Visions of Sugar Plums

by Janet Evanovich

  He crooked his arm around my neck. "Are you screwing up Christmas, kiddo?"

  "I can't seem to get to it."

  Diesel looked around. "I noticed. No garlands of green shit. No angels, no Rudolphs, no kerplunkers or tartoofers."

  "I used to have some tartoofers but my apartment got firebombed and they all went up in smoke."

  Diesel shook his head. "Don't you hate when that happens?"

  * * *

  I woke up in a sweat. I was having a nightmare. There were only two days left until Christmas, and I still hadn't bought a single present. I gave myself a mental head smack. It wasn't a nightmare. It was true. Two days until Christmas.

  I jumped out of bed and scurried into the bathroom. I took a fast shower and power-dried my hair. Yikes. I tamed it with some gel, got dressed in my usual jeans, boots, and T-shirt, and went to the kitchen.

  Diesel lounged against the sink, coffee cup in hand. There was a white bakery bag on the counter, and Rex was awake in his cage, leisurely working his way to the heart of a jelly doughnut.

  "Morning, sunshine," Diesel said.

  "There are only two days left until Christmas," I said. "Two days! And I wish you would stop letting yourself into my apartment."

  "Yeah, right, that's gonna happen. Have you given Santa your list? Have you been naughty?"

  It was early in the morning for an eye roll, but I managed one anyway. I poured myself coffee and took a doughnut.

  "It was nice of you to bring doughnuts," I said. "But Rex will get a cavity in his fang if he eats that whole thing."

  "We're making progress," Diesel said. "You didn't shriek when you saw me here. And you didn't check the coffee and doughnuts for alien poison."

  I looked down at the coffee and had a rush of panic. "I wasn't thinking," I said.

  Half an hour later we were on a side street with a good view of Briggs' apartment building. Briggs was going to work today. And we were going to follow him. He'd lead us to the toy factory, I'd locate Sandy Claws, I'd snap the cuffs on him, and then I could have Christmas.

  At exactly eight-fifteen, Randy Briggs strutted out of his building and got into a specially equipped car. He cranked the engine over and drove out of the lot, heading for Route 1. We followed a couple cars back, keeping Briggs in sight.

  "Okay," I said to Diesel. "You flunked levitation and obviously you can't do the lightning thing. What's your specialty? What tools have you got on your utility belt?"

  "I told you, I'm good at finding people. I have heightened sensory perception." He cut his eyes to me. "Bet you didn't think I knew big words like that."

  "Anything else? Can you fly?"

  Diesel blew out a sigh. "No. I can't fly."

  Briggs stayed on Route 1 for a little over a mile and then exited. He left-turned at the corner and entered a light industrial complex. He drove past three businesses before pulling into a parking lot, adjacent to a one-story redbrick building that was maybe five thousand square feet. There were no signs announcing the name or the nature of the business. A toy soldier on the door was the only ornamentation.

  We gave Briggs a half hour to get into the building and settle himself. Then we crossed the lot and pushed through the double glass doors, into the small reception area. The walls were brightly colored in yellow and blue. There were several chairs lined up against one wall. Half the chairs were big and half were small. The boundary to the reception area was set by a desk. Behind the desk were a couple cubbies. Briggs was sitting in one of them.

  The woman behind the desk looked at Diesel and me and smiled. "Can I help you?"

  "We're looking for Sandy Claws," Diesel said.

  "Mr. Claws isn't in this morning," the woman said. "Perhaps I can help you."

  Briggs' head snapped up at the sound of Diesel's voice. He looked over at us and worry lines creased his high forehead.

  "Do you expect him in later today?" I asked.

  "It's hard to say. He keeps his own schedule."

  We left the building, and I called and asked for Briggs.

  "Don't call me here," Briggs said. "This is a great job. I don't want it screwed up. And I'm not going to inform for you, either." And he hung up.

  "I guess we could stake out the building," I said to Diesel. I wanted to do this just behind poke out my eye with a burning stick.

  Diesel pushed his seat back and stretched his legs. "I'm beat," he said. "I worked the night shift. How about if you take the first watch."

  "The night shift?"

  "Sandor and Ring have a long history in Trenton. I made the rounds of some of Ring's old haunts after I left you last night, but I didn't turn anything up."

  He crossed his arms over his chest and almost instantly seemed to be asleep. At ten-thirty my cell phone rang.

  "Hey, girlfriend," Lula said. "What's up?"

  Lula does filing for the bonds office. She was a ho' in a previous life but has since amended her ways. Her wardrobe has pretty much stayed the same. Lula's a big woman who likes the challenge of buying clothes that are two sizes too small.

  "Not much is up," I said. "What's up with you?"

  "I'm going shopping. Two days to Christmas and I don't have nothing. I'm heading for Quakerbridge Mall. You want to ride shotgun?"

  "YES!"

  Lula checked her rearview mirror for one last look at Diesel before leaving the toy factory parking lot. "That man is fine. I don't know where you find these guys, but it isn't fair. You got the market cornered on hot."

  "He's actually a superhero, sort of."

  "Don't I know it. I bet he got superhero boys, too."

  Lula was sounding a lot like Grandma. I didn't want to think about Diesel's boys, so I put the radio on. "I have to be back to relieve him at three o'clock," I said.

  "Dang," Lula said, pulling into Quakerbridge. "Look here at this parking lot. It's full. This mother is full. Where am I supposed to park? I only got two days to shop. I can't deal with this parking thing. And what's with all the best spots going to the handicapped? You see any handicap cars in all these handicap places? How many handicap people they think we got in Jersey?"

  Lula rode around the lot for twenty minutes, but she didn't find a parking space. "Look at this itty bitty Sentra nosed up to a wreck of a Pinto," Lula said, wheeling around so she had the front bumper of her Firebird inches from the back bumper of the Sentra. "Uh-oh," she said, easing forward, "look how that Sentra's moving forward all by itself. Before you know it, there's gonna be a parking space available on account of that Pinto is rolling into the driving lane."

  "You can't just push a car out of its space!" I said.

  "Sure I can," Lula said. "See? I already did it." Lula had her handbag over her shoulder, and she was out of the Firebird, booking toward the mall entrance. "I got a lot to do," Lula said. "I'll meet you back at the car at two-thirty."

  * * *

  I glanced down at my watch. It was two-thirty. And I only had one present. I'd gotten a pair of gloves for my dad. That was a no-brainer. I got him gloves every year. He counted on it. I was at a loss for everyone else. I'd given Valerie all my good gift ideas. And the mall was a mob scene. Too many shoppers. Not enough clerks at registers. Picked-over merchandise. Why did I let this go to the last minute? Why do I go through this every year? Next year I'm getting my Christmas presents in July. I swear, I am.

  Lula and I reached the car simultaneously. I had my little bag with the gloves, and Lula had four huge shopping bags filled to bursting.

  "Wow," I said, "you're good. I only got gloves."

  "Hell, I don't even know what's in these bags," Lula said. "I just started grabbing stuff that was close to a register. I figure I'll sort it out later. Everybody always takes their shit back anyway, so it don't really matter what you buy the first time around."

  Lula cruised toward the exit and her eyes lit when she came to the edge of the lot. "Do you believe this?" she said. "They set up a Christmas tree lot here. I need a Christmas tree. I'm gonna stop. I'll onl
y be a minute. I'm gonna get myself a Christmas tree."

  Fifteen minutes later we had two six-foot Christmas trees stuffed into Lula's four-foot trunk. One tree for Lula. And one tree for me. We secured the trunk lid with a bungee cord, and we were on our way.

  "Good thing we saw that tree lot so you could get a tree, too," Lula said. "You can't have Christmas without a Christmas tree. Boy, I love Christmas."

  Lula was dressed in knee-high, white fake-fur boots that made her look like Sasquatch. She had her bottom half stuffed into skin-tight red spandex pants that magically had gold glitter embedded in them. She was wearing a red sweater with a green felt Christmas tree appliqué. And she had it topped off with a yellow-dyed rabbit-fur jacket. Every time Lula moved, yellow rabbit hairs escaped from the jacket and floated on the air like dandelion fluff. Behind us, the tree lot was lost in a yellow haze.

  "Okay," Lula said, stopping for a light. "We got Christmas knocked. We're on our way to Christmas." The light turned and the guy in front of us hesitated. Lula leaned on the horn and gave him the finger. "Move it," she yelled. "You think we got all day? It's Christmas, for chrissake. We got things to do." She reached the highway and took off, ripping into "Jingle Bells" at the top of her lungs. "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the wa-a-a-ay," she sang.

  I put my finger to my eye.

  "Hey, you got that eye twitch again?" she asked. "You should do something about that eye twitch. You should see a doctor."

  Lula was on the third chorus of "Silent Night" when she parked next to the black Jag. I got out of the Firebird and bent to talk to Diesel.

  "Lula and I can take the next watch," I told him. "If anything happens, I'll call you."

  "Sounds good," Diesel said. "I could use a break. It's been quiet all day, and that's the way I like it. If there aren't any more disturbances, Sandor will eventually come back to his workshop."

  "Don't you worry, Diesel honey," Lula said from behind me. "We'll watch the heck out of this place. Peace and Quiet's my middle name."

  Diesel checked Lula out and smiled.

  "So what's the deal?" Lula wanted to know when Diesel left.

  "I'm after an FTA named Sandy Claws. He owns this toy factory."

  "And what's with the car next to us? It's got a big booster seat behind the wheel. And what are those levers on the steering column?"

  "Most of the employees here are little people."

  Sometimes when Lula got excited her eyes opened wide and popped out like big white duck eggs. This was one of those duck-egg-eye times. "Are you shitting me? Midgets? A whole building full of midgets? I love midgets. I've had this thing for midgets ever since I saw The Wizard of Oz. Except for that guy, Randy Briggs. He was a nasty little bugger."

  "Briggs is here, too," I said. "He's working in the office."

  "Hunh. I wouldn't mind kicking his ass."

  "No ass kicking!"

  Lula stuck her lower lip out and pulled her eyes back into their sockets. "I know that. You think I don't know that? I got a sense of decorum. Hell, Decorum's my middle name."

  "Anyway, you won't see him," I said, "because we're just going to sit here."

  "I don't want to sit here," Lula said. "I want to see the midgets."

  "They're little people now. Midget is politically incorrect."

  "Cripes, I can't keep up on this political correct shit. I don't even know what to call myself. One minute I'm black. Then I'm African American. Then I'm a person of color. Who the hell makes these rules up, anyhow?"

  "Well, whoever they are, little people, elves, or whatever, you'll see them when the shift changes, and they go home."

  "How do you know this Claws guy didn't come in through a back door? I bet this factory's got a big old back door. It's probably got a loading dock. I think we should go ask if Claws has come in yet."

  Lula had a point. There was for sure a back door.

  "All right," I said, "I guess it won't do any harm to try the woman at the desk one more time."

  Briggs went pale when we entered the reception area. And the woman at the desk looked apologetic. "I'm afraid he's still not here," she said to me.

  "Where are the toys made?" Lula asked, walking toward the door to the factory. "I bet they're made in here. Boy, I'd really like to see the toys getting made."

  The woman behind the desk was on her feet. "Mr. Claws prefers not to have visitors in the workshop."

  "I'll just take a quick peek," Lula said. And she opened the door. "Holy cats," she said, walking into the warehouse. "Will you look at this! It's a bunch of freaking elves."

  Briggs rounded the reception desk, and we both ran after Lula.

  "They're not really elves," Briggs said, skidding to a stop in front of her.

  Lula was hands on hips. "The hell they aren't! I guess I know an elf when I see one. Look at those ears. They all got elf ears."

  "They're fake ears, stupid," Briggs said to Lula. "It's a marketing ploy."

  "Don't go calling me stupid," Lula said to Briggs.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid," Briggs said.

  "Listen up, you moron," Lula said. "I could squash you like a bug if I wanted. You gotta be more careful who you disrespect."

  "It's her," one of the elves yelled, pointing his finger at me. "She's the one who started the fire in the employment office."

  "Fire?" Lula asked. "What's he talking about?"

  "She started the riot," someone else yelled. "Get her!"

  The elves all jumped up from their work stations and rushed at me on their little elf legs.

  "Get her. Get her!" they were all yelling. "Get the big stupid troublemaker."

  "Hey!" Lula said. "Hold on here. What the—"

  I grabbed Lula by the back of her jacket and yanked her toward the door. "Run! And don't look back."

  FIVE

  WE BARRELED THROUGH THE WORKROOM door to the reception area, pushed through the front door, sprinted across the lot and jumped into the car. Lula popped the doors locked, and the elves swarmed around us.

  "These aren't elves," Lula said. "I know elves. Elves are cute. These are evil gremlins. Look at their pointy teeth. Look at their red, glowing eyes."

  "I don't know about gremlins," I said. "I think the guy with the red eyes is just a little person with bad teeth and a hangover."

  "Hey, what's that noise? What are they doing to the back of my Firebird?"

  We turned and looked out the back window, and we were horrified to find that the elves had dragged the trees out of the trunk.

  "That's my Christmas tree!" Lula yelled. "Get away. Leave that tree alone."

  No one was listening to Lula. The elves were in a frenzy, tearing the trees limb from limb, jumping up and down on the branches.

  Suddenly there was an elf on the hood. And then a second elf scrambled up after the first.

  "Holy crap," Lula said. "This here's a horror movie." She shoved the key into the ignition, put her foot to the floor, and rocketed across the lot. One elf flew off instantly. The second elf had his hands wrapped around the windshield wipers, his snarling face pressed to the windshield. Lula made a fast right turn, one of the windshield wipers snapped, and the elf sailed away like a Frisbee, windshield wiper still clutched in his little elf hand.

  "Fuck youuuuuuuu," the elf sang as he sailed away.

  We went a mile down Route 1 before either of us said a word.

  "I don't know what those nasty-assed little things were," Lula finally said. "But they need to learn some people skills."

  "That was sort of embarrassing," I said.

  "Fuckin' A."

  And I still didn't have a Christmas tree.

  It was a little after five when I waved good-bye to Lula and trudged into my building. My apartment was quiet. No Diesel. I said a silent thank goodness, but the truth is, I was disappointed. I hung my jacket on a hook in the hall and listened to my messages.

  "Stephanie? It's your mother. Mrs. Krienski said she didn't get a Christmas card from you. You did mai
l them, didn't you? And, I'm making a nice pot roast for supper tonight if you want to come over. And your father got a tree for you at the service station. They were having a close-out sale. He said he got a good deal."

  Omigod. A close-out tree from the service station. Does it get any worse than that?

  * * *

  Mary Alice and Angie were in front of the television when I got to my parents' house. My father was sleeping in his chair. My sister was upstairs, throwing up. And my mom and grandmother were in the kitchen.

  "I didn't misplace them," Grandma said to my mother. "Someone took them."

  "Who would take them?" my mother asked. "That's ridiculous."

  I knew I was going to regret asking, but I couldn't help myself. "What's missing?"

  "My teeth," Grandma said. "Someone took my teeth. I had them setting out in a glass with one of them whitening tablets and next thing they were gone."

  "How was your day?" my mother asked me.

  "Average. Got attacked for the second time by a horde of angry elves, but aside from that it was okay."

  "That's nice," my mother said. "Could you stir the gravy?"

  Valerie came in and clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of the pot roast, sitting on a platter.

  "What's new?" I asked Valerie.

  "I've decided I'm going to have the baby. And I'm not getting married right away."

  My mother made the sign of the cross, and her eyes wistfully drifted to the cupboard where she kept her Four Roses. The moment passed, and she took the pot roast into the dining room. "Let's eat," she said.

  "How am I supposed to eat pot roast without teeth?" Grandma said. "If those teeth aren't returned by tomorrow morning, I'm calling the cops. I got a date for Christmas Eve. I invited my new boyfriend over for dinner."

  We all froze. The studmuffin was coming to Christmas Eve dinner.

  "Christ," my father said.

  After dinner my mother gave me a bag filled with food. "I know you don't have time to cook," she said. It was part of the ritual. And someday, if I was lucky, I'd carry the tradition to a new generation. Except the bag to my daughter would probably be filled with takeout.