Page 7 of The Great Reindeer Caper

Angela had learned that while he was over eighteen now and an adult, Benedict lived with his aunt and uncle in the Bronx. He was going to be very happy to tell them that his parents’ killer was unlikely to go free—and, he’d heard about the flute in the antique shop and, hm, yeah, they’d just happened to be there.

The ghost of the woman threw herself at Angela when she stepped out of the station, thanking her over—and over—again, and then thanked Jackson. Of course, they attempted to hug her in return.

Angela should have been accustomed to it, but it was still such a strange feeling to be hugged by a ghost. There was the sensation of touch as if by air or clouds, and feelings strangely of both heat and cold.

“Oh, first, I’m Nancy. I know you know I’m Benedict’s mom, but I’m Nancy, And . . . wow. Thank you, thank you, thank you, both! I may be in a different world, but . . . you’ve given me the best Christmas ever! We’re fine . . . I swear to you, we’re fine, my husband and myself, and . . . Maybe I can join him now, moving on, the sweetness of a promised peace and beauty . . . but I knew. I knew I had to make sure that Benedict would be all right, and thanks to you, he’s not in jail, he will feel that he’s done all that he can, and . . . thank you, and may you have the best and merriest Christmas ever!” she told them.

“Thank you. And we know your son is a good young man and that . . . well, he loved you so much. We understand and . . . for you! I’m so very happy that you’re happy and feeling at peace and . . . and Merry Christmas to you, too!”

“The best ever. And I’m sorry. Go! You’re law enforcement, but . . . married? You have a family?”

“We are married; strange situation, special unit—” Jackson began.

“Because you can see me!” Nancy said with awe.

Jackson smiled and shrugged.

“And you have kids. Here? In the city?” Nancy asked.

“Yes, they’re here,” Jackson told her.

“Oh! Go, I’m sorry to stop you—”

“No, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, Nancy. And they have an officer coming around to get us back in a second—” Angela said.

“Thank you, Merry Christmas! And again, please know you’ve been the best Christmas present for me ever!”

With that, Nancy was quickly gone, hurrying down the street, disappearing into the night.

The officer who had promised to drive them out to Forest Hills was there for them.

Late that night, they reached their children at last.

The kids were in their room in the little house in Forest Hills and Mary was in hers.

All sleeping peacefully. Of course, in the morning, they learned that Mary and the kids had heard about the “Great Reindeer Caper.” The media had, of course, finally gotten hold of the fact that the entire traffic fiasco in Manhattan had been caused by a would-be thief. And knowing how late they’d be, they’d made sure to tell Mary what was going on and to assure her, of course, that yes while they’d been involved, they were fine.

They still had one day left before Christmas Eve.

And they could get that last minute Christmas shopping done because the kids loved the program at the museum and needed to get back to finish their projects.

They were all in Manhattan by ten, Mary and the kids off in one direction: Jackson and Angela in another.

“The early Christians were smart,” Jackson Crow said, staring at the brilliantly lit beauty of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.

“Um, good to hear?” Angela said curiously. “I always think about my dad when it comes to religion. We were Christian, but he encouraged me to respect everyone, to go to Temple with friends. His words exactly, ‘There’s nothing wrong with the word’s major religions; it’s what men choose to do with them that can cause problems. Seriously, peace and love are really preached about everywhere I’ve been.’”

He turned and grinned at her. “A wise man said those words. But . . .”

“Okay, why were the early Christians smart?”

“They don’t really know when Christ was born, but most Christian scholars, of today and days gone by, believe it might have been more toward our summer months. But an exact day doesn’t matter, a chosen day to celebrate and honor the birthevery year is important. And since there was a time when it was all new, it was important to try to gather others—hm, pagans—to the fold. The Romans celebrated Saturnalia, honoring Saturn, and there were all kinds of ancient beliefs that tied in with the shortest days of the year, celebrations for the end of harvest season and so on. And therefore, in my mind, it was quite brilliant to choose a day that could call out to those who had been raised with pagan or other beliefs and bring them all into the fold. A fold of peace and love, as you were saying. The important thing, in my mind, is to take a day, a day in which to celebrate a miraculous event! And for us, Christianity, Christmas celebrates the birth of Christ!”

She smiled at him. “And what about your dad’s people? The Cheyenne?” she asked him. “How did you grow up?” she asked him.

“Ah! Well, you know, we selected a maiden to sacrifice, killed a zillion buffalo, danced around—”

“Jackson!”