by D. D. Scott
So there you have it…our very own Operation Elve-den.
If Father Time was messin’ in my dad’s elf den, he’d be paying for much more than phone hacking. No one messed with my dad’s elves and got away with it.
We all lined-up around my mom’s electric car, ready to embark on the short trip to Father Time’s home, which was about a mile up the lakeshore.
Mom was in charge of driving the getaway car. Kat was in the front passenger seat and Grams, along with her baked goods and hot tea decanters, was in the back.
Each year, regardless of whether or not my dad was speaking to Father Time, Mom made the voyage to his home, loaded down with Christmas cheer and goodies.
Mom felt sorry for Father Time and always tried to be the peacekeeper between him and my dad.
“Okay,” R said, standing beside Kat’s rolled down window and giving his team one final pep talk, “each of you knows exactly what to do, right?”
“Got it,” Kat said, not looking the least bit nervous.
That was Kat. Always in control. Always one step ahead of everyone else’s brain waves. And always with balls of steel.
“We’ve got it, and he’s gonna get it,” Grams spoke-up. The devilish glee gleaming from her squinting eyes indicated she was dead serious and hell bent on dealing out some serious mischief.
“Easy Grams,” Kat said, trying her best to control her main accomplice.
After being scolded for her excitement, Grams sat back in her seat and almost looked as if she were pouting.
Of the three women, only my mom looked a wee bit nervous. And that didn’t surprise me at all.
My mom was all about good karma.
This year, however, she was going to be doing much more than spreading good cheer.
I gave her a thumbs-up, hoping my vote of confidence would give her a bit more bravado.
She smiled, but it was a rather tight smile, indicating she wasn’t nearly as convinced as the rest of us that what they were about to do was karmically kosher.
As her little car sputtered out the drive and down the long lane toward Lakeshore Drive, all the rest of us could do…was wait.
Well, wait and watch.
Hell yeah, we were watchin’ all the action.
R and Roman had outfitted our family room with a giant flat-screen monitor that would be piping in the raw, live feed, first from my Mom’s car and then from the tiny hat cams R had helped my mother sew into each spy chick’s Santa hat. While the brim of each hat held the cameras, the balls were outfitted with mini microphones.
We all went back into the house, took our seats, reached for the hot cocoa and cookies Wanda Lu had ready for us, and waited for the show to begin.
CHAPTER TEN
Within five minutes, the fuzzies on the giant flat-screen turned into a crystal clear view of all three of our Santa Spies bouncing along the snow-covered potholes dotting the tiny road leading to Father Time’s lake house.
A few moments later, the sound kicked-in and we could hear all three women singing Jingle Bells.
My mother always sang Christmas carols when her nerves were shot. This was not a good sign.
Kat sang along in a sweet, very controlled voice. Her countenance was completely convincing that she was more than ready for the task ahead.
Grams, on the other hand, was whoopin’ it up big time in the backseat, throwing her entire body into the song. If she didn’t pipe down a bit, she’d lose her wired hat. ‘Course, that would have been good for all of our eardrums.
“How much further?” Kat asked my mom, probably thinking no distance was short enough.
“We’re just about to his driveway,” Mom said, moving her mouth in the contorted way she did before doing something she didn’t totally agree with, but also knew was best for my father or me.
A moment later, her car was bumping up the pitted lane leading to Father T’s house.
“Let’s do this,” Kat said, adjusting her hat so it was perfectly centered on her head.
She reached around to the back seat and straightened-up Gram’s magic cam ensemble, which was now clinging for dear life onto the right side of her bird-sized head.
My mother took a yoga deep breath and got out of the car with her hit squad.
And no, I didn’t say Shit Squad, although that would be more accurate.
Kat took the plate of cookies from Grams, but Grams held on tight to her thermos of tea.
“Are you both sure about this?” Mom asked while they waited on Father Time to answer his doorbell.
“Brownies are sooo yesterday,” Grams said.
“What?” My mother asked, looking to Kat for clarification.
“Trust me. You don’t want to know till we’re back in the car and on the way home.”
As shock set-in, my mom’s eyes opened wide. But before she could question Kat further, Father Time was at his door, greeting his company.
“I was so hoping you wouldn’t forget me this year, Mrs. C.”
“You’re soon gonna wish we did, Sucker,” Grams said, thankfully soft enough that only her microphone and Kat must have been able to pick it up.
Kat put her arm around Grams and must have pinched her a good one, ‘cause Grams let out a yelp.
“Are you okay?” Father Time asked.
“Well it ain’t warm and toasty out here, that’s for damn sure. You gonna invite us in or what?” Grams asked, rubbing her shoulder where Kat had probably left a nice welt.
“You’ll have to forgive her, she’s a bit old and feisty,” my mom whispered.
“I heard that, but this dude’s gotta be older than me. He’s Father Time. Duh,” Grams said.
Evidently she had her hearing aids cranked up today.
Everyone laughed in that awkward way people do when they don’t know what the hell else to say or do.
“Well, c’mon in then,” Father T said, stepping out of the doorway and motioning for The Squad to enter his home. “How nice of you to bring me cookies and beverages.”
“You ain’t gonna think that for long,” Grams said.
“What was that?” Father T asked.
“She said we can’t stay for long,” Kat broke-in, setting the plate of cookies on Father T’s coffee table. “Oh, my goodness, your place is beautiful. You were so right, Suzie.”
“Oh, I’d love to give you all a tour,” Father Time said, his cheeks glowing a bright red.
Sometimes, I really could see where my mom was coming from regarding Father Time. He had no one. Thanks to his crotchety attitude and shy personality, he didn’t have any friends other than my on-again-off-again dad.
But he was still an asshole. So I totally got my dad’s side of the situation too.
“So, you must be Zoey’s friends that I’ve heard so much about,” he said, then coughed, his cheeks getting redder by the second.
“Busted!”
I shouted, scaring everyone in my family room.
“I’d say so,” my dad said, toasting his cocoa mug to all of ours. “I told ya the bastard was phone-hacking me. He never would have known about any of you otherwise.”
“I want to get this over with and fast. I don’t like those women being in that house,” R said, punching buttons on his cell phone.
You mean you don’t like Kat being there, I thought, but didn’t want to call him out.
Just then, we could hear Father Time’s cell phone ringing through my dad’s surround sound system. Consequently, we instantly glued our attention back to the flat-screen.
“Excuse me a minute,” Father Time said, seeming somewhat relieved for the diversion. “I’m expecting this call.”
“Liar,” Roman said, his eyes getting that Dark Knight quality that I knew meant he was goin’ in for the kill.
We watched, as did our Mom Squad Hit Team, as Father Time walked over to a large desk by the solid glass back-side of his home and grabbed his phone.
Now that we all knew where the phone was, we could begin the next stage
of the plan.
“Hmmm. Must have been a wrong number. Anyway, where were we?”
“We were about to take a tour of your lovely home. But why don’t we enjoy these cookies first? They’re fresh out of the oven,” my mother said, motioning for everyone to have a seat in Father Time’s sunken living room.
As soon as she’d handed out the cookies, Grams sprang into action.
“I’ve made us some herbal tea as well,” she said, placing the thermos on the coffee table and taking out the holly-printed Styrofoam cups she’d brought along.
“Leave it to her,” I laughed.
“What? I don’t get it,” Roxy said.
“Just watch, and you will,” Jules said.
“Did you help Grams with the tea?” I asked Jules.
“Let’s just say I showed her a little culinary school trick to get the most out of her chosen ingredients.”
Oh boy. Father Time was doomed.
He’d soon be bouncing off the walls. Well not the walls exactly…
“Is someone gonna fill me in?” Roxy begged.
Father Time downed his first cup of tea.
“This is wonderful. Hit me again, please. Why, it’s just…I don’t know how to describe it…invigorating.”
“It should be, dumb-ass,” I said, unable to keep from laughing.
“C’mon, Guys. Spill it,” Roxy begged once more.
I couldn’t. And neither could Jules. We were both doubled over laughing our asses off.
“Roxy,” Roman took pity on her while rolling his eyes at me and Jules’ rowdy revelry, “holly is often used in South America as a stimulant. Some species, like the ones our Santa Claus here grows, have the highest caffeine content of any plant. In fact, here in the States, Native Americans used these holly-based teas as ceremonial stimulants that they called “the black drink”.”
“Why was it called the black drink?”
“Let’s just say it has a rather strong purgative property,” Roman said.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“He’s gonna be on the john for hours,” I said, still laughing so hard I could hardly answer her.
“Oh my God!”
We all said in what seemed an eerily choreographed way.
We watched the screen, hardly able to focus on what was happening.
All at once, Father Time’s face contorted, and he began to gingerly poke at his stomach.
“Oh my. If you girls will excuse me for a moment, there’s something I need to take care of,” he said, practically launching off the couch. “Make yourselves at home.”
We could hardly make out the last of his words as he ran out of the living room.
My mother leaned over to Grams.
“What did you do to that tea?”
“I told ya. Laxatives in brownies are sooo yesterday.”
My mother made the sign of the cross and sat there shaking her head while Kat sprung into action with the Cellebite device and began to capture everything we needed from Father Time’s phone.
“Hurry up over there,” my mom said, looking more and more nervous by the minute.
“Really, Suzie Snowflake. I’m tellin’ ya. We got all the time in the world. That asshole ain’t gonna be comin’ outta the loo for a long, long time,” Grams said, taking another cookie off the tray and putting her feet up on the edge of Father Time’s coffee table.
Several minutes later, Kat disconnected the Cellebite from Father Time’s phone and gave us a thumbs-up.
The Squad left Father Time on his throne, climbed back into my mom’s car and headed for home. We cheered and high-fived right along with them, well…with all of them except my mom, who still appeared to be rather traumatized by what she’d just taken part in.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sometimes the only way to stop a vicious enterprise is to use the perps’ own tactics against ‘em. And that’s exactly what we were about to do.
Standing with my entire extended family, next to the gorgeous golden-star-topped evergreen trees my mother had decorated in ruby reds and over-the-top gilded splendor, we waited for the showdown to begin.
Any minute now, Dad would have his team of reindeer hooked to his favorite sleigh for his annual flight-simulation run.
With Christmas Eve only two days away, this was his final shot to make everything a “Go” for The Big Night.
Watching Rudolph’s mesmerizing back-lit nose cast out its GPS signals, I giggled inside. He looked as if he had a Tavernier Stone-sized ruby attached to his real nose.
Speaking of dazzling carats, I glanced at my mother, still amazed she and I had managed to keep our secret worries from my dad. He certainly had enough on his mind and didn’t need the added stress of our concerns.
Thankfully, though, Mom and I had already made up our minds that after the holidays, we’d tell Roman and R about our problem.
I took a deep breath, letting the crystal cold lake air rattle my lungs and shake me back into our present quandary.
“You think Father Time is dumb enough to bite on Zoey’s message?”
I overheard Kat asking R.
“Oh, he’ll bite all right,” R answered her, standing way too close to Kat to any longer be able to deny their growing relationship. “When I used this technique to bust the private investigator who was feeding stories to the London tabloids about Roman and Ross, it worked like a charm.”
I had to admit, R’s plan was brilliant.
He’d had me call my dad’s phone and leave a message with a fake story about tonight’s test flight. It would lead anyone who might be tapping into the conversation to think Dad was revealing his holly fodder secrets to major investors and government regulators.
I gazed out along our property lines, knowing our security elves were in their places and ready to jump into action, literally, when they were needed.
“What have we got here?” Grams asked, cackling like a wild hen. “Your dad looks more like a drag queen than Santa Claus.”
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud, he does not,” Kat said, then playfully swiped at Gram’s silly feather-thin head-scarf. “You’re the crazy-ass one who thinks that damn chiffon scarf is protecting your bird-sized head from certain frostbite.”
“Your Dad’s coat is just beautiful this year,” my mother said, coming up to wrap her arms around me.
She looked rather wonderful too, I must say, in the matching frock I’d made for her.
Ever since I was a teenager, I’d been designing and sewing their Christmas gear. It was a project I looked forward to each year.
I checked out my Dad in his gorgeous red Italian wool coat. I’d found the fabric in Italy, where I buy almost all my fabric now that I call Tuscany home.
After cutting it and finishing the seams, I’d hand-sewn a gazillion sparkling gold threads and baubles onto it in the shapes of stars and s-shaped swirls. I’d envisioned a holiday season filled with stars on tree-tops and swirling blizzards of lake effect snow. That’s what I tried to convey on each piece I’d designed.
“Personally, I think it’s my cane that completes the overall look of your ensemble,” Roxy said, making us all fall into fits of mischievous giggles.
“I’ll second that,” my dad said, holding his bedazzled candy cane staff high into the air to all of our hoots, hollers and whistles.
I think the poor guy had more glitter in his beard than was left on his cane.
“I like the hats best,” R spoke-up, holding up the huge, puffy yellow balls I’d sewn onto the ends of each of our guest’s Santa hats.
My mom raised her eyebrows at me and winked. We knew those hats that we’d stayed up half the night finishing together would be quite the hit.
We wanted to celebrate our new Italian family too, and make them feel at home. So each of us was now the proud owner of our very own under the Tuscan sun Santa hats.
Not to leave out our elves and reindeer, we’d made sure each of them had a hat too. The reindeer also sported fancy yellow sca
rves. We always had to pamper their whiney asses.
That said, it had to be awful chilly up in that Christmas Eve sky. ‘Course they probably sweat their antlers off in the southern hemisphere.