Between the Plums Page 6

  I felt Diesel come up hard to my back. He wrapped his arm around me, holding me tight against him, and he hauled me out of there with my feet two inches off the ground. He was kicking elves out of the way as he went, occasionally grabbing one by the shirt and throwing him across the room. He got to the sidewalk, rammed the office door closed, and did his magical locking thing, trapping the elves inside.

  Contorted little elf faces smushed up against the large glass windows, glaring out at us, yelling elf threats, their pudgy little elf middle fingers extended. Inside, the room was a wreck. Tables and chairs were overturned, and cookies were smashed everywhere.

  Diesel set me on my feet, took me by the hand, and yanked me to the car. “What the hell was that about?” he asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it. A whole room filled with pissed-off little people. It was fucking frightening.”

  “I think they were elves. Did you see their ears?”

  “Their ears were fake,” Diesel said.

  I slid onto the passenger seat and a sigh escaped. “I know. I just don’t want to have to tell anyone I was attacked by a horde of angry little people. A horde of angry elves sounds better, somehow.”

  A fake elf smashed through the plate-glass door with a fire ax, and Diesel took off.

  “Did you see the cookies?” I asked him. “They looked just like Elaine’s cookies.”

  “Honey, all cookies look alike.”

  “Yes, but they might have been Elaine’s cookies.”

  My cell phone chirped. “I’m at the mall,” Valerie said, “and I need help. I can’t remember everything that was on Mary Alice’s list. I got her the Barbie, the television, the game, and the ice skates. I have the train and the computer at home. Do you remember what else she wanted?”

  “How are you going to pay for all that?”

  “MasterCard.”

  “It’ll take you five years to pay it off.”

  “I don’t care. It’s Christmas. You have to do these things at Christmas.”

  Oh yeah. I kept forgetting. “Mary Alice had about fifty things on that list. The only one I remember is the pony.”

  “Omigod,” Valerie cried. “The pony! How could I forget the pony?”

  “Val, you can’t get her a pony. This isn’t Little House on the Prairie. We live in Trenton. Kids in Trenton don’t get ponies.”

  “But she wants one. She’ll hate me if I don’t get her a pony. It’ll ruin her Christmas.”

  Boy, I was really glad I had a hamster. I was planning on giving Rex a raisin for Christmas.

  I hung up on Valerie, and I turned to Diesel. “Do you have any kids?”

  “No.”

  “How do you feel about kids?”

  “The same way I feel about fake elves. I think they’re cute from a distance.”

  “Suppose you wanted to have kids . . . could you reproduce?”

  Diesel looked over at me. “Could I reproduce? Yeah, I guess I could.” He gave his head a shake. “I have to tell you, I am never again going to let anyone pop me in on someone. It’s too weird. Not that this was my idea in the first place.” He reached across me, into the bag my mother gave us, and found a leftover brownie. “Usually women are asking me to buy them a beer. Not you. You’re asking me if I can reproduce.”

  “Make a turn at Clinton,” I told him. “I want to have another chat with Elaine.”

  It was midafternoon and unusually gloomy when Diesel drove down Grape Street. Dark clouds swirled in the sky, and an eerie green light streaked through them. The air felt heavy and ominously charged. Doomsday air.

  Lights were on in houses, and Elaine had her roof lights blazing, blinking out her season’s greetings. Diesel parked in front of the house, and we both got out. The wind had picked up, and I pulled my chin in and walked head down to Sandy Claws’ front porch.

  “I’m very busy,” Elaine said when she answered the door.

  Diesel brushed past her, into the house. “It smells like you’re still baking cookies.”

  Elaine followed Diesel into the kitchen, half running to keep up with Diesel’s stride. “Pecan shortbread for tomorrow,” she said. “And big cookies with M&Ms in them.”

  “I’m curious,” Diesel said. “Who eats all these cookies?”

  “The elves, of course.”

  Diesel and I exchanged glances.

  “They’re not really elves,” Elaine said. “Sandy just likes to call them that. His little elves. Sandy is so clever. He has a whole scheme worked out to sell toys. It’s because of his name, Sandy Claws. Have you noticed how it sounds like Santa Claus?”

  “How many elves are you feeding?” Diesel asked Elaine.

  “Goodness, I don’t know, but there must be a lot of them. I make dozens of cookies every day.”

  “And they go where?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. Lester stops around and picks them up. Lester is Sandy’s production manager.”

  “About five-foot-ten? Gray hair, slim, dark-rimmed glasses?” Diesel asked.

  “Yes. That’s him,” Elaine said.

  The guy who was interviewing elves.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Elaine said, “but you’re going to have to leave now. I have to finish my baking.”

  “You don’t mind if I look around, do you?” Diesel asked.

  Elaine nervously picked at her apron. “I don’t see why you would want to do that. Sandy isn’t here.”

  Diesel opened the door to a small downstairs powder room and looked inside. “Are you sure you don’t know where Sandy is?”

  “Stop that!” Elaine said. “Stop snooping in my house. I’m going to call the police.”

  “We have a legal right to search this house,” Diesel said. “Isn’t that right, Steph?”

  “Yep. We received that right when your brother signed his bond agreement.”

  “This whole thing is so silly,” Elaine said. “All over a couple power tools and some paint. And Sandy wouldn’t have had to steal anything if the store had been open. You can’t stop a whole production line just because you run out of Morning Glory paint. And everyone knows elves work at night. My goodness, Sandy has enough labor problems without having a whole crew sit out until the stores open at nine A.M.”

  “I thought they weren’t actually elves.”

  “Real elves, fake elves . . . what’s the difference? They all get time and a half after five o’clock.”

  Diesel leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. “When was the last time you talked to Sandy?”

  “He called me at lunchtime.” Elaine pressed her lips together.

  “Did you tell him I was looking for him?”

  “Yes.” Elaine glanced at me and then looked back at Diesel. “I’ve been trying to be discreet in front of Ms. Plum.”

  “Too late for that,” Diesel said. “I was dropped into her kitchen.”

  Elaine looked horrified. “How did that happen?”

  Diesel did a palms up and an I don’t know shrug. “It would have to be a team effort. I’m not easy to move.”

  Elaine wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m sorry, but Sandy doesn’t want to talk to you. He wants to be left alone.”

  “I’m curious,” Diesel said. “Why the name Sandy Claws?”

  Elaine took a tray of cookies from the oven and set them on top of the stove. “His birth name was Sandor Clausen. We thought it was appropriate that he return to his birth name now that he’s retired. Sandy Claws seemed like a natural derivative.”

  “Sandor Clausen,” Diesel said. “I didn’t read that far back in the file.”

  Hold on here. File? What the heck are they talking about? Okay, now I’m really confused. Clearly, Elaine and Diesel know each other. It sounds like they recognized each other from the very beginning, and Diesel kept that tidbit of information secret from me. This was presenting me with the opportunity to practice some anger management.

  “Sandor wants to make toys. He should be able to do what he wants
in retirement,” Elaine said.

  “No one cares if he makes toys in his retirement,” Diesel said. “I’m here because Ring followed him out.”

  The surprise was obvious. “Ring!”

  Diesel pushed off the counter, took a cookie, and turned to leave. “You have to persuade Sandor to cooperate with me,” he said to Elaine. “I’m trying to protect him.”

  Elaine nodded. “I didn’t know about Ring.”

  Ring? Am I understanding this correctly? There’s someone or something named Ring involved in this mess?

  I didn’t say a word until we were back in the Jag. I was trying to look casual, but I was fuming inside. I felt like demon Stephanie with glowing red eyeballs and snarling gargoyle mouth. Fortunately, the image was all internal. Or at least I hoped it was all internal. “What the hell was that all about?” I asked Diesel, making an effort to squelch the demon thing, going with steely eyes and tight lips, instead.

  Diesel turned in his seat and looked at me. Thinking. Making silent assessments.

  “Trying to decide what to tell me?” I asked, still sticking with the steely eyes.

  “Yeah.” He was Mr. Serious. Not smiling.

  I waited him out.

  “Some human beings have the ability to operate beyond what are considered to be normal limitations,” Diesel finally said. “Most of these people tend to have rogue personalities and work pretty much alone, playing by their own rules. Sandor was one of the best. Very powerful and very good. Unfortunately, he’s old, and he’s lost his power. So he’s retired. Usually retirees go into an assisted living complex in Lakewood. Sandor tried it and decided he wanted out.”

  “And Ring?”

  “Ring’s a bad guy. Old, like Sandor. The story I was told is that Ring and Sandor were best friends when they were kids. I guess they both knew they were different, and this was a secret they shared. As they got older the differences in their personalities drove a wedge between them. Ring was using his power to dominate people and to amuse himself. And Sandor was using his power mostly to clean up after Ring. When they reached full power in their early twenties, some of Ring’s peers got together and Ring was told to stop all superpower activity.

  “Ring refused to stop, of course. Ring loved causing chaos. And Ring was drunk on his own power. Unfortunately, Ring was so powerful and so clever, there were only a few people who could control him. And it was virtually impossible to contain him.

  “Sandor was one of the few who had matching power. Much of Sandor’s life was spent battling Ring, trying to eliminate him.”

  “Eliminate?”

  Diesel did a slash across the throat and a looking-dead face. “Anyway, Sandor never succeeded, but he did manage to cripple Ring from time to time, making Ring ineffective for years or months, sending Ring into hiding.”

  “And now Ring’s lost his power, too?”

  “Pretty much. He was in the locked ward at Lakewood. They have a special area for villains and Alzheimer’s. Somehow, he managed to get out. I guess he has power left that no one knew about.”

  So here I am having a conversation about what? Superheroes! And I’m having it with the guy who rolled his eyes because I suggested the possible reality of elves.

  “Where do you fit into this?” I asked.

  “I’m kind of like you. I track people down who’ve strayed from the system. And I go after bad guys.”

  FOUR

  Okay. I’m sitting in a car with a guy who thinks he’s part of a supersociety. And the weird thing is . . . I’m half believing him. Truth is, I kind of like the idea that there are some superheroes out there, trying to save us from ourselves. I’m not sure how I feel about Diesel being one of them.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said to Diesel. “You’re after Ring, right? You want to get him back to Lakewood. And in the meantime, you’re worried Sandor is in danger.”

  Diesel pulled away from the curb, cruised down the street, and turned at the corner. “When Ring was in his prime he worked with electricity.”

  “What, like with PSE&G?”

  That cracked Diesel up. “No. Like he was Electrical Man. He could make lightning. I don’t know how he did it. I always thought it was kind of show-off, but hell, he could do a lot of damage. I don’t know how dangerous he is now. I have a feeling he tried to destroy the toy store but only could get up enough juice to knock boxes off the shelves. And then I’m guessing he got pissed off and tore the sign off the front of the store. A few of the boxes in the store were singed, so it seemed like he was able to throw some electricity, but maybe not accurately and probably of short duration. Nothing to lose sleep over. The power outages are different. If he’s responsible for the power outages it means he’s gaining power somehow. And I don’t like the way the air feels around Sandor’s house.”

  “Do you think Sandor will get in touch with you?” I asked Deisel.

  “No. He’s always worked alone. I can’t see him asking for help now.”

  My phone buzzed in my handbag.

  “You were right about the horse,” Valerie said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s impossible to get a horse at this late date. It isn’t like they sell them in Sears. So I got Mary Alice a book about horses, and I got her a sleeping bag with horses on it. I have to get something for Mom now. Do you have any ideas?”

  “I thought you got Mom a robe.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t seem like enough. It’s only one box to open. What do you think about perfume? Or a blouse? And I can get a nightgown to go with the robe. And then some slippers.”

  “Maybe you’ve shopped enough for one day, Val. Maybe you’re sort of . . . carried away with shopping.”

  “I can’t stop now. I hardly have anything! And there are only three shopping days left.”

  “How much coffee have you had today, Val? You might want to think about cutting back on the coffee.”

  “Gotta go,” Valerie said. And she disconnected.

  “So, where were we?” I asked Diesel.

  “We were saving the world.”

  “Oh yeah.” Personally, I’d be happy just to collect my finder’s fee on Sandy Claws so I could make the minimum payment on my credit card.

  “Do you think Connie has the water and electric information on Claws yet?”

  I called Connie, but the information wasn’t helpful. No additional accounts for Sandy Claws. I had her try Sandor Clausen. Big zero there, too.

  Diesel stopped for a light, and I saw his eyes cut to the rearview mirror and the line of his mouth tighten. “I’m getting a real bad feeling.”

  Diesel made a U-turn and suddenly there was a flash of light in the sky in front of us. The light was followed by a low rumbling, and then there was another flash and smoke billowed over the rooftops.

  Diesel stared at the smoke. “Ring.”

  It took us less than a minute to return to Claws’ house. Diesel parked the Jag, and we joined the small group of people who’d collected in the street, eyes wide, mouths open in astonishment. Not often you see lightning at this time of the year. Not often you see the sort of carnage that resulted from the strike.

  The Claws house was perfectly intact, but the life-size plastic Santa that had been strapped to the next-door neighbor’s chimney had been blasted off the roof and lay in a smoking, melted red blob on the sidewalk. And the neighbor’s garage was on fire.

  “He melted Santa,” I said to Diesel. “This is serious stuff.”

  Diesel gave his head a disbelieving shake. “He hit the wrong house. All those years of inciting terror and this is what it comes down to—frying some molded plastic. And not even the right molded plastic.”

  “I saw the whole thing,” a woman said. “I was on the porch, checking my lights, and a ball of fire swooped out of the sky and hit the Patersons’ garage. And then a second ball came in and knocked the Santa Claus off the roof. I’ve never seen anything like it. Santa just flew off the roof!”

  “Did anyone else see the fireb
alls?” Diesel asked.

  “There was a man on the sidewalk, across the street from Sandy and Elaine’s house, but he’s gone now. He was an older gentleman, and he seemed pretty upset.”

  A police car arrived, lights flashing. A fire truck followed close behind and hoses were run to the garage.

  Elaine was on her porch. She had a heavy wool coat pulled around her dumpling body, and she had a belligerent set to her mouth.

  Diesel draped an arm across my shoulders. “Okay, partner, let’s talk to Elaine.”

  Elaine drew the jacket tighter when we got closer. “Crazy old fool,” she said. “Doesn’t know when to stop.”

  “Did you see him?” Diesel asked.

  “No. I heard the crackle of electricity, and I knew he was out there. By the time I got to the porch, he was gone. It’s just like him to attack at Christmas, too. The man is pure evil.”

  “It’s not a good idea for you to stay here,” Diesel said. “Do you have someplace else to go? Would you like me to find a safe house for you?”

  Elaine tipped her chin up a fraction of an inch. “I’m not leaving my home. I have cookies to make. And someone has to keep the bird feeders filled in the backyard. The birds count on it. I’ve been taking care of Sandor ever since my husband died, fifteen years ago, and I’ve never once had to resort to a safe house.”

  “Sandor was always able to protect you. Now that his power is failing you need to be more careful,” Diesel said.

  Elaine bit her lower lip. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have to get back to my baking.”

  Elaine retreated into her house, and Diesel and I were left on the porch. The garage fire was almost extinguished, and someone, who I suspected was Mrs. Paterson, was attempting to pry Santa off the sidewalk with a barbecue spatula.

  My phone chirped from my bag.

  “If that’s your sister again, I’m throwing your phone in the river,” Diesel said.