Page 109 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

More emotion blasts through me. Ada loves Ryan, but I suspect she’ll have no choice but to fire him. Even if he’s releasedin time for his shift tomorrow. No parent will want to send their kid to sit on the lap of a Santa who spent the night in lockup.

“IhateWeston,” I seethe.

“Oh, you’re preaching to the choir,” Cynthia says, “but don’t you worry. We’re not going to let ole Westie ruin Christmas for everyone. My dad will get Ryan out. Weston’s not permanently injured. Simple assault is a misdemeanor. And once we prove Weston’s behind the theft, he’s the one who’ll be wearing the orange jumpsuit.”

Fresh tears flood my eyes at the thought of Ryan behind bars. He hates being cooped up. He’ll go crazy.

She glances at the clock on the wall. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, honey? I’ve got Xanax.”

“I won’t go back to sleep until he’s home. I need to see him with my own eyes.”

“That may not be until tomorrow,” Cynthia says gently.

“So I’ll stay awake until tomorrow.” I swallow, realizing I’ve been neglecting my job on top of everything. I’ve been lying up here, frozen, for hours. Doing nothing. Fixing nothing. I bury my hand in Saint Nick’s fur, needing it. “I forgot all about the guests.”

“Of course you did,” Cynthia says, stroking my hair with the same rough affection she gave my shoulder. “You had a shock. A couple of them checked out online after the kerfuffle. Stanley and that couple that smells like beets.”

Horror rips through me as the pieces join together to form a picture.

Stanley was behind this.

Stanley, who checked in at the last minute.

Stanley, who was so interested in my Santa collection he did the scavenger hunt twice.

Stanley, who seemed like such a sweet and charming man.

The “inspector” was sent to find the easiest way in, which was why he spent so much time testing all of the windows. But when we redid all the locks, Weston had to pivot.

So he sent someone inside…

Stanley did this for Weston.

My gaze shoots to Joe. “Stanley took that room at the last minute.”

He gapes at me, his face full of the same betrayal I feel. I don’t need to take a moment to interpret his expression—I feel it down to my bones. “He pretended he was so interested in Christmas,” he says scathingly. “Ugh, yeah…it had to be him. He had a key, and he knew where all the scavenger hunt Santas were hidden. All he’d have to do was walk around and throw everything into a box.”

“Oh goodness,” I say, petting Saint Nick again, “let’s pretend he tucked the Santas in gently. I’m anxious enough.”

“You’re right.” His gaze falls on the little cup of candy canes on my desk, and he hurries over and grabs one, practically stuffing it in his mouth before he unwraps it. Apparently, he’s so overcome he no longer minds the flavor of frankincense and myrrh. “Anyone else?”

“I prefer alcohol,” Cynthia says.

“Candy canes make me think of Ryan,” I confess. Although, truthfully, everything in this inn, even my two dear friends, makes me think of him. He’s only been here a month, but he’s become infused into everything.

I swallow and try to bolster myself, because Ryan needs me to be strong. I pick at the problem from different directions, and recall the couple who cancelled their room reservation at the last minute after learning about the rebranding of the B&B.

I gasp. “The couple who cancelled…do you think…could Weston have found out they had a reservation and paid them to cancel? Their note was strange, don’t you think?”

“Send them a message,” Cynthia says.

I set down Saint Nick and grab my phone from my pocket. The first thing I notice is that it’s just after eleven p.m. What are the odds that Ryan will be released tonight? Or that the Capitalist Christmas couple will be fussed to answer my email?

The second thing I notice is a message from Weston:

I’ll drop the charges if you sell me the B&B.

My fingers curl so tightly around the phone, the edges hurt, and I shove it toward Cynthia, not able to speak yet.

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