“Teacher asked what we wanted to be when we grow up. Know what I said?”
“A cliff diver?” Last year, he’d seen a TV program on the subject and declared this his life’s ambition.
“Nope. A policeman. Like Chief Reed.”
Oh. “You’ll make a fine police officer. Now, get your shoes on. We’re leaving soon.”
Dexter somersaulted from the bed and landed loudly and in a sprawl beside his shoes. “I might be a gymnast, too.”
Amy held back a smile. “Very useful in police work.”
Little Sammy, playing happily on the rug with Hot Wheels, looked up. “When I gwow up, know what I’m gonna be?”
“What?”
His baby face full of innocent sincerity, he said, “A pink dolphin.”
Sputtering with laughter and filled with joy, Amy swooped down upon her two sons for a noisy wrestling match on the rug. No matter how stressful life became, Dexter and Sammy made every day worthwhile.
“Chief Truscott, welcome.”
Reed nodded politely as he ran a cautious gaze around the chaotic scene inside the sanctuary of Treasure Creek Christian Church. He preferred calm and controlled, though lately he’d settle for controlled. Calm hadn’t reigned in Treasure Creek in months. He spoke before he thought. “Noisy.”
Jenny Michaels, the pastor’s friendly wife, chuckled. “If you think this is noise, stop by the day care sometime.”
Reed allowed a half smile. Mrs. Michaels, in her mid-forties, with short, coifed blond hair, a moderate overbite, and a pair of reading glasses hanging around her neck, was known in town as a kind, gentle woman with a passion for children’s ministry. She also ran the church’s day-care center and preschool. Amy’s kids attended the center. “Amy here yet?”
If the reverend’s wife thought it odd that he asked after Amy James, she didn’t react. Instead, she glanced at her watch. “Running late. Must have gotten delayed at the office.”
A frisson of alarm skittered along Reed’s nerve endings. It was past seven and dark as pitch outside. Amy had no business being out there alone. When he’d asked earlier in the day, she’d told him she would be here tonight, directing the Christmas pageant just as she was every Tuesday night at seven. She’d also added the oft-repeated invitation for him to join the festivities. So here he was, though not to join the festivities, but to keep an eye on a certain redhead who didn’t comprehend the threat to her safety.
“She should be here by now.” He reached for his cell phone and began stabbing numbers.
Mrs. Michaels lightly touched his arm. “There she is.”
Sure enough, Amy, flanked by her sons, blew through the door like a swift, fresh breeze. Reed’s chest clutched. He jammed his cell phone into his pocket and stalked toward her. “Are you all right?”
Amy ground to a halt in the entry between the foyer and the sanctuary. “Reed! What a surprise. I’m glad you could make it.”
From the expression in her amused blue eyes, Amy suspected his presence at the church was not for spiritual reasons. She was right. He was here to keep an eye on her. And she wasn’t cooperating.
Before he could find out why she was late, someone called her name. He glanced up to see Penelope Lear bending over a large cardboard box. “Amy, come look at the shepherds’ costumes Bethany made. They’re so cute.”
“Be right there.”
Before she could move, Renee Haversham came rushing toward her, trailing an electrical cord. “Amy, one of the microphones shorted out. What are we going to do?”
While she was talking to Renee, Joleen Jones appeared. Joleen was one of the newcomers, her overdone makeup and big hair a dead giveaway that Alaska was not her native land. She was a silly thing, jumping on every man in sight. Reed had an urge to run every time they met.
“Amy, Greg has the flu. Can I have his solo part? I’ve been practicing. Listen. ‘Fear not, for behold,’” Joleen’s high-pitched, annoying voice rose as she dramatically threw one arm high into the air. “‘I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.’”
“Wonderful, Joleen. Really. But let’s just pray that Greg will recover by then. We have more than three weeks.”
Joleen looked a little crestfallen, but didn’t argue.
In a matter of seconds, Amy was surrounded by people, all asking questions or announcing problems for her to solve.
“Amy, who’s doing the programs?”
“Check with Nadine on those. She agreed to type them up.”
“I asked her already. She has conjunctivitis. Can’t use the computer.”
“I’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.”
“Amy, the silver glitter is on back order.”
“I’ll talk to Harry. Maybe he can get it somewhere else.”
Reed watched in wonder as Amy fielded each concern with equal aplomb, all the while working her way down the aisle, away from him and toward the front, where yet another army of pageant participants waited.
He’d thought she needed protection from the treasure thieves, but now he wondered if she couldn’t use a bodyguard here at church. Even with her antlike energy, the woman had to get tired.
A small, sturdy body slammed into his lower leg. Small arms twined around his kneecap. He glanced down into the serious gray eyes of Amy’s older son.
“Chief Reed, are you going to be in the pageant? Mama said you’d make a great Joseph.”
Why would she say a weird thing like that? The only time he’d been in a Christmas program, he’d been ten years old and the director had cast him as an angel, complete with halo. The only reason he’d done it was the bag of candy waiting when the program ended. Well, candy and Granny Crisp. That was the last time he could remember attending church. After that, his father dragged him off to the Aleutians and a rough fisherman’s way of life. Granny Crisp said he needed to get his spiritual house in order, but—well, churches made him uncomfortable. Like now, when a small boy with Ben’s cleft chin was clinging to his leg like a barnacle. He never knew what to say to kids, so he simply rested one hand on the boy’s hair. Had his own hair, now coarse and springy, ever been that fine?
“Chief Reed?”
“What?” Reed said absently as he scanned the room for Amy. The tiny redhead stood on the dais, arms gesturing, trying to direct the group into their places. She looked like a red ant trying to control a herd of sheep. A really pretty red ant.
“Where’s Cy?”
“In the truck.”
“Why?”
Reed glanced down. “His feet are wet.”
“Yours, too,” the boy said, looking pointedly at Reed’s glistening boots.
Strike one. Try again. “No dogs in church.”
Dexter’s gray eyes blinked, then widened, his voice aghast. “Doesn’t Jesus like dogs?”
“Sure He does.” I guess. I mean, how would I know?
“Then why won’t He let Cy come in the church?”
Reed cast around for an answer that would satisfy the inquisitive child and keep himself out of hot water with Amy. If he told Dexter that Jesus didn’t like