by Lizz Lund
It was about three in the morning, and I was wide awake and fretting—about lousy beer, my mortgage, gas money—not to mention the impending Sidekick gig. So I decided to make some breakfast breads to take the edge off. Yawning and stretching, Vinnie escorted me to assist. He eventually settled on more stomping of the presents under the tree, mashing them into something suitable for a nap. I hoped none of the stuff was breakable.
A few cranberry orange, banana nut and cinnamon swirl loafs later, I finally felt sleepy enough to head back to bed. I looked out the French door onto the deck at the newly fallen snow, which shone glittery white and undisturbed,with the exception of the footprints that went from around the corner of my townhouse, through my backyard and up to Vito’s deck. The tracks retraced themselves, straight back toward my deck: someone had been standing out there, looking in. Since the snowstorm. Someone was watching me cook? It couldn’t have been Vito. He’d have let himself in and made a pot of coffee.
Somewhat shaken, I went upstairs and lay down on my bed, feeling a little lonesome and a bit colder, since Vinnie was still snoring on top of his stash. I threw a sweatshirt on over my jammies and some socks. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.
A nano-second later, the phone rang. Well, actually it was more like four hours later: it was after eight.
“Hey, can you be here at five this afternoon? We’ve got a huge off-premise dinner party and Arnie’s called in sick.” Hilda sounded frazzled.
“Sure!” I brightened. I momentarily wondered if that could translate into calling off this morning’s Sidekick stint in order to spare what remained of my shins. I rolled over, face-to-face with a neglected stack of bills on my nightstand, and thought better of it.
“Should I wear the usual?”
“That’d be great.” Hilda gave me the gist of the menu, how many guests and what she’d need help with.
I rolled out of bed and downstairs and finally into Vito, who was already making coffee.
“What’s up I should know about?”
I yawned. “Nothing. Yet.”
Vito stared at the breakfast breads. “You sure?”
“Oh. That. Bauser got me up for Snowmageddon and that led to a little insomnomania.”
Vito shook his head. “You need a large family. With lots of cousins and in-laws and such.”
“Have you been talking with Aunt Muriel?”
Vito held up a hand. “But, hey, since you was up, did you see anyone outside last night?”
I yawned again. “Nope. But I did see footprints.”
“Me too.”
We peered out the window at the tracks that led to Vito’s deck.
“Yep. I’m not liking it.”
“What are you hiding in my basement?”
“Nothing! I swear it! Just stuff for the bazaar. But those prints make me think it could be some punks out to rob us, on account of Christmas and all.”
I wondered sleepily who would consider my home full of Christmas bounty? I had nary a wreath on the door. But maybe the footprint people had watched me freeze all that chicken stock last week. “You think I should take my tree down?”
“Don’t be such a Grinch.”
“So what then?”
“A security system might be a good thing.”
I looked at him. While he was probably correct, what with my being a single gal and all, I had him, right? If the theory that nosey neighbors make good security, then a live-in neighbor has to be better. Besides, there wasn’t any room in my budget for another budget.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Okay. So what are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“An extra shift at Squirrel Run Acres. Hilda called this morning.”
“Hey, I was wondering who was intruding on you this early in the morning.” Vito helped himself to the creamer in my fridge, and poured himself some more coffee.
Well.
“So you won’t be home for dinner?”
“I’ll probably be home late-ish. Depending.”
Vito shook his head. “That’s a shame. Miriam and me are gonna test out a new recipe. Straight from Julia Child!”
I shuddered inwardly and grimaced at the vision of my icon spinning in her grave. “Yeah, that is too bad. What are you making?” I had to ask, yes? I mean, someone has to tell the paramedics, right?
“Choucroute Garnie.”
I knew I was going to regret asking. But I had to verify Vito’s translation. “Come again?”
Vito held up a hand. “I know, it sounds pretty hoity-toity. But Miriam says it’s a classic!”
“What is it?”
“A supped-up pork and sauerkraut dinner! With sausages and everything!”
“Gee, I’m sorry I’ll be working and have to miss it.” Thank-you-baby-Jesus.
“No problemo, Toots. I’ll leave a plate for you on the counter. That way, you can look forward to a home-cooked meal when you get home.”
I could also look forward to a large bottle of Tums and some solitude – neither of which I had.
Vito went on with his usual kitchen puttering. “So what’s the drill for today?”
“The usual. Sidekick, then Squirrel Run. Why?”
“No more catering gigs with that massage guy, huh?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. But I’m hoping things will pick up after Christmas.”
Vito grinned at me: as usual, his bridge was not where his bridge was supposed to be. “Hey, that would be great!”
“I hope so.” Well, at least I hoped so for my bank account’s sake. My shins will certainly be relieved after the holiday.
“So what time will you be back from the mall?”
“Why?”
Vito blushed. “I was kinda hoping to get a Swiffering in for you this morning. It’s been awhile. And what with Miriam coming over tonight and all… I might not get around to it over the weekend.”
OMG Miriam and Vito are serious! Miriam is a weekend wife!
I choked back some coffee. “I get off my shift after three. Then I’ll have to dash home and change for the off-premise party.”
“Great! So you’re leaving soon?”
I looked at the clock. For once, I was ahead of schedule. “I’ll leave here about nine-thirty.”
Vito nodded. “That’s great! I’ll get ready so I can get on it as soon as you head out the door. I picked up a brand new style Swiffer! Did you know they made a new model? It’s a beaut! Wait until I show you!” Vito huffed out the door in a hurry, with his kitchen towel slung over his shoulder.
“Where are you going?”
“I bought it last night! Still got it in my car!”
I closed the front door after him to keep out the cold. I worried about Vito and his enthusiasm regarding Swiffer products. I worried a lot more about him after a loud explosion shook the house.
“Vito!” I ran out the door and saw the remnants of the Towncar smoldering near the garden island in the middle of the cul-de-sac. I hopped into the snow covering the front walk, and someone grabbed my elbow.
“It’s okay Toots. I’m here. Good thing I didn’t make it to the car. Shame about my new Swiffer, though.”
I stared at the flaming vehicle. “How come you didn’t park inside your garage? Or your driveway, like you always do?”
Vito got a little red in the face. “Well, you see, I came home from Miriam’s kinda late and all… and Miriam has the beeper. And the driveway wasn’t plowed out yet – so I parked it on the street. I figured we’d get dug out today.”
“You’re lucky we’re not digging you out.” Miriam has his beeper?
“You could say that again.”
“What do you suppose happened?”
Sirens wailed toward us, coming up from Millersville Pike. Obviously, we had concerned neighbors who called in the explosion. That, and they didn’t want their own cars charcoal broiled.
“Tell you in a minute.” Vito hustled toward his car, sliding down the driveway. He made his way to t
he burning vehicle, and carefully picked something off the flaming windshield. He came back and deposited what looked like a charred turd onto my porch.
“Yuck! More flaming feces?” I was wondering what scatological karma I’d deserved from a past lifetime. Or novel. Whatever. Last summer had more than its share of flaming feces, thanks in part to the St. Bart’s crew. And the Doo-doo’s moniker really stuck after the discovery of a vast amount of doggie poop stashed inside her. But I digress.
Vito grimaced. “I wish. It’s a kosher dill.”
“Someone garnished your windshield?”
He shook his head. “Nope. It’s a sign.”
“Of?”
Several police cars screeched to a halt, with a few fire trucks tagging behind. After the policeman assured themselves the explosion wasn’t Homeland Security related, the fire guys doused the car with a zillion gallons of foamy gunk. I hoped Vito had insurance. Lots of it.
A policeman made his way up to us. “You own this vehicle?”
Vito shrugged. “Used to.”
“What happened?”
“Honestly Officer, I have no idea. I’m going to ask my insurance company to investigate first thing. Gosh, I hope it wasn’t something electrical. Sure glad I didn’t park in my garage.”
The officer looked at Vito’s garage, attached to mine. “Darn straight!”
“So what happens now?” I asked.
“The insurance folks will look into it.”
“After the police impound my vehicle, just to make sure it wasn’t done on purpose,” Vito added.
The cop looked at Vito funny. “Been through this a time or two?”
Vito shrugged. “Lucky in love, unlucky in…”
“Right.”
Suddenly the clouds opened up, and bright sunlight bounced off the snow and the charred remains of the Towncar. I suddenly realized it was much later than I thought – so much for my lead time. I dashed inside to change.
The policeman retreated to his car. Vito tossed the burnt pickle inside my front door. Vinnie ran toward it, and did an immediate about-face.
“What the?”
“I didn’t want the nice officer to think you had a dirty porch.”
“Huh?”
“He’s single ain’t he? He’s not wearing a ring. And he’s got a reliable job.”
Yikes! Vito was setting me up? Did he actually blow up his car to find me a date? Stranger things have happened. It was too bad. The Towncar was the only vehicle I had access to with AC. And heat. And didn’t have a weird religious radio compulsion. Although it preferred Polkas.
I raced around my bedroom like an idiot, donning my Sparkle at the last minute. Vinnie raced toward me as I slid out the back door. The engine finally turned over after I was forced to sit through the first chorus of that horrible Country Western song about the Christmas shoes, yada-yada. Excellent – very uplifting.
I started down the driveway and got stopped by the cop. “Whoa, Missy, where are you headed in that outfit?”
Missy? I haven’t been called Missy since kindergarten. “Countryside Mall.”
“What for?”
“Santa’s Sidekick.”
“Come again?”
I explained about the merits of a part-time job with full-time injuries.
He shook his head. “Too bad you can’t carry a gun.”
“Yes.”
“Hey, since you work at the mall, you wouldn’t have a lead on tape, would you?”
I sighed and explained about duct tape Noel.
“Hey, that’s great! Think they still have some?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Thanks a lot! Hey you’re late, right? Follow me!” He took off like a shot, lights and sirens wailing, and me in tow. For once, I might actually get to work on time.
The patrol car cut its lights as it turned into the parking lot, parking in a rock star space just next to the main entrance. I parked in East Jabib and hoofed it back across several counties. The sky had changed back to being bleak as dishwater, and threatened to dump something else down on us. It did not promise a White Christmas.
Inside the mall it was very Christmas-y — that is, if you like hot pink and turquoise. Apparently the mall execs had taken a cue from a competing mall in south Florida. I walked past the new ‘Mail-It-2’ kiosk, which was doing a brisk business: the line stretched back to Blue Ball. I trudged toward Santa’s Station with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner.
“I can do whatever I want!”
“I’m sorry ma’am, but you have to buy the package first.”
“But she’s already on his lap!”
The little girl on Santa’s lap immediately began to bawl.
“See! Look what you did! Now she’s crying! We haven’t had a picture of her not crying on Santa’s lap for four years now!”
The six-year old concurred and immediately whipped up a fresh batch of tears, along with a side of screams.
I pulled off my coat and shoved it under the table. “What’s the problem?” I had to ask. I was wearing official Sparkle, right?
The red-faced woman fumed at me. “This idiot won’t let me take a picture of my own kid, with my own phone!”
I looked at the woman blankly and sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s one of Santa’s rules.”
“Where? Where does it say that? What rules?”
I pointed to the enormous sign on which she was leaning.
She stared. “Oh. You mean you have to buy a package for a picture with Santa?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, all right. What’s the cheapest one?”
I handed her a pamphlet with the various descriptions of how to part easily with one’s hard earned cash.
“$29.99?! That’s the cheapest one?”
I nodded and repeated the jargon we were instructed to relay. “Yes, it’s quite a bargain for the memory of a lifetime.”
The little girl now escalated from sobbing to an all-out conniption fit, complete with stomping of feet. Groups of shoppers turned to stare but once they saw it was just a kid with Santa, they continued on their way.
“Fine! Here, do you take plastic?”
Barry stepped in. “Indeed we do. Please step right over here…” Barry led the malicious mommy to the register, mouthing thank you at me.
You owe me, I mouthed back.
Soon the little girl’s screams were drowned out by her mother’s—Genetics work. She was begrudgingly seated on Santa’s lap. Santa was rubbing his temples vigorously as the kid mugged a cherubic smile for the camera. Sheree clicked away.
Then the lights went out.
Barry threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes, what did you do this time?”
“I didn’t do anything! I just snapped the pictures!”
Everyone in line groaned.
I looked around. All the stores were dark, with the exception of Chi-Chi’s and another big box store. Since they were anchors, they probably had their own backup generators.
Barry shook his head. “I can’t bear the thought of calling Nelson again.” He sighed and reached for the mall walkie talky.
“Me neither.” Nelson whirred from behind, squealing to a stop.
Sheree flinched. “I’m really sorry Nelson, I really didn’t do anything wrong this time, honest.”
Nelson smirked. “I’d love to blame you, but this time you’re right.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Power outage.”
“When will the lights come back on? Have we lost our pictures?” The maniacal mommy had a point.
Nelson shrugged. “Dunno. Could be a few hours.”
Another chorus of groans spewed forth from the line.
“Oh no! Not again! Here – Petunia, smile again for Mommy!”
“I want a Santa Snack!”
Mommy gritted her teeth. “After you smile for Mommy, precious!”
Petunia complied and did a repeat muggi
ng as Mommy snapped away with her smartphone.
“Hey, you can’t do that! It says so right there!” Barry pointed at the billboard like sign.
“Listen pal, I paid thirty bucks for a picture of my kid smiling with Santa, and that’s what I’m gonna get.”
“Yes, I know, we just took them. If you’ll just be a little patient, we’ll have them to you as soon as we get power back.”
The woman snorted. “How do I even know you still got them and they’re not whacked? Did you save them?”
Sheree stared down at the floor.
Nelson chewed on a candy bar. “She’s got a point.”
The kid pointed at Nelson and wailed. “I’m hungry! I want a Santa Snack!”
“Are you kidding? $7.50 for a cookie? C’mon,” she grabbed her kid by the armpit and led her screaming down the aisle.
“I WANT A SANTA SNACK!”
“Shhh! I’ll take you to Buddy Burgers for a Buddy Pie.”
“AAAAHHH!!”
I looked after the kid and completely agreed. Fried frozen pie wasn’t my idea of a treat, either.
A harassed-looking father stepped out of line, clutching his toddler. “Excuse me, but how much longer do you think we’re going to have to wait?”
Nelson’s walky talkie jumped to life. He held up a hand, and grunted into it. Then he hung up.
“Well, that’s it.”
Barry looked nervously at the line that stretched back toward the dawn of time. “Oh, you mean we’ll be up and running in no time?”
Nelson smiled. “Nope, we’ve got a snow day. The mall’s shutting down.”
A collective wail crashed over us from the masses.
Barry looked like he was about to lose his Santa Snack. “You’re joking, right? Aren’t there any backup generators?”
Nelson nodded. “Sure. They’re just not working. They gotta have the power company come out here and everything.”
The nervous father piped up again. “I’m sorry, but isn’t there anything you can do? My wife told me I had to get this done today, or else!”
We all looked at the man sympathetically. “We’ll put a notice on the mall’s website, once we’re up and running again,” Barry said nicely.
The man shook his head vehemently. “No! You don’t understand! I completely botched last year! I put it off until the last minute, and then Caesar here came down with strep – and bam! No picture with Santy! My mother-in-law hasn’t let me hear the end of it!”