Dunc's Undercover Christmas (2 page)

“She was busy with her friends.”

“So I noticed.”

Amos ignored him and kept playing with the robot.

“Are you thinking about getting that for T.J.?” Dunc asked.

“This? Heck no. He could probably build ten of these himself.”

“Then why are you wasting our time looking at it?”

“It's not a waste of time.” Amos made the robot go in little circles. “I check out stuff. You know, in case someone hasn't bought my gift yet and they need some suggestions. Speaking of gifts, have you bought me one yet?”

“What makes you think I'm going to get you a gift?”

“Come off it! You always get me something.” Amos looked worried. “You
are
getting me a gift, aren't you?”

Dunc's eyes had a mischievous look. “Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I'm getting you something. But I don't have all the details worked out yet.”

“What kind of a present has details to work out?”

Dunc changed the subject. “Have you thought of anything for T.J. yet?”

“Oh, that's easy. A gift certificate from the electronics store. He spends most of his time building different gadgets. I'm sure he can use some spare parts.”

“The electronics store is at the other end of the mall.” Dunc pulled on his sleeve.

“Okay, okay. Give me a minute. Let me take one last test run around this aisle.”

Dunc sighed. “Try to hurry.”

Amos and the robot rounded the corner. They were making their way through the pet section when Amos accidentally pushed the fast-forward button. The robot took off. It ran smack into someone's black boot.

Amos looked up. It was Santa. Or rather
a man dressed in a Santa suit with a long white beard.

He winked at Amos. “This what you want for Christmas, son? Well, I'm the man to talk to about it. Of course, you haven't been all that good this year, have you?”

Amos stared at the Santa. His mouth was hanging wide open.

“Let's see. There was that unfortunate problem with your dog.” The Santa laughed. “And there's the incident involving your sister's diary. But who knows?” He winked. “I may stop by your house anyway.”

The Santa reached down, picked up the robot, and handed it to Amos. “Take care you don't test run the battery down.” Then he walked down the aisle ringing a silver bell and saying, “Ho, ho, ho.”

Amos watched him until he was out of sight. Then he blasted around the corner to the counter where Dunc was waiting.

“What took you—” Dunc started.

Amos interrupted, “You won't believe it—Santa—real—he knows!”

Dunc frowned at him. “Calm down. What happened?”

Amos started again. “He's real. He knows things about me. I thought he was only for little kids or dweebs, but he's really
real
.”

Dunc scratched his head. “Are you okay? Maybe we'd better get you home. Let you get some rest. We can shop later.”

“No. You don't understand. Santa—I met the real Santa. He told me things.”

“Is that all? Those guys are paid to tell you things. They tell everybody the same things over and over.”

Amos grabbed the front of Dunc's coat. “Listen to me. This one knew real-life things about me.”

“Amos.”

“He knew about my dog and my sister.”

“Get real, Amos. Those are common things. He made a good guess. Don't let it spook you.”

“I don't know.…”

“Come on. I'll buy you a soda. You need
it. What would Melissa say if she heard you carrying on about a real Santa Claus?”

Amos's shoulders slumped. “Maybe you're right. I lost it there for a minute. He caught me off guard with some of that stuff. Don't worry, I'm okay now. Uh—Dunc?”

“Yeah?”

“Let's keep this just between us. Okay?”

“No problem.”

Amos chucked a basketball at the hoop above his garage door. It bounced off the rim. He caught it on the way down. Dribbled to the end of the driveway, and turned to face the basket.

A dreamy look came to his face. He was in the game of his life, standing at the free-throw line. A hush came over the crowd. The score was tied with only two seconds left on the clock. It was the last chance for his team to score. The winning point rested
on his shoulders. He bounced the ball. Once. Twice. Took careful aim. And he—

“Amos.”

—missed.

Dunc rode up in the driveway waving a newspaper.

“Aw, man!” Amos stomped his foot. “You just ruined our only chance to win the game.”

Dunc looked around. He sat back on his bike. “The game?”

“Never mind.” Amos picked up the ball. “What were you yelling about?”

“Take a look at this.” Dunc unfolded the paper and pointed to an article.

Amos read the headline out loud: “ ‘Store Robbed by Shoplifting Santa.' ” He handed the paper back. “Want to play a little one-on-one?”

“Don't you get it?” Dunc asked.

“No, I don't get it. And I don't
want
to get it. Let me tell you why. Because every time you read something in the newspaper, you get us involved. And that always means
trouble. Like the time you read about that chemical stuff at the dump. And I was attacked by dead bodies and had to run around town dressed up like garbage.”

“You were not attacked, you just thought you were. And we were dressed in camouflage.”

Amos bounced the ball.

“We were in this store yesterday,” Dunc said.

Amos shrugged. “So?”

“You saw a Santa.”

“I saw about a dozen Santas yesterday.”

Dunc pointed to the paper. “The article puts the robbery at about the same time we were in the department store. You may have actually seen the Santa who ripped them off.”

“No.”

“What do you mean—no?”

“I mean no. It couldn't have been him. He wouldn't do something like that.”

“Amos. You're not back on that
real
Santa kick again, are you?”

“All I'm saying is that I talked to him—you didn't. There was something about him. He didn't seem the type.”

Dunc folded up the newspaper. “Well, it's a lead, and I think we ought to check it out. The police aren't having much luck. Whoever this guy is, he shouldn't be allowed to get away with it. Especially at Christmas.”

“Even if you're right—which I doubt—what could we do about it anyway?”

“I knew you'd be interested.”

Amos held up his hand. “I never said I was interested. All I said was—”

Dunc interrupted, “I've decided to call it the Case of the Sticky-Fingered Santa.”

Amos shook his head. “Here we go again. You're bound and determined to get us in some kind of mess, aren't you? It's what you live for.” He handed Dunc the ball. “Let's shoot some free throws before we get too carried away with this detective stuff.”

Dunc weighed the ball in his hand. Eyed the basket and carelessly tossed it through the hoop.

“How did you do that? I've never seen
you do that before!” Amos's eyes narrowed. “You've been holding out on me.”

Dunc shrugged. “I've been studying angles of trajectory. I guess you could call that basket applied science. You see …”

The rest of his answer was drowned out when a blue and white van pulled up to the curb.

A man got out and started pulling suitcases out of the back. The side door opened. A short kid wearing a tan trench coat that hung almost to the ground stepped out.

“T.J.!” Amos yelled.

The kid grinned. “Hiya, Amos. Long time no see.”

“T.J., I want you to meet my best friend in the whole world—Dunc Culpepper.”

Dunc stuck out his hand. Amos saw the move and tried to warn him. It was too late. A flashing red light inched out of T.J.'s top coat pocket. Alarms started going off.

Dunc jumped back.

T.J. pressed a button. A voice said, “The time is ten o'clock.”

T.J. looked up. “Wrong button.” He
pressed another one. A boxing glove on the end of a spring popped out of his coat. He tried to stuff it back inside his coat, but it didn't want to go.

The neighbors were starting to come outside. Amos's dog, Scruff, trotted over and started barking. That set off a chain reaction. Dogs were barking up and down the street. T.J. kept pushing the wrong buttons. He couldn't get the alarm to shut off.

Dunc smiled. “I'd say you're Amos's cousin, all right. No doubt about that.”

“I ran a check on all of the possible suspects.” Dunc held up a list.

Amos shook his head. “Quit talking like you're with the FBI. All you did was call some department stores and ask where they get their Santas.”

Dunc shrugged. “Same thing.”

The three boys were in Dunc's room mapping out strategy for the case. Actually Dunc was talking strategy. T.J. was listening.
And Amos was throwing darts and eating cheese puffs.

“Here's the deal,” Dunc said. “Not all of the Santas who came in and out of the store on the robbery date can be accounted for. Some of them could have been doing charitable work. A few of them might have been shopping or working at some other store in the mall. Most of the stores I called hire their Santas from the Lundini Agency downtown. That's where we'll start. From there, it's a process of elimination. Simple.”

“When he uses that word, watch out.” Amos threw a dart at the board on Dunc's bedroom wall.

“This is so awesome.” T.J. sat on the edge of the bed taking it all in. “My very first case. You guys are lucky, getting to do this all the time.”

Amos snorted. “Lucky is not quite the word for it.”

Dunc ignored him. “I've made arrangements for us to get inside the agency. Tomorrow we're supposed to report to a man
named Tyson. He's the manager. We'll get further directions from him.”

“The manager is going to help us catch his own employees?” T.J. asked.

“Not exactly.”

“See, I told you to watch out,” Amos said.

Dunc shot Amos a look. “We're going to have to go undercover on this one.”

“Wow!” T.J. jumped up. “You mean, like secret agents? This is getting better all the time. I've always wanted to go undercover. Do we get code names?”

Amos looked at him.

Dunc went on, “I let the agency manager think we're just kids who need some extra Christmas money. He said he could use us tomorrow for a special job.”

Amos eyed him suspiciously. “Doing what?”

T.J. interrupted, “What does it matter, as long as we're in? What should I bring, Dunc? I have almost my entire supply with me.”

“Entire supply?” Dunc asked.

“T.J. here comes fully equipped for any situation.” Amos patted him on the back. “Automatic flyswatter, disappearing ink, remote-control lawn mower. You name it. He's invented it.”

T.J. blushed. “Well, I don't know about every situation …”

“If you had a camera, one you could hide easily,” Dunc said, “then we could get some pictures for the police.”

“No problem.” T.J. held out his hand. He flipped back the top of a large gold-colored ring on his middle finger. Inside was the smallest camera Dunc had ever seen.

Dunc moved over to inspect it. “Does it work?”

T.J. looked insulted. “Of course it works! Stand back, and I'll take your picture.”

He closed the lid and pressed a hidden button on the top.

Dunc heard a tiny click. “Hey, that's all right, T.J. Just what we need.”

He spoke too soon.

The lid on the ring snapped open. A small silver spring popped out. Then another.
The film started unwinding. It curled up over the edge of the ring and fell out onto the floor.

T.J. shrugged. “I guess it still has a few bugs. But don't worry, I'll have them worked out by tomorrow. Like my great-grandmother always says, ‘If it's worth doing, don't stand in the cow pasture.' Check you later.” He started for the door.