Page 122 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

And that’s exactly what Jeremy and I just did.

Once we got inside, which was much easier than he’d believed it would be, we argued for ten minutes about what to do with the ornament. I’d wanted to go for the bedroom closet, but Jeremy had pointed out there were already ten other black boxes in there, and if the cops did a quick search, they might not check them all.

Which was when it hit me.

Why take chances when we could hide it in plain sight?

Weston had a Christmas tree up, decorated like it had come right out of a box, with silver ornaments and white lights.

So we hung the little sweet gum ornament up in the middle.

It had felt right, doing that, as if Grandma Edith were guiding my hand. And, sure, maybe spirits don’t help people set up their fellow man, but he pushed us into it.

Now, it just needs to work its magic.

The ornament had looked obvious to us, but we also knew it was there. Most people aren’t fixated on Christmas the way my girlfriend is, so maybe they haven’t been trained to take a look at every Christmas tree and gingerbread man they come across.

“I’m getting nervous,” I admit.

Because if the officers don’t find it, and Weston does, he’ll have everything he wants.

Well, nearly everything. He won’t have Anabelle. He’ll never have her.

“Don’t get nervous,” Jeremy says. “Should we play Go Fish?”

“You’ve got a pack of cards?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I took one from the house. I figured we might need something to do.”

My lips twitch up. “I’ve created a monster. Sure, I like a good game of Go Fish.”

We try to play, but both of us have forgotten the rules, and neither of us cares enough to google it.

It’s another twenty minutes before it happens.

The door bangs open, and then Weston is marched down the front steps. No one has handcuffed him, but it’s obvious he’s not happy.

“Oh, it’s going down,” Jeremy mutters, grabbing out his phone and taking a snap.

Relief fills my cup. Until this moment, I wasn’t sure it was going to work. I mutter as much to Jeremy, who says, “It was Anabelle’s plan.”

He has a point, but it still relied on us to carry it out.

Jeremy sticks his phone back into his pocket and grins at me. “Come on, can I do it, man?”

I grin back at him and wave at a huge hemlock tree. “Let’s get behind that first.”

So we sidle up behind the big trunk, and Jeremy pulls his trumpet out of its case just before the car door closes behind Weston.

Moments later, Weston is driven away to the tune of “I’ll be Home for Christmas.”

When the car drives out of sight, Jeremy holds his fist out for a bump, and I give it to him.

“Let’s go home to our girls,” I say.

On the wayto the inn, I stop at a discount store so I can pick up some replacement ornaments for the trees. Anabelle hasn’t said so, but I know it makes her sad to see them bare, especially this close to Christmas.

I haven’t given up on getting her things back, but if I can make her happier now, I’m not going to wait.

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