Rogues Gallery by Dan Andriacco Page B

Duffy,” Kate said, “but I’m sure Oscar will get on that.”
    â€œPoor Oscar,” Hawes said. “He never got to say, ‘Just one more thing, ma’am’ like Columbo.”
    â€œHe’s probably saying it right now,” I pointed out. “Besides, he’ll get something even better - an arrest.”
    â€œThanks to Ironsides here,” my sister said.
    Oh, puh-leeze.
    Mac, still on wheels, attempted to look humble. That’s not one of his best tricks. “There is in fiction the grand tradition of what is called the armchair detective. Perhaps it would not be going too far to say that I solved this case from a wheelchair.”

Santa Crime
    No one should be surprised that Sebastian McCabe was tapped to play Santa Claus for the Christmas party at Serenity House, Erin’s premier social service agency. My brother-in-law weighs in at a few dozen pounds north of healthy and hides his triple chins under a beard, albeit an almost black one rather than white. Plus, he’s just a big kid himself.
    But I just couldn’t see myself as one of his elves.
    â€œI’m six-one,” I reminded my wife unnecessarily. “You should do it.”
    And what a fetching elf she would make!
    â€œI’m almost as tall as you are, Jeff.” Only when you’re wearing heels, my beloved, like those three-inch Italian beauties you bought on our honeymoon. Which I like a lot! “Besides, size doesn’t matter,” she went on. “Think of that movie. You know, the one about the tall elf. I forget the title. Listen, you only have to wear a hat. I’m not asking you to put on green tights. I know that would be too much for you.”
    Damned right!
    Lynda reached across the table and took my hand. “Oh, come on, tesoro mio . Humor me.”
    It was hard not to, considering that it was December 1 and we were in the middle of celebrating the tenth anniversary of Lynda’s twenty-first birthday. I’d brought her to dinner at Ricoletti’s Ristorante, Erin’s finest eatery and Lynda’s favorite.
    â€œWell, I know you’re going to be busy helping Triple M that day,” I conceded. “In the Christmas spirit, I’ll do my part. How bad can it be?”
    Remind me never to ask that question again.
    Serenity House isn’t really a house. It’s a network of social services located in a number of different buildings. But one of those buildings is a house - a former mansion, in fact - located on Front Street. That’s where the agency’s annual Holiday Fest is held two Saturdays before Christmas. The craft show is a fundraiser where many clients of the agency sell their work while musicians and singers perform in the background. “Breakfast with Santa,” served in a separate room, draws in families with kids. Harvey Duncan had played the Big Guy for years, but he was spending his winters in Florida now that he had retired from teaching. Mac, when asked, didn’t even feign reluctance to don the red suit and pointy hat.
    The place was in a happy uproar when I showed up about ten o’clock in the morning. Dozens of patrons in the holiday spirit talked loudly over the Christmas singers. Tables displaying locally produced crafts, from jewelry and Christmas ornaments to needlepoint and paintings, lined the sides of the mansion’s former ballroom and ran down the middle as well.
    â€œHi, Jeff,” yelled Triple M in her usual cheerful manner. Sister Mary Margaret Malone - Sister Polly to most people, just plain Polly to Lynda, and Triple M to me - had a Star Trek coffee mug in one hand and a scarf in the other, which she was waving. She also had two males and a female gathered around her, ranging in age from juvenile to old enough to know better. I sized them up immediately as lawbreakers assigned to do community service with Triple M in her capacity as Erin’s volunteer jail chaplain.
    One of the miscreants