“If I could choose any pet, I’d have a dog,” Jonie grinned. “A puppy like the ones Mr. Robinson had last night. Then I could train it to do tricks and it would be my best friend. But my mum hates animals. It sucks being a kid when you can’t make your own decisions.”
“True. It sucks being an adult sometimes, too.” I turned to Mrs. Ellis. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full with this one. Have you seen Earl Larson around this morning, by any chance?”
“Yes. He stopped by the community kitchen this morning, and he was in a jolly mood. Whistlin’ Christmas carols and smiling to himself. I suspect he’ll be down by the old station. That’s where his friends usually gather. Don’t be too long now. After we’ve finished our chocolate we’ll be back at Nevermore for some Christmas shopping. I’ve got my eye on the nextFifty Shades of Greybook—”
“I’m afraid you can’t. The shop is… closed for repairs.” I’d decided not to open the shop so that more villagers could come to gape at the treeless room and gossip about Heathcliff in front of me. It wasn’t like we were losing business, anyway – no one wanted to do their shopping with the Argleton Grinch.
Mrs. Ellis’ mouth pursed. “Mina, love, you can’t let these nasty gossips get to you. Those of us who know Mr. Heathcliff believe in his innocence.”
“I appreciate that.” I blinked, trying to force back my brimming tears. “But you know how it is – even the police believe he’s the thief. They won’t dedicate any real resources to finding the stolen gifts, so it’s up to me.”
“That’s horrible,” Jonie said, staring at her shoes. I knew she was thinking of all those animals who’d have to go without.
“That’s why the shop’s shut today – I need to dedicate all my energy to finding the real robber and returning the gifts.” I forced a smile for Jonie. “I promise that Quoth and I will find them and all the animals at the shelter will have the best Christmas ever. I’m actually following up a clue right now, so we should get going.”
“Thank you, Mina.” Mrs. Ellis gave my arm a squeeze as she and Jonie shuffled toward the bakery. I trudged through the snow in the direction of the old station.
I don’t know why you bother defending him, Quoth’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“I know it looks bad,” I said aloud. “But we’re going to prove his innocence. That’s hard to do when even his own friends suspect him.”
It’sbecauseI’m his friend that I suspect him,Quoth said.You weren’t here last Christmas. You haven’t seen how he gets. Even by Heathcliff’s standards, he’s rude and mean and horrible.
“That’s the real mystery,” I said. “Why is Heathcliff such a Christmas Grinch? I can tell something’s going on with him. He wants to talk about it, but he’s afraid. And when he’s afraid, he lashes out… Ah, there they are!”
I raced down the street, rounding the corner onto Old Station Road. An old Victorian brick train station house loomed ahead of us, surrounded by piles of rubbish and overgrown weeds. Before I was born the railway had been rerouted to a new station closer to the center of the village to join it up with the main Barchester line, and this station had been abandoned. Every year the village talked about cleaning up the building and turning it into a community center, or a museum, or a garden center. And every year nothing happened. Instead, teens broke inside to drink and smoke and shag, and the local homeless population used it as a shelter and meeting place.
As I approached, I heard the sounds of laughter and singing. I pushed through the station door, but found the building empty of people. Only a few scattered sleeping bags and a billy of water showed anyone had been there. The sounds grew louder as we walked toward the platform.
Quoth peered into the ticketing booth and shook his head. I shoved open one of the broken doors and stepped out onto the platform, stumbling over a long crack in the concrete as I was greeted by a shocking sight.
Earl sat on an upturned rubbish bin, a fiddle pressed to his chin as he played a jaunty reel. Beside him, another homeless guy I recognized from around the village harmonized on a tin whistle. A line of people danced a wild jig around a fire smoldering in an oil drum.
In the center of their revels, towering over the fire like a watchful parent, stood a majestic Christmas tree bedazzled from head to toe with tinsel and glass baubles. It was slightly lopsided with a few broken branches, but otherwise in pristine condition.
It was our tree!
Chapter Twelve
“Hey!” I flew into the circle, waving my arms around. “Stop right now!”
Earl’s fiddle screeched in protest. Startled by the sound, Quoth flapped wildly, toppling off my shoulder and crashing into the tree. It lurched to the side as the rubbish bin holding it upright struggled with the sudden force. Three people wearing mismatched clothing rushed to right it.
Earl glared at me. “What you doin’ here?”
“Why do you think I’m here?” I yelled. “I’m here to have justice for your crime!”
“We was just dancing. That’s not illegal.”
“I’m talking about the tree! I can’t believe you’d steal from us, Earl. I thought you were Heathcliff’s friend. The whole village believes Heathcliff stole this tree. They’re practically ready to crucify him over it, but it was you all along!”
“I didn’t steal this tree!” Earl shot back. “I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing. Mr. Heathcliff gave it to us.”
“He did?” That was even worse. That meant that Heathcliff… that he…
Earl nodded. “As good as. He saw me admirin’ it through the window the other day, an’ he said we could take it after he was done with it. Every year we get the Rose & Wimple tree on December 27th when they take it down, and we have our own Christmas celebration out here, y’see? Only this year’s the first year we’ve been able to have a tree before Christmas! And this one doesn’t reek of beer and piss. The kiddies are so happy. That’s why we were celebratin’.”
“Why did you think Heathcliff was finished with the tree?”
