THE CHRISTMAS CRIME

My wife is a Christmas nut. She loves Christmas and everything about it. She loves the music, the shopping, the tree (some years that is 'trees', one upstairs and one down.), the decorations, the gifts, the whole show. Even the crowds and the shopping.

We used to hang lights around the outside of the house. They went around the garage door, and along the eaves on the front of the house. It was a lot of work putting them up and taking them down. Now understand, I like Christmas as much as the next guy, but I hate putting up the decorations and I hate taking them back down again.

One year, we had a group of boy scouts meeting at the house next door. As the boys were leaving their meeting, 'Ol Scratch got to working overtime. As they walked by, they took out the Christmas lights that we had around the garage door as far up as they could reach.

When Louise found all her beloved lights missing, she was more than a little put out. She saw some boys playing in the bushes across the street, and alerted the neighbors that we had some lights missing and they might have the same problem.

"Why those little devils. Those lights are expensive. I've got a good mind to call the cops on them."

"Go ahead."

I didn't think it would do any good, but at least she'd have someone to tell about it besides me. She called the city police, and they promised to send someone right out.

Things must have been very slow that night, because a patrol car showed up in about ten minutes. The officer came to the door, and we were there to meet him.

"OK, ma'am, what seems to be the trouble?"

"Somebody has stolen all the lights we had around our garage door. That's not the first bunch of lights we've had come up missing, and I'm tired of it."

"What kind of lights?"

"Just some multicolored outdoor Christmas lights." She was angry and it showed. No, I'd have to say she was outraged. The idea that they had come right to the house and taken them had violated the sanctity of her home.

I was perfectly willing to be the silent bystander, but it was not to be.

"You don't seem too excited about all this. Why is that? She's ready to have those boys locked up, and you look like you couldn't care less."

Nobody likes to confess their sins, especially not to a cop. If we had been alone, I might have blamed it on her red-headed temper. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I told the truth.

"Well, I guess I've got it coming in a way." His tone and manner instantly changed from sympathetic and friendly to suspicious and hostile.

"Oh, yeah, why's that?"

Icicles hung on every word. I prepared myself for the worst.

"Well, when I was a teenager, me and my buddies used to ride around in the back of my buds' old Chevy, and shoot out Christmas lights with a BB gun."

To my astonishment, he burst into laughter, and he stood on the porch with his clipboard in hand, and laughed until the tears came.

Finally, he wiped his eyes and cheeks with a handkerchief. "Boy, that's rich. We used a .22."

With the mystery of his laughter explained, he left. The next day our neighbor found our lights under his bushes.

A few days later, a young man came to our door clutching a bag. My wife told him, "It's OK son, we already got all our lights back. We don't need any more."

He glanced worriedly over his shoulder at a station wagon that was idling at the curb, a grim faced woman at the wheel.

"Lady, my mom's watching. Please take them, please lady," he said, thrusting the bag at her. He sprinted back to the car and they sped off.

My wife looked at me like she had just hit a jackpot in Vegas. "Well, who said crime doesn't pay?"

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