The Santa Claws Bandit (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 5) Read online

  The Santa Claws Bandit

  A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (#5)

  Alannah Rogers

  Copyright © 2015 Alannah Rogers

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  1

  With only ten shopping days left before Christmas, Beatrice Young was in Clyde’s Department Store on a mission. She browsed the wallets in the ladies’ section, running her fingers over the buttery material and taking in the aroma of premium leather.

  Her pastry chef, Zoe, was in desperate need of a new wallet. All she had was a duck-tape thing that had devolved into a nasty tangle of stickiness. Beatrice’s gift-giving philosophy was to purchase things that people refused to buy for themselves and, as the owner of the successful Cozy Cat Café, she was in a position to splurge on their behalf.

  Which was why she was seriously considering giving herself that fabulous cosmetics deal Clyde’s was advertising: buy fifty dollars worth of lotions and creams, get a cheery red make-up bag stuffed with products. Normally, she’d never buy something like that but it was almost Christmas after all. The spirit of giving and such…

  Beatrice only went to Clyde’s Department Store in her hometown of Ashbrook once a year and that was right before Christmas. It was overpriced but she liked to support local businesses when she did her holiday shopping. Clyde’s was one of the last family-owned department stores in New Hampshire—heck, maybe one of the last in the country.

  A distant meow brought Beatrice back to reality. She looked around quickly, realizing that she’d lost track of her three cats. They went everywhere with her, and helped her solve crimes ever since she started trying her hand at amateur sleuthing. They were pretty handy that way.

  “Petunia? Hamish? Lucky!” she called.

  “Ma’am, I believe they’re in the pets section,” said the stiff lady behind the counter with yellowing platinum hair scraped back into a severe bun.

  “How silly of me. Of course!” Beatrice said.

  And indeed, she found the three munchkins standing on their hind legs, paws against the glass display case. Her black cat, Lucky, and her Maine Coon, Hamish, were entranced by the handmade Santas stuffed with catnip. Petunia, her Himalayan, looked particularly fascinated by a pink suede collar dotted with Swarovski crystals. Beatrice made a mental note to get it for her for Christmas.

  “I hope these three aren’t bothering you,” she said to the smiling woman behind the counter.

  “Not at all! I wish we could have pets in here all the time. I’m so glad Mr. Clyde made an exception for you.”

  Beatrice scanned the luxury goods on offer and immediately zeroed in on an array of Christmas collars—red collars with bells and ivy on them, bow ties in candy-cane stripes, collars with poinsettias. She was dizzy with possibility.

  “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt getting you a little pre-Christmas present,” she said, looking at the three cats who were lined up beside her, their eyes bright and expectant.

  Beatrice selected the collars she wanted and handed over her credit card once again. “You guys distracted me,” she scolded the cats. “I have a list as long as my arm of stuff to buy.”

  She pulled out her smartphone and began fiddling with her ‘to do’ app. Wallet for Zoe, new slippers for Matthew, a blender for Sheriff Jacob Roy since he was trying to eat healthy, and a Skate and Sing Elsa for Jacqueline, Matthew’s granddaughter.

  “Are the kids still into that Frozen stuff?” she asked the pet department clerk. “Apparently I have to buy something called a ‘Skate and Sing Elsa.’”

  The woman shrugged. “Last year it was the Snow Glow Elsa doll. Couldn’t keep them in the store. Same with this skating one.”

  “Well, if that’s what she wants, it’s what I’m getting. Thanks for your help.”

  Beatrice headed over to the toys section. Clyde’s did a fabulous job of decorating at Christmas. They laid out thick red carpet on the floor and decorated each pillar with frosted bows of pine that hung over the aisles. “Jingle Bells Rock” played over the sound system and Beatrice hummed along as she wandered through the toys, the cats hot on her heels.

  Though Beatrice didn’t have any kids of her own—she’d married and divorced young and only dated sporadically since then—she loved playing the part of the surrogate grandmother. Matthew Thompson was the ex-husband in question, now her best friend, and she spoiled his grandkids as if they were her own.

  Just she got her hand on the last Skate and Sing Elsa and a rush of triumph went through her, the three cats whipped around and looked towards the entrance. The hairs on the back of Beatrice’s neck stood up. The cats had an uncanny ability to pick up on danger—as she’d found recently while trying to corner counterfeiters, an extortionist, the mayor’s murderer, and a crazed prankster.

  She and the cats had gotten pretty good about knowing when something was about to go wrong.

  A blood-curdling scream pierced the air, causing Beatrice to put the precious Elsa back on the shelf and stalk after her cats to get a better view of the entrance. Hamish’s tawny tail stood straight up and quivered. The skin on Lucky’s back crawled as he slunk forward. Petunia was sending worried looks Beatrice’s way.

  “Don’t worry pet,” Beatrice whispered. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  As she said this, a chorus of screams broke out and there was the distinct sound of gunfire, then a stampede of footsteps. Footsteps that sounded like they were heading away from her. Beatrice flinched instinctively, her throat going dry with terror.

  “I revise my previous statement,” she said. “Not so sure everything’s going to be fine.”

  Her heart pounding in her chest, she grabbed a foam baseball bat off the shelf and hid behind a wall of Lego, prepared to defend herself against whoever was ruining her Christmas shopping experience. But what burst out of the fine dishes section was not the ski-mask-wearing, gun-toting criminal she was expecting.

  It was Santa Claus.

  The baseball bat grew slack in her hand. “Santa?” Beatrice said, peeking out from behind the Lego. “What are you doing here?”

  “Get out of my way,” Santa yelled. “I got a store to rob.”

  Hanging back with her jaw dropped, Beatrice took in the sight of a six-foot Santa strolling by her. He was wearing a sad-looking red velvet suit, worn thin at the elbows and lacking most of its plush. His massive beard was frizzy and tightly curled—it looked like Santa had gotten a really bad perm.

  The cats hung back too. Normally they would have been in full attack mode but not this time. Beatrice didn’t blame them. It was hard to expect anybody to fight Mr. Claus himself.

  It was then that Beatrice noticed that Santa was carrying a huge burlap sack, slung over his back. He strode over to the Lego section next to her and with a sweeping motion with his arm, began knocking boxes of toys into his open sack. Beatrice watched him in disbelief as he moved on to the Barbie section and then to the new Star Wars stuff. It wasn’t as if he was stealing the mo
st expensive stuff, instead he seemed to be focused on whatever was most popular. But why?

  It was about a minute before terror loosened her hold on her and she realized she should be doing something about this brazen crime. She began punching frantically at her smartphone, sending the sheriff a barrage of texts and covert photos.

  She got a text back: “ON MY WAY. DETAIN HIM.”

  “Detain him?! With what?” she muttered. “My foam baseball bat?”

  “What was that?” Santa barked at her while decimating the Fisher-Price section. “Aren’t you supposed to be running away or something? And what’s with all these darn cats? You can’t have them in here. It’s a health violation!”

  Nobody told off Beatrice about her cats. “Well, I’ll take my misdemeanor over your felony any day,” she said, arms crossed.

  “You’re awfully chatty for someone talking to a man with a gun.”

  Oh, that. Beatrice lost her sense of bravado and shrank behind a display of dolls.

  Santa laughed, a big belly laugh that sounded almost jolly. “That’s right. You and your three furry Musketeers can run along now. I’m outta here. Good luck with your shopping.”

  He was almost ready to bolt when he spied the Skate and Sing Elsa out of the corner of his eye, exactly where Beatrice had left it. “I’ve been looking for one of these,” he said, visibly brightening.

  Beatrice’s eyes snapped wide open as he snatched the doll and stuffed it into his already overflowing sack. She peeked out from her hiding place. “Oh no you don’t! That’s all Jacqueline wants this year and I saw it first.”

  Santa took the gun out of his pants and aimed it at Beatrice. “Over your dead body, lady. This Skate and Sing Elsa is coming with me and nobody’s stopping me.”

  She wanted to be alive way more than she wanted that doll so she shrunk back, cursing her bad luck. Just then, sirens began to sound in the distance. Santa looked around him frantically and then took off at a sprint. Beatrice and the cats watched him go. She was in shock but that was quickly turning into anger, and it wasn’t just because Santa had pointed a gun at her and stolen Elsa right from under her nose.

  “Oh heck,” she said to the cats. “It’s almost Christmas. I don’t have time for another case!”

  2

  As Beatrice stood in shock in the Clyde’s toy section, watching Santa retreat into the distance with his stash, Hamish suddenly charged on ahead. The big cat bounded across the floor, his fluffy tail waving like a flag. Lucky sprinted after him, never wanting to play second fiddle to his friend. Petunia, who was not one for running, ambled after them both, her fluffy haunches waving as she went.

  An obvious solution, Beatrice thought. Catch Santa now, have more time later for baking Christmas cookies.

  A young sixty-two years old, Beatrice was relatively fit thanks to all the hiking she liked to do in the nearby New Hampshire mountains. So she didn’t have too much trouble catching up with him. But there were two main problems. First, the sirens weren’t close yet. Worst of all, it looked like Santa had a getaway car—a sad clunker with a gray body and rusty-red doors. He stuffed his sacks inside, jumped in the front seat, and took off as fast as his rent-a-wreck would take him.

  Beatrice rubbed her hands together. “Car chase. Sure. I can do this.”

  The only problem was that car chases involve speed. Speed involving three cats that weren’t strapped in would surely result in crushed whiskers at minimum. Thank goodness the cat carriers were already strapped in for occasions such as this and thankfully again, the cats went in relatively easily—Hamish usually wouldn’t get in a carrier without a fight, even if it meant snuggling up to his ladylove, Petunia.

  Cats safeguarded, Beatrice jumped into the front seat of her pickup truck and put the petal to the metal. She’d seen which way Santa had driven. Now she had to hope and pray that he hadn’t turned onto another road.

  Since it was Sunday, there wasn’t a lot of traffic. The best part, through, was that they’d had a warm spell the day before and the snow had melted off the tarmac. With the help of her winter tires, Beatrice had no problem building up speed. She was a good driver too—the truck felt like an extension of her body.

  The only unfortunate aspect of the chase was that Madonna’s “Santa Baby” was blasting at top volume from the car radio, which felt most inappropriate at that moment. Her phone rang and she felt around in her purse.

  “Hello?” she yelled.

  “Did you detain him?” the sheriff demanded over the crackling line.

  “He has a gun. I couldn’t stop him from escaping by car, but I’m right on his tail. He’s taking highway eight towards the park. Driving what looks like a Dodge Rabbit. Grey body, rusted doors. Can’t see the licence plate number—it’s smeared over with mud or something.”

  “I’m headed in from there! Don’t you worry Bee, I’ll stop him, no problem.”

  Beatrice threw the phone back into her bag. She could stop this madness and head home. But even though the sheriff was gifted in many things, she decided that when it came to car chases, two vehicles were better than one.

  Plus, if the sheriff didn’t get him she might have to spend Christmas solving this case and there was no way that was going to happen.

  Clyde’s department store was on the edge of town and Santa was taking the road out of town heading north into the White Mountain National Forest next door. For a split second, Beatrice had the irrational idea that she was going to have to follow him all the way to the North Pole, which her gas tank would definitely not allow her to do.

  Normally Beatrice loved this drive. The road curved through majestic snow-capped mountains dotted with evergreens. But it wasn’t exactly the best route to navigate at top speed. Still, Beatrice urged the truck onwards, gradually creeping closer to Santa’s wreck-on-wheels.

  “Pull over!” she yelled at him, yanking down the window. “I want to arrest you!”

  “Don’t you ever give up, lady?” he shouted back. “I know you’re not a cop.”

  “Why not? I could be an old but extremely attractive officer of the law. Give me those toys!”

  “Not on your life!”

  “Okay fine, just give me the Elsa doll!”

  “Not gonna happen, lady! Go back to knitting by the fire, what don’t ya?”

  Beatrice immediately saw red. No one treated her like some old bag. Which may be why she swerved a little bit on the road. And which may be why she didn’t spot the sheriff skidding to a stop in the opposite lane after rounding a sudden bend. He clipped the front of her car and she went spinning across the road.

  The cats started to yowl.

  Beatrice’s life flashed before her eyes (it featured a lot of pastries and cakes).

  And then the car ground to a halt on the shoulder. Beatrice sat there for a moment, hands still gripping the wheel at the ten and two position, trying to figure out what had just happened. The cats yelled bloody murder in the carriers behind her but she wasn’t able to move.

  The sheriff ran up to her open window, his hat pushed low over his eyes. His salt-and-pepper moustache looked stiff with cold. “Are you okay?”

  Beatrice took a deep breath. “Fine, I think.” She unsnapped her seat belt and crawled into the back of the cab. The seat belts still held the two carriers securely in place and when she unlocked the doors, all three wandered out, a little wobbly and dazed but otherwise fine.

  Beatrice let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Well thank goodness we’re all okay. But what about Santa?”

  “Gone. But I got his plates and I’ve alerted the park that he’d headed straight for them. Hopefully they can stop him—not a lot of places to hide. And look what I found.” The sheriff held up a red felt hat with a matted white pompom. “His hat. Must have flown out the window. Found it in the road.”

  Beatrice peered at it. “This is a Santa with a big head. Hopefully we can get DNA.”

  “That’s right.”

  Her phone b
eeped and Beatrice looked at it in annoyance. It was a text from Matthew: Rehearsal’s starting in half an hour. You want me to pick you up at home?

  “Jake, we have rehearsal! I almost forgot all about it.”

  Reggie Miller, on disability from an old injury and self-designated volunteer coordinator of everything, was organizing the town’s first ever charity Christmas play—a rendition of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Beatrice had always fancied herself a bit of an actress, so she’d tried out and gotten a part as all of the Ghosts of Christmas Past.

  The sheriff, by some strange twist of fate, was Scrooge.

  The man in question blinked unhappily. “I just tried out ‘cause Reggie asked me to. I never thought he would actually pick me. I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag.”

  Beatrice had seen his audition. He’d read his lines in a monotone while holding his paper about an inch from his eyes. A compelling actor, he was not.

  “Well, now’s your time to shine, Jake,” Beatrice said. “Come on. I’ll pick up snacks at the café on the way in. Nothing that a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream won’t fix.”

  3

  Matthew looked at Beatrice suspiciously when she entered the local elementary school gym with the sheriff. When they were together, it usually meant they were working on a case. Though he tried to be supportive, Matthew didn’t especially love how her amateur sleuthing usually got her stalked, shot at, or almost blown up.

  The tall, silver-haired ranger kissed her cheek. Reggie, who had had a thing for Beatrice for a long time, glowered at him. But Matthew didn’t notice. He looked down at her, a concerned look on his face.

  “Now what exactly does ‘I got tied up’ mean? It wouldn’t have anything to do with this character the news is calling the Santa Claus Bandit, now would it?”

  “Well, I suppose it would have a lot to do with that, given that I was in the toy section at Clyde’s when he showed up.”

  “Bee gave the guy a heck of a chase,” the sheriff piped in. “Never seen her gun that old truck like that.”