“No, because I lived with my dad in Columbia until I was a senior.”

“But you visited every year. How did you not know I did all the Christmas arrangements for both towns? I made a lot of money doing that. It’s how I paid for college.”

My wife’s first passion, before massage therapy, was designing floral topiaries.

“Who do you think it is?” Daisy carries a wooden tray of the vintage glass to a hutch in the corner of her store.

“We don’t have any idea,” Joselyn sighs. “Could be teenagers playing a prank. And if it is, they should be ashamed. Nativity is a tradition, and the old people really get into it. They’ll be heartbroken if we don’t have the full cast for the Christmas celebration. Not only that, those figures are ancient. I’d think a couple of antiques dealers would be more upset about it.”

“Give me five minutes, Sly, I only just heard about it when you walked in the door.” Her pregnant cousin returns to where we’re standing.

“What can I do?” I put my hands on my wife’s waist. “I’ll offer a reward, have security cameras installed, you name it.”

Her dark brows furrow. “I guess we could offer a reward. I don’t think there’s time for security cameras.” She exhales heavily. “It makes me not want to put out the holy family. This is pretty.” She lifts a deep purple vase from the box, glancing up at me. “Is this for Daisy?”

“Ah, no.” I start to respond, when Daisy interrupts me.

“What is this, Spencer?” She takes the vase from her cousin, before turning wide eyes to me.

The elation in her tone makes my collar tight. I’m not accustomed to being caught in a selfless act unless it’s for my wife, and then I’m usually rewarded in the bedroom.

“It’s not for the store.”

“I know what it’s for, and I think it’s very sweet.”

“What’s very sweet?” Joselyn looks from her to the vase to me, but we’re interrupted by the door opening and Daisy’s husband striding into her shop with their daughter on his hip.

“I’ve got an idea for a trap. We’re going to catch those thieves in the act.” His brow is lowered, and he’s channeling all his football-hero-turned-Hollywood-star magnetism. “You with us, Spencer?”

“We’re going to save Baby Jesus!” Melody cries, pumping her child-sized pink football over her head. “You with us, Ironman?”

I exhale a groan, all set to protest when I notice two boys following behind them. Oliver is the son of Joselyn’s best friend Courtney, and when they briefly lived with me a year ago, he and I became friends.

He walks straight to where I’m standing and puts his hand in mine. The unexpected gesture softens my irritation, as I happen to know he started the “Ironman” moniker. My wife says it’s because I’m rich and arrogant (her words), and I saved Ollie and his mother (and my wife) from the bad man.

That’s not exactly how it happened, but I’ll leave the details to Ollie’s mom. This little boy has been through so much, I can live with being called Ironman in his presence.

“Mr. Scout said somebody’s stealing the nativity characters.” He looks up at me like I have all the answers. “If anybody can stop them, you can.”

“I’m not so sure about that, pal.” I pat his shoulder. “From what I’ve heard, we have no suspects.”

“I went to the store and bought one of those nanny-cams.” Scout goes to where Daisy is still beaming at me over the purple vase. “I’ll install it in Mary and point it at the manger, then we’ll set out Baby Jesus and wait.”

“It’s a great plan, but Spencer can’t help you right now.” Daisy puts her arm around her husband’s waist. “He has to take this vase over to Ms. Nelly’s before supper.”

“Is that so?” I arch an eyebrow at her. “What if Ms. Nelly has guests? It is a holiday weekend, after all.”

“I happen to know her daughter is in Charleston until tomorrow, so she’s all alone at the house.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways.”

I have no doubt. Daisy has always been protective of her older customers.

“And Ms. Nelly’s not getting any younger,” she adds.

“Ms. Nelly Rushmore?” Joselyn takes the smoky-purple vase and turns it in her hands. “What’s her interest in this?”