Cynthia Manson (ed) (56 page)

“Ah.” Kelso nodded. “I wonder if
Arnold Wundt’s playing Santa had anything to do with his murder.”

“He was scheduled to fill in for the
regular Santa this morning,” Meyer said. “The store’s been having Santa in a
booth for the kids every morning at ten and every afternoon at two and five,
each shopping day till Christmas. What a zoo. I’m glad I don’t have kids. All
my friends with kids are raising schizophrenics. All of them have split
personalities—half Jewish, half Christian. I tell you, it’s hell having a kid
in this country if you’re a Jew at Christmas.”

“Schizophrenic doesn’t mean split
personality,” Kelso pointed out. “I’ve taken some psych courses. It means—”

“Forget what it means.” Meyer
stabbed at his meatloaf.

Over the hubbub drifted the faint
sounds of “Sleigh Ride.” At a nearby table two little girls sang “Jingle Bells,”
egged on by their overweight mother, who seemed to think her mission was to
entertain the other shoppers with her offspring and their whining voices.

“Who was supposed to have been Santa
this morning?” Kelso asked.

“Huh? Oh, you mean whose place did
Wundt take?” Meyer thought for a moment. “The assistant manager. Guy named
Briggs.”

“Froggy the Gremlin,” Kelso
murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing. So Briggs was supposed to
have been Santa Claus.”

“I’m taking this meatloaf back. It’s
inedible. You’d think with all their peace on earth and good will they could
cook a piece of meatloaf enough to make it edible.” Meyer got up and carried
his plate through the milling crowd to the food line, and returned a few
minutes later with the same plate, scowling.

“What happened?” Kelso asked.

“They told me to eat it,” he said. “They
told me I ordered meatloaf and I got meatloaf. They told me Merry Christmas.”

“Greetings of the season,” Kelso
told him.

Meyer muttered something under his
breath. The two little girls sang “Deck the Halls” at the top of their lungs.

Meyer became convinced that the
murderer was the gift wrap girl, a tall brunette named Claudia Collins. She
stood several inches taller than Meyer, something which, Kelso knew, infuriated
him; she was sullen, even while wrapping customers’ gifts, which infuriated
everybody; and she was the only employee who would admit to having been in or
near the gift wrap area at or about the time of the murder, nine thirty that
morning.

“I’m going to question her some more,”
Meyer announced as he and Kelso left the cafeteria. “I’m not letting some dumb
broad spoil my holiday. If she stabbed that accountant, I’ll get it out of her.”

“By the way,” Kelso said, resisting
the urge to light his pipe. “When I talked to Briggs this morning, he accused
Arnold Wundt of embezzling over a hundred thousand dollars from the store.”

Meyer shot him a dark look. “You’re
kidding. How would Briggs know that?”

“He says he’s got an accounting
degree, and checked Wundt’s work.”

“Huh.” Meyer’s wheels turned. They
stopped turning. “Claudia Collins probably found out about Wundt’s embezzling.
She probably tried to extort some money from him. He pulled a knife on her, and
she managed to stab him with it. Well, I’m going to find her. You check around
the store. Keep your eyes and ears open, and let me know if you hear anything
else.”

“Have a good time,” Kelso said.

Meyer nodded solemnly, as though it
had been a serious wish. “I will.”

They parted. Kelso watched the
detective shove his way into the crowd until it engulfed him; then someone
grabbed his arm.

“George!”

He turned. Susan Overstreet’s wide
brown eyes smiled at him. She was running one hand through wavy blonde hair and
using the other to hold a shopping bag crammed with packages.

“Hi.”

“Isn’t this hectic? I’ve already got
five of the things on my list. Listen, go with me to the children’s department,
up on three, so we can find something for Peggy and Timmy. Then—”

“Hold on a minute, Susan. I can’t—”

“Did you find that aftershave for
your uncle? There’s a sale in men’s stuff. By the way, tonight we’ve got the
egg-nog party at my Aunt Eleanor’s house, and she says—”

“Susan!”

“Huh? What is it?”

“I can’t go shopping with you. Haven’t
you heard about the murder?”

“Murder! What murder?”

“One of the employees, the head of
accounting. They found him this morning, stabbed, in a Santa Claus suit. I’m on
duty till further notice.”

“But you had the afternoon off.” “I
know. But now I don’t.”

“Well, darn.”

A tall gray-haired man in an
expensive suit and tie stepped out of the crowd. “Sergeant Kelso?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m James Anderson, the store
manager.” He offered a firm hand. “Sorry I missed you this morning.”

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Anderson.” He
glanced at Susan. “This woman’s been following me around the store, but I don’t
think she’s done anything illegal. Did you pay for those items, miss?”

Susan smiled sweetly. “This man
seems to think he’s a policeman, Mr. Anderson, but I’ve seen him following
other women around the store. I think he may be dangerous. Excuse me.”

Kelso smiled blandly at the manager’s
quizzical look. “Just a little joke, Mr. Anderson. Uh, could we talk in your
office?”

“Certainly.”

They took the elevator up to eight,
passed the cheerleader, and entered the office where Kelso had interviewed
Briggs. Anderson sat down behind the polished desk and folded his hands. “Have
you come up with anything, sergeant?” He looked grave.

Kelso started to answer, then
hesitated. The office door was slightly ajar. By moving a little to his left he
could just see the toes of someone’s shoes.

“We haven’t come up with anything
officially,” he said.

Anderson looked interested. “But,
unofficially?”

“Unofficially, Mr. Anderson, I
believe we know who murdered Arnold Wundt.” Kelso took out his pipe and some
matches. There was an ashtray on the manager’s desk. “At least, I believe I
know who murdered him. He was to have played Santa Claus this morning, right?”

“No, I believe that would have been
Mr. Briggs.”

“But apparently Wundt took his place
for some reason.”

“Oh. Right. I remember now. Briggs
had a meeting to attend. But who was it, sergeant? Who killed Wundt, and why?”

Kelso got his pipe going and puffed
at it a couple of

times. “I’ve sent some of my men
over to Headquarters to get an accountant for me. When they get back, the
accountant will check some things, and then I’ll make an arrest. I really don’t
want to name names till the accountant gets here.”

“I see.”

The door opened and Briggs stepped
into the office, eyes popping behind his thick lenses. “Mr. Anderson—oh, excuse
me, I didn’t know you were with someone. Oh, hello, Sergeant Kelso.”

Kelso nodded. His pipe went out.

“What is it, Briggs?”

“It’s about Santa Claus this
afternoon, Mr. Anderson. The customers are really upset about missing him this
morning, and it’s one thirty now. They’re already lining up for the two
P.M.
Santa.”

“Can’t you do it, Briggs?” Anderson’s
tone was sharp.

“No, sir. I’m afraid not. That is, I’d
very much like not to. It’s occurred to me that it might be dangerous.”

“What?”

“I mean, sir—suppose the killer knew
I was to play Santa at ten this morning. Suppose the killer found Santa behind
the gift wrap counter. Everybody looks alike in that outfit, with the pillow
and whiskers and all. The killer would have assumed it was me, and stabbed him.
But by now he probably knows it was the wrong person.”

“Is that possible, Sergeant Kelso?
Could the murderer have been after Briggs here, instead of Wundt?”

“It’s possible,” Kelso said, trying
hard to suppress laughter. He was imagining a cold-blooded killer stalking
Froggy the Gremlin.

“Well, who are we going to get? We’ve
got to have someone.”

“I’ve played Santa at the police
Christmas party a few times,” Kelso said. “I could do it.”

Anderson stared, then slowly nodded.
Briggs smiled his face-breaking smile, his pop eyes dancing with delight behind
his glasses.

“It’s not exactly in the line of
duty for a police officer,” Anderson said. “But we could certainly use you.”

“I’d be glad to help out. I tend to
put on a few pounds over the holidays.” Kelso patted his stomach. “I won’t even
need much of a pillow.”

“Good.” The manager stood up, all
business. “Briggs, get Sergeant Kelso a Santa suit and show him the booth.
Thank you, sergeant. I won’t forget this.”

Kelso let himself be led away by the
assistant manager. When they were out in the hall he said:

“Excuse me, is the Santa Claus
outfit at the booth?”

Briggs nodded. “Yes, down on the
main floor.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Kelso said. “I’ve
got to go the men’s room.”

Briggs nodded, beaming, and Kelso
hurried down the hall.

The killer stood in line, waiting
for Santa. With his left hand he held the hand of a little boy whom he’d talked
into standing in line with him, a third grader named Kevin whose mother worked
in Credit and Layaway. The killer had paid Kevin five dollars and told him he
wanted to talk to Santa but, as an adult, was embarrassed to go without a
child. Kevin had taken the money and agreed to help.

In front of the killer and Kevin
stood a fat woman whose two small girls had just finished singing “Rudolph the
Red-nosed Reindeer” in strident voices and were starting “Silent Night,” encouraged
by their mother. Ahead of them an attractive black woman waited her turn,
whispering to a frightened little boy. Just inside a white cardboard fence
surrounding a cardboard sleigh and eight cardboard reindeer, a jolly Santa sat
on a red chair, holding a small girl on his knee while the girl’s mother,
presumably, looked on. There was so much noise in the store, with all the
talking and laughter and music and the whining of the fat lady’s daughters,
that the killer couldn’t make out what was being said by the jolly Santa and
the small girl, but it didn’t matter to him.

The killer’s other hand was inside
his suitcoat pocket, gripping the handle of a small automatic pistol, fully
loaded. He smiled as if thoroughly enjoying himself and nodded once in a while
at little Kevin, who kept chattering something about a Star Wars toy. He wanted
to tell little Kevin that he was an obnoxious brat, but he kept smiling and
pretended to be having a good time.

The killer’s name was Briggs.

For over a year he’d been embezzling
money from the department store, but last week that fool, Arnold Wundt, had
caught him at it. Wundt had threatened to go to the police unless Briggs
replaced every cent he’d taken. He’d had to kill him, of course.

And now this detective, this Kelso,
seemed to have gotten wise to him. An accountant was coming. Kelso would manage
to link the embezzlement to Wundt’s murder. Briggs couldn’t let that happen.

He hadn’t planned to kill Wundt in
the Santa suit; it had just happened that way. But now the cops, except Kelso,
were looking for a Santa Claus connection. He’d kill Kelso in the Santa suit and
add to the confusion.

His fingers tightened on the
automatic as the attractive black woman stepped forward and boosted her little
boy onto Santa’s knee.

“Ho ho ho,” said the jolly Santa in
a strangely rasping voice, but Briggs wasn’t fooled by the disguise.

Next in line were the two singing
brats; then it would be the killer’s turn.

Briggs watched little Kevin step up
to the red-painted chair.

“Ho ho ho,” rasped the voice.

He had to admit that the disguise
was good—with the full white beard and drooping mustache, the red hat pulled
low over the forehead, steel-rimmed spectacles on the nose, and the padding in
the suit, the character bore little resemblance to Sergeant Kelso. But Briggs
knew it was.

He stepped forward, drew the
automatic from his pocket, and held it close to his chest, aimed at the Santa
suit. The gun was between his body and Santa’s, invisible to the waiting
shoppers.

“That’s enough, Kevin,” Briggs said,
smiling. “Get down now, and let me have my turn.”

Kevin nodded, slid down, and walked
away.

The eyes behind the spectacles
widened slightly.

“I don’t want to shoot you,” Briggs
said, smiling. “But I will. Believe me, I will. Take a break now. I’ll tell
them Santa has to take a break.” He jabbed with the gun.

Santa stood up. Briggs hid the gun
and turned to face the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, old Santa has
to take a short break, but he’ll be right back.” He turned. “Get moving, Kelso.
We’re going to the basement. If you do what I say, maybe you’ve got a chance.”