She nods.
We walk to the front door side by side and she knocks. When Bill and Dori answer the door, Alex introduces herself. Her pad is out, ready to take notes on everything they say.
Bill grabs his coat off the hook and joins us on the porch. “See those reindeer over there?”
Alex and I follow the direction he’s pointing and nod.
“We had five. Now there are four.” He walks across the lawn and points to the four divots in the snow from the reindeer’s paws.
Alex takes her phone out and snaps a picture. She walks along the snow where a trail of footprints and disturbed snow leads off the yard and through the neighbor’s driveway, snapping pictures as she goes.
Then she turns back to Bill. “When was the last time you noticed the reindeer?”
The questions we have to ask as cops. I stifle a chuckle.
“When I came home from work, it was here,” Bill points to the empty spot. “We heard a ruckus about a half-hour later. I had taken off my shoes and had my slippers on. By the time I had thrown my shoes on and turned on the porch light, no one was out here. I turned around, telling Dori it was nothing. She insisted I go out and look. That’s when I noticed the missing reindeer.”
“Do you have any photos of the reindeer before it went missing?” Alex asks.
“I think Dori does. She always takes a photo of the two of us in front of the house after we finish decorating each year.”
Bill asks us to wait. He returns with Dori. She airdrops the photo to Alex. We wrap up the call and head off in the patrol car.
“What are you thinking?” I ask her.
“Second reindeer missing,” she says, her face scrunching in thought. “Maybe it’s a pattern. Or it could be coincidence. Whywould someone be stealing reindeer? Won’t everyone see them when they’re put on another lawn?”
“Now you’re thinking like a local.” I smile across the cab to her.
“I guess we’ll keep our eyes out when we pass displays in yards around town. Other than that, time will tell.”
“Good plan,” I tell her. I can’t make out her features in the dark of the car, but I’d swear she’s blushing at my praise.
The next hour we circle through neighborhoods and downtown, and then circle again. I’ve never been more acutely aware of the humdrum nature of most of my days. Alex’s presence is like a spotlight, making me see everything differently.
We fill our time with conversation. She tells me about life in New York. I’ve never been. As the night goes on, I find myself longing to travel for the first time in my life. There’s a whole world outside Bordeaux and I’ve only ventured as far as Columbus and Cincinnati. I entertain Alex with stories of locals—not exactly gossip, more like our shared lore. These are the stories you’d know if you grew up here, like how Rob practically blew up the football field in high school.
When I bring up the goatmageddon of Lexi’s wedding, Alex says, “I was there.”
“You were?”
“Yes. I flew in just for the wedding.”
“I didn’t notice you.” How can that be? For one thing, Alex is a fresh face. She would have stood out. But it’s more than the novelty of her presence. She’s beautiful—and when she smiles, I don’t know a man in town who wouldn’t look twice.
“I didn’t notice you either,” she says, as if to absolve me.
We make our next loop through downtown, rolling at a pace far below the speed limit. As we’re passing the nativity in front of First Lutheran, a flash of movement catches my eye.
“Did you see that?” Alex asks.
“Yes.”
I slow to a stop in front of the church just as a teen darts out from the bushes hurling a snowball at one of the shepherds.
I hit the siren in so it makes a short chirp and turn on my high beams.
Alex steps out of the cruiser.
