“Now let’s thresh this thing out,” said Marcie, grabbing the gnome from her husband’s hands and turning it upside down. “Where did you get this gnome, Ted?”
“I… I don’t remember,” said Ted.
“Hah!” said Tex.
“Quiet, Tex,” said Marcie. “What do you mean, you don’t remember?”
“Well, I did drop by the garden center yesterday to buy a fresh batch, but I honestly don’t remember every single one of them or their exact particulars.”
“How many did you buy?”
“Um, a dozen?” he said, giving his wife a sheepish look.
“Oh, Ted,” said Marcie with a sigh. “And how many did you have?”
“Two dozen.”
“So that makes three dozen. So let’s count, shall we?”
All three of them started counting the gnomes in Ted and Marcie’s backyard. It immediately became clear there were far more than thirty-six gnomes littering the place. In fact there were forty-eight.
“How is that possible?” murmured Ted.
“Because you stole mine!” Tex cried, and made to get up and wring Ted’s neck.
Marcie pushed him back down and said crisply, “Ted, did you steal Tex’s gnomes?”
“No, of course I didn’t!” her husband cried.
“Hah!”
“Quiet, Tex. So where do these extra twelve come from?”
“I don’t know!”
Marcie had gotten up and was now checking a couple of the superfluous gnomes. “Some of these have the letter T on them,” she said.
“Those are all mine,” said Tex, getting up and collecting them from Marcie’s hands.
“I don’t know what to say, Tex,” she said apologetically.
“I swear on the heads of my kids that I didn’t steal your gnomes, Tex!” Ted cried, much perturbed.
But Tex didn’t even deign the gnome thief with a response. Instead he checked every single gnome in that backyard until he’d retrieved his own dozen gnomes. Then, his arms laden with gnomes big and small, he stalked off.
“Tex, buddy, please!” said Ted.
But Tex had left the backyard.
Chapter 13
Vesta glanced up at the impressive church steeple and made the sign of the cross.
“What are we doing here?” asked Scarlett, watching with some measure of bewilderment as her friend displayed all the hallmarks of a religious person, which she hadn’t thought Vesta actually was.
“We’re adding another formidable recruit to our already formidable team,” said Vesta.
“Father Reilly? Are you sure?”
“A priest knows, Scarlett,” Vesta pointed out. “In fact a priest knows all. People come in to confess, and he writes it all down in his little black book. Criminals, sinners, or even righteous souls confessing some minor transgression. Father Reilly knows all and sees all.”
“I think that’s God,” said Scarlett, but Vesta was undeterred.
“If we can recruit Father Reilly to our cause, crime in Hampton Cove will be all but extinct,” she said, and crossed the threshold to step into the church proper. It took some effort to push through those heavy oak doors, and then they were inside, in that cool and semi-dark place that was St. John’s Church, the town’s center of all that was holy.
As it happened, Father Reilly was replenishing the stoup near the entrance as they strode in, and smiled in greeting. “Vesta. Scarlett. What brings you here?”
“We have an offer for you, Francis,” said Vesta. “An offer you can’t refuse.”
Father Reilly’s equanimity diminished to a slight degree. “Is that so?”
“We’re launching Hampton Cove’s first-ever neighborhood watch,” Scarlett explained, glancing around a little uneasily. She hadn’t set foot inside a church in ages, and as Hampton Cove’s number one Jezebel now wondered if the gates of hell would suddenly open up underneath her feet and swallow her whole. She disliked sulfur, or white-hot flames licking at her feet. Just to be on the safe side, therefore, she stayed close to Father Reilly. Satan would think twice before swallowing him up whole, wouldn’t he?
“A neighborhood watch, eh?” said the priest, thoughtfully stroking his chin.
“Yeah, and we want you on our team,” said Vesta, wasting no time coming to the point. “You’d be an incredible asset,” she added when the priest frowned in confusion.
“I’m not sure that would be wise,” he said now, indicating he was going to prove a tough sell.
“And why is that?” asked Vesta, her face taking on its most mulish expression.
“Well, for one thing I’m a man of God, and men of God don’t usually involve themselves in local politics.”
“This got nothing to do with politics, Francis,” said Vesta. “This is your duty as a citizen. Don’t you want our streets to be safe for all to walk on, even in the middle of the night? Don’t you want our kids to sleep peacefully in their beds, safe in the knowledge that no child snatcher is crawling through the window ready to snatch to their heart’s content? And don’t you want the proud homeowner to relax, knowing no one is going to spray graffiti on his picket fence, or burgle his safe or even steal his Lab or schnauzer?”
“Well, of course I want the members of my little flock to be safe,” said the priest. “Who doesn’t? But that’s why we have a police force, Vesta. A most capable police force consisting of brave and dedicated police officers, always ready to give of their best for the good of the community. Why only this morning Chief Alec was in here to talk to me about the disappearance of my gnomes.”
Scarlett frowned at this. “Did you say gnomes?”
“Gnomes, yes. Several of my most precious garden gnomes seem to have gone missing overnight. It is a mystery most baffling. A crime most heinous. And Chief Alec said he’d make it his top priority to find out who absconded with my precious treasures.”
Vesta and Scarlett shared a look of concern. “You’re not the only one whose gnomes have gone missing, Francis,” said Vesta. “It happened to my son-in-law, too. No less than twelve of his gnomes have been taken from his backyard under cover of darkness.”
“Sounds to me like a gang,” said Scarlett, studying the granite church floor for signs of hell fire licking at her ankles. “An international gang of gnome thieves,” she specified.
“Now, see, this is exactly the kind of thing our neighborhood watch is going to take care of,” Vesta said with a note of triumph in her voice. She suddenly reminded Scarlett of Zig Ziglar or Brian Tracy or one of those other super-super-salesmen.
“I’m sure your son has the situation well in hand,” said the priest, waving a dismissive hand.
“Ha!” said Vesta, in a scoffing manner.
“Ha!” Scarlett echoed, equally scoffing.
“If you think Alec is going to spend one minute of his time looking for your precious gnomes you’re sorely mistaken,” said Vesta.
“Not a single minute,” Scarlett emphasized. Out of habit she’d been lightly jiggling her décolletage, before realizing this probably wasn’t the right way to make a priest do one’s bidding, so she stopped jiggling.
“I just happen to know Alec is knee-deep in a murder case right now,” said Vesta. “So your gnomes are the furthest thing from his mind.”
“A murder case!” Father Reilly exclaimed, and quickly genuflected, causing Vesta, too, to mimic the gesture and even Scarlett to follow suit, though with some reluctance.
“Yeah, some blond babe got whacked by Dan Goory,” said Vesta.
“Not Dan Goory!” Father Reilly cried.
“Yes, Dan Goory,” said Vesta with a measure of relish. “So you see, no one is looking for your gnomes, Francis. We gotta take matters into our own hands if we want justice to prevail.”
“Well, if you put it that way,” said Father Reilly thoughtfully.
“I am putting it that way. And what’s more—it stands to reason that if your gnomes were snatched, and Tex’s gnomes were snatched, there’s bound to be more victims. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me if all the gnomes of Hampton Cove are in mortal danger.”