Visions of Sugar Plums Read online

  "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 Sander's house."

  "Do you think Sandor will get in touch with you?" I asked Diesel.

  "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."<
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  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 fireballs?" 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.

  I pulled the phone out of my bag and pressed the off button. I knew it was my sister. And there was an outside chance Diesel was serious about throwing the phone in the river.

  "Now what?" I asked Diesel.

  "Lester knows where the factory is."

  "Forget it. I'm not going back to the employment office."

  Diesel smiled down at me. "What's the matter? Is the big bad bounty hunter afraid of the little people?"

  "Those fake elves were crazy. And they were mean!"

  Diesel ruffled my hair. "Don't worry. I won't let them be mean to you."

  Swell.

  * * *

  Diesel parked half a block from the employment office and we sat wordlessly staring at the emergency vehicles in front of us. A fire truck, an EMT truck, and four police cars. The windows and the front door to the office were shattered, and a charred chair had been dragged out to the sidewalk.

  We left the car and walked over to a couple cops I recognized. Carl Costanza and Big Dog. They were standing back on their heels, hands resting on their utility belts, surveying the damage with the sort of enthusiasm usually reserved for watching grass grow.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "Fire. Riot. The usual. It's pretty ugly in there," Carl said.

  "Bodies?"

  "Cookies. Smashed cookies all over the place."

  Big Dog had an elf ear in his hand. He held it up and looked at it. "And these things."

  "It's an elf ear," I said.

  "Yeah. These ears are all that's left of the little buggers."

  "Did they burn?" I asked.

  "No. They ran," Carl said. "Who would have thought the little guys could run that fast? Couldn't catch a single one of them. We arrived on the scene, and they took off like roaches when the light goes on."

  "How did the fire get started?"

  Carl shrugged and looked up at Diesel. "Who's he?"

  "Diesel."

  "Does Joe know about him?"

  "Diesel is from out of town." Way out. "We're working a skip together."

  There wasn't anything more to be learned from the employment office, so we left Carl and Big Dog and returned to the car. The sun was shining some place other than Trenton. Streetlights were on. And the temperature had dropped by ten degrees. My feet were wet from slogging through two fire scenes and my nose was numb, frozen like a popsicle.

  "Take me home," I said to Diesel. "I'm done."

  "What? No shopping? No Christmas cheer? Are you going to let your sister beat you out in the present race?"

  "I'll shop tomorrow. I swear I will."

  * * *

  Diesel parked the Jag in my apartment building parking lot and got out of the car.

  "It's not necessary to see me to the door," I said. "I imagine you want to get back to the Ring search."

  "Nope. I'm done for the day. I thought we'd have something to eat and then chill in front of the TV."

  I was momentarily speechless. That wasn't the evening I had planned out in my mind. I was going to stand in a scalding hot shower until I was all wrinkly. Then I was going to make myself a peanut butter and marshmallow Fluff sandwich. I like peanut butter and Fluff because it combines the main course with the dessert and it doesn't involve pots. Maybe I'd watch some television after dinner. And if I was lucky I'd be watching it with Morelli.

  "That sounds great," I said, "but I have plans for tonight. Maybe some other time."

  "What are your plans?"

  "I'm seeing Morelli."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes," No. I wasn't sure. I figured the possibility was about fifty percent. "And I wanted to take a shower."

  "Hey, you can take a shower while I make dinner."

  "You can cook?"

  "No," he said. "I can dial."

  "Okay, so here's the thing, I don't feel entirely comfortable with you in my apartment."

  "I thought you were getting used to the Super Diesel thing."

  Old Mr. Feinstein shuffled past us on his way to his car. "Hey, chicky," he said to me. "How's it going? You need any help here? This guy looks shifty."

  "I'm fine," I told Mr. Feinstein. "Thanks for the offer, though."

  "See that," I said to Diesel. "You look shifty."

  "I'm a pussycat," Diesel said. "I haven't even come on to you. Okay, maybe a little teasing, but nothing serious. I haven't grabbed you... like this." He wrapped his fingers around my jacket lapels and pulled me to him. "And I haven't kissed you... like this." And he kissed me.

  My toes curled in my shoes. And heat slashed through my stomach and headed south.

  Damn.

  He broke from the kiss and smiled down at me. "It isn't as if I've done anything like that, right?"

  I gave him a two-handed shot to the chest, but he didn't budge, so I took a step back. "There will be no kissing, no fooling around, no anything."

  Sure.

  I did an I give up gesture, turned, and went into the building. Diesel followed after me, and we waited in silence for the elevator. The doors opened, and Mrs. Bestler smiled out at me. Mrs. Bestler is just about the oldest person I've ever seen. She lives alone on the third floor, and she likes to play elevator operator when she gets bored.

  "Going up," she called out.

  "Second floor," I said.

  The elevator doors closed, and Mrs. Bestler chanted, "Ladies' handbags, Santa's workshop, better dresses." She looked at me and shook her finger. "Only three shopping days left."

  "I know. I know!" I said. "I'll go shopping tomorrow. I swear, I will."

  Diesel and I stepped out of the elevator, an
d Mrs. Bestler sang, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas" as we walked down the hall.

  "I'm laying odds she's eighty proof," Diesel said, opening my door.

  My apartment was dark, lit only by the blue digital clock on my microwave and the single, red, blinking diode on my answering machine.

  Rex ran on his wheel in the kitchen. The soft whir of his wheel reassured me that Rex was safe and probably there weren't any bridge trolls hiding in my closet tonight. I flipped the light, and Rex immediately stopped running and blinked out at me. I dropped a couple Fruit Loops into his cage from the box on the counter, and Rex was a happy camper.

  I hit the play button on the answering machine and unbuttoned my jacket.

  First message. "It's Joe. Give me a call."

  Next message. "Stephanie? It's your mother. You don't have your cell phone on. Is something wrong? Where are you?"

  Third message. "It's Joe again. I'm stuck on this job, and I won't make it over tonight. And don't call me. I can't always talk. I'll call back when I can."

  Fourth message. "Christ," Morelli said.

  "Guess it's just you and me," Diesel said, grinning. "Good thing I'm here. You'd be lonely."

  And the terrible part was that he was right. I had one foot on the slippery slope of Christmas depression. Christmas was sliding away from me. Five days, four days, three days... and before my eyes, Christmas would come and go without me. And I'd have to wait an entire year to take another crack at a ribbons and bows, candy canes, and eggnog Christmas.

  "Christmas isn't ribbons and bows and presents," I said to Diesel. "Christmas is about good will, right?"

  "Wrong. Christmas is about presents. And Christmas trees. And office parties. Boy, you don't know much, do you?"

  "Do you really believe that?"

  "Aside from all the religious blah, blah, blah, which we won't get into... I think Christmas is whatever turns you on. That's what I really believe. Everyone decides what they want out of Christmas. Then everyone gets a shot at making it happen."

  "Suppose every year you blow it? Suppose every year you screw up Christmas?"