“The previous Santa—the one that grew out of it—what was his name?”
She frowned. “Um… Kris something. I think.”
I crooked an eyebrow. “Kris Kringle.”
She pointed a finger at me. “That’s it. Kris Kringle.”
“Are you sure?”
She shrugged, losing interest. “Pretty much.”
Yeah, right.
“And? How did it go?” asked Chase as we left the department store.
“The name of Hampton Cove’s new Santa is Kris Kringle.”
He frowned. “Now why does that sound familiar?”
“You never saw Miracle on 34th Street?”
“Is that the new Leonardo DiCaprio? No, wait. You’re more a Tom Hanks fan, right?”
I hooked my arm through his. “You’ve got a lot to learn about Christmas, Mr. Scrooge.”
Chapter 7
Our next stop on this impromptu tour of New York was the soup kitchen where Chase’s grandpa volunteered. The charity was located in an old church on Ninth Avenue, and when we arrived, there was a long line outside, waiting to get in and be served. The Holy Emergency Soup Kitchen was one of the largest in the city, and made sure over a thousand people a day got a good meal in them. We entered the building and I was surprised to see round tables set up inside the church building itself, right where I would have expected rows of pews, parishioners kneeling to catch a sermon. Instead, hundreds of people sat eating quietly, a piano player tickling the ivories.
“This is amazing,” I said.
“Yeah, it is. And this isn’t the only soup kitchen in the city either. There are dozens.”
“The needs are certainly a lot greater than in Hampton Cove.”
“A lot of homeless and hungry people in the city. It’s a good thing these charities exist.”
“And these volunteers.”
I watched as dozens of volunteers moved around, replenishing drinks in plastic cups and manning the long line where food was served. The line ran very smoothly, and it was obvious the people taking their trays were grateful for this service.
“For many of them this is their only meal of the day,” said Chase.
I watched as a mother with two kids sat at one of the tables, the kids happily biting into thick slices of brown bread and ladling up their soup. “But they’re so young,” I said, choking up a little.
“Tough times,” Chase said softly, also clearly touched. “I actually used to volunteer here myself, along with my grandpa. He’s the one that got me involved. It’s a very special feeling to be able to help others. Grandpa taught me that lesson, and it’s one I’ll never forget.”
We walked up to the person in charge, a heavyset woman with a can-do, no-nonsense attitude who oversaw the whole setup. When she caught sight of Chase, the frown on her face instantly lifted and was replaced by a smile. “Chase Kingsley as I live and breathe. Where have you been, Detective?”
“I got transplanted to The Hamptons,” he said with a smile that matched hers in brightness.
She raised her eyebrows. “The Hamptons, huh? A lot of soup kitchens there, I imagine?”
“Not really,” he admitted.
“Well, I sure hope the powers that be had a reason for taking you away from us.”
Chase cut a quick glance to me. “I’m sure they did, Macey. So how have you been?”
“Busy, as you can see,” she said, gesturing around. “The lines keep increasing every day, Detective. It’s as if the world just keeps on getting a little poorer with each passing year.”
“At least the world has you to make sure these people are fed,” said Chase.
“Well, that’s for damn sure.”
I raised an eyebrow of my own. And here I always thought cussing in church was a big no-no. Obviously things were different here in the big city.
“And who is this?” asked Macey, directing a curious eye at me.
“This is Odelia Poole. We work together in Hampton Cove. She’s a civilian consultant.”
“Oh, is that what you kids call it these days?”
Chase had the good decency to blush, then cleared his throat. “What can you tell us about my grandpa, Macey? I’ve been trying to locate him but he seems to have vanished from the face of the earth.”
“Your grandpa, huh? Well, to be honest, I haven’t seen him in days. I think he came in last week, but he hasn’t been in since.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“Nope. I just figured he was busy doing other stuff and he’d be back.”
“Did he… look different?”
Macey frowned. “Well, now that you mention it, he did seem pretty downcast last time I saw him. He wasn’t his usual cheerful self. Well, you know your grandfather. Always a joke and a kind word. But that last time he was here he was unusually quiet. He also left pretty quick. Didn’t stay to help with the cleanup like he usually does.” Her face had taken on a worried expression. “Do you think something happened to him?”
“I don’t know, Macey, but I’m starting to think something might have.” He told her about the well-dressed man his grandpa was seen arguing with, and the fact that he didn’t respond to his messages.
“Oh, dear,” said Macey, raising a hand to her cheek. “I do hope you find him, Chase. And that you find him just fine. He’s such a wonderful man, and he’s done so much for this community. I would hate for him to be in trouble and not reaching out when he needs help himself.”
“Yeah, that would be just like Granddad.”
Macey nodded, and fixed Chase with a keen look. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
When we were walking back to the car, I asked, “What did Macey mean by that?”
He shrugged. “Beats me.”
“She sounded like she was talking about you. Have you ever been in trouble and refused to reach out and ask for help?”
“That may have been me,” he admitted. “But that was before I met a certain stubborn female, who, in spite of my obvious refusal to ask for help, insisted on offering it anyway.”
I smiled at that. When we first met, Chase had been a different person. Obstinate, surly, standoffish and generally insistent on doing everything his own way without any help from anyone, least of all some nosy reporter like me. How much things had changed since then.
“Sounds like this move to Hampton Cove has done you some good.”
“Yes, it has,” he admitted, and placed an arm around my shoulder. And as we passed another Santa, this one not inebriated but also armed with a very large bell and happy to use it, I was starting to think this little field trip to New York might offer a glimpse at a side of Chase I didn’t know. A chance to get to know the burly cop just a little bit better.
Chapter 8
The police station where Chase took us next was exactly the way I’d imagined it: a bustling hubbub of noise and activity, where police officers worked at their desks while others interviewed civilians as they came in to file complaints, testify to crimes witnessed, or generally tried to make sure that wrongs were righted by New York’s finest. I could just imagine Chase in action, and the moment we entered, it was obvious he was in his element, as he waved greetings at various former colleagues, and bumped fists with uniformed officers and received hugs from more than a few of them. It was as if the long-lost son had finally returned home, and they were all happy to see him.
They also darted curious glances at me, probably wondering if I was one of them, or, more likely, a suspect Chase had dragged in here to be processed and locked up.
I followed Chase to a desk at the end of the large space, and a woman looked up from her computer. “Kingsley! Imagine seeing you here!”
“Hey, Borrell. Long time no see, huh?”
The woman rose from behind her desk and enveloped Chase in a warm hug. She was a slim and pretty young woman, with olive skin and pitch-black braided hair. She was also busty, or at least a lot more busty than me, and I had to admit to experiencing a pang of jealousy as I watched the two former colleagues exchange an obviously heartfelt embrace. Former colleagues or… former lovers?