He’d better not. The body might be discovered soon. Murder was one thing, but a victim who was half-eaten would really agitate the masses—and he didn’t want that. Not yet.
Fine, so pizza it was. He’d have the all-meat one with extra cheese.
Qasim picked up the body, stuffed it in the janitor’s rolling bin, which was half filled with paper towels and wheeled it into a closet, which he closed with a convenient padlock. Out with the old, in with the new. There was a new broom sweeping out the mall. One everyone would soon know.
He dressed in his stolen suit, not hurrying, and even swaying slightly as he pulled on the red coat that only reached three-quarters of the way down his arms. The hallway slowly filled with an eerie humming that sounded a bit like someone playing “Santa Baby” on an out-of-tune violin.
The kittens watched all this closely and listened with pricked ears, but they didn’t leave their nest or make the slightest sound. Humans might not know that death walked among them, but the kitties did— oh, yes! And they were wise enough to fear him.
Chapter Two
“Doctor? There’s a new patient in four.” Nurse Larkin added softly, “A child, age five. It isn’t so bad.”
Dr. Nicholas Anthony sighed. “Fracture or extraction?”
“Extraction. It’s another light bulb.” The nurse grimaced and handed over the chart. She was new but had already learned that he had no patience for certain types of injuries.
“Where is it lodged? Ear canal?”
“No, nasal cavity. I haven’t heard the whole story, but it seems to involve an older brother and a dare.”
“It always does. What does the brother say?”
“That it isn’t his fault. He’s using the Darwin defense.”
“I see. Well, he may be right. Some people really are too stupid to live. This is a small twinkle light, isn’t it? Not a large outdoor one?”
“Of course, Doctor.” The nurse was shocked.
“There is no of course about it, Nurse Larkin. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
“Doctor? I’m sorry.”
Dr. Anthony’s eyes narrowed. I’m sorry was a clue. They only said that with a certain kind of injury.
“Yes?”
“We have a compound fracture coming up from X-ray. He’s being taken to six. I’m afraid he’s very verbal.”
“I see. Roof?”
“Yes,” she said reluctantly.
“Lights or Santa Claus?”
“Santa—they already removed the costume,” she added hastily.
“Santa. So there is alcohol involved?”
“Um, yes. Quite a lot. But he’s been sick several times, so much of it has been purged. The only lingering effect is that he won’t stop cursing.”
“Doctor, we have a child, Jeff Santos, in one.” The nurse’s face was a study in blankness.
“What’s wrong? Not a car accident?” That was his greatest dread, seeing the small bodies crushed and lacerated because forgetful parents hadn’t used child safety seats.
“Oh, no! Nothing as bad as that. He’s just swallowed a bell, and his mother is tired of listening to him jingle and wants us to, uh . . . make it stop. Apparently this has happened before.”
“I see. Perhaps I’d better have a word with Mrs. Santos about what constitutes an appropriate diet for a child.”
“Doctor, we have a slight problem in number seven. It’s a potential facial trauma.”
“Potential?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow. He didn’t usually see accidents before they happened. At least, not in the ER. People weren’t that farsighted about planning their emergencies.
“Well, Mr. Cleary was having trouble keeping his beard on at the Christmas party and asked one of the ‘elves’ to bring his facial adhesive. Only the child couldn’t find the makeup kit, so instead he brought some superglue. The tubes looked the same so . . .”
Dr. Anthony sighed.
“This is why people should always wear their glasses.”
“Mr. Cleary forgot those, too. He was running late. This is a very busy season for rent-a-Santas.”
“I see. And does Mr. Cleary have any real beard, or is he clean-shaven?”
“He has a beard.”
“Then he is a lucky man.”
“You know how to get superglue out of hair?” the nurse asked hopefully.
“No. But it shouldn’t be any worse than a waxing.”
“But that kind of hair removal is very painful,” the nurse pointed out.
“Not as painful as having your skin ripped off,” Nick replied.
“Doctor? Number eight is next. It’s a dog bite.”
Nick put down his fork. He hadn’t had a hot meal in two days. Still, it was better than being home, where he lost all track of time and only knew what day it was by counting the number of coffee cups accumulated in the kitchen sink.
“Nurse, you sound apologetic. What were they doing to the hapless canine to provoke such an attack?”
“They were dressing the dog up in their infant daughter’s Christmas dress.”
Nick exhaled slowly. “People never seem to learn that just because an animal is small and cute—”
“It wasn’t,” she interrupted. “I mean, it wasn’t small. Mr. Maxwell was trying to stuff his mastiff into his six-month-old daughter’s dress. He hadn’t been neutered and . . . well . . . the dress was very tight. I guess the dog took exception to the rough handling.”
“And it’s only one bite? How forbearing of the animal.”
“Yes—and not even a very bad one.”
“Mr. Maxwell got off lightly.”
“That’s what Mrs. Maxwell said before she dumped her coffee all over him. I’m afraid he has a nasty burn, too.”
“Nurse?”
“Yes, Dr. Anthony?” Her voice was reluctant, and she only barely stepped into the room. There were just two more hours on her shift and then her suffering would be at an end.
“What is that commotion?” Nicholas asked gently.
“Nothing to worry about. One of the patients just got tired of waiting.”
“What is he waiting for?”
“Crutches.”
“And why does he need crutches?” Nicholas asked patiently. “I don’t want to appear authoritative and hung up on procedure, but shouldn’t I at least have a look at him before treatment is prescribed? After all, many fractures are subtle, and leg pain can be indicative of other problems.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him—truly. He’s an amputee, and his prosthetic leg got stuck in a tree. He needs a loan of crutches until a new limb can be ordered from Skelton Orthopedics.”
“His leg got stuck in a tree. An accident that could happen to anyone, I’m sure.” Nicholas leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Except you are looking guilty, Nurse Larkin. ’Fess up. How did the amputee’s leg get stuck in a tree?”
“It was a sledding accident,” she admitted. “The sled overshot the road and ended up wedged in a stand of trees in the gully on the other side. The prosthetic leg was broken. The foot is still stuck in the tree.”
“And was the amputee dressed as Santa Claus?” Nick guessed.
“No, he wasn’t,” Nurse Larkin said crossly. “And he wasn’t drunk either. At least, not then. I’m afraid he’s had a nip or two while he was waiting.”
Nick raised a dark brow. “Out with it, Nurse. There may not be a Santa suit involved, but this is another Christmas accident, isn’t it?”
“After a fashion,” she admitted, though clearly it galled her to do so. She didn’t like this holiday bondage with Dr. Anthony. No one did. They drew lots to see who would have to take the last shift with the doctor. It was when he was at his crabbiest.
“And?” his gentle voice prompted.
“If you must know, Mr. Timmons was being a reindeer. He had antlers tied to a hat, but because it was so heavy the ties came loose and it fell down over his eyes. He hit the dip at the bottom of the slope and flew a
lot farther than he meant.”
Nick nodded with grim satisfaction.
“I knew it was another Christmas accident.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of being right, Ebenezer?” the nurse grumbled as she backed out of the room.
“You have no idea,” Nick answered softly. He wasn’t smiling.
“Doctor, you’re needed in seven. It’s a concussion.”
The nurse’s eyes slid away.
“And . . . ? ” Nick asked gently.
“And hypothermia.” She stared at the ceiling.
“And . . . ? ”
“And a bad case of gravel rash.”
“And . . . ? ”
“And he got it while being dragged by a giant balloon in a Christmas parade. It was a freak accident— it could have happened to anyone.” She huffed the last statement and left the room hurriedly.
“And it does, at least once a season,” Nick muttered. “And people say there are no such things as jinxes. They should just admit the fact that the parade is cursed.”
“Doctor? We have a man in nine who’s going to need stitching. We’ve already irrigated the wounds and gotten out the glass and glitter.”
“Glass and glitter?”
“He was rough-housing with his son and accidentally fell on a snow globe he had in his pocket.”
“In his pocket? I see. Not the most prudent place for a breakable object, but at least it wasn’t deliberate.”
“Deliberate? You mean you treated someone who sat on a snow globe on purpose?” The nurse was appalled.
“Not a snow globe, actually. An ornament. It was at a party, and they had run out of balloons to pop.”
“Doctor, I just can’t imagine that.”
“No? But then, in spite of your silly Christmas uniform, you are really quite rational.”
“Dr. Anthony? We have a kidney bruise. Mr. Mc-Queen here got kicked, and a nasty hematoma is forming,” the nurse whispered. Her eyes were sympathetic, as a good nurse’s should be.
“Kicked?” Nicholas Anthony sounded less compassionate, but he carefully lifted the patient’s red-and-white-striped shirt and looked at the ugly mark on Danny McQueen’s back. In spite of the bruising, the hoofmark was very clear. “You certainly did get kicked. A reindeer was it, Mr. McQueen? A buck?”
“Yeah,” the man admitted, trying not to wince.
“You were at the Central Park Christmas display, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Mr. McQueen sounded surprised. “How did you know that?”
“Because every year someone gets the bright idea of trying to ride the live reindeer in Santa’s stable.” Nicholas lowered the shirt gently. “And every year someone gets kicked. Be glad you weren’t gored as well. I’m going to send you down for X-rays now. The nurse will help you ride the wheelchair. And don’t worry; unlike reindeer, she rarely kicks anyone.”
“Doctor? I’m sorry to wake you again.” It was a different nurse. The last one had apparently delivered enough bad news and had sent in a less senior replacement. “I know it’s only been fifteen minutes, but we have a burn victim with smoke inhalation, and another fracture. They’re in two and three.”
“Burn victim?” he asked groggily, and then with more interest: “Burns in December? How bad? Not a flaming Christmas tree?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” The nurse paused, taking a deep breath.
Nicholas Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me that it isn’t a child who was playing with candles? Or another Christmas-light electrocution?”
“No—not a child. It’s the father. And his brother. And it wasn’t the tree or the lights this time.”
“I see.” Nicholas sat up. He didn’t curse at anyone, not even silently, but he wasn’t happy. He’d known about the forty-eight-hour days when he’d taken the job. Usually he didn’t mind. It was just this time of year. . . . “Give it to me straight: What were the fools doing?”
“Well, they’d had a little too much eggnog—”
“Don’t blame the eggnog, Nurse Gwynn. My grandmother, while she lived, made eggnog every year at Christmas, which we drank. I assure you, no one broke or burned anything because of it.” That might have been because no one could swallow much of the vile brew, but Nicholas didn’t add that; it was disloyal to her memory to bring up her Christmas culinary disasters. Even all these years later, the family was careful not to mention the Christmas cookies that had broken Uncle Albert’s back molar, or the cranberry relish made with those bitter, uncooked cranberries. Or the year that everyone contracted salmonella from an under-cooked turkey.
Nicholas took the chart from the nurse.
“Well, the eggnog was only part of it,” she explained. “The two men placed a wager that the skinnier one couldn’t fit down the chimney. . . . They apparently forgot that there was a fire in the fireplace. Fortunately, Mr. Anderson didn’t get very far. And he was wearing heavy boots, so it isn’t as bad as it might be.”
“The burns are explained. And the fracture?”
“Well, naturally his brother hurried to call the fire department as soon as Mr. Anderson got stuck, but he had his hands full with the video camera, and there was a large sleigh near the ladder.”
“And he and the sleigh fell off the roof. Probably the sleigh landed on him and that’s what broke the leg. I hope he at least gets on one of those home video shows.” Nicholas headed for the door. “How bad is the burn? Should we arrange a transfer to a burn unit?”
“No, it’s not that bad, but the fracture . . .”
“Get the operating room ready.”
“It’s all prepared, and I’ve placed a call to Dr. Roberts.” The nurse hurried after him. “He’ll be here in ten minutes. Um . . . Doctor, there is one other thing. You asked me to remind you about Christmas shopping.”
“You already have. Several times, in fact.” Actually, he hadn’t said anything except to ask the staff not to mention Christmas shopping in his presence until the Thanksgiving leftovers were gone; it seemed indecent to even consider Christmas before December. But that time was past, and he couldn’t expect those who had made caretaking a profession to ignore what they saw as his weakness, so Nick added politely: “Thank you.”
“Yes, but, Doctor, it’s after twelve now—that means it’s Christmas Eve. You actually have to do your shopping today. There’s no putting it off any longer.”
“Christmas Eve?” Suddenly Dr. Anthony looked more cheerful, and Nurse Gwynn noticed how attractive he was. “Why, so it is.”
“You’re happy about going to see your family?” the nurse asked naively as she handed him the patient’s chart.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dr. Anthony pushed through the curtain around the bed in room three. “Christmas Eve means that we only have one more week of this stupid holiday madness. Eight days from now we can go back to normal, reasonable emergencies, like car accidents and gunshot wounds.”
Nicholas didn’t see, but the nurse wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out her tongue. The patient in the bed was in less pain now that the drugs were kicking in and managed a small laugh at her act of rebellion.
“I’m glad to see you are in high spirits, Mr. Anderson,” Nick said gently as he examined the compound fracture. A bone was protruding from the skin in two places. “We’re going to get you fixed up. It won’t be too bad. As my grandmother always said, you’ll be as good as new in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“Son,” Mr. Anderson answered, looking down at his leg, “I don’t mean to be impolite, but your grandma must have either been nuts or a damned liar.”
“I’ll check on Dr. Roberts’s ETA,” the nurse said, backing out of the room.
Chapter Three
There was something wrong with the mall’s Santa Claus; Jeff was sure of it. He’d been watching— actually, spying—on him for a long time, and he was pretty certain that Santa was a vampire. Vamps weren’t supposed to be out during the day, and Jeff hadn’t actually seen Santa put the bite on anyone, bu
t there was something really weird about the guy, something that made him nervous and more than a little afraid.
Jeff rested his borrowed binoculars on the rim of the tub that held the bushy plant he was hiding behind; they were good ones and they were getting awfully heavy. His knees hurt from squatting, too, but he was too fascinated to leave. Nothing like this had ever happened to him when he’d lived in Long Beach.
Of course, everyone knew that the real Santa was busy at the North Pole and had to send elf helpers to the malls. Jeff supposed that elves could be a little strange sometimes, but this elf Santa had a really weird mouth; he could see it plainly up there. It was too big, and it seemed like there was way too much tongue inside—and the tongue was kind of green on the top and kind of black on the bottom. Also, the skin under the too-small beard was awfully pale and shiny. It looked like egg whites that hadn’t been cooked enough—just how vamp skin would look, because they could never go out in the sun. And sometimes the contact in Santa’s left eye would slip and Jeff would get a glimpse of what looked like a yellow eye underneath. People, even elf people, didn’t have yellow eyes. Just cats and maybe lizards. And vampires. Or maybe vampires’ eyes were red. That detail eluded him.
But what was weirdest of all was that nobody else seemed to notice anything wrong with the elf Santa. That’s what had clinched the deal for Jeff: Yellow eyes or red, only a vampire could put the whammy on a whole crowd of people and make them go blind and stupid.
Jeff pulled back again and looked at the watch on his wrist, which had been a birthday gift from his grandpa. His mom said he was too young to have a watch, but he had sort of learned how to use it. He had a little while yet before he had to leave. He didn’t have to be back at the arcade until the little hand was on the four and the big hand was on the twelve, but he did need to be back by then and playing video games, otherwise Ee-Em, his mom’s new boyfriend, would be mad. He would probably be mad anyway, since Jeff had taken the binoculars without asking. They were his real dad’s binoculars, but Ee-Em thought everything in the house belonged to him now.
The Master Page 4
