“Christmas always comes. No need for Santa after Christmas.”
The chief rubbed his neck. “I had breakfast with the business association this morning and got blasted for our inability to find him, then they thanked me because it’s got people out shopping and watching for the old man. Like I had anything to do with it.”
Tom groaned. “If that doesn’t define modern life, I’m not sure what does.”
“What about the pending burglary Carmen was working?”
He checked his notes. “Solved. Items found at the grandparent’s house. Grandpa apparently wanted back some things he’d passed on, but didn’t ask.”
“Lovely. Well, I’m going to city hall to talk with your mother. Something about a mural?”
“Oh. Summer’s.”
Paul fitted his hat to his head. “Yeah, sounds interesting.”
Tom kept his sigh to himself. “She’s got plans. I’m not sure what all of them are, but we’ll keep rolling.”
“Best way to do it with a wife.”
“Do tell.”
“Nope, that’s all I got. I’m divorced, remember? No expert here.”
“Noted. I’m out. I’ll find you later.”
“Keep going. Nobody is perfect and especially not these kids. They’ll make a mistake.” The chief went out the main doors to walk to the courthouse.
Tom stopped to tell Norah his plan and drove to the library. The parking lot had a smattering of cars. He made his way inside, stopping at the entrance to savor the smell of the books.
At the counter, he recognized Janice Murray, one of Trina Parker’s aunts.
“Tom, what can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to Lori.”
“She’s not here. Mia’s pretty sick. They put her in the hospital last night.”
Tom stifled his surprise. “Okay, thanks Janice.”
“Can I help with anything?”
“No, I need to talk to Lori about Mia. So I’ll check the hospital and get updated.”
“Happy holidays.”
“You, too.” He made his way through the quiet of the library and back to his car. No wonder he hadn’t heard from her.
He took the long way around to the hospital so he could survey the business areas and check the front of the VFW. No point in any exploration there. Too many people went in and out of the building. It was worse than the post office. They had coffee and snacks at all hours and games ongoing from pinochle to bingo. Add the veteran’s support group and the place was a constant stream of visitors.
At the hospital, he went inside. Skipping the reception desk and the half-filled waiting room, he went through the double doors and to the nurse’s station. Dr. Jackie Shay was at the counter in gray scrubs and a white coat with her dark hair in a swinging ponytail. She stood with her usual quiet confidence.
“Sergeant.”
“Doctor.”
They both grinned.
“What do you need, Tom?”
