A Fantastic Holiday Season: The Gift of Stories Read Free Page B

agreed to see me, probably out of curiosity; at least it got me through the door.
    The chief elf’s back office was bright and stiflingly hot. A large tropical mural covered the far wall. Wearing only a towel around his waist, Elfis lay back on a chaise lounge under a pair of heat lamps that could have been used to keep food warm in a restaurant. Standing on either side, a pair of Egyptian mummies gently fanned him with palm fronds.
    Elfis lifted his sunglasses and sat up to regard me. “Dan Chambeaux, Private Investigator … that seems an odd choice for Santa, but I knew he’d send a representative before long. He has no option but to open negotiations. I suppose he wants to suggest some kind of merger and keep a token title for himself? Frankly I’d rather just buy his operations outright.”
    He waved for the mummies to back away. “Would you like some refreshment? I can get one of my boys to make you a mai tai or piña colada. Or, if you want to be more traditional, I have chestnuts roasting on an open fire.”
    Chestnuts weren’t the only things roasting. “I’m surprised you keep it so hot in here,” I said, tugging at my collar—and zombies don’t perspire.
    Elfis explained, “I want to change the paradigm of the holiday season. It’s too cold, too snowy, too wintry. You really think shepherds prefer to watch their flocks in the snow? They’d rather be skiing. And if I want something frozen, I order a frozen margarita.” He laughed, but it sounded more like heh-heh-heh than ho-ho-ho.
    “Now then, let’s talk about sending old Saint Nick into retirement. Here’s my offer: I take over all his operations, but I let him keep his North Pole annex. He and Mrs. Claus get a nice pension, run their bed-and-breakfast, maybe do a few public appearances for old times’ sake, but I license his likeness and the brand. I’m dreaming of a profitable Christmas.”
    “There’s been a misunderstanding, Mr. Elfis. That’s not why I’m here.”
    The elf slicked back his hair, adjusted his position on the chaise lounge. The mummies came forward again to fan him vigorously with the palm fronds. “Well, then, I’m all ears.”
    “Santa Claus hired me as a detective because something very valuable was stolen from him.”
    Elfis seemed completely uninterested. “Really? And what would old St. Nick find valuable? Can’t he just wiggle his nose and make another of whatever it was?”
    “It’s more of a matter of administrative records gone missing,” I said. “I’m investigating the theft.”
    Elfis snickered. “You must mean his list. Anal-retentive, if you ask me.” He slid his sunglasses back down on his face, scratched his sideburns. “And you think I had something to do with it? Why in the world would I need a list like that? I explicitly don’t discriminate. I give presents to all kids, without scoring them on social behavior. What gives Santa the right to make a subjective decision about who’s Naughty and Nice? Judgmental jerk, if you ask me.” He sniffed. “I plan to take discrimination out of Christmas gift-giving, make it equal for all. What would be my motive for stealing the list?”
    I did have a theory. “You’d hamstring Santa’s activities, make him look incompetent, while gaining brownie points for yourself.”
    “I don’t have brownies, Mr. Chambeaux. I have elves. There’s a difference.”
    “That doesn’t address my theory.”
    “Look around you, Mr. Chambeaux. I’m sabotaging Santa’s work by perfectly traditional means—undercutting prices, faster distribution, more transparency in my operations. I don’t need a list for that.”
    One of the mummies served him a cool drink in a hollowed pineapple, complete with a colorful umbrella. “Thank ya very much.” Elfis took a long refreshing sip. “Tell Santa if he wants to come to terms, I’m having a holiday special. His decision. Either way, it’s time he faced some competition.”
    Elfis reached down beside his chaise