6. A Flash of Genius

CHAPTER 6

A Flash of Genius

A fter bundling myself into my coat, hat, and scarf, I headed out into the dark, frigid evening and down the street to the diner. The outdoor icicle lights Chip Dickson had installed lighted my approach. I only wished they could illuminate me as to whether he was, in fact, the guilty party. It sure seemed that way.

Mouth-watering aromas lured me as I approached the diner. I stepped inside to find the place decorated to the rafters in holiday décor. An artificial tree stood near the door, the colored lights strung around it flashing along to holiday tunes playing through a speaker . Paper snowflakes adorned the walls and hung from the ceiling. A humorous nativity scene featured three plastic wise men bringing their gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the baby Jesus, alongside a doll in a waitress uniform bearing a milkshake glass and a plate piled high with a burger and fries. Cute and kitschy.

I placed my order at the counter, which was outlined with a long, festive garland, and sat down on a stool to wait for the food. Rather than stare at the diner’s employees as they scurried about behind the counter, preparing the meals and drinks, I swiveled the stool to face the booths along the side wall.

Dale and Dawna Dickson sat in the nearest booth. Dawna sat on the side facing me, while Dale had his back to me. All I could see of him was the back of his head and shoulders sticking up above the top of the vinyl cushion and his left foot, which was cocked up at the heel and resting against the base of the booth. A woman sat next to Dawna, her face pinched with worry. I presumed she was Chip’s wife, wondering what in the world had happened to her husband. Poor lady.

I debated going over to say something, maybe offer some words of consolation. But, in light of the fact that Chip had gone AWOL after we discovered the hidden camera, I feared anything I said would seem insincere. When I realized I’d been watching the trio too long, I went to swivel back to face the counter. But before I could turn around, the woman caught my eye. She sent me a look of equal parts anger and anxiety. Though I’d done nothing wrong, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. After all, if I hadn’t put together the clue about the outlets, Chip would never have been a suspect. Reflexively, I lowered my eyes. And that’s when I saw it.

The lights on the Christmas tree flashed, and something flashed, too, on the bottom of Dale’s left shoe. Oh, holy night! It’s flakes of silver glitter!

There was no doubt in my mind now. Dale Dickson was the one who’d stolen our rent money, not his brother. Earlier, I’d earlier the glitter was a nuisance, but the stubborn stuff had just identified the thief. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, after all.

I leapt from my stool, pointing my finger at the man like the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come pointed things out to Ebenezer Scrooge. But, unlike that ghost, I didn’t remain silent. “It was you!” I cried.

Dale rose from the booth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His actions belied his words. He began to edge toward the door, as if preparing to make an escape.

Before I could have another conscious thought, my body sprang into action on its own accord. I yanked the garland from the counter and dashed toward him. As Dale turned to run, I threw a loop of garland over his head and shoulders, lassoing him like I was Wonder Woman. I ran in circles around him, wrapping the strand tight around his body, immobilizing his arms and legs in a cocoon of Christmas greenery. His only hope for escaping now would be to drop on his side and try to roll away, but he’d never fit sideways through the diner’s door.

As her husband struggled to free himself, Dawna gaped up at me from the booth. “What in the world are you doing?!”

I didn’t answer her. Rather, I whipped out my phone and dialed the number Officer Gibbs had given me. When I heard a cell phone ring, I turned to see Officer Gibbs walking in the door.

I pointed to Dale, who wriggled wildly in a vain attempt to loosen the garland. “It’s him! He’s the one who stole our rent!”

I expected the lawman to ask me for an explanation, but he’d already pulled his handcuffs from his belt. As Dawna continued to gape and the other women stammered, flustered, Gibbs turned to me. “Good job, Ciara.” He jerked his head. “Go get your boss and bring him back here.”

“Yes, sir!” I bolted out of the diner and sprinted down the block to get Nick. I grabbed his arm. “Come with me! We caught the thief!”

Nick locked the door to the shop once again, and we ran down the block and into the diner. All heads were turned toward Dale Dickson, who stood next to the booth where his wife and sister-in-law still sat in stunned silence. The garland had been removed and lay atop the table, a pair of handcuffs now keeping Dale restrained.

Gibbs was reciting the Miranda rights to Dale. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” When he finished his recitation, he said, “We found your brother.”

Chip’s wife reflexively attempted to rise to her feet, but was impeded by the table and fell back to her seat. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

“He will be, eventually,” Gibbs said. “He’s being checked out in the emergency room.”

She put a hand to her chest and shrieked, “The emergency room?!”

Gibbs nodded. “I searched the county property records for real estate owned by Dickson Brothers. I saw that one of the properties was a vacation cabin in the woods. At that point I thought Chip was the thief, and I figured a remote location like that would be a good place for a criminal to hide out, or at least to stash the stolen money. I drove out and took a look around. There was no car in the driveway and the cabin looked empty but, when I peeked through a window in the shed out back, I saw Chip’s van hidden inside. I heard groaning so I forced the window open and climbed through it. Chip was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. He had multiple injuries on his head, a half dozen goose eggs. He'd just come around. He had no idea how long he’d been lying there. He said Dale attacked him with his hammer. He had no idea why.”

On hearing these details, Chip’s wife shoved Dawna off the seat. The bewildered woman landed on the tile floor with an indecorous thud . Chip’s wife slid out of the booth and got in Dale’s face. “You tried to convince me that Chip had robbed a tenant and fled, when in fact you were the real thief and had left Chip for dead?” She pulled her arm back, bladed her hand, and delivered his face a solid slap that could probably be heard on the other side of the mountains. No doubt he’d have a nice purple handprint on his cheek once the bruise had time to form.

Before she could deliver any more of the injuries Dale deserved, Nick stepped in, grabbing the woman’s arm and gently lowering it to her side. “He deserves every slap you want to give him and more, but it’s best you get over to the hospital and check on your husband.”

She shook her head, as if shaking herself back to her senses, and grabbed the back of the booth to steady herself.

I looked up at Nick. “She’s too upset. She’s in no condition to get behind the wheel.”

Nick motioned for her to follow him. “Come on. I’ll drive you there.”

I said, “I’ll cover the store.”

Nick reached out, took my hand in his, and gave it an appreciative—and dare I hope affectionate?—squeeze. My heart lit up like Christmas lights in my chest as I returned the gesture.

Chip’s wife looked from one of us to the other. “Thank you!” She grabbed her purse off the booth seat. “Let’s go!”

Details came to light over the next few days as the police investigated and Dale sat in jail, awaiting his arraignment on burglary and attempted murder charges. Dale had purchased the spy outlets online. He’d learned how to install them by watching videos on YouTube. The secret camera devices contained motion sensors that would alert Dale to movement in the offices where he’d placed them. He’d receive a text message on his cell phone and could log in to watch the feed live. He could also review the footage later on his large computer monitor, where he could better see the details. He’d watched the owners and employees of the art gallery and the coffee shop open their safes, as well as Nick and me accessing the safe in the toy shop. He’d thus obtained the combinations to the safes. As landlord, he had keys to each of the properties and could get inside without having to break and enter. He knew which properties had alarm systems, and had avoided those tenants. He’d apparently intercepted my e-mail about the non-working outlet and deleted it so Chip wouldn’t come across it. He’d neglected to empty the e-mail system’s trash folder, however, and the police found the message there.

Chip recovered, though he’d have permanent scars on his scalp and forehead from where his brother had bludgeoned him with the hammer. Dawna and Chip renamed the business Charles Dickson & Associates Real Estate. They no longer required that rent be paid in cash.

Dale’s wife Dawna had no idea her husband had been ripping off his tenants. She promptly filed for divorce. Just as promptly, she took over Dale’s role as the financial manager of the real estate firm. She came by to tell us. “I was always the brains behind the business anyway. Dale had the title of CEO, but other than showing properties to prospective tenants and collecting rent, he did precious little. I handled the financing, leases, and insurance. We’ll do just fine without him.”

Shortly before Christmas, the bells on the front door of the toy shop jingled, and Nick and I looked up to see Chip’s wife enter. She carried a round tin in her hands. She held it up. “Brought you two some cookies to thank you for all you did. If you hadn’t been so persistent, Chip might have bled to death in that shed before the police found him.”

I took the tin from her and removed the lid. Inside were a dozen gingerbread cookies frosted to look like Nick and me. I picked one out and took a bite of gingerbread Nick’s boot. I moaned in bliss. Mmmm. “Thank you so much! These cookies are delicious.”

Nick sampled one, biting off my gingerbread hand. He nodded his head, issuing an mm-hm to let her know he concurred with my assessment.

Her gift of gratitude delivered, she wished us a good day and left the store.

As we closed up shop that night. Nick handed me the cash to put into the safe. I bent down, retrieved the bank bag, and unzipped it to find a sprig of mistletoe festooned with a red bow. I turned to find him eyeing me, a grin tugging at his lips. He cocked his head in question and wagged his brows.

A grin claimed my lips, too. “Don’t toy with me, toymaker,” I teased. I stood, stepped forward, and pressed my lips to his for a warm, gingerbread-flavored kiss.