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“He ran straight up onto the porch and grabbed the envelope.I was still in shock.I tried to hold on, but he shoved me, and I stumbled and let go.Then he ran off.”
A million questions raced through my head.“What did he look like?”
“Santa,” Three said miserably.“I keep trying to see his face, but he had one of those big fake beards.”
“White, Black?”
“White, I’m pretty sure.”
“How big was he?”
That got me an even more miserable shrug.“I mean, I think Ithoughthe was big.But that was probably the suit.When I try to think back—I don’t know.It all happened so fast.”
I nodded, but I was trying to make sense of what he’d told me.Why risk an assault—in broad daylight, for that matter—for a gay manga?Why risk an assault at all?The whole point of package theft was that it was supposed to be low risk.That’s why so many porch pirates pretended to have a legitimate reason for being on the property: in case they got spotted, they’d have an easy out.Dressing up like Santa and wrestling a delivery out of someone’s hands wasn’t just dumb, it sounded like—
It sounded—if I were being totally honest—like the kind of thing Ryan would do.
I dragged my attention back to the conversation.“Did you report this to the sheriff?”
Three shook his head.
“Why not?”I asked.
“I don’t know.At first, I was in shock.And then I was kind of embarrassed—I mean, he took it right out of my hands.I know I should have reported it, but…I don’t know.It’s hard to explain.I finally decided I’d report it missing to the delivery company.Because itwasmissing.And they’ve got insurance for that kind of thing.”
“I think you should call the sheriff now.I get it, Three—it’s scary when something like that happens, and it makes you feel vulnerable, and I understand wanting to move on with your life.But if you don’t report it, the sheriff can’t do anything about it.”
He fiddled with his glasses and then sighed.“Now it’s going to be evenmoreembarrassing.”
“It really won’t be.Everyone knows how it feels.”
Three glanced off into the distance, his expression tight.
“You’ll call it in?”
“Yes, Dash.”
“Thanks.I can stay with you if you want.”A thought occurred to me.“Actually, I might take a look around while you make the call.Can you show me where he was hiding?”
“The big blackberry bush right there.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Grimacing, Three nodded as he took out his phone.
As I stepped down from the porch, Three began to speak into the phone, his voice low and chagrined.In summer, the blackberry bush was probably pretty—green and full of life and bursting with berries.But in December, it looked like something that you’d find in a video game set on an alien planet: brown, twisty and creepy, and surprisingly dangerous looking.I had to give it to the thief—it was so dense that I couldn’t see through to the other side, and so it provided good cover.
I circled around it.A few winter weeds rustled underfoot.Twigs snapped.Branches scraped against my coat.I wasn’t exactly a master of woodsmanship, but even I had enough sense to decide this wasn’t exactly a great spot if you wanted the element of surprise.You had cover, sure, but as soon as you started to move, someone would have heard you.But then, dressing in bright red velour wasn’t anybody’s idea of camouflage either (except, possibly, Mr.Cheek, who would probably have considered red velour a bit toned down).As a disguise, it had been effective, but it was almost like whoever had stolen Three’s package hadwantedto be—
Under a tangle of brittle canes, a rectangle of white caught the thin, cloudy daylight.It had the sheen of plastic, and it looked new—or newish.Not something that had been lost and forgotten and left out here for years, deteriorating from exposure.
I told myself to stop.I told myself to think about what I was doing.I was probably ruining footprints.I was probably compromising trace evidence.Maybe Santa’s suit had gotten snagged, and the sheriff might have been able to match the fibers to his cap, except now I was violating the integrity of the crime scene.
On the other hand, I was here, and the deputies weren’t.
I crouched and worked one hand under the blackberry bush.Even though I was trying to be careful, I quickly found out the thorns were as sharp as they looked—they scratched the back of my hand and caught on my sleeve.Then my fingers touched cold plastic, and I reversed the process, acquiring several more scratches along the way.
It was the shape and size of a credit card, but thinner.It reminded me of when I’d first opened a checking account, and the credit union had made me a temporary debit card to use until the real one came in the mail.