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3
Downtown was as empty as Bob Cratchit’s pockets when we returned, high on caffeine, to assess what remained of the crime scene after police, townsfolk, and the news crew had trampled it.
The reindeer had been carted off, and the area where its corpse had been found was hosed clean.
Including the mucky puddles leading away from poor Dasher, and, most likely, to his killer.
“So much for our trail.” I turned a circle. “No signs are left of what happened.”
Which, of course, was the whole point.
“They didn’t preserve the scene.” Clay hooked his hands on his hips. “Must be blaming an animal.”
The great thing about humans was they didn’t want to know. Full stop. Another world existed alongside theirs, and they were content pretending anything too unsettling was a hoax. Photoshop and CGI had come a long way in a short amount of time. It was better, safer, if any monster caught on film was fake.
I don’t want to knowwas the single most powerful weapon in our arsenal when protecting the secret of our existence. Even in modern times, humans searched for wires, strings, glitching code, and zippers.
“Can you smell anything?” I aimed the question at Asa. “Without shifting.”
I twirled a finger to remind him of the multiple security cameras the mayor had installed to bolster confidence she was serious about protecting the businesses and livelihoods of the people of Samford.
Another expense she laid at my feet, given that my shop’s break-in had earned her so much bad press.
Usually, the Kellies would hack the system and email us the video, but the usual wasn’t an option.
“They bleached the whole area.” He carefully rubbed his nose. “I can’t smell anything.”
That would explain why Asa hadn’t come any closer after pinpointing the location for us.
“Santa’s village is open two more weeks,” Clay reminded me. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Tate brought the bleach from home and pressure-washed the area as soon as she heard the news. She’ll sanitize the bad publicity too.”
The village was little more than a few wooden cutouts to provide a backdrop for the enormous chair where the town Santa held court with the good girls and boys. Thirty-five dollars per snap of each kid with Jolly Old Saint Nick and a live reindeer, fresh from the North Pole.
Mr. Terfel, with his ruddy cheeks and round belly, reprised the role every year. He doubled as the Ghost of Christmas Present, which must have inspired him to bring the reindeer into town with him. Santa was excluded from the Dickens open house, since he wasn’t canon, but Mr. Terfel kept fancy robes on hand for when he was booked for private events that required a less commercial, more Father Christmas vibe.
The mood tomorrow night, when shoppers returned downtown to discover a heartbroken Santa throned beside an empty pen, would be somber. I was grateful my part of the festivities had concluded for the year. Though the blame for this debacle would be laid at my feet as soon as the mayor had a spare moment to ream me out without being overheard by the revelers. Her dressing-downs made me regret I had given up eating hearts, but hers was usually in the right place.
Lives could be saved if people stayed home after dark, but that would also cost the town money.
The mayor was, despite her noble efforts, the you gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelet type.
A cracking noise jerked my attention to Asa, who had wandered onto the sidewalk.
He stood with one of the shiny new cameras in his hand, ripped from the soffit of a neighboring business. With a twist of his wrist, he snapped it in half and peered at its guts with a soft laugh.
“They’re fakes,” he told us. “There’s a single thin cable for power, that’s it.”
“How did you know?” I scanned the street, picking out the others. “They look real to me.”
“Colby,” he said with a grin. “She’s been curious why she couldn’t access them.”
That sneaky little…
“She hasn’t mentioned them to me.”
“You had enough on your plate, and it was idle curiosity. Until now.” He crushed it into smaller pieces that would fit in his pockets. “I told her I would look it over while we were here.” He lifted his phone. “There’s even an app for detecting magnetic field radiations that approximate cameras or hidden bugs.”
“Of course there is.”
