“Definitely,” Jesse says with an appreciative look in his eyes.
It’s the same expression he had under the glow of the headlights in the alley. Longing, heat, and a note of apprehension—not merely fondness or friendship.
I pull away from the curb and Jesse directs me where to go. Along the drive we parse out the clues, trying to make sense of why the town square elves would land in this yard. Jesse agrees that we’re missing something key.
We ride for about fifteen minutes down roads lined with nothing but dormant cornfields and properties with barns and houses. Watkins-Lewis Road is lined with woods, the houses are mostly set back from the main road—older properties that aren’t as kept up as most of the farms and neighborhoods closer to the heart of Bordeaux. The Simms home is easy to identify. The yard is filled with various holiday decorations. The narrow porch stretches the whole front of the house. The eaves are covered in string lights, though they’re turned off.
“Wow,” Jesse says as I roll to a stop in front of the property. Then he turns to me. “You carrying?”
“My piece is in the glove box. You think I’ll need it? We’re just following up on some missing decorations with a widow.”
“You always need to be prepared for any possibility,” he says, patting his chest where he must have strapped on a shoulder holster under his coat.
“I’ve got my badge,” I say, as if that’s the same as being armed.
“Good,” he says, nodding seriously. Then his smile broadens and those dimples come out. “You can deflect bullets with it if it comes to that. Kind of like Wonder Woman.”
I roll my eyes, but my smile is already giving me away. “Her shield was a little larger than mine.”
“I believe in you, Keller.” He’s still teasing, but there’s something in his voice that says he truly does have confidence in me. I have to breathe through a wave of emotions before I exit the car.
We walk side by side up the driveway silently, taking in all the decorations on the front of the property. Two mismatched reindeer—from the Dobbs and Hawthorne lawns, the elves from the town square, and, when we reach the porch, it’s there. Off to the side of the front door there’s a roughly hewn feeding trough made of weathered barn wood. Inside the manger—the plastic baby Jesus.
“Welp, we know the thefts are all connected now,” Jesse says.
My mind whirs. Why? What’s the motive here? Nothing’s hidden. Everything that was stolen is out on display in broad daylight.
I glance over at Jesse before he lifts his hand to knock and it’s obvious he’s asking himself the same line of questions.
Jesse knocks. There’s shuffling inside and then a woman’s voice. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Jesse, ma’am. Jesse Heinz with the Bordeaux PD.”
“Jesse?” she says as she opens the door.
Her sweater is soft with wear, sleeves stretched as she cocoons it around herself—not merely fending off the chill. Her eyes flick to me—guarded, weary.
“I’m Alex,” I say. “His partner.”
Jesse flashes his badge. I fish in my coat pocket and show mine.
“Nice to meet you,” Widow Simms says to me. “What can I do for you two? I already donated to the Police Athletic League this summer …” Her voice trails off. “Before Mitch passed.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jesse says, that familiar, sincere warmth in his eyes. “How are you holding up?”
I suppress a smile. He’s so thoughtful. Here we are on a weekend morning, following a lead on multiple thefts, and Jesse has the decency to acknowledge her heartbreak. Not only that, it’s obvious he’s ready to do something for her—regardless of her guilt or innocence.
I’m not in love. It’s too soon. But whatever this is—this warmth that floods me, a pride in his goodness that’s as strong as if it were my own—these overwhelming feelings are the seeds of something deep, something bigger than anything I’ve ever felt before.
“We’re here to ask you about the decorations,” I say, pulling my thoughts away from Jesse to the task at hand.
Mrs. Simms’ eyes scan her yard, landing on the baby Jesus. “All those decorations.” She sighs. “They kept showing up over the past few weeks.” A soft smile settles on her otherwise weary face. “It's just like an angel knew I needed a little extra this year.”
I glance at Jesse. He believes her. I do too.
“They’re stolen,” Jesse says plainly. “Or at the very least, borrowed without asking permission.” He points at the reindeer. “Those two came out of the yards of townspeople. One is from the Dobbs family’s yard.”
“I know of them,” Mrs. Simms says. “I don’t get into town much unless I’m running an errand. I’m kind of a homebody. That was fine when Mitch was here. He drove a truck for a living, so he’d be gone for a stretch, then home for a bit. I got used to being settled out here—tending my garden in the summer, sitting by the fire reading in the colder months. Anyway, I guess I turned into a bit of a hermit.” Her grief seeps into her expression.
