Mrs. Claus’s lips pulled into a small smile, sad but proud. “The good ones always do, dear,” she said.
“Well, if it’s a trap, we’ve got to warn Santa right away!”
Mrs. Claus sighed. “I wish we could. But you know as well as I do how hard that would be.”
Santa always took the fastest reindeer, naturally, so catching him by following his delivery route would be next to impossible. On top of that, he didn’t really have a set delivery route. If children were still awake inside a house when he landed on the roof, he had to move on and come back later. As a result, the longer the evening wore on, the more he ended up criss-crossing the globe, perhaps alternating a drop-off in Kenya with a stop in Kentucky. That always increased the odds that he’d get lost somewhere in between. Santa would never, ever, under any circumstances, stop to ask for directions, and as a result he could end up hovering confused over Antarctica or looking for Evansville, Indiana, in the Amazon rainforest.
“Plus,” Jingle said after they’d both ruminated on all this for a quiet moment, “maybe he’s already been captured or...” Jingle gulped. “Or whatever. He’s been gone over an hour now.”
Mrs. Claus grew pale, and an expression came to her face Jingle had never seen there before, a frown. But it only lasted a second.
“Now don’t you worry, Jingle,” she said, the rosy glow returning to her round cheeks. “Santa’s going to be just fine. In fact, I think I know how we can help him. You run and find Ribbons and Bows. I want to meet them in their office.”
Jingle straightened up and saluted. “Yes, ma’am!” And off he went.
He found Ribbons and Bows downing glogg shots at a hastily organized wake for Gumdrop. They were gruff, gnarled old elves who ran Request Processing with two little iron fists.
“Frank! Hank!” Jingle called out to them. Only the Clauses could get away with calling them “Ribbons” and “Bows.” Anyone else who tried it got a punch in the nose. “Mrs. C needs you! Quick!”
They both threw back one more shot, then staggered off after Jingle. When they got to Request Processing, Mrs. Claus was already there sorting through the files on Frank’s desk — an offense that would have gotten any elf another sock in the schnoz. But while Frank and Hank were too devoted to the Clauses to openly show their displeasure, Frank couldn’t resist the urge to take the files out of Mrs. Claus’s hands and begin fussing with the papers on his desk, spreading them around until they were in exactly the same state of disarray he’d left them in earlier that evening.
“What does the Missus need now, hey?” he asked. “You just sit back and let us dig it out for you.”
“Thank you, Ribbons.”
Frank’s left eye twitched ever so slightly.
“We think a name was added to the Nice list at the last minute. But if someone wanted to lure Santa to a certain home—”
“They’d have to tell him what to bring, eh?” Hank finished for her.
“Exactly.”
“So you’d be lookin’ for requests that arrived today, hey?” Frank said.
“The later the better.”
“Well,” Frank said, thrusting his hand into a swaying tower of paper almost as tall as Mrs. Claus, “these are the last ones we got.” Somehow he pulled out five letters without burying himself under an avalanche of envelopes.
“Double-rush late,” Hank said. “Popped up when we thought we were all done. Barely got ’em processed in time.”
“I see. Then these are the ones we want, Bows.”
Hank’s right eye twitched.
Mrs. Claus took the letters from Frank.
“Why, this first one’s from little Martha Ortmann,” she said. “Santa and I know all about her. She’s a little angel.”
Frank nodded. “Nice to old people.”
Hank nodded too. “Kind to animals.”
Even Jingle joined in. “Picks up her room. Brushes her teeth. Wipes off her boots before coming into the house.”
Mrs. Claus shuffled the letter to the bottom. “I don’t think we need to worry about Martha. Now how about this next one? Steve Hockensmith?”
Frank shook his head this time. “Picks his nose.”
Hank shook his head too. “Fights with his brother.”
Jingle joined in. “Pouts. Cries.”
“My goodness. Coal?”
“Coal,” the elves sang in chorus.
“Ahhhh.” Mrs. Claus moved on to the next letter. “Gina McIntyre?”
“Nice,” said Frank.
“But,” said Hank.
“Read the letter,” said Jingle.
Mrs. Claus cleared her throat and took the letter out of its envelope. “ ‘Dear Santa,’ ” she read aloud. “ ‘I have been extra good all year long, but I do not want any dolls, games, or books this Christmas. You can give my toys to a poor child who needs them more than me.’ ” Mrs. Claus smiled. “How precious.”
“Keep reading,” Jingle said.
Mrs. Claus looked back down at the letter. “ ‘But there is something I would like — my very own...’ Oh.” She peeked back up at the elves, who stared back at her, frowning indignantly.
“ ‘Elf,’ ” Mrs. Claus read. “ ‘I promise to feed it and take it for walks and...’ Oh my.”
“She’s getting a puppy,” Jingle said.
“I see. Well, I think what we’re looking for wouldn’t be quite so... colorful.” Mrs. Claus pulled out the next letter. “Like this one. This little boy wants books, games, and a Farrah Fawcett Majors poster. All very normal. What do we know about this—” She squinted at the name scrawled across the bottom of the page. “Bill Reeves?”
Frank rolled his eyes. “Oh.”
Hank rolled his eyes. “That one.”
Jingle shrugged.
“Naughty?” Mrs. Claus asked.
“Eh,” said Frank.
“Could be worse,” said Hank.
“That’s not the problem,” said Frank.
“He’s thirty-seven years old,” said Hank.
“Ahhh,” said Mrs. Claus. She placed the letter on Frank’s desk. “Well, that is suspicious — if a bit transparent. I suppose it’s the best candidate we have so far.”
She flipped to the last letter, obviously hoping for something better.
Dear Mr. Claus,
I am seven years of age. I have been a well-behaved child this year. Thus I consider myself deserving of reward. To be specific, I think you should bring me candy and a toy truck.
I will look for the candy in my socks. You may place the truck beneath the Christmas bush. I will leave baked goods out for you to consume, as is the usual custom.
Cordially yours,
Bjorn Bjelvenstam
4000 Sundquist Road
(on the northernmost edge of town near the abandoned lutefisk factory — it will look dark, but do not let that be of concern)
Kalmar, Sweden
P.S.: There is a chimney on my house. Please feel free to make use of it in the fashion for which you have become so famous.
“Ah-ha,” said Frank.
“Oh-ho,” said Hank.
“Umm-hmm,” said Mrs. Claus.
“I’ll get the sleigh,” said Jingle.
Minutes later, he and Mrs. Claus were in the air, headed for Sweden behind a team of young back-up reindeer.
“Now, Pac-Man! Now, Disco! Now, Yoda and Vader!” Mrs. Claus called out, giving the reins a gentle snap. “On, Ford! On, Carter! On, Alda and Nader!”
The reindeer strained in their harnesses, rocketing over Greenland and the Norwegian Sea toward Sweden. But they weren’t fast enough.
“Oh no!” Jingle cried when they reached the outskirts of Kalmar. “We’re too late!”