The Christmas code

Can Sheriff “Chunky” Jones and Angela Potts stop a bomb from going off ?

Angela Potts stood at her front door. “You don’t look like Santa Claus.”

Sheriff Jones sighed. “Sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve, Ms. Potts.”

She sighed, stepped aside, cinched the belt of her housecoat tighter and said, “What’s up?”

Q. What does Jack Frost like best about school? A. Snow and tell!

“I’m not sure. A kidnapping. Maybe worse.” He dropped into a chair beside her Christmas tree. “You remember Durwood Saxby, the new guy? Says he’s a retired scientist?”

“He looks like the professor in Back to

the Future. What about him?”

“We got a tip that he’s made a bomb and planted it in town.” “What?!” “I’m serious. An anonymous call, a woman’s voice. Said Saxby works for some timber outfit.”

Angela knew the timber and lumber business was a cutthroat industry in town. The main players were Ned and John Rowmas, Ben Landry and Wink Mchenry. “So what have you done about this?” she asked.

“Alerted the state cops for one thing. They’re on their way. We checked out Saxby’s apartment. Door was unlocked, nobody home, everything scattered as if there’d been a struggle. I found this on his desk.” He held up a Christmas card. Hand-written on the back:

Sam Worden Under-santinate Rain Dear Bill, Bored, fried E. (For Ray M.) First in reverse “What does this mean?” Angela asked.

The Sheriff shrugged. “I compared it to some other papers on the desk. It’s Saxby’s handwriting. We also found timers, blasting caps, etc.”

“So you think this note’s connected to the bomb threat?”

“Let’s say the tip is true, and Durwood Saxby got cold feet. Wanted to warn us. Maybe suspected the folks who hired him were watching him or tapping his phone and might come for him to shut him up. He’d surely know they’d search his pockets and his apartment—but they probably wouldn’t notice this on a Christmas card.” He paused. “You’ve heard of someone writing a coded message before dying? Maybe this one was written before being kidnapped.”

She thought that over. “Okay. Give me a minute to look at this.”

“I know it’s a long shot,” he said. “I mean, who’s Sam Worden? And Bill? And Ray M.?”

Angela ignored him as she carefully studied the message.

“And ‘fried E,’” the sheriff said. “What’s that? Fried eggs? And does he mean ‘sanitate’? How would you under-sanitate rain, or—”

“Will you be quiet?” Angela begged as she tried to concentrate.

A minute dragged by. The sheriff took out his cell and made a call. Angela tuned him out.

Over and over she read the message, backward and forward. And suddenly she understood.

“Oh, my,” she said.

The sheriff caught her look and lowered his cellphone. She swallowed and said, “This is Thursday night.”

“I know it is. Eleven o’clock. Why?”

“You know that big sign at the Mchenry lumberyard, the one showing Santa Claus and his sleigh?” “Sure. What about it?” She pointed to his cellphone. “If you’re talking to the Big Boys, tell ’em to send their bomb squad up here. And fast.” “What are you—” “I think there’s a bomb somewhere underneath that Christmas sign, and someone plans to blow up the town’s biggest lumber operation. And we have five hours to find and defuse it.”

The sheriff blinked. “You got all that from this message?”

“Yep. Like you said, Saxby figured his ‘partners’ wouldn’t suspect this kind of warning.” “So what does it say?” Angela pointed. “Sound out the four middle lines: Under-santinate rain/ Dear Bill/bored fried E/ For Ray M. She looked up at him. “Under Santa-and-eight-reindeer billboard. Friday, four a.m.”

His mouth fell open. Finally, he said, “Does Saxby say who hired him?”

“That’s the easiest thing of all.”