Page 83 of The Santa Claus Con

Arnold takes off his hat and sets it beside him on the counter. “Christmas and birthday,” he says, and I get the sense that he wouldn’t choose to be here on his own. He’d probably rather be out on the water, on a kayak or a Jet Ski, maybe.

“That’s a lot of presents,” I joke.

Arnold raises his eyebrows in agreement. “Who are you here with?”

The bartender sets a light orange drink in front me, complete with a skewered triangle of pineapple, sliced strawberries, and cherries. “Oh! I’m a party crasher.” Truth. “A rip current pulled me out. Guess I got carried away following a turtle a little too far from shore.” A variation of the truth. “I feel so bad for interrupting everyone’s night. I’m embarrassed.” Complete lies.

“Must’ve been one hell of a turtle,” Arnold says, his bright blue eyes glimmering under the holiday lights. He takes a sip of his drink, and I notice he’s missing the tip of his pinky.

“When I catch onto a scent, I have to follow it.” I shrug. “What about you? Who are you here with?”

“Oh, I’m just here as a plus-one.”

Arnold? A plus-one? But he was so fully in it when I last saw him. I guess that would explain the not-wanting-to-be-here vibes he’s giving off in spades.

I take a sip of the drink, which is so fruity and delicious that I want to run it over to Nathan for him to have a taste. “That’s very sweet.”

“Don’t tell that to my partner. I’m supposed to watch my sugar,” Arnold says.

Could that be it? He quit the crime life for love? From crime organization leader to… a plus-one. Seems odd. Maybe people can change after all.

Across deck, Nathan hasn’t made the exchange yet. I’m listening for it, waiting to catch the moment on my necklace. They move effortlessly between English and French, which Nathan must’ve learned after that New Year’s Eve disaster. He, Bijoux, Hawk, and the woman in the hat are talking about how many Christmas movies they’re planning on watching this year, but they could very well be talking about how many pieces of jewelry they want Nathan to sell. Criminal speak is rarely straightforward, yet still totally obvious.

“Nice shirt,” I say to Arnold as a few more people leave the dance floor and find seats at the far end of the bar. This is going well. I’ll keep the conversation light and shallow. Asking personal questions just solicits personal questions, and I’d rather not get into the details of my backstory when I need to hear what Bijoux is saying. “I don’t think I own a single festive outfit.” I stir my drink.

“Not a big Christmas person?” Arnold asks.

I shake my head.

He shrugs. “I like the effort people put in at the holidays. The decorations, the music, the get-togethers. Not that I want to go to the parties myself, but my partner loves them. So I dress up, get on a boat, eat miniature food that isn’t shrimp, sing the songs, and drink fancy drinks. My version of a present, I suppose, and gifts are our love language.”

Stolen, expensive gifts, no doubt.

Arnold releases a breath of disbelief. “Never thought I’d be one to have a love language.”

I can’t stop myself from glancing over at Nathan when Arnold says this. Why did I jump ship so fast at playing the role of Nathan’s girlfriend tonight? When it comes to nailing the bad guys, I’ll be whoever I have to be. I’m not trying to win Best Actress by dodging side character roles. As Nathan gestures with his arms, his voice low and charismatic in my earpiece, the realization washes over me. I can’t pretend to be Nathan’s girlfriend when, deep down, I want the real looks of admiration, the real touch, the real thing.

So I changed course—admittedly risky, yes—and took on the identity of a random snorkeler to get on the boat—better than having no plan at all—just to avoid the girlfriend label.

“Funny what love makes us do,” I say, a laugh catching in my throat.

“I’ll cheers to that,” Arnold says. “Mele Kalikimaka. That’s the thing to say, isn’t it?”

I catch on to the song he’s referencing streaming out of a nearby speaker. “On a Hawaiian Christmas Day? It’s a must.”

We clink glasses. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Hawk flicking a surfing Santa ornament and grumbling to himself. How bleak that I have something in common with him. Next year, I’ll give the holidays a fair shot.

Arnold excuses himself to use the restroom as Nathan’s voice catches my attention. “And speaking of Christmas, I brought you a little something.”

I twist in my seat and rest my elbows up against the counter, angling my chest right toward Nathan and Bijoux.

“For me?” Bijoux coos, her surprise well-acted even though she knows exactly what’s inside.

And then the present changes hands. We got them.

It feels like a moment for celebration, but that’s not how this works. The job’s not done, not even close. We have to get back to shore and arrest everyone, but especially Bijoux, if we want a chance to really shut down this operation. The video’s just a small piece of evidence that works against her.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, Bijoux tears off the tape. Usually, once the present’s exchanged, there’s a silent agreement that the package contains what’s promised. Turns out, Bijoux’s someone who wants to know for certain.