Polterheist: An Esther Diamond Novel (9 page)

“The voice?” asked the Russian.

“What voice?” asked Lopez, who was also examining the tree now.

“There was a voice saying it would kill me,” I said.

“I heard a voice, but I didn’t hear
that,”
said Eggnog, the prince of Princeton, giving me a peculiar look.

“What did you hear?” I pounced.

“Well, to be honest, I wasn’t paying that much attention to what it said. I was mostly, you know, trying not to get clobbered by a branch,” he said. “But I thought it was reciting reindeer names.”

“That’s
eerie,” said one of the reindeer.

“No,” said Candycane, “that’s just part of its programmed patter.”

“Did
anyone
hear it saying it wanted to kill? That it wanted flesh and blood?” I asked impatiently.

The elves and reindeer all looked at each other in perplexity and shook their heads.

“I only heard screaming,” said the Russian.

“There was a
lot
of screaming,” a reindeer agreed. “It’s all I could hear, too. Well, that and the
smack!
of branches hitting people.”

“I did hear Twinkle shouting that he’d rescue you while he waved that ax around. It was like his dungeons-and-dopes game had finally come to life for him.” Candycane pointed to Lopez. “And I heard
this
guy shouting to cut the power, but I don’t know where the power switch is.”

Eggnog said, “I don’t think that was covered in our training.”

I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised. The screaming had indeed been loud (especially my own, until I couldn’t breathe anymore), and the tree’s voice had been soft—intended only for me, the victim, I thought.

“Did anyone see the fangs or the drool?” I asked, ignoring the way Lopez was looking at me now.

“Fangs?” Candycane shook her head.

“Drool?” The Russian made a face. “Who drooled?”

I felt frustrated, but I knew this happened all the time on
Crime and Punishment
and
The Dirty Thirty.
Police and prosecutors on
C&P
shows were always questioning witnesses who all gave them different accounts of an event, none of which tallied with each other or with the physical evidence.

I looked again at the tree and realized that, trapped as I was by a large branch trying to feed me to that drooling, toothy mouth, I had probably masked the tree’s face from view for most people. Add in the screaming, the confusion, and the fear, combined with people getting hit by flailing branches . . .

Lopez put a hand on my arm. “Esther, you’re still shaken up. Maybe you should—”

“Did you notice the odor?” I asked him. “A really foul stench.”

He sniffed the air. “There’s no odor now. And I think it would be a good idea for you to—”

“Did
anyone
notice the odor?” I asked my colleagues, raising my voice.

Jingle returned from his errand in time to hear this, and he piped up, “Oh, yeah, that
smell.
Somebody messed his pants, for sure.”

“No, that wasn’t the smell,” I said. “It was more like . . .”

“Like what?” Lopez asked.

“I don’t know. Indescribable. Like nothing I ever smelled before.” And I hoped never to smell anything that revolting again. “There was also sulfur, I thought. Did anyone else smell that?”

Eggnog said, “I thought I smelled something burning, maybe. But I wouldn’t say
sulfur.”

“You probably did smell something burning,” Lopez said with a glance at the tree. “It’s lucky that thing didn’t start an electrical fire.”

“No one else smelled anything?” I prodded.

“We were a little preoccupied,” Candycane pointed out. “Oh! But now that you mention it, I did smell something foul.”

“Yes?” I prodded eagerly.

She nodded. “Like, um . . . mothballs.”

“Mothballs?” I repeated, feeling deflated.

“Mothballs,” she said with conviction.

“Oh! I think that was me,” said Prancer (or whoever). “My costume I mean.” He held out one fuzzy arm for Candycane to sniff.

She did so and made a face. “Oh. It
was
you.”

Oh, well. I sighed in resignation. My friend Max had told me any number of times that when confronted with mystical phenomena, most people interpreted the events in terms that made sense to them—such as a massive mechanical malfunction—and ignored that which they could
not
make sense of within conventional boundaries. And I had by now seen him proved right quite a few times about that.

“Well, I think we’ve all learned a valuable lesson here,” Jingle reflected.

“Oh? And what would
that
be?” Eggnog asked.

“Training pays off,” said Jingle. “The outcome of this incident might have been very different without our training. And I’m sure Dreidel agrees!” He concluded, “Very glad you’re okay, Dreidel. Now I’ve got to get back to my station. Those toy army tanks won’t just sell themselves, you know!”

As Jingle trotted off, I looked after him in bemusement, unable to see any way in which my elf training had helped me survive this brush with arboreal asphyxiation.

7

T
he other elves and reindeer decided to follow Jingle’s example and get back to their posts. They traipsed off in different directions, chatting in amazement to each other about what had just happened and condemning the careless safety standards of Fenster & Co.

Avoiding Lopez’s questioning gaze, I looked around the Enchanted Forest. A number of security guards were hovering in the area. They didn’t seem to be
doing
anything, which certainly fit with my expectations of Fenster’s security by now; but they were there. I noticed a woman talking into a police radio and realized she was the same woman I’d seen conferring with a couple of guards right before the attack began. I supposed she was a colleague of Lopez’s.

A uniformed police officer was talking with the big man who had been thrown across the room after trying to rescue me. I was relieved to see he didn’t look hurt. Most of the shoppers had already left the area—either when people fled in panic, or after being encouraged to vacate the area once the emergency was under control. I saw an unfamiliar man in a suit encouraging stragglers to depart, and I had a feeling he was another cop.

Lopez asked me, “What exactly happened here? I got off the elevator at this floor—an elevator, by the way, that’s
also
malfunctioning. And—”

“What happened with the elevator?”
I could see from his expression that my overreaction concerned him, given what I’d just been through and the strange things I was saying. Before he could suggest that I let an EMT give me a tranquilizer, I took another calming breath and asked more rationally, “What happened with the elevator?”

Eyeing me warily, he said, “It just sat on the sixth floor, the doors opening and closing, opening and closing. It wouldn’t go anywhere for about five minutes.”

I wondered if something had been deliberately trying to prevent Lopez from getting here, or whether he had merely experienced an actual mechanical malfunction.

Then I realized what else he had said.

“You were just on the sixth floor? Were you meeting with the Fensters?” I remembered what the family had said about the armed robberies. “
Oh.
The hijackings?”

“Is that guess due to staff gossip, or have you been watching the news?”

“The Fensters told me about it.”

“Are you close to them?” he asked in surprise.

“
God,
no.”

That made him grin.

“The information kind of slipped out when I was . . . Oh, never mind.” I waved away that subject and asked, “So the elevator didn’t do anything else that was . . . strange?”

Lopez glanced at the tree. “You mean, attack people? No. Nothing like this.” After a moment, he said, “Anyhow, I got off on this floor and started walking in this direction—and suddenly I heard all this screaming from in here.”

While he was speaking, I looked over his shoulder and was relieved to see Jeff and Satsy approaching us. Satsy looked unharmed. Jeff had a few bright red drops of blood on his Santa beard—from his lower lip, I guessed, which looked swollen and bruised. And he was limping a little. I recalled seeing the tree swat him away like a tennis ball.

“I broke into a run and followed the noise,” Lopez said, “but I had trouble finding the source. Is there a straight line anywhere in this whole damn place? It’s all dead ends and circles and . . . Anyhow, I finally find this spot. And I see
that
thing waving its arms convulsively, knocking people around, and almost electrocuting a girl in a clown costume.”

“I’m not a clown,” I said. “I’m Santa’s Jewish elf.”

“That was going to be my second guess.” He looked at the tree again. “What exactly
is
that thing, anyhow?”

Coming up beside him, Jeff said, “It’s an enchanted tree. It does stage patter and musical duets with—”

“Agh!” Lopez let out what could only be described as a little shriek and fell back a step when he saw Jeff.

Jeff gave him a peculiar look. “We’ve met before, detective. I’m . . . Oh! Sorry.” Jeff took off his cap and pulled down his white beard. “Jeff Clark. Remember? We met this summer at the Livingston Foundation, when you were investigating there.”

Lopez said a little breathlessly, “Right. Of course. Sorry, Jeff. Yeah.”

“Jeff, are you all right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “A little battered and bruised, but nothing that a couple of cold beers can’t cure. How about you?”

“I’m fine.” Noticing how pale Lopez looked now, I asked him, “Are
you
all right?”

“Fine.”

“You look a little—”

“I’m fine.”

Right behind them, Satsy asked anxiously, “Are you sure you’re okay, Esther? That was so scary!”

Lopez looked over his shoulder at Satsy, flinched, and blurted, “Jesus!”

“Are you
sure
you’re all right?” I asked him.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” Lopez said to Satsy.

“We’ve met before, too, detec . . .” Satsy blinked his purple eyelashes a few times, then said, “Ohhh . . .” He pulled down his Santa beard and said, “Sorry, Detective Lopez. I didn’t realize.”

“Realize what?” I asked.

“Oh!” Jeff said, his eyes widening as he looked at Lopez. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, what?” I said.

“Nothing,” said Lopez.

Satsy asked him, “Is this really a good place for you to be? I mean . . .”

“Esther! Are you all right?” Rick came trotting in from the North Pole. “I was in the break room. I just heard what happened!”

Lopez drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils when he saw Super Santa. A muscle in his jaw worked tensely.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Actually, Jeff got hurt more than I did.”

While Rick took a look at Jeff and asked him some medical-sounding questions, I said quietly to Lopez, “Are your teeth clenched?”

“How many more of them are there?” he asked in a low voice.

“Them?” I repeated, not understanding.

Looking uncomfortable, he stepped closer to me and muttered, “Santas. Just so I know. How many more of them are lurking around here?”

My eyes flew wide open as I realized the problem. “Oh! You have a San . . . Um.” Not wanting to embarrass him, I leaned close and whispered, “You have a Santa phobia?”

“It’s not a phobia,” he whispered back tersely. “It’s just a—a—a
thing.
I find them . . . startling.” He glared at the three Santas and added, “Especially when they creep up on me from behind.”

“Oh, my gosh,” I said, looking at him in wonder. “That must be so inconvenient at this time of year. How do you manage—”

“I just don’t like it when they sneak up on me, okay? I’m fine otherwise.” He glared at the Santas. “Do there have to be so
many
of them?”

“Probably you should stay out of the North Pole while you’re here,” I said.

“Where’s that?”

I pointed. “It used to be Holidayland. But maybe you didn’t go there as a child. Given your problem—”

“It’s not a problem. It’s just a . . . a
thing.”

“—I’m guessing your parents didn’t bring you here?”

“Just the once,” he said darkly.

“Why are all three of my Santas on the floor at the same time?” Miles demanded, approaching us from the direction of Solstice Castle. “And in here?
This
isn’t Santa’s station.”

“Chill, Miles,” said Jeff. “We’re checking on Esther. Thanks to the shoddy maintenance practices around here, you were almost minus one more elf today. In a big way.”

“But as you can see, Dreidel is fine,” said Miles. “
Aren’t
you, Dreidel?”

“Well, I—”

“Good.”

I added, “But Jeff’s been hurt—”

“We’ve closed off the Enchanted Forest for the rest of the evening,” Miles said. “We’re placing security barriers at the entrances to this area. The rest of Solsticeland will remain open. So let’s all get back to work and let maintenance do their jobs.”

“It’s
very
lucky that no one sustained serious injuries here today,” Lopez said to Miles. “When I come back tomorrow, I’m going to want to see proof that this incident is being investigated thoroughly and steps are being taken to prevent another event like it.”

“There’s
already
been another event like it,” Satsy blurted. Ignoring my (admittedly unclear) signals to drop the subject, he continued, “This morning, the freight elevator went
crazy
while I was inside it! The lights went off, the thing started shuddering, and then it was bobbing up and down like a yo-yo. There were flames! Laughing and growling, too. I was terrified!”

We all looked at him for a long moment.

Then Lopez said to Miles, “Come to think of it, the elevator I was on a little while ago was malfunctioning. You people really need to overhaul this place.”

Miles lifted his chin. “And who are
you?”

Lopez pulled out his gold shield and showed it to Miles. “Detective Lopez, NYPD. I’m investigating the hijackings.”

“Oh, yes, the guys down on the docks have been talking about that,” said Satsy.

“
You
hang out on the docks?” Jeff asked in surprise. “With those . . . Jersey Shore guys?”

I said to him, “I’ll explain later.”

“I’m here because of the hijackings,” Lopez said to Miles, “but if Dreidel, Jeff, or anyone else had been badly hurt here today, I’d also be investigating criminal negligence and a pile of other charges I can think of off the top of my head.”

“I
like
this guy,” Jeff said to me.

“Of course, detective,” Miles said, altering his attitude with the ease of long practice. “The matter is being given highest priority. Solsticeland is a seasonal destination, not a danger zone—and we intend to keep it that way.”

“See that you do,” Lopez said. “I don’t want to hear about any more elves, Santas, or visitors being hurt or endangered by your props and displays.”

“Absolutely understood, detective. And I
will
see to it.”

“Good.”

“Dreidel, do you feel ready to return to work?” Miles asked me.

“Oh, that’s probably not a good idea, Miles,” Rick said in protest, shaking his head. “Esther’s had a shock. I don’t think she should go back on the floor tonight.”

Actually, now that I had calmed down, I pretty much felt fine; I’m seldom as sensitive as the men whom I know think I should be. But I started to agree with Rick’s comment, because I wanted to get out of the store immediately and go confer with Max about what was going on here.

However, Lopez said, “Actually, I need to speak with Dreidel. After which, I think she should go home and get some rest.”

“Speak with her? Has Dreidel done something that we at Fenster’s should be aware of?” Miles asked.

Jeff said, “Yeah, you should be
aware
that she’s just been mauled by one of your overblown props.”

“Dreidel’s not in any trouble. I just need to interview her.” Lopez added, “I’ll be talking to a number of employees in the next few days.”

Miles looked offended. “I can assure you that employees in
my
department have nothing to do with the hijackings!”

“Ah. Right.” Jeff nodded. “The hijackings.”

“What’s this about hijackings, anyhow?” Rick asked. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?” Jeff said. “It’s been all over the news lately.”

“
All
over,” Lopez agreed wearily.

“I don’t have much time for news,” Rick said. “I’m always
here.”

“Exactly.” I nodded.

“Armed robbers have twice seized a Fenster truck on the road and made off with boatloads of merchandise,” said Jeff.

“Twice?” I said. “I thought three trucks had been hit by now?”

“I’ve only read about two.” Jeff looked at Lopez for confirmation or correction, but the detective said nothing. So he continued, “And the local media’s been putting a lot of public pressure on the Police Commissioner to crack down on organized crime this Christmas season.”

“Oh.” I looked at Lopez, too. “And the Commissioner has been putting pressure on OCCB?”

He nodded. Rick asked what OCCB was. Lopez replied, “The Organized Crime Control Bureau.”

“Oh?” Rick said with interest. “So the police think this is a Mafia matter?”

“The media certainly think so,” said Lopez. “But my job is to investigate the crime, not leap to conclusions just to boost ratings and ad revenues.”

“Still,” Rick said, “since OCCB is here, I guess that means there’s some truth to it?”

“It means that we’re public servants who respond to public safety concerns,” said Detective Lopez, who was obviously disinclined to speculate about the perpetrators while chatting with Fenster employees. “And one thing the media have actually got right is that the hijackings are well organized.”

“Well, it sounds like we
all
have a job to do here,” said Miles. “So let’s . . . Dreidel, where are you ears?”

“Oh.” I put my hand on my hair. “I guess my hat fell off when—”

“There it is,” said Rick, going over to retrieve it from the spot where it had fallen during the attack.

“Don’t get too close to that tree!” I was still anxious about it.

He scooped my blue stocking cap off the floor and brought it over to me with a reassuring smile. “I’m okay. See?”

“Thanks.” I accepted the hat from him and put it back on, feeling a little self-conscious as Lopez watched me don my pointy ears.

Miles said, “You know, I think Rick is right, Dreidel. You do look a little worse for wear. I suggest you go home and get some rest after Detective Lopez finishes interviewing you.”

“Okay.” Well, that had been easy, at least.

“Meanwhile, Santas, time to get back to work.” Miles gave a little clap of his hands. “Chop-chop! And
I
will go check on Solstice Castle to make sure Prince Midnight’s next marriage proposal will occur on schedule. We’ve got to keep the ship running smoothly after a mishap like this!” And off he went.

Rick said to Jeff, “You look like you need a cold compress on that lip and a hot shower for the rest of you. Why don’t you go home, and I’ll finish out the night with Drag Queen Santa.”