The Great Reindeer Caper

The Great Reindeer Caper Heather Graham

The Great Reindeer Caper

Heather Graham

Lights sparkled in a zillion different colors.

Christmas trees stood in little spaces in front of buildings.

A few apartment buildings and homes had been decorated with special Christmas designs—angels, Santas, sleighs, reindeer pulling those sleighs—and in honor of Hannukah as well, there were menorahs to be seen here, there, and everywhere.

In fact, there was a balloon reindeer flying high in sky!

New York knew how to celebrate Christmas and the holiday season well.

Angela and Jackson strolled along the street, hand in hand, enjoying all the sights they saw.

They’d come into the city a few days early for a special, private meeting with Adam Harrison; and because he’d wanted to meet sometime between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, they’d brought their kids, Corby and Victoria, along with them.

But at this moment, the kids were at a special Christmas program at the Met; because, of course, on Christmas Eve they’d all be together.

But they’d take tomorrow morning, the day before Christmas Eve, for last minute Christmas shopping.

Tonight was what they were calling “date night” because one of Angela’s favorite places in the city was McSorley’s, the oldest continually operated Irish pub in the city.

Mary Tiger, who had served them for years as far more than a nanny, was with them, though she could have spent the holidays with her nephew back in Northern Virginia.

Mary and her nephew, Special Agent Axel Tiger, had agreed that family was family; and they were lucky their work created all of them as “family.” Axel would see that they did something special at another time.

Date night! And they didn’t need to worry about timing!

“It’s all amazing,” Jackson said. “Not so fond of the cold that comes with December, but Christmastime is just about the most beautiful time possible, everywhere.”

“Celebrating good and giving,” Angela murmured. But then she spun around, feeling a burst of air. Someone had just been behind her, and then hurrying around her, shouting frantically. “Move, move, watch out, watch out!”

She quicky knew why.

Reindeer. More and more reindeer!

Reindeer heading down the road in the biggest, weirdest “herd” she had ever seen.

They weren’t real reindeer. Rather, like the one flying high in the sky, they were the blow-up kind.

But there were so many that they had caused a massive pile of traffic confusion.

A taxi was veering off the road, having been struck from the back by another car that hadn’t been able to stop so quickly, and it was heading onto the sidewalk and people.

She jumped back and to the right, grabbing a boy of about ten and dragging him with her; Jackson had caught the kid’s mother.

The taxi slammed into the wall behind him. And all over the avenue, cars crashed into one another. People began running out of businesses; reindeer, caught in the crashes, exploded and with air depleted, fell to the street.

“Oh, my God, thank you, thank you!” the young mother with the boy cried to them, staring at the taxi, still just stunned.

The driver had leapt out. He, too, went into a spate of frantic words. “It wasn’t my fault, I . . . oh, my God! Thank God! Everyone is all right but . . .” He broke off, staring at his taxi, now partially into a wall.

Angela and Jackson assured them they were just glad they were okay.

The New York police were good. There were already officers out, but the scene was pure chaos. Cars were entangled, drivers were at a loss shouting at first; but then, when the cops pulled out their bullhorns, everyone seemed to realize that blaming one another was futile.

The reindeer were to blame.

“Let’s move,” Jackson murmured to Angela. “That way—not as much reindeer congestion.”

“I guess you’re right; and this is a case for the NYPD and—”

“No, I meant, let’s head back toward the beginning of this knot—a pack of plastic reindeer don’t just blow themselves up and glide into the traffic. Someone did this on purpose to cause chaos.”

“Why in the world—” Angela began.

“Exactly!” Jackon said.

“Right!” she murmured. “Well, I guess, Sherlock, something is afoot!” she murmured. And yes, NYPD would be on it, but they were federal law enforcement and . . . well, hell, yeah, they were going to try to fathom what had happened.

A simple problem at an inflatable balloon facility?

Angela doubted it.

Of course, she began to wonder what it could be. A robbery? Use the reindeer and the traffic mash-up to distract everyone and slide into a bank, a business, or a shop and take something? But even with chaos, something like a bank robbery might be too hard to pull off, so . . .

A robbery of some other kind?

Something, somewhere, someone just wanted really badly?

“Jackson!” she said, looking ahead and across the street. The tangle of cars was less here, but . . .

People were still out in the street. Police officers were trying to get a driver to angle their car out, moving the first so others could get by and tow trucks could get in for those that had been struck in a manner that left them unmovable.

And every now and then . . .

A still semi-inflated reindeer rose into the air. But Angela looked across the street, curious about a certain shop.

Rudolph himself suddenly wafted by them.

“What? What do you see?” Jackson asked.

Angela still looked across the street as Rudolph drifted away.

It seemed that just minutes before, there had been nothing but bright and beautiful lights around them, decorations to adorn the season.

And now . . . business, business, business . . . it was New York! Even, or maybe especially, down at the lower end of Manhattan, it seemed most buildings were multi-purpose, cafes on the bottom floors of that housed apartments and other businesses as well. And yet . . .

One ground-level shop in particular caught her eye.

“Jackson, even with reindeer everywhere, I can’t see this as a diversion to rob a bank or manage any kind of a massive heist. But .

. . over there! See? An antique store. Probably not that big, not that many people working.

And if they were all diverted by the reindeer.

. . What if someone just wanted something, either that or they believed should have belonged to them or that they lost in a bankruptcy or .

. . I’m not sure, but maybe they just wanted to create a diversion—”

“A diversion? Like reindeer, yeah, sure. I’m certain all these people who will be dealing with their wrecked cars right before Christmas will think it was all just a minor diversion,” Jackson said. “Someone could have been killed.”

“Yes, but thankfully, I don’t believe anyone was even seriously injured. There was a ton of traffic, as always, yes, but it was all going slow. And . . . I don’t know. Let’s try there first, Jackson, please!”

“As you command, love of my life!” he said, taking her hand before trying to weave their way through the tangle of cars and vehicles that must look from above as if someone had simply taken a toybox full of kids’ cars and tossed them down into a big pile.

“Hey!” she protested, grinning. “We don’t ‘command’ in our lives, Jackson. Even if, technically, you are the man in charge of the Krewe!”

“Technically. And technically, when we’re gone, the person in charge will be whichever McFadden we can con into watching over the troops,” he told her. “Antique store . . . instinct?”

“Because I don’t think it’s enough to clear out a bank. And who would want to steal a shirt or a New York souvenir?”

“These days?” he inquired. “Antique shop it is.”

They made their way through the cars to the opposite side of the avenue. They were almost to the doorway of the store, “History’s Finest,” when Angela felt a strange coldness sweep around her, one she knew instantly even before she heard the frantic voice of the spirit.

“Please, please, don’t hurt him! You’re armed; you’re heading there . . . you know that Benedict has done this, but . . . you must understand first! Please, please, don’t hurt him!”

The spirit speaking to her was that of a woman with curly, graying hair. She stood about five-four and was wearing fairly contemporary clothing and had probably passed from her mortal life in her late fifties or early sixties.

Angela paused, carefully, leaning against the brick of the shop where they stood, pulling out her phone so that she wouldn’t appear to be crazy.

“Please—”

“Yes! I knew it! You hear me, you see me!”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry—” Angela began. She cut off frowning. Jackson had been ahead of her; he’d already started into the antique store.

“Oh!” the woman cried in distress. “That fellow . . . he’s armed, right?”

“Jackson will never just shoot someone, but—”

“He meant no harm!” the ghost protested.

“I know my son! He meant no harm. Benedict meant no harm! I mean, I’m not sure if he even did it.

But if he did . . . He thought that the reindeer would just fly up in the sky, you know, straight up.

And it’s not just what might or might not be real .

. . you must understand! His father . . .

his father and I were killed with the thing! With the ivory killing machine!”

“Ma’am, please, please, let me get in there and see what’s going on. You can explain everything once we’re inside and let Jackson know that no harm was intended, though I believe he knows that. Please!” Angela said.

Of course, the ghost couldn’t stop her, but the woman was so upset Angela feared what she might find once she’d entered the shop.

At first, it appeared empty. Then Angela realized she was looking at an ankle and foot, protruding from behind a counter and display area.

“No, no, no! Benedict would never hurt anyone. It must be that idiot he asked to help him!” the ghost cried out.