The Map Home (Collier’s Creek Christmas)

Chapter 7

SEVEN

Dakota

Just how many Santa Clauses was a believable amount at one tree lighting ceremony? The question reminded Dakota of the classic “How Many Licks?” Tootsie Roll commercial Tad had discovered on the internet in high school and then forced Dakota to watch fifty million times while he insisted they should figure the count out for themselves. Kota still hated the things. He’d seen four Santas already, although two might have been the same guy. It was hard to tell with the fluffy white false beards in place.

Had he ever been gullible enough to believe in jolly Saint Nick? Dakota didn’t think so. He didn’t remember celebrating many Christmases when Ana was in his life. Maybe when he’d been very young, before ten? But after that, Ana had always had one excuse or another why they didn’t celebrate. Which— fine . Dakota didn’t really celebrate nowadays either, but as a kid, he’d liked the decorations and lights. Although going back to school and having to listen to the other kids talk about what they got had been difficult.

He’d just stepped out of The Wild Bunch Florist after checking to see if Marcy Auchler’s absence had been planned. The answer he’d gotten was, “Oh, she isn’t on the schedule until end of January,” which didn’t clear anything up. The person behind the counter couldn’t say if it was time off or just that she wasn’t needed. He was starting to wonder if it was possible that Marcy wasn’t really missing. Maybe Ms. Suarez was worried over nothing, but he figured he’d keep poking around until he found out for certain. He didn’t want to write her off the way his mom had been.

“Hi, Dakota!”

Penny Gillespie waved at him from across the street. She and Waylon were hefting plastic bags that Dakota figured were stuffed full with the teddy bears they were donating.

“Hold up,” he called out. “Let me help you out with those.”

“Oh, they’re not heavy, just awkward,” Penny said with a grunt.

“Because Penny had to buy every bear she could find over three states,” Waylon teased.

“I just don’t want anyone to be left out.”

Dakota grabbed one of the plastic bags from the back of their SUV. “Where are we taking these?”

“Over behind the tree and the sleigh. There’s a donation drop-off area.”

Dakota almost asked, “Which tree?” before snapping his lips closed. The. Tree. Duh. Waylon shot him an amused glance.

Behind the tree was the only empty storefront on the square. A banner hanging across the front read, Donate Today for Our Kids . Setting her bag down, Penny opened the door and motioned Dakota and Waylon inside.

“We can just put them down here. Waylon, take one of the bags and dump it in the wrapped box so Mayor Hobart has something to show off when Kandy Kane turns on the lights.”

“Will do.”

Dakota followed Waylon, watching him empty the bags into the gift-wrapped donation box before doing the same with the one he’d grabbed.

“That’s a nice thing you and Mrs. G are doing, I bet there’ll be lots of happy kids.”

“It’s all Penny, you know that,” Waylon said, tossing one last bear into the box.

From somewhere on the other side of the square, Dakota heard several cheers and a yee-haw.

“I should get back out there,” Dakota said. A loud yee-haw this time of day had his Spidey senses waking up.

“Will we see you on Christmas Day?” Penny asked. “You know you’re family.”

Inwardly, Dakota cringed. “Maybe? I might be working.”

He wasn’t going to commit to anything after his dream the other night. Maybe he needed to spend less time around the Gillespies, especially Tad.

“See you then, son,” Waylon said, setting his hand lightly against Penny’s lower back.

That definitely sounded like an order and not casual agreement. Nodding, Dakota pushed back out into the fray.

Several hours later—and after spotting at least three more Santas of all ages, one who, from the back, looked to be in his twenties—Dakota was thinking they should make another Ocean’s movie and this time have it center around a Santa heist. He paused at the corner near Ellis Books, glaring toward the still dark fifty-foot blue spruce in the center of the square. He was beyond ready for the lighting ceremony to be over with.

Mayor Hobart and several others, none of whom, it seemed to Dakota, had no idea what they were doing, had been screwing around by the side of the tiny stage for more than half an hour with lots of flailing hands and raised voices. What the fuck were they waiting for? Just how complicated could flipping a switch be? This was a tree lighting ceremony, not a rocket launch.

Although , he thought, launching the tree into outer space might be more fun to watch.

He’d lurked in the background the entire day, but nothing interesting had occurred as of yet. Helping Waylon and Penny had been the most exciting thing for him all shift. Not that he wanted a fight to break out or anything, but he was bored. And his feet were chilly. And he was hungry.

“Hi, Mister Policeman.” A young boy holding tightly to his dad’s hand skipped past Dakota’s spot, heading the opposite direction.

“Hey, there, kiddo,” Dakota responded, trying to make sure he looked friendly. Sheriff Morgan had been very clear that his deputies needed to project nice and approachable —until making an arrest, of course. Smile, Dakota, smile.

“I want to be a policeman when I get big enough,” Dakota heard the kid say to his dad as they walked away.

Needing a break from smiling, Dakota stepped into the shadow of the Warrick building. Had he ever said anything like that to his mom? The idea seemed far-fetched.

Ana Green would never have been nominated for parent of the year—or even week. She’d “forgotten” to pick him up at school more than once. And when she had finally shown up, she always claimed she’d been busy—new job, job interview, a great opportunity—but somehow none of those things ever panned out.

Movie nights had been fun for a while. But too soon those had been exchanged for sleepovers at friends’ houses and after- school activities. Things that gave Ana time to work and do what she wanted with her suspect-friends or new boyfriend of the month without Dakota in tow. That’s what Dakota remembered.

When he was ten, she’d decided he was old enough to stay home alone. Thinking about it now, Dakota wondered if that was when she started using again. Could be she’d never stopped and Dakota had never been the wiser.

Now he knew—from Niall and others—that Ana had always been restless, constantly on the hunt for the next perfect thing: the job, the place to live, the town where everything in her life would fall into place and be impossibly perfect.

For Ana, there’d always been something better on the horizon, a golden ring she only needed to reach out and grab onto for her fortunes to change. Their life sounded like it hadn’t been much different from the short time when Niall had been her kid. That families didn’t just up and move in the middle of the night was something Dakota didn’t know until he was older. Not until G-Bar.

The radio strapped to his chest crackled to life, interrupting his thoughts. “Time for a break, Green,” Sheriff Morgan’s tinny sounding voice said. “Grab a coffee and pastry at CCs, my treat.”

“Thanks, over and out.”

The radio made Dakota feel a bit like a kid playing at being a deputy, but he figured he’d get used to it eventually.

It was late afternoon, but CCs was still open and had a steady line of customers. Greg, the owner, was working and spotted Dakota when he walked in. At a solid six foot four, Dakota tended to tower over the general population and was difficult to miss.

“Come on up to the front, Deputy. Sheriff Morgan called in an open order for y’all.”

Greg seemed nice enough, although Dakota didn’t interact with him much other than when he was in CCs desperately needing a caffeine infusion. And, admittedly, the pastries were delicious too.

He felt weird cutting to the front of the line, but everyone waiting seemed to be in good moods and waved him forward with various takes on “Happy Holidays” and “Thanks for your hard work.”

Nodding, but also wishing he had the power of invisibility, Dakota stepped up to the counter. He would never get used to people thanking him for doing his job, for helping and protecting people in need. It was literally what he was paid for.

“The usual?” Greg asked him.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“A large Americano with one ice cube, a shake of cinnamon, and room for cream? Does that sound about right? And are you having a glazed or plain donut today?”

“Er, plain is fine.”

Good god, he was turning into a real cop, one who drank too much coffee and survived on donuts. He moved to the pickup area at the end of the counter to wait for his goodies. Greg and his staff were fast; it was only a few minutes before Dakota was handed his snack by a scrawny teenager. He wrapped his fingers around the hot to-go cup and tucked the bagged donut into his coat pocket, then stepped back outside.

“Ho, ho, ho,” yet another random Santa called out as he brushed past Dakota. This one had a lumpy cloth bag slung over his shoulder, and Dakota could smell the fact he hadn’t used enough deodorant that morning. Maybe it was the costume. Who would want to get near that guy?

“Ho, fucking, ho,” Dakota murmured, wrinkling his nose.

Without missing a beat, Santa Claus lifted his free hand and flipped Dakota the bird as he walked off. Dakota was mildly shocked by the gesture. Could Santas do that? Weren’t they supposed to be the epitome of jolly and happy? Not that Dakota didn’t agree with the sentiment. This Santa strode to the end of the block and disappeared around another corner.

“Good fucking riddance.”

There were decidedly fewer people milling about now that it was dark and getting even colder, Dakota realized. The craft part of the fair was finished, the lights on the tree had finally been turned on, and the obligatory oohs and aahs had been uttered. There were folks still standing around chatting as if they hadn’t seen each other all day, but the end was in sight.

Dakota assumed Tad had been by and gotten the shots of the tree he needed. He’d probably had just missed seeing Tad in the crowd. He was irritated that he’d been at the opposite end of the square when Penny and Waylon donated their load of toys, the only part of the ceremony he’d been interested in. Yeah, he felt like a major grinch, but he was cold and tired of peopling—how much smiling was enough smiling?

Finishing his coffee, Dakota tossed the cup into the trash and shoved the final too-large bite of his donut into his mouth just as his radio crackled to life.

“Ghween hsph.”

“Repeat? What was that?” It was Sheriff Morgan again.

Dakota swallowed as fast as he could, wishing he had more coffee to wash it down with.

“Sorry, donut,” he rasped. “Green here.”

“Ah, yes, the case of the donut and the deputy. Anyway, sorry to abruptly end your break. Ben and I are over at Asher’s spread,” Morgan was saying. “The Chaos Twins and a couple of their minions are here, buck naked—something I don’t need to see again in my lifetime, thank you very much—and drunk off their asses. I know you were close to being done with your shift, but I’m pulling rank. After I give them a stern lecture and transport them to the station, I want you to come in and finish up the paperwork. For Christmas, these yahoos are getting community service for the rest of their lives. Idiots.” The irritation in Sheriff Morgan’s tone was loud and clear.

“I’ll be right there.” Dakota suppressed a smile, even if Sheriff Morgan couldn’t see him. Morgan had predicted that they—Jordan and his crew—would be trouble, and he hadn’t been wrong. Probably was why he got paid the big bucks.

Admittedly, paperwork was Dakota’s least favorite part of the job, but at least he had something to do now besides hang around feeling like he was spying on people and just waiting for something to happen. As he walked back to the cruiser, Dakota kept an eye out for Tad, but there was no sign of him.

Maybe Tad worried that Dakota was upset about the “get married when we’re thirty” thing? Nah. He was pretty sure that wasn’t it. Tad had been acting totally normal—for Tad anyway, Dakota thought with another grin—when he’d left the bonfire last night. Nope, Tad was fine, he assured himself.

Somehow , Nick and Jordan had convinced a friend to come and pick them up from the station—Dakota seriously wished he could’ve been a fly on the wall for that conversation. He held the station door open for the sheepish and still slightly drunk streakers. The sun had been on its way down when he arrived, and it now was pitch dark. Paperwork sucked.

“Try and stay out of trouble,” Dakota muttered at their backs.

He was rewarded with a thumbs-up from Jordan and nods from both of them as they got into the back of an extended cab pickup waiting in the parking lot.

He’d already clocked off and was about to leave the station when his cell phone vibrated from the side pocket of his pants. Pulling it out, he pressed Accept.

“Hey, Tad, where were?—”

“Dakota,” Tad whispered, “where are you?”

“At the station, just heading home.” Dakota instinctively dropped his voice as well.

Why was Tad whispering? What the hell was going on?

“Get down here, ASAP.”

“Where is here?”

“Oh, uh.” There was a rustling sound as if Tad was moving around. “By the park.”

“By the park, or at the park?”

There was only one park that someone from Collier’s Creek would call the park, and the Sheriff’s Office wasn’t too far from it.

“Ugh, at the park. Right by home plate.”

“I’ll be there in a few.”

Dakota hurried out of the station, heading toward the cruiser he’d been assigned, but at the last second he detoured to his truck since he was officially off the clock. If it had been an emergency, Tad would’ve called 911. Wouldn’t he?

What the hell was Tad doing at the community baseball field anyway?

As fast as traffic laws allowed, Dakota drove to Jake Collier Memorial Park and parked on the street behind one of the wooden backstops. Climbing out from behind the steering wheel, Dakota looked around for Tad but didn’t see him right away.

“Tad?”

Tad’s voice came out of the dark. “Over here.”

Dakota jogged toward the sound of his voice. The last thing he expected was to find Tad behind home plate, bending over and examining something. A red and white something.

“What the fuck, Tad. I thought you were in trouble.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Tad said, “I’m not in trouble, but look. Don’t you think this is weird? An empty Santa suit?”

Straightening, Tad gestured down at the crumpled fabric as he faced Dakota. For a second, Dakota eyed the discarded costume. It looked like someone had melted. The Wicked Santa of the West.

“It doesn’t seem all that weird to me. Did you call me just to fuck around?”

“No! Why isn’t it weird to you? Who would just”—Tad waved a hand around—“leave a Santa suit out here?”

“I dunno. Maybe I should check with Jordan and Nick and see if they were wearing them before they decided to go streaking,” Dakota said dryly.

Tad’s mouth dropped open at his words. “No,” he finally said. “They did not.” He paused. “It’s so cold!”

Dakota nodded. “Yes, it is, and yes, they did. Sheriff Morgan busted them.”

Crouching down, Dakota peered closer at the remains of Santa. It looked to him like the costume had been tossed where it was and abandoned, and it seemed like an expensive thing to just toss away. He seriously doubted it had been left by Jordan or Nick; they weren’t the Santa types. But they had been drinking, and on second thought, he could see them thinking it was absolutely hilarious.

“Okay, but.” Tad gestured wildly at the ruined fabric.

“Why are people idiots?” Dakota asked rhetorically. “I have no idea.”

“Hmph.” Tad scowled at him. “No one will use the field until after New Year’s Day. Why was it hidden back here? This is a nicer one too, so not cheap. Although it does stink. Honestly, I can’t think of any good reason for it to be here, and don’t try to tell me it was Jordan because I saw both them earlier and they were not in costume.”

They both stared at the remains of Santa for a long moment. Then, with either good or bad timing, Dakota’s stomach rumbled. The donut had been digested hours ago.

“Dinner?” Tad asked. “I’m starved. We could grab something at Randy’s? Or order a pizza at Gustoso and eat at my place.”

Dakota knew he should say no. But he also knew he would, in fact, be saying yes. Because, among other things, he was a sucker for punishment.

“Pizza sounds good.”

Of course, he also chose the most dangerous option. But he was tired and wanted to just sack out on Tad’s comfy couch and watch stupid TV with the one person he could let his guard down around. For the most part.