“Did you move the bike and trailer?”
“No. When I left last night it was chained to the pole, like always.”
“It’s gone this morning,” Kerry said. “No sign of it.”
“Damn. Somebody must have stolen it. But where was Queenie? She didn’t bark?”
“Not a peep.”
Murphy let off a string of expletives. “It’s those friggin’ Brody brothers.”
“Probably so. They were royally pissed yesterday when they saw how much business we were doing. What now?”
“I’ve got another bike at the farm. I can bring it back with me, but I had to build that trailer rig myself. No time to make another one. Guess you’ll just have to make do with Vic and his bike for now.”
“More bad news. Vic can only work till noon today.”
“See if he has a buddy?”
Kerry looked up at Vic. “Do you have a friend who might want to help out today?”
“Sorry. I called a couple guys, but everybody already had plans.” He polished off the cruller and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“No dice,” Kerry reported. “Never mind. I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, should I call the cops and make a report?”
“Forget it,” Murphy advised. “New York ain’t Tarburton. The bike and trailer are history. Just do what you can until I get back. Then I’ll deal with those punks myself.”
Kerry hooked her phone up to a Bluetooth speaker she’d bought at a nearby electronics store and downloaded a playlist of up-tempo holiday music.
By nine, the Tolliver Family Tree Farm stand was packed with customers, all of them clamoring for trees and selfies with Spammy and quaint stories about life on a Christmas tree farm. She resisted the temptation to start fabricating stories about magical elves, watch owls, and dastardly bike-stealing trolls, and concentrated on pasting on a (mostly) cheery smile.
Vic scurried around the stand, helping buyers choose trees, wielding the chain saw to cut down trunks, and carrying their purchases to cars or nearby addresses.
The pile of larger trees needing delivery kept growing, as Kerry promised Murphy and his bike should be back on the premises by Sunday.
By noon, the tree stand had been nearly stripped of the remaining unsold trees.
“Go ahead and leave,” Kerry told Vic, as she counted out his earnings into his outstretched palm. “If Murphy gets back with another load of trees, we could probably use your help again tomorrow, if you’re available.”
“Have to check with my mom,” he said. “Can I text you in the morning?”
“Of course. Great job today, Vic. Don’t know what I would have done without you.”
He grinned and pointed to his jacket’s pockets, bulging with tip money. “Are you kidding? I made bank today!”
“Maybe just one more favor?” she asked. “Can you run down to the hardware store and bring me back a load of firewood? This Southern girl is about to freeze to death out here.”
The afternoon was as slow as the morning was harried. Kerry took Queenie for a quick walk to Anna’s for a sandwich and some coffee.
She fetched her sketchbook from the trailer and resumed doodling with a sketch of a saucy Westie she’d spotted down the block. She drew him wearing a handsome plaid jacket that matched his owner’s, a woman she recognized from the Kaplans’ building.
“Hi, Kerry.” Austin raced to her side. He was bundled up in a thick puffer jacket, snow boots, mittens, and a green-and-red-striped ski cap.
“Can we work on our story now? My dad said it doesn’t look like you’re too busy right now.”
She handed him the sketchbook. “Where were we?”
He flipped through the pages. “Here,” he said, stabbing his finger on the page with the elaborate gate and the secret forest. “I think what happens next is, the bad guys figure out how to get into the forest, to steal the trees.”
