“Move it a little to the left.”

Frank bit back a sarcastic comment and adjusted the lights. He balanced himself on the ladder and looked down at Joe. “Now?”

Joe made a show of studying the lights and narrowed his eyes. Frank shook his head and shimmied down the ladder. “No,” said Frank. “Absolutely not.”

Joe pointed up at the lights gracing the house. “Those lights are crooked. You need—“

“Oh no, you don’t. You get up there and adjust this time. I’ll be the guy to bark orders.”

Joe grinned. “Whatever you say, Fido.”

Frank scooped up a handful of snow. “Okay, that does it. No more Mr. Nice Guy.”

Joe dodged the snowball and scooped up one of his own. “Oh really? You couldn’t tag me if you had a heat-seeking device in your snowballs.” He pulled his arm back and threw the snowball with lethal aim.

The snowball smacked against Frank’s shoulder showering him with white powder. Frank quickly made another snowball and aimed. It hit Joe upside the head, making him stagger. “You were saying?” asked Frank, with a little smirk.

“Ooooh. Now the gloves are off.” Joe darted behind a tree and then peeked around the trunk. “Just you wait. This is war.” He crouched down and made several snowballs and then moved to see where Frank was only to get a snowball right in the face. “Hey!”

“Boys!”

Both Frank and Joe froze with snowballs in their hands. Joe raised his head to see their mother standing on the porch. “Yes?”

“Carol just called. She wants me to come to the community center. I think something’s wrong.”

Joe dropped the snowball. “We’ll come with you.”

Frank nodded. “We’ll even drive you.”

Laura nodded and ducked back inside. She came out with her coat, purse and the van keys. She eyed them for a minute. “Aren’t you two a little old for snowball wars?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Only in Frank’s mind.”

As they got into the van, Frank studied the lights on the house. “They are a little crooked right at the end, aren’t they?”

“Been tryin’ to tell ya.” Joe’s grin widened. “I’ll hold the ladder when we get back.”

“Why don’t you go up this time?”

Joe grunted as he opened the door for his mother. “Do you really trust me on a ladder all the way to the roofline? Really?”

Frank twisted the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life. “Now that I think about it, no.”

“So there you go.” Joe stood by the door and waited for his mother to get in.

She patted his shoulder. “It’s so good to have you home, Joe. We’ve missed you.”

Joe grinned and closed the door, then got in the back of the van and pulled the sliding door closed. “Let’s go see what’s going on.”

*****

The community center was decorated for Christmas – an artificial tree, hand-made decorations. I recognized Carol and her daughters, saw an older man looking angry and several kids crying.

Then I saw the reason. The manger scene had been destroyed, the ceramic figures shattered, the wooden crèche broken.

Mom looked shocked. “Oh Carol, what happened?”

“I left for lunch. Two minutes tops. And I know I locked the door,” said the man standing by Carol.

“Robby, it’s not your fault,” said Carol.

One little girl was hugging an old teddy bear. “We need the toymaker.”

“Toymaker?” I asked, puzzled.

“The pageant’s based on Carol’s story,” Mom said, sadly.

Carol looked a bit embarrassed. “It was a story I told my girls when they were little at this time of year.”

“It’s eerie,” said Ivy, staring at the broken pieces. “It’s like the story’s coming true.”

Mom looked over at me, an odd expression on her face. Frank must have noticed because he said, “I’d like to hear the story.”

Carol took a deep breath and gestured to the folding metal chairs scattered around. “Okay. Have a seat.”

The kids gathered around her as she sat down. The rest of us moved our chairs into a semi-circle facing her. I gave the room a quick glance, noting that other than the broken manger scene nothing seemed damaged or moved. It was as if whoever it was came in to destroy just the manger scene and nothing else.

“Once upon a time there was a young prince, noble and good, who loved his people and his kingdom. But there came a time when he faced an evil foe who stole the kingdom from him and banished him far away,” Carol began in a soft voice.

“The prince fought with all his strength and hope to return home and take back the kingdom. The battles wearied him, saddened him, but in the end he prevailed. The long-lost prince came home a champion but he found his people sad and weary. Homes were lit only by fires to cook and keep warm; there was no holly and ivy wrapped around windows, no mistletoe hanging from doorways.

I blinked, wondering if Missy was short for Mistletoe – surely not. I made myself listen to the story. Carol continued in that soft, gentle voice. For a moment, she almost had an Irish lilt but I could have imagined it.

“The prince wept to see his people so unhappy, but when he went up to the castle, he found only more unhappiness. The evil king had broken everything, including something very special to the prince. They’d broken his favorite holiday treasure. A beautiful crèche with shepherds, wise men and the Holy Family. It was shattered in pieces. The prince sent out decrees hoping someone, whether by magic or skill, could repair his treasure.”

The little girl with the teddy bear spoke up in a whisper. “Then the old toymaker came.”

Carol nodded. “The old toymaker came. Slowly, deftly he repaired each and every piece until it was done. But one piece was missing. The prince searched and searched for the shattered remains, hoping he could salvage the last piece. But he couldn’t find it.”

She cleared her throat. “Then one day, on the eve of Christmas, a small child came to the castle. It was a poor lonely child. He’d kept the final piece to make him feel better because he’d lost so much. But when he learned that his special prize belonged to the prince, he had to return it. The prince was so happy that he brought the child in and let him return the Christ child in His manger to the crèche. When the prince learned the child had no family, he made the child his own.”

“So who’s the evil king?” I asked.

Carol frowned and looked down at her hands. “It was just a fairytale.”

Frank shook his head. “I’m not so sure. There are elements in the story similar to what happened to Joe.”

I jumped. “I’m not the prince.”

He didn’t pay me any mind. “Being banished would be the same as having forgotten his life. He was far away from where he disappeared.”

“Excuse me. You’re talking about me like I wasn’t here. I’m sitting right here. And FYI, I am not the prince.”

“Not in the literal sense,” said Ivy, thoughtfully. “An allegory.”

I rolled my eyes. “Your mom said it was a fairytale. How could it be true?”

Mom touched my shoulder. “Joe...you don’t remember anything else?”

I felt a spurt of anger but didn’t let it show. It was frustrating enough, not being able to remember how I’d wound up as far from home as I’d been. But it wasn’t fair to take it out on Mom. She was as unsettled as I was feeling, I could tell, just from the look on her face. “No. The last thing I remember was going into that shop that sells one-of-a-kind ornaments.”

Frank’s head came up and he gave me a look. “Joe...”

“I don’t remember what I bought you,” I said, trying not to grin.

He narrowed his eyes. “Joe, no. You didn’t.”

I shrugged and pretended innocence. “I have no clue.”

“Boys,” said Mom, shaking her head slightly. She turned to Carol. “When did you first start telling the story?”

I bit back a grin at the expression on Frank’s face and the way Mom asked the questions. She’s been hanging around detectives way too long.

“Missy was around six or seven,” said Carol, with a shrug. “I remember she was sick with the flu and I’d read every Christmas story written to her. She wanted a new one.”

Missy gave a shy grin. “I liked Mom reading to me when I didn’t feel good.”

Robby cleared his throat. “I’ll get the broom. No toymaker would be able to put this back together,” he said in a gruff tone.

An older boy raised a hand. “We have an old one,” he said, pointing to the crèche itself. “Granny bought a new one last year but she didn’t want to throw the old one away.”

Carol sat up. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”

“I think Mommy has some pieces that would go,” said a little girl with her hair in twin braids. “Can I bring some?”

Carol got to her feet. “Children, that’s an excellent idea. We’ll all bring something – a wise man, an angel, a shepherd, the Holy Family. We’ll repair our own holiday treasure.”

The children cheered and the little girl with the teddy bear hugged Carol fiercely.

I got down to look at the remains of the crèche and the figures. Whoever it was hadn’t used his or her foot, they’d used something about an inch in diameter. I looked over at Carol and waited until she looked down at me. “So who’s the real evil king? The one who did this?”

Before she could answer me, someone else did. “That would be me.”

Everyone turned to see a tall, distinguished man, clad in a solid black three-piece suit, in the doorway. His long hair was black as were his eyes. “Pardon the intrusion...Carol.”

Carol swallowed hard. “Lucian de Ville. You’re not welcome in this place.”

The man looked around forty, and very polished, wealthy. He waved a hand around the room. “It’s not like I must be invited in these days, Carolynn. Time is on my side after all.”

I scrambled to my feet and felt my heart freeze. Suddenly I remembered it all. “You.”

“Ah, you made it back, Joseph. Such a resourceful young man.” He took a step toward me and I backed up. I remembered exactly what he’d done. “I’m surprised really,” he added. “Considering your troubles.”

Frank stepped in front of me. “Leave him alone.”

Lucian de Ville stopped and looked at him, a sly smile on his face. “And focus on you, perhaps. Tell me your sorrows, your regrets...your hurts.”

“Stop it, Lucian,” said Carol, her voice full of anger. “You will not touch them.”

Lucian de Ville shrugged. “It does not matter, Carolynn.” The man’s patrician face broke into a beatific smile. “I do believe we shall cancel Christmas this year.”