“Decided what to put in your report yet, Special Agent Mandalay?” Sheriff Carmichael asked.
“No sir,” Constance replied. “I haven't.”
He cleared his throat, then nodded, looking down at the ground. “Yeah... That's pretty much what the four that came before ya' said too. Was kinda hopin' you'd say something different.”
“I'm not done yet,” she offered.
“Good...” he paused, visibly weighing his next comment before saying it aloud. Finally, he offered, “You know that ten-print card for the victim is gonna match John Horace Colson's fingerprints, don't you?”
She nodded, “I assumed as much.”
“But you and I both know that's not who was in that basement.”
“I know.”
“So... Maybe you get it now.”
“I'll admit, I do have an intimately better understanding of why the bureau file on this case is incomplete.”
He snorted. “Yeah. I'm sure you do...”
“Hopefully I can change that,” she added.
“I'd be much obliged if you could.” Changing the subject he nodded toward her feet. “I see you're wearin' those stilts again.”
Constance let out a shallow laugh and looked down at her shoes. “Merrie liked them, and I stopped by to see her this morning. Thought I should look my best. Although, when I arrived I wasn't sure if Martha would let me see her. I was a little surprised that I didn't meet with any resistance.”
“She was expecting you,” he replied.
“That's what she said. You have anything to do with that?”
“Maybe.”
“Thanks.”
“So, did it answer any questions for you?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “But it made me feel good to see her. Does that sound odd?”
Carmichael shook his head. “Nope. You're a part of her life now. I know it sounds sappy, but you've been touched by the spirit.”
“The spirit of Christmas?”
He shrugged. “Of Christmas... Of Merrie... It's all the same to us around here.”
“You know, I think maybe I understand what you mean.”
He regarded her carefully and then smiled. “Yeah, I think maybe you do. You're good people, Constance.”
“Thanks. You are too, Skip.”
“Ya'know, I've never said this to any of you Feds before, but then, none of the others ever understood...” He paused and combed his fingers through the brush on his lip for a second. “Do me a favor, Constance, don't let 'em send anyone else to Hulis on this case.”
“Why?”
“Because you care. Maybe that's what it's gonna take to figure this all out... Maybe it's what'll finally bring Merrie some peace.”
“Maybe so...” Constance smiled, then gave him a nod. “I'll be back, Skip. You can count on it. Even if it takes spending my Christmases here until we find the answer.”
“Well, let's hope next Christmas you're just here to visit and have a cup of egg nog.”
“I'd like that.”
“I'm sure Merrie would too.”
On the drive home, Burl Ives’ voice filled the interior of Constance's sedan as he crooned about silver and gold decorations. Whenever the song would reach its end, she would thumb the controls on the steering column and skip the CD backwards to start it again.
“Heavy symbolism of the season. Merry Xmas,” she repeated aloud to herself as her mind raced. “Heavy symbolism of the season. Merry Xmas...”
Now and then, she would splay out her hand atop the steering wheel and admire the fresh lacquer of pearlescent pink polish on her nails, and smile.