Page 3 of The Great Reindeer Caper

Of course, the ghost couldn’t stop her, but the woman was so upset Angela feared what she might find once she’d entered the shop.

At first, it appeared empty. Then Angela realized she was looking at an ankle and foot, protruding from behind a counter and display area.

“No, no, no! Benedict would never hurt anyone. It must be that idiot he asked to help him!” the ghost cried out.

Angela was already behind the counter. The ankle and foot were attached to a man who was flat on the ground, eyes closed. She quickly checked for a pulse and discovered that he was still alive. His breathing was even enough, and a small trickle of blood oozed from his forehead.

“I must call to get help for him!” Angela told the ghost.

“You must not—I will shoot you!”

Swinging around, Angela saw a young man with unkempt brown hair had come out from a small hallway that led into a second section of the shop.

He did have a gun, and it was aimed at her.

“You didn’t mean to hurt him, and if we just get him some help quickly—” Angela began.

She didn’t need to go any further. The ghost swirled over at the man, striking him with her ethereal arms. Of course, she didn’t really have the strength to disarm him, but apparently, he felt something because he frowned and spun . . .

In the wrong direction.

Because Jackson emerged from the hallway just behind him, with sharp precision, Jackson’s hand struck his hand holding the gun with a blow guaranteed to send the gun flying.

It slid across the floor, so close to her, she just had to pick it up.

He cried out and spun again; but now, Jackson had his Glock lowered at the man.

And another came running out from the hallway.

“Terence, what are you doing? This was never supposed to be—oh, God! The disaster that it is!” the man moaned, sinking to the floor, shaking his head in dismay.

This man was young, too, sandy haired, slim in form, with a handsome face, blond hair with a fly-away section on his forehead. His distress was real.

Angela knew already, of course, that the ghost who had encountered her was the young man’s mother. And now, the ghost knelt on the floor beside him, trying to hold him, trying to soothe him.

She looked at Jackson and begged, “Don’t shoot him, please don’t shoot him!”

“I’m not going to shoot anyone—unless Terence over there gives me no choice,” Jackson said.

“Calling 911,” Angela said.

“He wouldn’t give it to me! Mr. Austin . . . the shopkeeper there, wouldn’t let me have it! He says it’s rare, only a few have survived from the Middle Ages. And he wouldn’t listen to me . . . that horrible man used it years ago and stabbed my parents to death with it! He has it in that next room, in a glass case . . . and I just wanted him to leave the store long enough for me to get it! Because . . . it kills! And they can prove Rupert Chesney killed my parents with it and then . . . it needs to be destroyed!”

Angela had quickly dialed 911 as the young man had spoken. It was the same story his mother had told, and yet confusing.

She had read a year or so ago that the man he was referring to, Rupert Chesney, had been sentenced to a term of twenty years to life for the murder of a band leader. There was an appeal in place . . .

Because the murder weapon had never been discovered. And though he had been stopped leaving the scene, Chesney claimed the man had been dead when he’d arrived; and he was heading out to call the police himself.

“Please, please, I’ll go to prison. I won’t fight!” Benedict begged, his hands now in his face. “But please . . . he killed my parents after he killed the musician. He killed that band leader just because he was married to a woman he’d once loved. Then he killed my parents because my father suspected what had happened. and my dad had seen him by the man’s house the night of the murder. I tried to tell the old geezer there, but he wouldn’t listen to me! I need that ivory flute! You hit the right button, and it shoots out a blade. There must be something on it that can prove the truth!”

“The old guy isn’t going to die, and I was never going to shoot anybody!” Terence cried. “I . . . just gave him a knock on the head. He wasn’t supposed to be in here, but he didn’t wind up staring at the stupid reindeer like everyone else. He walked out, but then he walked right back in! Yeah, I was stupid, and I’ll go down for assault. But please! Benedict is telling the truth. My . . . well, for Christmas I was just trying to help him!”

The man on the floor groaned softly, and Angela realized he was looking at her.

“Who are you guys?” he asked in confusion, and he was referring to her and Jackson.

“Feds,” she told him. “I’m afraid that—wait!” she cried. He was trying to sit up; Terence was right. Apparently, he hadn’t been hit that hard.