Chapter 9
Jesse
Just give me plain, baby Jesus lyin' in a manger, CHRISTMAS!
~ The Office
“Baby Jesus is missing!” Mabel’s crackling voice practically blasts into the dispatch microphone. “Repeat! The baby Jesus is missing!”
For half a second my brain registers it like a Code Three—then my mouth twitches. “Only in Bordeaux.”
Alex looks over at me, stifling a laugh. “I take it Jeanie’s taking a day off.”
“Yes. Today for your listening pleasure, we have Mabel as dispatcher.”
I push the call button on the radio mic. “What’s going on, Mabel?”
“Oh, dear! It’s baby Jesus! They’ve taken the baby Jesus!”
“Who took Jesus?” I ask.
Alex covers her mouth with her hand and squeezes her eyes shut. I grin over at her, barely maintaining my composure.
“We don’t know who. But my guess is those hooligans who were throwing snow at the nativity last week. First it's vandalism. Then it's elf abduction. And now it's full-blown manger mayhem!”
Alex mouths Manger Mayhem to me, and I cover my laughter with a cough.
I lift my finger off the call button to mutter, “Not sure the code on that one,” to Alex. More laughter ensues as she tries to regain her professionalism, but temporarily fails.
I push the button and ask, “Are you saying someone took the baby Jesus from the nativity scene, Mabel?” I have to clear my throat to disguise another threatening peal of laughter.
“Did I stutter?”
“No, ma’am. You didn’t.” I glance at Alex, who’s pinching her lips together. “We’ll head to the church now to check everything out.”
“Let me know if you need me to come over there,” Mabel says. “I’ve been known to get people to talk.”
“Thank you for that offer,” I say. “We’ll let you know.”
I hang up the mic. Alex and I take one look at each other and burst into shared laughter.
Once I regain some self-control, I turn the car toward First Lutheran.
Alex is still laughing when she says, “In Brooklyn, stolen property meant catalytic converters. In Bordeaux, apparently it’s a plastic Jesus.” She pauses, eyes gleaming. “This gives a whole new meaning to robbing the cradle.”
“Good one.” I smile, a small, residual laugh puffs out of me before I rein in my focus to the job at hand.
“I’ll be here all day,” Alex says as I pull the car to a stop.
The sidewalk around the church is teeming with people.
“Well, this should be interesting,” I say, hopping out of the car.
The three teen boys we dealt with the other night are lingering at the fringes.
I call them over. Alex asks them questions.
She and I exchange full conversations with a glance.
Usually, it takes months or even years to develop that kind of rapport with a partner.
When she finishes interviewing the boys, she gives me a short shake of her head, and with that single movement I know she thinks they’re innocent. I do too.
“We’re not ruling them out completely,” I say quietly to her once we’re out of earshot.
“No one’s ruled out yet,” she agrees.
Kate Shaller approaches, her high heeled boots clicking along the freshly-salted sidewalk. “This is an outrage!” As if waking from a dream, her eyes flit to Alex and her tone shifts. “Kate Shaller, event coordinator, head of the holiday homes tour, and parade chairperson.”
The recitation of her small-town resume is intended to impress and possibly intimidate Alex.
My partner just smiles at Kate. “Nice to meet you, Alex Keller.” She extends her hand. Kate eyes it and then shakes it dutifully, a fake smile pulling her lips too thin.
“While I appreciate the interest these thefts are drumming up, this time the thieves went too far. Even if those elves were a few years out of date. We really needed something more on trend in the town square.” Kate’s tone is melodramatic.
“And I don’t expect you to be able to do much, Jesse.
I know you don’t deal with crimes enough to have the necessary skills. But something needs to be done!”
Alex looks offended on my behalf. Or maybe I’m just reading into her expression.
“I’ve only been here a short time, Ms. Shaller,” Alex says, her accent thicker than usual.
“But I’d say Jesse has all the necessary skills.
He takes his job and the protection of Bordeaux very seriously.
” Awl the ness-ess-ahrie skills. I think her accent thickens when she’s fired up. I like it more than I probably should.
Instantly, the scene of me pulling Alex over in Lexi’s van floods my mind.
Sometimes I definitely take my job too seriously.
The weight of Alex’s support slams into me, resting between my sternum and melting there with a warmth that energizes me.
Not only does she believe in me, she’s defending me—to Kate Shaller of all people.
“I didn’t mean anything by that,” Kate dismisses Alex. “Everyone around here knows Jesse. He means well.”
Alex’s eyes narrow for just a moment before she dons a mask of neutrality and professionalism. “Well, we’ll be doing our diligence to find the thief.”
“Or thieves,” Kate adds, pointing to the bushes near the edge of the property where the three teen boys are lingering.
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” Alex says to Kate, pulling out her pad and pen.
“Me?” Kate’s the picture of innocence. Too much so.
“We’re interviewing everyone we can,” Alex says. “In the spirit of thoroughness.”
Cooter strolls by, walking down the middle of the street, wearing a dirty Santa hat, a well-worn Carhartt coat and carrying a trash bag. He looks at the crowd gathered around the manger and belts out a gusty, “Ho, Ho, Ho!”
Kate rolls her eyes. “Drunk before lunch. You could issue him a citation.”
“What good would that do?” I ask Kate. “He’s not hurting anyone.”
She harumphs. I walk over to Cooter. He looks at me sheepishly, eyeing the crowd and then looking back at me.
He reeks of alcohol. Not necessarily recently consumed.
It’s like he’s fermented over the years.
I feel for him. I’m not going to enable his habits, but I have compassion on the man.
I know what it’s like to be labeled and shelved by an entire community. We have that in common.
“Cooter, you ought to walk on the sidewalk,” I say, trying to keep my voice low enough to avoid adding to Kate’s sense of self-satisfaction.
“Too many people over there,” Cooter mumbles. “I’ll get out of the street up there.” He tips his head to a spot up past the church.
I nod and turn back to the crime scene. Alex is wrapping up questioning Kate. We move through the crowd. Some people admit to knowing nothing, while others remind me of that character in Monsters Inc. “I tried to run from it, but it picked me up with its mind powers and shook me like a doll!”
More than one person has a guess as to who the culprit or culprits are. Usually there’s obvious rivalry or animosity behind the accusations, not actual facts that would give us a concrete lead.
Case in point are Mrs. Hawthorne and Mr. Dobbs, who are in a full-scale argument—each accusing the other of “borrowing” the baby for their yard displays.
“I wouldn’t put it past you, Grace!”
“To steal the actual baby Jesus? That’s a low blow, Stuart!”
“Not the actual baby Jesus. Pretty sure that ship sailed over two thousand years ago.”
“Okay. Okay,” I interject, stepping between the two of them. “Let’s all remember the Christmas spirit.”
They turn on me with twin glares. Nothing like a common enemy to bring opposing sides into alignment. I hold my hand up, give each of them a serious look and walk away.
Kate mingles with a few other women off to the side of the property, watching me and Alex go through the motions of investigating the scene as if she’s about to give our annual performance evaluations. She moseys over while I’m looking around the manger, taking snapshots and looking for clues.
A small cellophane wrapper catches my eye. I bend to pick it up, sniffing it—peppermint—then pocketing it. It could be nothing. But you never know.
“Did you see the trash in the bushes?” Kate asks, her hand perched on her hip.
“I haven’t made it over there yet.”
It irks me to have to answer her. Her condescending tone says she thinks she could do my job in her sleep. Maybe she could. That doesn’t mean she shouldn’t give me a modicum of respect.
“The evidence leads to those three.” Her well-manicured hand points at the teen boys still lingering at the edge of the property. Her tone drips like sap—sweet enough to appear helpful, sticky enough to entrap you.
“Evidence?” I ask.
“In the bushes,” is all she says before sauntering back to her cluster of friends.
I walk to the bushes. A few energy drink cans and an empty bag of Takis are stuffed there. I call the boys over. “Braxton. Jaxon. Pax.” I feel like I’m rapping. “Can you take care of your trash?” I point to the mess under the bushes.
“What makes you say it’s ours?” Jaxon asks.
Braxton elbows him in the ribs, drawing out an oof. “We’ll get it, Jesse.”
The crowd starts to tire of standing around and people wander off. Alex and I stick around, rearranging the nativity to some semblance of order.
Back in the patrol car, I tell Alex about the wrapper I found. “Could be nothing.”
“Anything could be a clue,” Alex says. Then she reads her notes to me, ending with, “Kate has motive.”
“I heard that too. She likes how the crime is drawing more attention to the holiday festivities. But stealing baby Jesus? That’s going too far—even for her.”
“She’s not exactly giving off warm fuzzy vibes,” Alex says.
“She’s not mean,” I say. When Alex’s eyebrows shoot up, I amend with, “Not usually. She cares about the town. She’s incredible at organizing big events. I guess it takes a bit of that boss-babe energy to coordinate big productions with the ease she does.”
Alex shakes her head, smiling at me softly.
“What?”
“You’ve got a really good heart, Jesse.”
“I’m not sure it’s always served me.”