shifted all the shopping bags from one arm to the other, straining under the weight of gifts my sister planned to return, but keeping my eyes on the small restaurant. Minutes ticked by, and my feet began to get cold.
Libby came out of the deli. With her fingers, she oh-so-casually combed her hair away from her face. Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder and strolled toward me, hips swinging.
I recognized all the signs. “Tell me you didn’t try to pick up Calvin while you were in there.”
“Of course not. He looks terribly callow up close. But there was a very charming gentleman waiting for a latte, who—”
“Are you so desperate for male company that you— Never mind. What is Calvin doing?”
“Waiting for his lunch. He must be a hearty eater, by the way. He ordered two meals to go—a burger and a Greek salad.”
“Maybe he’s picking up for somebody else.”
“I suppose he— Look, here he comes!”
We dodged into the doorway of a stationery shop and pretended to admire a display of Christmas cards. I tried to hide in Libby’s shadow.
Calvin walked past us, holding a clear plastic bag by its handle. Two Styrofoam containers were inside. He headed back in the direction we had come.
“He’s going back to work,” Libby said.
But he turned right instead of left, heading away from Haymaker’s.
“Let’s go,” I said, already in pursuit.
We tailed Calvin for four more blocks and ended up on a short residential street lined with apartment buildings that had been designed in the days of fallout shelters. Scraps of newspaper tumbled in the street, and a homeless person slept on a grate, wrapped in trash bags and guarded by a scraggly cat on a leash.
Abruptly, Calvin jaywalked and opened a plate-glass door to let himself into one of the buildings. Libby and I watched him disappear inside.
“Now what?” Libby asked.
From behind us, a male voice said, “Ho, ho, ho, girls. Want some company?”
It was Santa. He carried his collection bucket in one hand, and his eyes twinkled roguishly behind his synthetic beard.
“Are you following us?” I demanded, prepared to play tough in order to get rid of him. “Because we’ll call a cop if you are.”
“No need for that.” He held up one hand to calm me. “I
am
a cop. Or was. Retired after twenty-two years of service in the Lancaster County sheriff’s department.”
“Well, you can’t give speeding tickets to any Amish buggies around here,” Libby snapped. “We’re on a serious mission.”
“Me, too,” said Santa. “I’ll do anything to have lunch with you, doll face. Even lend a hand in your covert operation.”
“How old are you?” Libby asked. “Take off that beard.”
Santa pulled the beard down low enough so we could get a better look at his face. He wasn’t bad, actually. Kind of wrinkled, maybe fifty-something. He said, “Don’t get fooled by the false teeth. I got my real ones kicked out by a kid who resisted arrest.”
“All right, you can stay,” Libby said.
“No, he can’t,” I said.
“I can be helpful.”
I sighed. “You two wait out here and flirt with each other. I’m going into the building.”
Libby said, “My sister is very impulsive. I have to keep an eye on her.”
“And I’ll keep an eye on you,” said Santa. “See? Things are starting to work out for us already.”
We went into the apartment building and found ourselves in a small lobby with plate-glass doors on both sides, one of them cracked as if it had been kicked. Someone had tried to repair it with masking tape. A line of mailboxes with buzzers greeted us from one wall.
I read the names on the mailboxes, hoping to find Calvin’s. My finger stopped on apartment 3B, however.
Cindie Rae Smith.
“I’ll be damned,” said Santa, tilting his head to read through his bifocals. “Is this the real Cindie Rae Smith?”
“How would you know her?” Libby asked with a new edge in her voice.
“She’s in the papers all the time.
Libby came out of the deli. With her fingers, she oh-so-casually combed her hair away from her face. Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder and strolled toward me, hips swinging.
I recognized all the signs. “Tell me you didn’t try to pick up Calvin while you were in there.”
“Of course not. He looks terribly callow up close. But there was a very charming gentleman waiting for a latte, who—”
“Are you so desperate for male company that you— Never mind. What is Calvin doing?”
“Waiting for his lunch. He must be a hearty eater, by the way. He ordered two meals to go—a burger and a Greek salad.”
“Maybe he’s picking up for somebody else.”
“I suppose he— Look, here he comes!”
We dodged into the doorway of a stationery shop and pretended to admire a display of Christmas cards. I tried to hide in Libby’s shadow.
Calvin walked past us, holding a clear plastic bag by its handle. Two Styrofoam containers were inside. He headed back in the direction we had come.
“He’s going back to work,” Libby said.
But he turned right instead of left, heading away from Haymaker’s.
“Let’s go,” I said, already in pursuit.
We tailed Calvin for four more blocks and ended up on a short residential street lined with apartment buildings that had been designed in the days of fallout shelters. Scraps of newspaper tumbled in the street, and a homeless person slept on a grate, wrapped in trash bags and guarded by a scraggly cat on a leash.
Abruptly, Calvin jaywalked and opened a plate-glass door to let himself into one of the buildings. Libby and I watched him disappear inside.
“Now what?” Libby asked.
From behind us, a male voice said, “Ho, ho, ho, girls. Want some company?”
It was Santa. He carried his collection bucket in one hand, and his eyes twinkled roguishly behind his synthetic beard.
“Are you following us?” I demanded, prepared to play tough in order to get rid of him. “Because we’ll call a cop if you are.”
“No need for that.” He held up one hand to calm me. “I
am
a cop. Or was. Retired after twenty-two years of service in the Lancaster County sheriff’s department.”
“Well, you can’t give speeding tickets to any Amish buggies around here,” Libby snapped. “We’re on a serious mission.”
“Me, too,” said Santa. “I’ll do anything to have lunch with you, doll face. Even lend a hand in your covert operation.”
“How old are you?” Libby asked. “Take off that beard.”
Santa pulled the beard down low enough so we could get a better look at his face. He wasn’t bad, actually. Kind of wrinkled, maybe fifty-something. He said, “Don’t get fooled by the false teeth. I got my real ones kicked out by a kid who resisted arrest.”
“All right, you can stay,” Libby said.
“No, he can’t,” I said.
“I can be helpful.”
I sighed. “You two wait out here and flirt with each other. I’m going into the building.”
Libby said, “My sister is very impulsive. I have to keep an eye on her.”
“And I’ll keep an eye on you,” said Santa. “See? Things are starting to work out for us already.”
We went into the apartment building and found ourselves in a small lobby with plate-glass doors on both sides, one of them cracked as if it had been kicked. Someone had tried to repair it with masking tape. A line of mailboxes with buzzers greeted us from one wall.
I read the names on the mailboxes, hoping to find Calvin’s. My finger stopped on apartment 3B, however.
Cindie Rae Smith.
“I’ll be damned,” said Santa, tilting his head to read through his bifocals. “Is this the real Cindie Rae Smith?”
“How would you know her?” Libby asked with a new edge in her voice.
“She’s in the papers all the time.
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