Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) by Heather Webber

knew he didn’t need the information down on
paper—his memory was impeccable, but he said writing things down
helped him think more clearly. There was a furrow between his brows
and as he looked at me, I saw troubled eyes.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    “More toys are missing.”
    “But the building’s been closed—there haven’t
been any donations in days.”
    A corner of his lip quirked. “I set a little
trap in Santa’s chest. Someone bit.”
    “Who?”
    There was an electric fire going in the faux
fireplace. It emitted little heat, but enough that I wanted to
climb onto the hearth and toast my tuchus. Nancy Davidson’s camera
bag and equipment was set up, ready to snap shots with Santa, but I
didn’t see her around.
    “I don’t know. Yet.” He stretched a long leg.
Pointing above the door, he said, “See that exit sign?”
    “Am I blind?”
    He rolled his eyes. “It’s a hidden video
camera, one that senses motion. Nancy Davidson helped me rig it up
yesterday.” He held up a tiny camera card. “As soon as I get home
and load this onto my computer, our thief will be revealed.”
    Relieved, I sagged a bit. Riley was at
school—he would be completely in the clear. But I also realized
that whoever the thief was must work at Christmastowne. “How do you
know the thief isn’t Nancy?”
    Kevin said, “I took a risk in asking for her
help, but I figured if she was the thief she’d be smart enough to
know she would be on camera if she stole the toys.”
    Nancy didn’t seem like a thief to me. She
seemed more like the Neighborhood Watch leader, with her keen eyes
and seemingly boundless energy. “True enough.”
    Kevin raised one eyebrow and added casually,
“You should get out of those soaked clothes right away, before you
catch a cold.”
    I shivered, too cold to care about his
not-so-subtle innuendo. “Gee, I forgot my change of clothes when I
came to work to dig up some dead poinsettias and first got rained
on by a sprinkler system, then when I was locked out in a
blizzard.”
    “What’s this about getting locked out?” He
tucked his pencil into the spirals of the notepad and slipped it
into his coat pocket.
    “I went out back to the Dumpster and left the
door propped behind me. The wind blew it shut.”
    His lip twitched.
    “You better not laugh at me,” I warned.
    “Or what?”
    I shoved a dripping lock of hair off my
forehead. “Or you’re going to see one seriously ticked-off
Ninacicle.”
    He stood and crossed over to me in two long
strides. He pushed my nose with his index finger. “No one wants to
see that, but really, you need to get out of those clothes. You can
borrow my elf costume.”
    “I’d rather pneumonia.” I cozied by backside
up to the electric flames.
    He shrugged out of his blazer and draped it
over my shoulders. His shoulder holster fit snug against his white
button down, outlining his muscles. “Don’t blame you. Those tights
are enough to make a grown man cry.”
    “Now you know how women feel about nylons.” I
huddled into the warmth of the fabric and tried to ignore how his
scent suddenly enveloped me. “As I traipsed around the building to
get back inside, you’ll never believe who I came across in the
front parking lot.”
    “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if
Rudolph was out there.”
    “No, he’s on my mother’s roof.”
    “Do I want to know?”
    “Probably. It’s good for a laugh, but maybe
another time. I saw Santa.”
    “Drunk Dave?”
    “The very same. And he wasn’t alone. He was
with Fairlane.”
    “McCorkle?”
    As if there was another. “She doesn’t seem
all that broken up by her sister’s death, does she?”
    “What makes you say so?”
    “She was naked and playing with Santa’s
jingle bells.” I explained about the steamed-up car.
    He went to sit back down in Santa’s chair,
gave it a second look, and remained standing. “Just so you know,
you’re ruining Christmas for me.”
    “What I want to know is what