The Christmas Child

“I don’t understand that. If your child was missing, wouldn’t you call the police?”

She was as naive as a baby, a cookie-baking optimist. The thought tickled the corners of his eyes. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Her cup clinked against the metal top. “I don’t know much about this kind of thing, Kade, but I want to do something to help Davey find his family. Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

He was positive she didn’t want to hear it all. “I can think of a couple of scenarios. One, his family doesn’t know he’s missing.”

“That’s unlikely, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes parents are out of the house, at work, partying. They come home a day or two later and find their kid gone. By tomorrow, someone should raise a shout if they’re going to.”

“What else?”

“His parents don’t want him.” He saw by her reaction how hard that was for her to comprehend. “It happens, Sophie.”

“I know. Still …” Some of the Christmas cheer leached from her eyes.

“Davey is mute. A family might not be able to deal with that. Or worse, his parents may not be in the picture. Or he could have been missing for so long they aren’t actively looking anymore.”

A frown wrinkled the smooth place between her fascinating eyebrows. A face like hers shouldn’t have to frown.

“Are you saying he might be a kidnap victim?”

“He’s a little young to be a runaway. I searched the data base of the Center for Missing and Exploited Children and came up with nothing, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a victim. It only means no one has reported him missing.”

“Are you saying a parent would ignore the fact that their child is gone?”

“It happens. Kids are a commodity. You can buy them on the internet.”

Sophie lifted a weak hand in surrender. “Don’t.”

Ignoring the problem didn’t make it go away, but he bit back the obvious comment. Sophie was small-town sweet and innocent. She hadn’t seen the dark side. She hadn’t lived in the back alleys of the underworld.

Kade poured another cup of coffee, then shoved the mug aside to take milk from the fridge. Something cool and bland might soothe the lava burning his guts.

“Kade?”

He swallowed half a glass of milk before answering. “Yeah?”

“You want to order some fifth-grade cookies to go with that milk?”

In spite of himself, he laughed. She was a piece of work, this cookie lady. “You’re going to hound me.”

“Gently. Merrily. It’s a Christmas project. So,” she said, with quiet glee, “how many dozen?”

“What am I going to do with a bunch of cookies?”

“Eat them, give them as gifts, have a Christmas party. The possibilities are limitless.”

“I don’t do the Christmas thing.”

She didn’t go there and he was grateful. He wasn’t up to explaining all the reasons he couldn’t muster any Christmas spirit. Or any kind of spirit for that matter. His faith hadn’t survived the dark corners of south Chicago.

“Everyone eats cookies.” Her smile tilted the corners of a very nice, unenhanced mouth. He wondered if she had a guy.

“A dozen. Now leave me alone.”

His gruff reply seemed to delight, rather than insult. “You old Scrooge. I’ll get you for more.”

Wouldn’t that be a stupid sight? Him with a bunch of Santas and stars and Christmas trees to eat all by himself. Or better yet, he’d stand on the street corner back home and hand them out. See how long before he got arrested.

“We were talking about the boy,” he said.

She shrugged, a minimal motion of shoulders and face. “Your stomach is bothering you. You needed a distraction.”

Kade narrowed his eyes at her. “The cookie lady is a mind reader?”

“People watcher.”

She had distracted him, although the cookie conversation was not as powerful as the woman herself. A less careful man could get lost in all that sugary sweetness.

He tilted his head toward the garage and the clatter of Ida June’s old truck engine chugging to a halt. Before he could say “She’s here,” his inimitable aunt sailed through the back entrance and slammed the door with enough force to make Sheba give one startled yip.

“I heard what happened.” Disapproval radiating from every pore, Ida June slapped a sunflower knitting bag the size of his gym bag onto the butcher-top counter. “I’ll give Howard Prichard a piece of my mind and he’ll know the reason why. Silliest thing I ever heard of. Jerk a terrified child from a perfectly fine place and take him to live with a bunch of strangers.”

“We’re strangers, too,” Kade said mildly. Seeing her riled up cooled him down even though he appreciated her fire.

“Don’t sass, nephew. What are you going to do about this?” With a harrumph, she folded her arms across the front of her overalls. Sheba, the peacemaker, nudged her knee.

Kade imitated her crossed arms and slouched against the refrigerator. “Find his family.”

“I expected as much. Good to hear it.” Ida June gave the dog an absent pat. Then as if she’d just realized someone else occupied the kitchen, she said, “Hello, Sophie. You selling cookies?”

Sophie set her cup to one side. “It’s that time of year.”

“Put me down for five dozen. Did you get this nephew of mine to buy any?”

The pretty mouth quivered. “A dozen.”

Kade was tempted to roll his eyes because he knew what was to come from his incorrigible aunt.

“He’ll have to do better than that. Stay after him.”

“I plan to.”

“I’m still in the room,” he said mildly. The refrigerator kicked on, the motor vibrating against his tense back. “The least you can do is wait until I’m gone to gang up on me.”

Aunt Ida June gave him a mock-sour look. “Crybaby. Is Sophie staying for supper? I made that lasagna last night and you didn’t eat enough of it to feed a gnat. I refuse to feed it to Sheba.” When the dog cocked her head, Ida June amended. “Maybe a bite. Well, is Sophie staying or not?”