Polterheist: An Esther Diamond Novel (14 page)

“Ah,” said Max. “Yes, I see your point. The inside person might be the same individual connected to the mystical activities. However, a criminal mastermind is not the sort of personality typically associated with poltergeist phenomena.”

“Too bad. Then we’d have a whole new field: polter
heist
phenomena.” I enjoyed a little chuckle over this.

Lucky gave me a peculiar look before asking Max, “So what sort of person are we looking for then?”

“The afflicted individual is very often a troubled young person,” said Max.

“Oh, I have a candidate,” I said instantly.

“Ah.” Lucky’s bells jingled as he nodded. “The dead-looking girl.”

“Pardon?” said Max.

I explained about Elspeth Fenster.

“Hmmm.” Max stroked his beard. “Yes, she does sound like a viable candidate for affliction by a tormenting spirit.” After a moment he added, “But we mustn’t leap to conclusions. Lucky and I should launch our investigation. We have a big job ahead of us!”

“And I should go to the Hanukkah station,” I said, feeling glad this job would be over in two more days. “Miles is bound to come looking for me any minute.”

The door to this room swung open. Max immediately donned his dark glasses. Lucky and I looked at the newcomer.

I relaxed a moment later and said, “Hello, Eggnog.”

“Dreidel.” His brows rose in silent inquiry. I recalled that I was in the men’s locker room.

“I was just helping the new elves settle in,” I said.

“New elves?” he said in surprise. “This late in the season?”

“Well, we’re so understaffed, you know . . .”

“Ah. Yeah. People just keep disappearing. It’s getting weird, actually.”

“I know,” I said. “Like that Agatha Christie novel where they’re all trapped on an island and keep getting bumped off one by one, until there are none. Well, except for the killer.”

Eggnog looked at Max, then at Nelli. “A blind elf?” he said dubiously.

“Fenster’s is an equal opportunity employer,” I said.

“How do you do, sir?” said Max, nodding in Eggnog’s general direction. “I’m Belsnickel.”

“You’re who?” I blurted.

“I have chosen it as my elf name,” Max said grandly. “It holds fond childhood memories for me. Belsnickel was a goblin who visited children on Christmas Eve to find out if they’d been naughty or nice.”

Eggnog snorted upon hearing those familiar names.

“We’ve got our own Naughty and Nice,” I explained to Max and Lucky. “But you probably want to steer clear of them.”

Eggnog introduced himself, then looked expectantly at Lucky.

The old gangster shifted his weight. “I’m, uh . . . Sugarplum.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

Lucky shrugged. “It sounds like an elf name. What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all.” I added to Eggnog, “And their reindeer is, er, Vixen.”

Nelli wagged her tail gently.

“You better get out on the floor, Dreidel,” said Eggnog. “Miles is looking for you.”

“Right. Of course.” I turned to my friends. “So . . . you guys know what to do and also where to find me if you need me, right? I’ll see you later.”

I exited the room, then went into the ladies locker room across the hall to answer the call of nature and touch up my makeup before going out onto the floor. When I exited the locker room, I practically walked straight into Lopez, who was coming down the hall and right outside the door.

“Oh!” I stared at him in wide-eyed dismay and did my best not to look guilty. I hoped that Max and Lucky had already left this area. “Hi!”

“Hi.” He was wearing his coat and looked a little flushed with cold.

“Did you just get here?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He was carrying an armload of file folders, which he shifted a little so he could start unbuttoning his coat. “Where are you working today?”

“Up here. Fourth floor. Why?”

“All day?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m at the Hanukkah station this afternoon. Then I’m helping Santa after that.”

“For how long?”

“Probably all evening. Why?”

“No reason.”

“Where are you going to be?” I asked.

“Down at the docks.”

“All day?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “A big part of the day, anyhow.”

“But you’re not going to be . . . wandering around a whole lot or anything, are you?”

“I . . .” He frowned. “I don’t know. Probably not. Why?”

“No reason.”

“You seem a little tense,” he observed.

“I am,” I said darkly as I looked over his shoulder and saw who was approaching. “Naughty and Nice are headed this way.”

Lopez turned slightly to see who I meant—and promptly morphed into a predictable stereotype at the sight of two mostly-naked blonde bombshells walking toward him. Within nanoseconds, his IQ visibly dropped by about thirty points, he seemed incapable of speech, and his jaw hung open slightly.

Freddie’s bimbos saw a good-looking man ignoring me to gape at them, and they each gave me malicious smiles before batting their lashes at him and giggling flirtatiously.

Lopez blinked.

“Hi,
Dreidel,”
Naughty said.

“Yeah, whatever.” I stepped aside so the girls could get past me and enter the locker room.

After the door closed behind me, shutting off his view of them, Lopez looked at me blankly. “What were we just talking about?”

“You have a badge,” I said coldly. “So you could follow through and
frisk
them, too.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “A couple of half-naked playmates walk right by me, and I’m not even gonna
look?”

“I don’t remember what we were talking about,” I said testily. “And I have to get to work now.”

“But you’re up here all day today, right?”

“
Yes.”

“Okay.”

I heard a noisy sneeze right behind the door of the men’s locker room across the hall, so I had a good idea who’d emerge when it opened a moment later. Feeling a little malicious pleasure about what would happen next, I gave a friendly little finger-wave to Wheezy Santa, who was blowing his nose.

Lopez turned to see who was behind him—and flinched, nearly dropping the armload of folders he was carrying.

As Wheezy Santa went down the hallway, sniffing noisily, Lopez rubbed his forehead and said, “Jesus, that is just so
disturbing.”

12

I
made my way to Santa’s throne room early that evening, where Eggnog and I were due to relieve the Russian elf and a chirpy redheaded elf whom I had worked with only once. I couldn’t remember her name—Tinsel? Ivy? Something like that.

“Hi, Dreidel!” the redhead cried, using suitably melodramatic elf gestures. “Oops! I mean,
shalom!”

The expression on the Russian’s face suggested that the redheaded elf’s very existence was an affront to her.

“Hi,” I said to them both. “What’s up?”

“
Please
try to cheer up Santa while you’re here, Dreidel! He seems very
down
today.” The redhead pushed out her lower lip to demonstrate sadness.

I resisted the urge to remind her that I was a co-worker, not a five-year-old visitor.

The Russian elf said to me, in a voice that carried, “Two people this afternoon see black Santa and ask me if they can visit white Santa instead.”

“I think that’s so mean!” said the redhead.

“Oh, for chrissake. I’m not in a bad mood because of a few garden-variety racist assholes,” Jeff said grumpily, making the redhead gasp. “I’m in a bad mood because I’m a grown man whose only two job offers since coming back to New York this year have both involved serving as a cheap diversion for retail shoppers.”

“Oh, dear,” said Eggnog, “it’s going to be one of
those
shifts with Diversity Santa.”

Oh,
he
was one to talk.

I said to the two women, “Okay, troops, Eggnog and I will take it from here. You can go to your next post.”

As they departed, I took a good look at Jeff and realized he did look pretty morose.

Unfortunately, Miles joined us then, which certainly precluded any possibility of cheering up Jeff.

“Ivy never showed up for work,” Miles said tersely to me.

“No, I think Ivy was here ten seconds ago,” I said, gesturing in the direction the chirpy elf had gone. “Wasn’t that her?”

“No, that was Merry.”

“I thought Merry was the elf with the Russian accent,” said Eggnog, pointing in the direction the dour elf had gone.

“No, that’s Nutcracker,” said Miles.

Jeff muttered, “And that name suits her perfectly.”

“So which one is Ivy?” I asked.

“Does it really matter?” Miles replied impatiently. “She’s not here, and she hasn’t called in. She’s not coming back. We’ll never see her again, Dreidel! Who
cares
which one she was?”

“Sorry I asked.”

“And since she’s
another
one who hasn’t returned her costume, she can forget about being sent her final paycheck!”

“People
keep
these costumes?” I asked incredulously. After I took off this outfit for the last time on Christmas Eve, I’d never want to see it again; it would always be a reminder of this humiliating job.

“No one respects store property,” Miles said in aggravation. “Moody Santa, Ivy, Giggly Santa, Poinsettia, Thistle . . .”

“Thistle’s gone, too?” I asked. “When did that happen?” The straight elf had seemed pretty reliable to me.

“He hasn’t called or come in today, either!” Miles said bitterly. “And his costume isn’t in his locker. It’s gone, too! Hardly
anyone
who’s gone AWOL has returned their costumes this year. I’ve lost track of how many outfits we’ll have to replace for next season!”

“Well, you’ll get mine back,” Jeff promised. “It’s not as if I’d get a lot of wear out of it.”

“I’ll get
everyone’s
costume back from now on, or there’ll be heck to pay!” Suddenly struck by inspiration, Miles said, “I’m going to write a memo about this!”

“Oh, no!” I cried. “Not a
memo.”

“You’ll find it in your lockers by the end of the shift.”

“Which seems very far away right now,” Jeff said morosely.

Miles said, “To return to the point—”

“There was a point to this?” I asked.

“To return to the
point,
” Miles said, “I need you to go take over Ivy’s post, Dreidel. Eggnog will have to manage alone here.” He asked the elf, “Can you handle it, Eggnog?”

“I have a master’s degree from Princeton,” Eggnog said with disdain.

“Thank
God,”
said Jeff. “That’ll really come in handy when the parents riot because they want a white Santa.”

Miles said, “Don’t say ‘God’ on the—”

“No one’s going to riot, Jeff,” I said soothingly. “They’ll just make complaints that all begin with the phrase, ‘I’m not a bigot, but . . .’ and then say something bigoted about you.”

Jeff asked Miles, “Can I make a complaint about having a Jewish elf?”

Accommodating for once, Miles said, “I’ll move Dreidel to another department immediately.”

“Good,” said Jeff. “We need some more time apart. Four years wasn’t enough.”

“Dreidel, with Ivy gone, I need you to go work the west entrance on the main floor,” Miles said to me. “Starting right now.”

“Oh,
no . . .”
My heart sank. The west entrance was the coldest spot in the whole store.

Miles ignored my protest. “You’ve worked there before, so you know what to do, right? Greet people as they arrive, point them toward Solsticeland, and promote Karaoke Bear.”

“
Must
I?”

“You must.”

I sighed in defeat and resigned myself to singing through chattering teeth as I did karaoke duets with an animated stuffed bear that was dressed like Lady Gaga crossed with a gangsta. Strategically placed at the store’s busiest (and—did I
mention?
—coldest) entrance, this elaborate and expensive product was one of Fenster’s featured Christmas items for the privileged children of the oligarchs. Many youngsters who saw Karaoke Bear on their way to Solsticeland expressed a fervent desire, when visiting Santa, to find the musical mammal under their Christmas tree—or within the tree’s general vicinity, Karaoke Bear and his sound system being too big to fit
under
anything.

“Well?” Miles prodded. “Is there a problem, Dreidel?”

“No. I’ll do it,” I said in resignation. But I decided I’d go to my locker first and get my coat. Fenster’s wasn’t paying me enough to freeze to death. If I got too cold down there, I’d put it on and
dare
Miles to fire me when he was so short-handed.

I turned to go off and work my new post, but I paused when it occurred to me that Max and Lucky would need to know where I was. So I said to Jeff, “If, um, anyone asks for me . . .”

“Who’d ask for you?” he said crankily. “It’s not as if anyone we know is going to come here.”

“At Christmas,
everyone
comes to Fenster’s,” Miles reminded him.

I stared hard at Jeff, trying to get him to wise up. “I
mean,
if the new elves want my help . . .”

“What new elves?” Miles asked alertly. “We don’t have any new elves.”

“You didn’t get the memo?” I glanced at him briefly, then returned to trying to mind-meld with Jeff. “A couple of, um, emergency elves have come on board for the final days of the season.”

“Really?” Miles frowned. “I should have been informed!
I’m
the senior manager of this floor.”

“Emergency elves?” Diversity Santa’s eyes widened when he finally got it. “Oh! The
new elves.
”

“Oh, right,” said Eggnog. “Sugarplum and, um . . . Snickerdoodle?”

“Belsnickel.”

“What sort of elf name is
that?”
Miles asked.

“A very traditional one.” I added, “They have a pretty convincing reindeer with them, too.”

Jeff snorted. “
Convincing?
I thought she looked like . . . Um. Never mind.” He’d caught my warning expression. “Okay, if they turn up, I’ll tell them where you’ve gone.”

Satisfied, I left the throne room and went to the ladies’ locker room to get my coat. I put it on but didn’t bother to button it, and I headed toward the escalators. I went via the Kwanzaa exhibit and Solstice Castle, deliberately avoiding the Enchanted Forest. (Once strangled, twice shy.)

As I passed the castle, my nostrils stung a little. I noticed a wisp of smoke curling out of one of the castle windows. Princess Crystal was having a forbidden cigarette in the tower.

I reached the escalator and spent the next few minutes riding down to the ground floor. Once I got there, I started making my way through the vast cosmetics department. I use makeup a lot in my profession, as well as having a reasonable supply of it for my daily life, but I always felt overwhelmed by the range and quantity of cosmetic products on display at Fenster’s, as well as bewildered by their descriptions.

Did
any
woman—even one who worked as a psychedelic circus clown—need a compact with thirty shades of eye shadow? When had a “revolutionary four-stage process” replaced a tube of mascara for enhancing eyelashes? Was I the only woman here who thought that the lipstick colors “burgundy,” “cabernet,” and “merlot” all looked identical? Would spending half a week’s pay on a three-ounce bottle of moisturizer really “transform” my face—and if so, what would it be transformed into?

“Hi!” a maniacally grinning salesgirl said to me. “Want to try Compulsion, the scent he won’t be able to resist?”

“No, thanks, I’m—Agh!” I staggered backward, coughing hard after she sprayed the cologne directly into my mouth.

“Oh, my God! Sorry, sorry!” she cried. “Are you
okay?”

My eyes watered as I kept coughing.

“Oh, no! Help! Medic!
Medic!”

Did we
have
medics at Fenster’s?

I waved my hand at the wide-eyed girl, trying to get her to calm down. “I’m . . .”
Cough, cough.
“. . . okay.”

A plump, middle-aged woman elbowed her way through the dense crowd of shoppers and demanded, “What’s the problem? What’s going on here?”

She had applied her makeup with a trowel, and she was so heavily drenched in a rival cologne that one whiff made me start coughing again. I didn’t recognize her, but I could tell from her nametag and her manner that she was the girl’s supervisor. I wondered whether Fenster’s specifically trained its managers to be officious or if that quality was just a standard prerequisite for the job.

“I think I’ve harmed this figure skater!” the salesgirl confessed.

“I’m an elf,” I corrected, dabbing at my watering eyes. “Good guess, though. And at least you didn’t mistake me for a hooker.”

The scent-drenched manager flinched. “You can’t say that word on the
floor.”
She’d obviously realized that my pointy ears signified I was a Solsticeland character.

I said to the girl, “You might want to exercise a little restraint with your spritzer.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have a quota. I’m supposed to spritz fifty people at every post before I can move on to my next location.”

While she spoke, my still-misty gaze beheld a couple of tall, buxom, blonde elves looming behind her, their red-and-green outfits considerably skimpier than my blue one. Their faces bore a familiar combination of vacuity and malice, and I felt a little shiver run through me.

Or maybe that was just from the chilly breeze whipping down this aisle from the nearby north entrance. I pulled my coat more tightly around my body.

In any case, while the girl gestured with her bottle and explained that she still had to spritz nineteen more people before she could move on, Naughty—or maybe it was Nice—gave her a deliberate shove. Foreseeing the inevitable result, I jumped back to avoid being spritzed in the face again when the girl’s hand reflexively squeezed the bottle as she stumbled. The floor manager, who had not recognized the imminent danger, shrieked when the girl squirted cologne into her eyes, and clapped a hand over her face. Naughty and Nice giggled and started to slip away, using the dense crowd for cover.

“That
does
it!” I said.

Sniping comments, snickering, and sly looks were one thing, but now they were
assaulting
people. Enough was enough!

While the horrified cologne girl was trying to help her startled, shrieking boss, I tried to get around the two of them to grab those half-naked holiday hags. I didn’t really know what I would do once I got my hands on them, but banging their empty blonde heads together until their skulls cracked might not be a bad place to start.

“Come back here!” I shouted as Naughty shoved her way through the crowded aisle.

She looked over her shoulder at me and laughed.

Nice got separated from her, her way blocked by a couple of heavyset women in fur coats carrying a voluminous burden of shopping bags. She turned back in this direction, looking for another escape route.

In my eagerness to shake Nice until her nasty little head flew off, I tried to move the manager out of my way. I was too excited to be gentle, and she shrieked anew, with her hands still covering her eyes, as she stumbled into a customer.

The customer caught her, staggering a little under the sudden impact, then said to me in outraged tones, “What are you
doing?”
I realized she thought the manager was covering her face and shrieking because I was brutalizing her.

“Help!” cried the guilt-stricken salesgirl. “We need help!”

Nice giggled as she dashed behind the manager and the customer. I lunged for her.

“Stop it!” said the customer. “What is the
matter
with you?” She was an older woman, a little smaller than me, and tidily elegant in a forest-green winter coat.

I tried to shove past her. “Move! She’ll get away!”

“What’s going
on?”
asked the manager, her eyes squeezed shut.

“That’s what
I
want to know,” the customer said sternly.

Looking over the woman’s shoulder, I saw Nice stick her tongue out at me.
Unbelievable.

Still trying to get past the two women in my path, I pointed my finger at Nice and shouted, “You’re
done,
you snarky bitch!”

The manager flinched. “You can’t say that on the
floor!”

Freddie Junior had to get rid of those girls! What if someone really got hurt the next time they pulled a prank?

The salesgirl had given up shouting for help and was now apologizing profusely to her boss.