Percy’s gaze followed the antsy kids at the back of the line to the exhausted ones in the front, where a raised platform ran the entire width of the store. More like a movie set, it was someone’s idea of what the North Pole might look like in a six-year olds’ wildest dreams. It was so overwhelming, you had to focus in on one thing. Percy started at the top and worked her way down.
Fluffy clouds of white cotton hovered overhead in a painted blue sky. On the roof of an actual size Hansel and Gretel style cottage stood several full-scale reindeer. Harnessed to Santa’s sleigh, they seemed ready to make a quick getaway at any moment.
I know that’s what I’d be planning if I was one of them.
The cottage itself was covered with mammoth pieces of fake but colorful hard candy. A life-size Mrs. Santa Clause marionette stood in the doorway, one hand waving in staccato movements, a clownish smile slathered across her face. No fewer than a dozen four- and five-foot tall snowmen, topped with black satin hats and wearing green or red neck scarves, waved back to Mrs. Clause, apparently seeing her through black coal eyes. From a corner, a one dimensional, silver-foil Star of Bethlehem beamed down at the end of a stiff wire, giving a modicum of religion to the scene.
In the center of this mess sat Santa’s gold-painted throne, complete with red cushions for his little round butt to rest upon, should he be sitting there. But he wasn’t. Obviously on a break, a sign in front of the stairs leading to this delightful little scene read, “Back in 15 minutes. I had to go feed my reindeer!”
One small lone elf, looking red-faced, sweaty and tired, tried to control a lynch-mob mentality rising among the waiting throng. This man was a midget instead of a dwarf, his body small but in perfect proportion, but he wore the same getup as Connie Barnes had.
Trying to placate one nearby set of parents was a short, stout woman dressed as an angel, wearing a dingy white gown trimmed in silver. Battered silver wings rested on her shoulders and her head was topped off with a crooked, silver halo. She waved a wand in a menacing manner to an irate parent. As sweaty and red-faced as the elf, her halo bobbed precariously to one side, as she shook her head ‘no.’
Percy pushed her way through the raucous crowd and placed herself in front of the harried woman. “Hey, Angel,” Percy said in a loud voice, demanding her attention. “Where’s the boss?”
“If you mean Santa, he’s in the john.” The angel’s reply came with a snarl. “If you mean the owner of this place, Harry’s in his office in the back.” She gestured behind her with a poke of the wand. “Sure, why should he be out here paying attention to what’s happening?” She grumbled. “Leave it to us!”
“You got that right.” The elf, whose fake pointy right ear was coming unglued, nodded. His bitterness was almost palpable. “Two people down and he stays in his office.”
“Thanks.” Percy picked her way through the horde of kids and heading in the direction of the wand tip. She turned to the elf. “Better fix your ear, Elfie. Wouldn’t want to disillusion the kids.”
The little man shot her a big dirty look and went back to policing the crowd. Percy jaunted around the raised platform and found a door in back. She knocked loudly and entered, just as a paunchy man in his mid-fifties said, “Come in.”
“You Harry?” Percy stood in the doorway. A small, brown dog roused from his basket, stood, gave a sharp yip, and a quick wag of his tail.
“Quiet, boy,” Harry muttered to the dog. The short-legged dog turned around three times, lay down, and resumed his nap. The man swiveled in his desk chair to face Percy, pulled a cigar butt from between his lips, and sneezed.
“Yeah, that’s me. Who wants to know?” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and blew his nose. “Damned cold.”
“Gesundheit.” Percy stepped inside, closing the door behind her before she answered. “My name is Persephone Cole and I’m investigating the murder of one of your employees, Conrad Barnes.”
“Oh, Jesus, that! What a time to kill somebody, during my busy season.” The man, first annoyed, was now puzzled. “They got gal cops now?”
“I’m not with the New York City Police. I’m a private detective and I want to ask you some questions.”
“A private dick, huh?” His leering eyes seemed to appraise her as they went from her black booted feet to the top of her red hair. “A female private dick.” He let out a chuckle, eyes resting on her bosom.
“Eyes on my face, Harry.” He reluctantly complied. “I’m working for the Waller family. You know, Lily Waller, one of your other elves.”
“That stupid girl had to go and shoot him, right in the--”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Right in the middle of your busy season,” she interrupted. “What do you know about Connie Barnes?”
“Why should I tell you anything?” He stuck the cigar butt in his mouth and swiveled back to face a desk laden with papers and small Christmas objects. The dog let out a snort, but slept on.
Percy strode over, grabbed his chair by the armrests, and swung it around to face her. His eyes were even with her breasts, which he leered at again. She grabbed his chin and pushed it up to her face.
“Pay attention to what I’m going to say, Harry. This could save you a lot of trouble. Here’s the deal. I happen to have a few cop friends at the precinct, who owe me favors. Now I can see you don’t have quite enough exits for as many kids waiting to see Santa, should there be a fire.” These sorts of lies came easily to her. “I would hate for you to get closed down, especially in the middle of your busy season.”
“The cops were here earlier,” he sputtered. “They didn’t say anything.”
“They don’t count as good as me. But I know the law and you’re an exit short, should I bring it to their attention.”
“All right, all right, save the strong arm tactics. I got his file somewhere in that drawer.” He pointed to a dinged wooden file cabinet.
Percy made a move to where he indicated.
“It’s private, you know,” he added, with more pomp than truth. “You can’t go rifling around in there.”
“Then you do it for me, Harry.” Percy laced her reply with mock sweetness. “Get me the Barnes file. I’ll give it a once over and be on my way.”
He let out a deep sigh then rose. The dog didn’t stir. Percy took a step back and let the balding man pass in front of her on his way to the corner cabinet. Pulling the drawer open with annoyance, Harry moved practiced fingers through files until he came to the one he wanted.
“Give me Lily’s while you’re in there,” Percy ordered.
Harry thought for a moment, shrugged, and pilfered through the drawer for the file. He drew it out, started to hand both over to her outstretched fingers then pulled back, clasping the files to his chest.
His face broke into a broad grin, as he waggled his eyebrows. “What are you doing later tonight? I think you and I could make beautiful music together.”
“I’m tone deaf, Harry. Hand the files over.” She stretched out her hand again. “Besides, what would Mrs. Harry say?”
Harry looked surprised. “How did you know I had a wife?”
“There’s always a Mrs. Harry, Harry. And if you don’t want people to know you’ve got a family, lose the picture on your desk. Now give.” She gestured to the files and snapped her fingers.
He handed them over, went back to his desk, and turned the picture of his wife, teenage son, and himself - back in the days when he had a full head of hair -- on its face. Then he reached down and stroked the sleeping dog while Percy opened Lily’s file.
Surprised to see it only contained two pieces of paper, an application for the job and a W2 form, Percy moved to a corner of the room for more privacy. Still standing, she silently read the application. Not much information Percy didn’t know, other than Lily listing the Sands Point librarian, Miss Ethel Hornblatt, as one of her two references.
This might explain the suitcase full of books I humped up the stairs. So she’s a reader and a cook. There might be m
ore to this kid than I thought.
Percy glanced at the name of the other reference, a society blueblood, Cynthia Van Patterson. Percy read about Van Patterson’s ‘youthful exuberance’ from time to time, mostly for getting herself arrested. The last time her escapades appeared in the papers, she’d beaned the head waiter of Twenty-One with her umbrella, sent him to the hospital, and paid the man the healthy sum of ten thousand dollars to avoid him pressing charges.
So much for there being more to the kid than I thought.
Percy closed the girl’s file with disgust, half at herself for making Lily guilty by association, half at a class of people who could pay for their sins with greenbacks. She flipped it open again, and read the girl’s W2 form. Lily had never been employed and listed herself as a dependent of her father.
Percy moved on to Conrad’s file. It, too, only contained two pieces of paper, with not much written on either. Obviously, Harry wasn’t that concerned about the kind of person who filled his seasonal jobs. Or maybe he was that way about all his employees.
Come to think of it, most employers wouldn’t hire those two bozos out front, with or without their costumes.
She read the W2 form and was shocked.
Four dependents? So this Romeo was married. Margaret Barnes, wife. Well, she’s a widow now. Living in Manhattan with two kids. I wonder if Lily knows he was married?
Percy read on.
Interesting. He was at Barnes Manufacturing for twelve years before here. Wait a minute. The same name as his? Hmmm.
She turned to the application, which was blank except for his home address.
He lived at the Dakota? That fancy schmancy place over on the west side? You got to buy there, they don’t rent. Holy Cow, maybe this guy had money, too, just like our Lily. Well, why not? You can be short and rich; no law says you can’t.
She looked up and studied Harry’s broad back as he bent over a stack of papers. Either he was deliberately ignoring her or lost in his work. Her face took on a scowl.
What the hell was Connie doing working as an elf here? Maybe the same thing as Lily, a lark. Crap, if I had money, my lark would be to winter in Florida, not work for a scumbag like Harry.
Percy took out a notepad from her pants pocket, made some notes then threw the files on the desk in front of Harry, who jerked his head up.
“You done? Not much to read,” he said.
“Done. Thanks.” The dog opened its eyes at the sound of her voice but didn’t move. “One more thing, you got lockers somewhere for the employees to stash their stuff?”
“You kidding? They get dressed in the bathrooms. That’s good enough.”
“So there’s nothing left around here of either Barnes or Waller?”
“Naw,” he said, shaking his head. “The cops asked the same thing. I don’t like anybody leaving anything. I’m just here for two months, anyway, from Halloween on. This isn’t my regular place. I won’t be here next year. They’re tearing this building down.”
“Where would that be, your regular place?”
“Thirty-fourth and ninth. All those toys out there? I manufacture most of them. This is my big season. So listen, Percival --” he said, turning to her with a toothy smile.
“It’s Persephone,” she interrupted. “But you can call me Miss Cole. What’s the name of your manufacturing company?”
“Barnes and Weinblatt Toys. I’m Weinblatt.”
“Barnes. Same name as your dead elf.”
“Yeah, his father was my partner way back when.”
“When what?”
“When he was alive.”
“That would be the father, not the son.” Harry stared at her. “Just keeping things clear, Harry. You’re talking about the senior Barnes being dead.”
“Well,” Harry answered with a smile. “They’re both dead now.”
“True enough.” Her returning smile was genuine. “But I like clarification, so continue to clarify.”
“Before my partner died, he got out of the toy business and into real estate. Made a bundle. I kept his name; too cheap to redo the signs, I guess. Connie liked to come here since he was a kid and dress up for Christmas.”
“You don’t sound too broken up about someone you knew since he was a kid.”
He shrugged and blew his nose again. “He was strange, even then. I guess being three feet tall does something to a person. You sure you don’t want to go out for a beer later tonight? You’re just my kind of gal.”
“No, I’m not.” She headed for the door. “But thanks, Harry. Give my best to your wife and Merry Christmas.”
“I don’t do Christmas. I’ve got a bad cold, I’m two elves down, and it’s still a week to go,” he griped. “I had to promise two days off with pay to that Gertrude bitch to wear an angel costume I found in the basement and then she goes and gets it dirty. She’s my bookkeeper.”
“Why not an elf? She’s short enough.”
“No costume. And those bastards took theirs with them last night. I’m going to deduct the cost from their last paychecks. You see if I don’t.”
“I never doubted it for a minute, Harry,” she said, closing the door behind her.
Chapter Eight
Percy beat her way through the sweaty crowd and exited into a gray sky that was fighting to turn blue. Gloomy clouds still predominated but here and there a patch of sunshine peeked through with a little promise. The weather was a tad warmer, too, hovering somewhere in the mid-forties. But the sun was about to go down in about another 30-minutes.
So enjoy the weather while you can.
A pasty-looking, rotund elderly man, not too steady on his feet, exited the watch repair shop and headed for the curb. He was followed by a small animal.
Jeesh, is that a dog? Looks like an overweight rat.
She watched the dog run over to a parking meter and lift his leg. She turned to the man. “Hi there, Mister. What kind of dog is that?”
The man looked down with fatherly pride at the small brown dog with the lifted leg pouring a steady stream of urine on the base of the meter. He turned back to Percy with a certain amount of disdain. “Haven’t you seen one of these before?” Percy shook her head. “It’s a Chihuahua. They’re from Mexico. You’ve heard of Xavier Cougat?”
“Sure. Spanish orchestra leader. Isn’t he over at the Waldorf?” She could tell this knowledge raised her up a notch or two in the elderly man opinion.
“That he is, young lady. One of the most talented musicians in the world.” He made that statement with pride, too. “This is one of his dogs. Not actually his, but one of the dogs bred by the same dog he bought. Or one of them.”
I don’t know what the hell you just said, Mister, but let’s move on from the four-footed.
“This your store?” She pointed to the watch shop.
“That it is. Thirty-two years I’ve been here repairing watches and clocks. Have to leave by the end of January. Thirty-two years.”
“That’s too bad. Where are you going to go?”
Before the man could answer, another man several years younger exited the shoe store and walked over with a big smile on his face. He was bundled up as if it were fifteen degrees outside. He looked down at the dog.
“Cougat, boy! Come here, Cougat.” The man slapped open palms on his thighs in an effort to get the dog to go to him. Finished with his business, Cougat the dog ran over with a wagging tail and lay down belly up at the man’s feet.
That’s a pretty obscene position.
“Cougat’s certainly a cute little dog,” she said to both the men, having no more problem with this lie than the one she gave to Harry about the exits.
The bundled-up man reached down and stroked the dog’s exposed, tubby belly. “I like to think I am a second father to Cougat,” he said, speaking in a heavy accent, possibly German.
“That you are, Mr. Zimmer, that you are,” said the dog owner.
“Thank you, Mr. Pierce,” said the other man, straightening up. “Have you se
en Earnest today? He promised he would clear out the alley. I still cannot get out the back door.”
Mr. Pierce shook his head with a clucking sound. “Ah, these workers. It is not the same as in my day.” Both men shared a common look of disapproval then turned to Percy. She smiled and raised her eyebrows and shrugged in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture.
Satisfied, Mr. Pierce turned back to the cobbler. “If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him, my friend.”
“So, Mr. Zimmer, is that your shoe repair? I’m Persephone Cole and I’m investigating the death of Conrad Barnes.” She offered her hand to each of the men and they shook it in an automatic but absent-minded manner.
“That was so unexpected.” Mr. Zimmer was the first to put his feelings into words. He picked up the dog and cuddled it to his bosom.
“It was indeed, Mr. Zimmer, it was indeed.” Mr. Pierce retrieved his dog from the other and began his own cuddling routine while he spoke. “On top of closing down our businesses, now there’s a murder! Not a very Merry Christmas.”
“Holidays are not always happy.” Mr. Zimmer’s mood was dark and ominous. “Look at what is going on in Europe.” All his ‘w’s were pronounced as a ‘v’ and he had heavy rolling r’s.
“You’re from Germany, Mr. Zimmer?” Persephone asked the man that looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
“Poland. You investigate this murder of the man who was the elf? Is that not what the police are for?”
“I’m a private detective. I’ve been hired by the family.” Each man seemed to accept this explanation. “Did either of you know Mr. Barnes? Or a young lady who also worked at Santa Land, Lily Waller?”
They looked at one another as if for reaffirmation then shook their heads in unison.
“I know nothing, Miss Cole,” said Mr. Zimmer. “But it is cold out here and I must get back to my work. Before I close shop there are many shoes to repair.” He turned to leave but was stopped by Percy’s voice.
Persephone Cole and the Christmas Killings Conundrum Page 6
