows were filled with Clem’s restaurant goers eyeing the scene, and traffichad backed up with car viewers from Slade’s businesses across the street.
The two men were downright territorial about their decorations which violated the spirit of the season, but Tom would leave judgment to the reverends at their particular churches.
“Dispatch, would you send a second unit this way?”
“Copy, 1-2.” Crowd control left him irritated and snappy, especially for an argument between two pillars of the community who should know better.
“Why you cantankerous, lying, idea-stealing, bootlicking, third-rate cook. Give back my Santa.” Garrett’s red face and rapid breaths made Tom pause in alarm. Dr. Jackie wasn’t at the hospital today. She did need a day off once in a while.
Clem had a smirk under his mustache and a nasty spark in his eye. “And I keep telling you I ain’t got your ratty Santa. He doesn’t fit my theme.”
“Theme, scheme. You didn’t steal it for you. You stole it to keep my attractions from being better than yours.”
“They’re already better without your musty, ugly Santa.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Gentlemen.” He studied the audience, some of them too young to be witnesses of such nonsense.
“That man…” Clem sputtered.
“This jerk…” Garrett shouted over Clem.
“Both of you be silent. Move along people. No entertainment here today.”
Two teenagers hovered near the argument, phones raised to catch every second. One was Jake Cara, his partner’s little brother. The other was Daniel Leonard who lived out by the pumpkin farm.
“Out or I take your phones.” He pointed at Bret’s brother for good measure. Kid knew he’d carry the tale to Bret.
Wide-eyed, the two boys pocketed their devices and bolted for their bikes.
Another Echo Falls police car entered the lot, Detective Carmen Vogel behind the wheel. Only the stupid argued with the diminutive, tough detective.
Tom took a step back and stared across the street to the empty patch where Santa had been.
A flicker of pink caught his attention. Mianna Devlin, fourteen-years-old, fearless, and a high IQ troublemaker, paced the crime scene in her bubble-gum pink pants, matching rubber boots, and a poofy jacket with a candy-striped scarf flapping like a battle flag. What on earth was she doing?
