The Christmas Thief (7 page)

T
wo hundred acres away, in the eighteenth-century farmhouse in the center of his property, Lemuel Pickens was finding it hard to get to sleep. Normally he and his wife, Vidya, got into bed promptly at nine-thirty and passed out. But tonight, because of the tree, they had been reminiscing about the old days, and then they dug out the album and looked at the picture of the two of them planting the tree the day they were married, fifty years ago.

We weren’t spring chickens, either. Lemuel chuckled to himself. Vidya was thirty-two, and I was thirty-five. That was old in our day. But as she always said, “Lemmy, we had responsibilities. I had my mother to take care of, and you had your father. When we’d see each other in church on Sundays, I could tell you were sweet on me, and I liked that.” Then Viddy’s mother died. Two weeks later Pa was feeling poorly, and before you could say “Jiminy Cricket,” he had passed over, too, Lemuel remembered as he gave Viddy a poke. That woman can sure snore up a storm, he thought as she turned on her side and the rumbling stopped.

We never were blessed with children, but that tree has been almost like a child to us. Lemuel’s eyes moistened. Watching it grow, the branches always so even and perfect, and the touch of blue that comes out in the sunlight. It sure is the prettiest tree I’ve ever seen. Even the way it stands alone in the clearing. We never wanted to plant anything near it. Over the years we’ve put mulch around it. Babied it. It’s been fun.

He turned on his side. When those people rang the door and asked if we’d let them cut down the tree for Rockefeller Center, I almost took a gun to them. But then I heard that after I turned them down they hightailed over to Wayne Covel’s place and were considering his big blue spruce. Boy, did that get my goat.

Viddy and I took about two minutes to talk it over. We’re not going to be here much longer to take care of our tree. Even if we have it in our will that no one can cut it down, it won’t be the same after we’re gone. It won’t be special to anyone, but if it goes to Rockefeller Center, it will make thousands and thousands of people happy. And when it gets to New York, the schoolkids and those cute Rockettes will greet our tree and sing the songs from Maria von Trapp’s movie. Funny that she came along just as we were planting it. Sheknew it was our wedding day, and she sang an Austrian wedding song for us and took our picture next to the tree. Then we took her picture standing in the same spot.

Lemuel sighed. Viddy is looking forward so much to going to New York City and seeing our tree come ablaze with lights. It’ll be on television all over the country, and everyone will know it’s our fiftieth anniversary. They even want to interview us on the
Today Show.
Viddy’s so excited, she’s planning to have her hair washed and set at one of those fancy salons in New York. When I heard how much it was gonna cost, I almost dropped my teeth. But as Viddy reminded me, she’s only had it done twice in all these years.

I just wish I could see the expression on Wayne Covel’s face when we’re on the TV talking to Katie or Matt. He’s as sour as a wet hen because when we went running over and said we’d let them have our tree, they dropped
his
like a hot potato.

Lemuel gave Vidya another poke. She makes more noise than a tree crashing in the forest, he thought.

T
wenty feet up, Wayne Covel could not believe his ears. He had been standing on the ladder behind Lemuel Pickens’s prize blue spruce, machete in hand, about to start hacking off branches. His intention was to make such a mess of the tree that the men sent by Rockefeller Center would come running back to him. He still hadn’t decided whether or not to play hard to get, but in the end he would let them have his beautiful tree.

The
Today Show
here I come, he thought.

But then from the other side of the tree he heard footsteps approaching and realized that subconsciously he had been aware of the faint sound of a car engine a few minutes earlier. It was too late for him to climb down the ladder and escape, so he did the only thing possible: He jammed the machete into the tool belt around his waist and stood perfectly still. Maybe they’ll go away quickly, he hoped. Please don’t let it be guards who’ll stay here all night.

What do I do? he wondered frantically. I’m a trespasser. Lem Pickens would know exactly what I was up to. My goose would be cooked.

Wayne could hear several men walking around, then moving on the far side of the tree. They were talking about diamonds hidden in the tree—millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds! He almost fell off the ladder, he was concentrating so hard in his attempt to make out every word they were saying.

They had to be kidding! But they weren’t—he knew it. There were diamonds hidden in a metal flask somewhere in the tree, and these guys were going to steal the tree to find the jewels.

Wayne was terrified. These weren’t good guys, obviously. Could he get out of here without them seeing him? If they discovered him, they’d know he heard what they were saying. Then what? He didn’t want to think about the possibilities.

“We have to go back to the farmhouse to get the two-handled saw,” one of them was saying in a grouchy tone. “Too bad one of you imbeciles didn’t think to throw it in the back of the van.”

Thank you, God! Wayne wanted to shout. They’re leaving. That’ll give me time to climb down and call the cops. Maybe there’ll be a reward! I’ll be a hero. These guys wouldn’t have hid diamonds in the tree if they got them honestly, that much he knew for sure.

He waited until he could no longer hear the sound of their car, then reached into his belt, pulled out his flashlight, and turned it on. Where could they have hidden a flask of diamonds? It had to be attached to a branch or to the trunk. The branches weren’t thick enough to hold a flask inside. And if anyone had drilled a hole in the trunk, the nutrients wouldn’t get through, and the tree would die.

Wayne leaned forward, lifted a few of the branches with his thick protective gloves, and shined the flashlight all around. What a joke, he thought. Talk about a needle in a haystack. But maybe I’ll get lucky and spot the flask. Sure—and maybe Boston will finally win the World Series.

Even so, he descended the ladder one step at a time, carefully parting the branches and shining the flashlight between them. Three steps down, the beam of light caught on something resting on a branch above, about halfway between the trunk and the ladder.

It couldn’t be—or could it?

Wayne grabbed the machete from his belt and leaned into the tree. The needles scratched his face and became embedded in his handlebar mustache, but he didn’t feel them. He couldn’t reach the machete far enough to cut the branch off past the object, or could he?

Wayne was on his tiptoes leaning into the tree when, with one strike, he cut the branch in half, pulled off the severed end, and scampered down the ladder. At the bottom his flashlight revealed a metal flask held tight to the branch with the kind of thin wire used in electric fences. Wayne’s whole body quivered with excitement.

With a sweep of the machete Wayne cut the branch again so that the section holding the flask was only a foot long. He stifled the impulse to let out a whoop of triumph, as he did whenever the Red Sox scored a run against the Yankees, and began to run. In his haste he did not realize that the machete with his name on the handle had slid out of his belt and fallen to the ground.

All thoughts of calling the cops had vanished.

God works in strange ways, he thought as he ran around the perimeter of Lem Pickens’s property. If my tree had been picked, I would have had my fifteen minutes of fame, but then it would have been over. This way, if this flask really is full of diamonds, I’m rich—and that pain in the neck Lem misses his chance to be a star.

He only wished he had the nerve to show up the next morning and see Lem’s face when he visits his tree for the last time and finds nothing but a stump. Wayne was delirious with joy. And how about seeing the faces on the guys when they discover that the branch with the flask is half gone? But he wished them luck. They were doing his job for him. If they really succeeded at cutting down Lem’s tree, then his might be on its way to Rockefeller Center.

Wayne ran faster through the night. I should check my horoscope, he thought. My planets must be all lined up. They just gotta be.

B
ack at the farmhouse Milo was roused from his nap on the couch and ordered into the kitchen for a briefing from Packy.

“I don’t want to get in this any deeper,” Milo protested.

“You’re in it up to your neck,” Packy barked. “Now we’ve got to get this right. We can’t fit two flatbeds in the barn, and we can’t leave one out in sight.”

“There are plenty of lonely roads around here,” Benny noted. “Why don’t we leave ours on one of them? Although it’s a shame—it was a good buy. Right after you sent word from prison to buy an old flatbed, Jo-Jo and I came across that one at an auction. Paid cash for it, too. We were so proud of ourselves.”

“Benny, please!” Packy yelled. “When we get back here with my tree, you’ll pull our flatbed out of the barn, drive north on route 100 for about ten miles, and lose it somewhere. No. Wait a minute! Milo, you drive the flatbed. They know you around here. There’s no law against driving a flatbed. Benny, you follow in the van and drive him back.”

This is more than I bargained for, Milo thought. I don’t think I’ll ever get to spend that money. But he decided not to protest. He was already in too deep, and he had never felt more miserable in his life.

“Okay, that’s decided,” Packy said briskly. “Milo, don’t look so worried. We’ll be out of your life soon enough.” He glanced at the twins. “Come on, you two. We don’t have that much time.”

When they got back to the site, the light snowfall had ended and a few stars were visible through the clouds. In a way Packy was glad to see them. It meant that he didn’t need more than the lowest setting of the flashlight to guide Jo-Jo and Benny when they were sawing the tree.

The Rockefeller Center crane was in place to receive the tree when it fell. The cables of the crane were already attached to the tree to keep it from falling away from the flatbed.

I was nuts to think I could cut anything this big and count on its landing on our flatbed, Packy admitted to himself. I was nuts to forget that the bottom branches of a tree this big had to be wrapped. Let’s face it, I was nuts to hide the diamonds in a tree in the first place. But the boys hired by Rockefeller Center took care of everything for me, he consoled himself. What pals.

Jo-Jo and Benny took their places on either side of the tree. They were each holding one end of the saw.

“All right,” Packy directed. “This is the way you do it. Benny, you push while Jo-Jo pulls. Then, Jo-Jo, you push while Benny pulls.”

“Then I push while Jo-Jo pulls,” Benny confirmed. “And Jo-Jo pushes and I pull. Is that right, Packy?”

Packy wanted to scream. “Yes, that’s right. Just start. Do it! Hurry up!”

Even though it was a manual saw, the sound seemed to reverberate through the woods. Seated on the crane, Packy pointed the beam of the flashlight on the base of the tree. For an instant he pointed it at the tree’s back where he knew that somewhere the flask was hidden. He could see a ladder that hadn’t been visible to him before and then noticed that a length of branch was lying on the ground. An uneasy feeling stirred inside him. He pointed the light back at the twins pushing and pulling.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen.

“Hurry up,” Packy urged them. “Hurry up.”

“We’re pushing and pulling as fast as we can,” Benny panted. “We’re almost done. We’re almost—Timber!” he yelled.

They had severed the tree at the base of the trunk. For a moment it wavered and then, guided by Packy at the crane, the large tree was held in the air by cables and lowered in a straight line onto the flatbed. Sweat was pouring down Packy’s face. How did I ever remember to do that right? he wondered. He released the cables, scrambled down from the crane, and rushed into the driver’s seat of the cab of the flatbed. “Benny, you get in with me. Jo-Jo, follow in the van, like you’re escorting us. Now if our luck holds…”

With agonizing slowness he drove the flatbed out of the clearing and onto the dirt road. He passed the east side of Lem Pickens’s property, pulled on to route 108, and finally drove up Mountain Road.

A few cars passed them on 108, their occupants hopefully too tired or too indifferent to wonder what was going on. “Sometimes they transport big trees like this at night to avoid causing a traffic jam,” Packy explained, more to himself than to Benny. “That’s what these birds probably think we’re doing if they think at all.”

There was more that he was worried about than getting back to the barn undetected—that branch lying on the ground, right below the area where the flask was hidden. That side of the tree was now exposed on the top of the flatbed. He couldn’t wait to start looking for his flask.

It was exactly 3
A.M.
when they reached the farmhouse. Benny jumped out, ran to the barn, and opened the door. He backed out their flatbed, making an ear-splitting racket as the remaining horse stalls broke into splinters. Milo came rushing out of the house and took over the driver’s seat of the flatbed from Benny. As Benny drove the van past Packy, he waved, smiled, and gave a light tap of the horn. Packy grunted while driving the stolen flatbed into the barn. As he climbed out, Jo-Jo was shutting the barn door.

“Now I look for the red line I painted around the trunk at the spot where the branch with the flask is, and we’re halfway to Brazil. The way I figure it, now it should be about forty feet up.”

Jo-Jo pulled out the tape measure Packy had ordered him to bring, and together they started to measure the tree from its base. Packy’s throat went dry when he saw a broken branch about twenty feet up. Could this be where that piece of branch on the ground came from? he wondered. Ignoring the sharpness of the needles, he pulled the remaining branch back and then yelled as a piece of jagged wire cut his finger. His flashlight was pointed at the trunk and the red circle around the base of the broken branch.

There was no sign of a flask, only the remnants of the wire with which he had so carefully secured his treasure.

“What?” he screamed. “I don’t get it! I thought my branch would be higher by now. We’ve got to go back! That flask must be stuck to the branch I saw lying on the ground by the ladder.”

“We can’t drive the flatbed out again! We gotta wait till Benny and Milo get back with the van,” Jo-Jo pointed out.

“What about Milo’s heap?” Packy screamed.

“He keeps those keys in his coat pocket,” Jo-Jo answered. I should have stayed in Brazil and let Packy make salads at that dumpy diner, he thought for the third time that day.