Chapter 4
“So what is he going to do about it?” Clare unsnapped Ethan’s car seat harness and hoisted him out of the car.
“Lyle? Nothing.” Russ pulled the folding stroller out of the back and slammed the hatch shut.
“Just because Kevin used to live and work here doesn’t give us—doesn’t give the MKPD any jurisdiction to look into his whereabouts.
” He opened the stroller. “And God knows he doesn’t have the time or manpower.
They’re short by two now—an acting chief instead of a chief plus a deputy and that unfilled officer slot.
” He took Ethan from her and buckled him into the stroller, an unnecessary precaution, she thought, but Russ was a tad obsessive about safety.
And she had to admit, the mall parking lot was jam-packed for a weekday afternoon.
“I should have hired someone when I had the chance,” he muttered.
Clare heroically refrained from making a face at this old song. “Okay, so Lyle isn’t in a position to figure out what’s going on. Why don’t you look into it?”
“Clare, I can’t do anything. I don’t have any jurisdiction either.”
This time she did roll her eyes. “Russ, you’re a civilian.
You don’t need an official imprimatur to find out what’s happened to a friend.
And yes, before you argue that definition, Kevin Flynn isn’t just someone who worked with you.
He’s your friend. And if no one knows where he is, no one knows if he needs help or not. ”
“Oh my God, you sound like Knox. She was gunning for me to hang out a shingle as a PI.” He looked around. “Which way?”
She pointed. “The main entrance.” The brief snowfall of last Saturday had melted away, and the asphalt was mercifully dry. “Do you want to know what your problem is?”
“Of course. Why else did I marry you?”
She whacked his arm. “You’ve spent your entire adult life, in the army and out, as a cop. You don’t know how to function as a civilian. Take me. If someone from, I don’t know, the St. Alban’s vestry was missing, I wouldn’t worry about jurisdiction. I’d try to find out what had happened to them.”
He gave her a sidelong look. “I don’t think you’re the best example.” They paused to let a car pass before crossing to the wide sidewalk encircling the Aviation Mall.
“You could at least go to his apartment and check it out for—” She stopped herself from saying “clues,” because she knew Russ would laugh at her. “Indications of where he might be.”
“How am I supposed to get into Kevin Flynn’s apartment without a warrant to show the landlord?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to break in, because I know that’s not true.”
“Laws just don’t mean that much to you, do they?”
“Not when they stop people from doing what’s right, no.” She opened one of the outer glass doors and let him maneuver the stroller into the foyer. A shopper laden with carrier bags paused to let them through the inner door before heading back outside.
“Okay, where is this Santa?”
Clare looked at the mall directory, sensibly placed near the entrance. “Santa’s Village. By JCPenney. Which is…” She traced the map. “Right here.”
They set off across the food court. There were a lot of shoppers, which made her wonder if she was kicking off the Christmas season right.
As a single army officer, her holidays had been spent either on duty or with her family, and as a single priest, there was so much Christmas—in the church, in the town, in her friends’ houses—that she never felt the need to do much of anything at home.
Last year, for their first Christmas as a married couple, she and Russ had gotten a tree and strung up lights and it was all good, low-key and sweetly romantic.
But she was a mother now. The huge Southern Christmases of her childhood had been extravaganzas of decorations and toys and gingerbread houses and caroling.
She had loved them. It was only as a full-grown adult that she had realized how much grinding labor her mother and grandmother had put into making December a magical month.
Maybe she was supposed to be out shopping right now, getting things ready for her little family? She frowned.
“Clare. Is that the line for Santa?”
“It can’t be. The store is all the way down…” Clare’s voice faded away as she realized the massive queue of grim-faced parents and children dressed in their holiday best was, in fact, the line for Santa. “Eugh.”
“‘Eugh’ is right. C’mon, let’s try it another day.”
“No, we have to get it done early if we’re going to send the picture out in our Christmas cards.”
“Pictures. Okay. How about a different Santa? There’s got to be one who’s less popular.”
Clare pointed to the end of the line. “We’ve already missed the Glens Falls Holiday Spectacular or whatever it is. Where else can you get pictures with Santa?” Russ opened his mouth. “And don’t say the VA hall.”
He closed it again, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s probably going to be an hour. If not more.” The line was a series of switchbacks between polished stanchions and velvet ropes, like a festive version of security at O’Hare Airport.
“I know. But we’re here, I’ve taken the afternoon off—let’s just get it done.”
Russ looked toward the ceiling for a moment and made a sound between a sigh and a groan. “Okay. But as long as we’re in for a wait, do you mind if I take the car for an oil change? There’s a quickie place just down the road.”
Clare peeked into the stroller. Ethan’s thumb had slipped from his open mouth.
“He’s out. Sure. And while you’re in the car, maybe you can call Kevin’s parents and ask if they have a key to his place.
All nice and legal.” Russ gave her a Look as he strode off in the opposite direction of the maddening crowd.
She took the stroller and rolled it into position behind a mother accompanying what appeared to be the twins from The Shining. They turned around and stared at Clare, who smiled weakly.
Was there anything worse than standing in a long line with nothing to do except wait?
Yes, apparently there was, as Clare listened to the whining, complaints, and occasional shower burst of tears as some child or another reached their limits.
She and Ethan inched forward as more parents—mostly mothers—joined the queue behind them.
She was facedown in her phone, trying, without much success, to answer emails, when she registered someone trying to get her attention. “Hey, Reverend! Minister! With the baby!”
Clare glanced around. She was at the turning point of her section of the line, and no one behind or before her was calling.
Then she saw her, two turnings ahead, in the same position.
The woman from the tractor parade. There were probably twenty people in line between them, but from this vantage point, they could see each other clearly. “Meghan?”
“Hey, you remember.”
Clare didn’t point out it would be hard to forget, under the circumstances.
“Come up here. We can keep company.”
“Oh, I couldn’t cut the line like that.” She also wasn’t particularly motivated. Although she had given the woman her card. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time.
“I’ll come back to you, then.” Meghan ducked under the velvet rope and crossed to where Clare was standing. “You don’t mind,” she asked the mother of the creepy twins, “if I get behind you?”
The woman shook her head.
Meghan looked at the woman behind Clare, who had been trying to keep her restive sons from playing a game that involved punching each other. “You okay with me joining my friend here?”
“You were ahead of me anyway, so, sure.” She looked at Meghan more closely. “Where are your kids?”
“I gave ’em some money and let ’em loose. My oldest has his phone. I’ll call him when we get closer.”
“That’s brilliant!” The woman dug her wallet out of her purse and began giving instructions to her boys.
Clare looked at Ethan, still sleeping in his stroller. “Don’t you worry about…” She waved a hand, taking in the constant movement of the crowd.
“‘Stranger danger’?” Meghan air-quoted the phrase.
“That’s way overblown. Your kid’s in more danger every time you put him in a car.
I’m what you call a free-range mama. My kids aren’t going to grow up not knowing how to cross the street without holding someone’s hand.
” She nodded toward Ethan. “You should read up about it. It’s a whole movement. ”
They shuffled forward a few feet. The perfectly normal conversation seemed strangely unreal. What did you expect, she was going to say Heil Hitler and lecture you on Christian nationalism? Yes, that was pretty much what Clare had been preparing for.
“Um. Were you raised that way?”
“Oh, God, no. I grew up in the ’burbs in Long Island.” Meghan laughed. “My folks drove me four blocks to school every day for years to keep me safe from the mean streets of Massapequa Park.”
“How did you wind up this far upstate?”
“Well, I couldn’t get into Stony Brook, with my grades.
” She laughed again. “Not much of a shocker. I was much more into partying than studying. I thought I’d do two years at a community college and then transfer—that’s what a lot of kids I knew did.
But I was desperate to get out of Long Island.
I already wanted to be in the country. I think people are just more real here, you know? ”
“Let me guess. You went to SUNY Adirondack.”
“Go, Timberwolves!”
They moved forward several steps. The line seemed to be going faster. Clare wondered if it was improved organization by the mall, or just people giving up and dropping out. “So you must have met your husband up here.”
“Yeah, Rick was in the criminal justice program, thinking of your husband being a cop.”
Clare tried not to let her surprise show. “Your husband’s law enforcement?”
Meghan shook her head. “No. He didn’t make it through basic. He shoulda known, really. He had the same problem when he joined the marines. Some guys just aren’t cut out to be, you know, packaged into a little box just like a hundred other little boxes.”
“Yeah, that’s … one way to describe the process.”
“Was your husband—what’s his name?—was he in the military?”
“Russ. And we were both in the army.”
“Get out! Mad respect. How long were you in for?”
“Ten years. And I’m in the Guard right now.”
Meghan grabbed her hand. Clare braced for it. “Thank you for your service.”
Clare had heard that a lot of times since she came home from Iraq, and she had never yet figured out a good response. They rounded another turn. She caught a glimpse of Santa on his throne this time. She hoped Russ wouldn’t miss it.
“You know what? You and your husband should come out to our place for an afternoon. We have this great deck-gazebo combination with a fire pit and everything. We’re still grilling if it’s not too cold! And Rick has a shooting range set up, so the men could blast away while we visit.”
“Oh! Um…”
“And we could talk about free-range parenting. Before you say yes, I should probably let you know Rick and I don’t drink. Alcohol, I mean.”
“Yeah, neither do we.”
“Oh my God, really? It’s perfect. Let’s do it this Saturday.”
Clare didn’t particularly want to deepen her relationship with this perfectly nice mother who thought the “New World Order” controlled the world, but something or some One did, because she opened her mouth and said, “Yes. Sure. Let’s do that.”
Russ arrived just before Ethan was due to sit in Santa’s lap. “Sorry. Apparently every other dad whose wife and kids were here decided to go to the same place for an oil change.”
“It’s fine. You haven’t missed anything.” Meghan had gone ahead with her two kids, dressed in red and green, and waved cheerfully as they left side by side with an elf taking the photo package orders. “Okay, little man, here’s Santa!”
He really was a great Santa—his cheeks were indeed like roses and he had a real white beard. Even better, he waited to see how Ethan would react before taking him in his arms.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa said. “I’m guessing it’s this little guy’s first Christmas.”
“Ethan.” After all the waiting and the weirdness, she suddenly felt close to tears. “He’s not old enough to ask for any presents, I’m afraid.”
“Well, Ethan.” Santa bent his head and whispered something into the baby’s ear. Ethan’s eyes went wide and he burbled.
“Got it!” There was a note of triumph in the photographer’s voice.
Clare took the baby back. He stared curiously at the jolly old elf. “What did you say to him?”
“It’s a secret.” Santa winked. “I speak baby. Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!”
One of the helpers ushered them to the table where they could look at and order pictures. Meghan and her kids were just leaving the Santa’s Village enclosure. “Saturday!” she called. “Don’t forget!”
“Clare.” Russ’s voice was pleasant. “Is that the woman from the parade?”
“It is, yes.”
“And did you commit us to some sort of social engagement with her and her white supremacist family?”
“I, um, I might have, yes.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Next time, I wait in line and you get the oil changed.”