Nice Management was deserted when Jingle and Mrs. Claus arrived. They found Gumdrop's jacket at his desk, lying atop a pile of statistics, graphs and pie charts analyzing the Naughty-to-Nice ratio of little boys who own albums by KISS.
"Maybe Gumdrop never made it back to the office," Jingle said. "He could have been murdered anywhere between here and Carol's place."
"No," Mrs. Claus said. "I think it's much more likely he was killed right here."
She headed for the far end of the room, where Santa kept the tilted worktable he slaved over so many long hours each year. It was where he compiled The List-the massive scroll on which he kept the names of well-behaved children who'd earned a visit come Christmas Eve.
Mrs. Claus peered down at the worktable a moment.
"Oh, goodness deary goodness," she said. "It's just as I feared."
She moved to the nearest garbage can, shook her head and pulled out two twisted, broken, ink-smeared feathers.
"What a shame. Santa loved these," she said. "Griffin feathers. So hard to come by these days. Oh, well. We have more to worry about now than Santa's favorite pens."
"That we do," Jingle said, nodding. "Uhhh… and what is it that we need to be worrying about, exactly?"
"Why, the name Giftwrap added to Santa's list, of course."
Jingle looked from Mrs. Claus to the feathers to Santa's worktable to Gumdrop's desk, blinking blankly. Mrs. Claus took mercy on him and explained.
"There were ink stains on the box Gumdrop was in, and on Giftwrap's sleeves, as well. And if you'll look at the table there…"
Jingle followed Mrs. Claus' gaze. A black smudge marred one corner of Santa's worktable.
"Southerners aren't accustomed to quill pens and ink bottles anymore," Mrs. Claus said. ("Southerners" meant anyone who didn't live at the North Pole.) "So Giftwrap made a bit of a mess. And I can only think of one thing he might have been trying to do with a pen at Santa's worktable. Poor, unfortunate Gumdrop saw what he was up to when he came back for his jacket. And Giftwrap couldn't have that."
"Oh," Jingle said. "I see. Then Giftwrap had to make sure Gumdrop's body wasn't found until after Santa took off."
"That's right. Yet he wanted the body to be found eventually. That message on the card-it must have some special significance."
Jingle shook his head, bewildered and disgusted. "Sending a spy into the workshop, killing an elf, all just to get some kid on the Nice List. It's beyond naughty. It's nuts."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps this isn't about a child."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe someone wants to make sure Santa goes down a certain chimney tonight."
Jingle gaped at her, amazed that a woman who'd devoted her life to making children happy and hanging out with elves would have such a natural affinity for the workings of devious minds.
"You think it could be a trap?" he said.
Mrs. Claus shrugged. "You know how those toy company people feel about Santa. And the religious fundamentalists. And the Elf Liberation Front. And the Ayatollah. And Mrs. Thatcher. She still hasn't forgiven us for all those lumps of coal she received as a child. And-"
The longer the list grew, the wider Jingle's eyes became. "I never realized Mr. C had so many enemies."
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 Des Moines 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. 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 shots of glogg 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 a last 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 a sock in the schnoz.
"What does the Missus need now, hey?" Frank 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 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 Karen Courtney," 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 inside."
Mrs. Claus shuffled the letter to the bottom. "I don't think we need to worry about Karen. Now how about this next one? Alvin Erie?"
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. "Missy Widgitz?"
"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."