St. Nick

by Alan Russell

  As a boy not much older than Raymond, Nick and his friends used to go to the train tracks and lay down pennies. And now and again, Nick had reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a nickel. The trains flattened pennies, but not nickels. The nickels usually got picked up by the wheels, and rode the rails. It was Nick’s youthful offering, his young way of traveling out into the world. He wished he could put down a nickel on the track for Raymond.

  The boy was asleep now, taken into his dreams by the trains. Nick was reminded of Roger Miller’s Christmas song “Old Toy Trains,” but Easy appeared while he was still trying to remember the words.

  “I’ll take him from here,” she whispered.

  Number ninety-two was wheeled away. Nick wished he could get the standing ovation he deserved.

  Episode Six

  Chapter 30

  I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

  December 21

  It had been twelve days since Nick’s last visit to the library, but he’d called Dawn Lambert several times in the interim. As promised, Dawn had sent out copies of Laura’s letter to all the libraries in the area, and had asked the other librarians to be on the lookout for potential matches. She also included copies of Nick’s contact information in case anyone knew anything about Laura.

  Dawn had told Nick that she was working on another plan to find Laura, but had been tightlipped about the particulars. The day before, though, she had invited him to visit the library for what she termed “the unveiling.”

  Nick arrived before the library officially opened, and Dawn unlocked the doors to let him in. She led him over to a covered easel in the central lobby. Apparently she was going to keep her plan under wraps until the last possible moment. It was clear the librarian enjoyed challenges, and, in this case, the accompanying intrigue that went along with it.

  “As you might imagine, I read Laura’s note a number of times,” Dawn said, “and I ended up devising a strategy based on her favorite reading. Because she specifically identified the Magic Trunk Tales and the Four Seasons Quartet as treasured reads, I decided to take all those books out of circulation. As it turns out, there are eight different Magic Trunk Tales, and four books in the Four Seasons fantasies.”

  Nick did the math. “So you took twelve books out of circulation,” he said.

  Dawn shook her head. “I actually took every book in the City and County of San Diego out of circulation, which is well over two hundred books. For the last ten days no one has been able to check out any of those books, and anyone wanting a copy could only get one by putting their name on the waiting list. I had hoped that would bring Laura or her mother face to face with a librarian, and allow a better opportunity for your note to be passed on.”

  “Good thinking,” said Nick.

  “I thought so too,” said Dawn with a smile, “but then after a few days I began to doubt my strategy. If Laura is as good of a reader as I suspect, and if she likes these books as much as she says, then it’s likely she’s read them all several times.”

  Nick chewed on his lip and nodded. Yet another good idea had been shot down.

  “But,” added Dawn, “as it turns out, we might be lucky after all. There is a new book in the Magic Trunk series that’s due out next month.”

  Dawn reached over and ran her hand along the white cloth covering the easel. “I am hoping that this is the cheese that will bring in our elusive mouse.”

  She pulled off the covering, and Nick found himself looking at a display that featured the front cover of a book titled Stowaway Bag.

  “Beginning today,” Dawn said, “these posters will be on display in every library within a twelve-mile radius.”

  Nick read the block writing beneath the blown-up poster: “Reserve Your Copy Today!”

  “Let me guess,” Nick said, “in order to reserve this book you’ll have to put your name on a waiting list.”

  Dawn smiled and nodded. “And whoever signs up will get a copy of the note Laura left Santa, as well as your personal information.”

  Nick was nodding happily. “I think you should have been a cop instead of a librarian.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Dawn said, “but I must admit that playing detective has given me quite a thrill. I think one of the great pleasures in life is curling up to a good mystery.”

  “Especially one with a happy ending,” said Nick.

  Chapter 31

  The Mistletoe Bough

  December 22

  Nick had promised to spend the afternoon with Raymond watching the football game. The boy was suddenly a huge Sea Lions fan. He arrived at the hospital just before kickoff.

  “You should have seen it, Nick,” said Raymond. “They just did a story on the Santa Diego Sea Lions on television, and they showed you on TV promising Danny Brown a victory.”

  “I’m glad I missed that,” said Nick.

  “And then they showed the Sea Lions helping out with the toy drive and everything.”

  For the previous four nights Nick had been relieved of toy run duty by the Santa Diego Sea Lions. Involving the football players had kept the toy drive in the news, and had kept the presents coming. There had been such an outpouring of presents that Nick was scheduled to continue deliveries through Christmas Eve.

  “That’s why I have to leave right after the game,” said Nick. “With the Sea Lions out of town someone’s got to deliver those presents.”

  “The Oakland fans are dressed up like goblins and worse,” said Raymond, “but we don’t have to worry: the Sea Lions are going to win.”

  “The Sea Lions PR department actually called me up and wanted to fly me to Oakland to see the game,” said Nick. “They wanted me to stand on the sidelines in my Santa suit rooting for the Sea Lions.”

  “Why didn’t you go?”

  “I told them I was going to be watching the game with my buddy.”

  The answer pleased Raymond. “The Sea Lions are going to the Super Bowl.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “If they offer you a ticket to the Super Bowl,” said a very serious Raymond, “you should take it.”

  “All right,” laughed Nick. “I will.”

  The camera swept the stands. Most of the Oakland faithful were dressed in black and silver, but the camera focused on a small island of red and white. Around two hundred and fifty Sea Lions fans had traveled north; all were wearing Santa caps.

  The announcer said, “The Sea Lions believe in Santa Claus, but Oakland says all they’re going to get is coal in their stockings.”

  Raymond touched his jersey. “Tank Mobley is going to flatten them,” he said with absolute confidence.

  Nick opened the truck’s door.

  His driver was already at the wheel. Nick flashed Charlotte a smile. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Raymond insisted I give him a piggyback ride around the hospital after the Sea Lions won. I think he wanted to show off his Tank Mobley jersey.”

  “I just got here myself,” said Charlotte.

  She returned his smile, but it looked forced. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m just a little disappointed,” she said. “I’m beginning to think Laura is more quicksilver than little girl. Just when I think I have a grip on her, she slips through my fingers.”

  “What happened?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “It’s not worth talking about,” she said. “Just another lead that didn’t pan out.”

  “You’re not the only one. I thought my hotel idea would lead us to her when I heard about a housekeeper with a daughter named Laura, but it was just another mirage.”

  “We’re out of clues and time.”

  “The libraries were closed today,” said Nick, “but maybe Laura will see one of those displays tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow.”

  The day after tomorrow was Christmas Eve. The hourglass was beginning to empty.

  “Are the libraries open on Christmas Eve?”

  Nick nodded. “They just close a l
ittle early.”

  “So we’re waiting for a call from a librarian, or from Laura.”

  “It’s either that or we stake out some libraries and ask every little girl who walks inside if her name is Laura.”

  “I’m almost at the point where that sounds reasonable. I hate to say it, but I’ve pretty much exhausted my leads.”

  “If we don’t find her by Christmas, we’ll just have to continue our search after December twenty-fifth.”

  “That’s right.”

  Neither was very good with a concession speech. Nick figured reporters were obsessive like cops. To break a story or a case, you had to dig for answers. There had been times when it felt like he’d dug all the way to China, but it still wasn’t enough. That was the way it seemed with Laura.

  Nick opened his window and looked up. Blinking stars filled the sky. He exhaled, and it was cold enough that he could see the trail of his breath. Santa Ana conditions often brought on hot days and cool nights.

  “See a star signaling the way to Laura?” asked Charlotte.

  “If I see one, you’ll be the first to know.”

  He looked up to the skies again. No Star of Bethlehem, he thought. Maybe Laura didn’t exist. Maybe God didn’t exist. Nick exhaled, and his steamy breath momentarily obscured the stars.

  “Raymond’s always looking out the window,” Nick said. “Even during the game today I caught him looking out. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I hope he finds it.”

  Nick closed his window and turned his gaze to Charlotte. He had thought he was too old, too cynical, too world-weary, too suspicious, and too ingrained in his habits to fall in love, but now it felt like he had been given another chance in life.

  “Given up on your star gazing?” asked Charlotte.

  “Found something that doesn’t make me want to look anywhere else,” he said.

  Chapter 32

  O Christmas Tree

  December 23

  “I’m getting kind of tired of reading about you in the newspaper, and seeing you on the news,” said Forster.

  “You and me both,” said Nick.

  “You’re becoming a legend.”

  “You’ve got me mixed up with the character I play.”

  “I don’t know. If today’s newspaper is accurate, maybe you’re the new Saint Nick.”

  “Never believe what you read.”

  Nick had expected the worst, but was pleasantly surprised by the story that had run in the U-T. For once, all the facts were correct. There were interviews with fellow officers and friends, and they told a different story than had been publicly aired. Nick felt a sense of vindication, whatever the police review board’s decision about whether to reinstate him.

  “If I hadn’t known who that reporter was writing about,” said Forster, “I would have sworn that story was on a nice guy who got a raw deal.”

  “I suppose the article misquoted you,” said Nick.

  “I’ll be demanding a retraction,” said Forster.

  Forster had been quoted as saying that Nick was both a good cop, and a good human being. And he had told the story of how Nick had saved his life.

  “Something you need to know, Walt,” Nick said.

  “Yeah?”

  “You know that story you told about how I saved your life?”

  Forster nodded.

  Nick managed to say the words without his voice cracking: “Thanks for returning the favor.”

  Forster nodded, and then turned around and started towards the locker room door. He didn’t turn around again, but did pause at the door. With a husky voice he said, “I better not keep you from making some poor kid cry.”

  Nick approximated a grunt. It was a relief to get back to busting each other’s chops.

  The newspaper article had played up Nick’s changing from a police uniform to a Santa suit. They had even managed to accompany the article with pictures of him in both outfits. Nick didn’t like admitting it, but he actually looked better in the Santa suit.

  “Time for those crying kids,” he whispered.

  As he made his way over to Santa’s Workshop, Nick noticed a different pace to the mall. Panicked shoppers were scurrying about, and everyone appeared rushed. The reality that there was only one more shopping day until Christmas had struck home. He listened to computers and registers ringing fast and furious. To Nick’s ears, they sounded like a crazed version of Handel’s Messiah.

  When Nick sat in his sleigh, he found that even the children were being rushed through their Santa visits. A small boy was brought up to see Nick, his mother pulling him hurriedly along. As she relinquished her hand, and gave up her son to Nick, she recited his history in the rushed tones of a paramedic handing off a critical patient to an emergency room doctor.

  “Carl is four years old, Santa. He’s been a good boy. We’ve assured him that you already know what he wants. All we need is a picture with you for his grandmother.”

  “Hi, Carl,” said Nick.

  The boy looked very uncertain about getting into Nick’s lap. Even before he was settled his mother was saying, “Smile for the camera, Carl. Smile.”

  Nick tried to ignore the mother. “What do you want for Christmas, Carl?”

  Mom interrupted. “We know what he wants. We don’t have time …”

  Angie tried to diplomatically intervene, and began talking with the woman. Nick didn’t envy her that job.

  “Was there some special toy you wanted?” Nick asked.

  “Army men,” the boy said.

  Carl seemed more relaxed with his mother not yelling, or trying to hurry him along.

  “Army men,” Nick said. “Was there anything else?”

  “Flutterby house.”

  It took Nick a moment to make sense of what the boy was saying; having heard other children voice similar requests helped him interpret.

  “A Butterfly House?”

  Carl gave an enthusiastic nod.

  The Butterfly House was a nature kit that provided butterfly pupae, and allowed children the opportunity to see the final stage of a butterfly’s metamorphosis.

  Slightly removed from them, but not far enough away, Nick heard another mother voicing her displeasure. “What are they talking about butterflies for?”

  If only, thought Nick, some humans could go through their own metamorphosis.

  “You like butterflies?” asked Nick.

  The boy nodded. “They’re pretty. And they fly.”

  “Yes, they are pretty. Did you know that before they become butterflies, they’re caterpillars?”

  The boy looked interested. His mother didn’t. “We’re late,” she said, stepping around Angie. “We don’t have time to talk about worms.”

  Nick tried to ignore her. “You know what Christmas present you could give me, Carl?”

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you give a big smile to that camera right there?”

  Nick pointed to the camera, and the boy gave him his Christmas present.

  As Carl’s mother retrieved him, she said to the boy, “What this about army men and butterflies? You never said anything about wanting those things.”

  Nick wondered if that was the case, or if she hadn’t taken the time to listen. He signaled to Angie that he needed to make a call and would be back in a minute.

  “Laura update?” asked Angie.

  Nick nodded. Angie was as invested in his search as he was.

  He walked over to the nearest department store and went into the men’s changing room. Now that he had a cell phone he didn’t need to do his dialing from the back office.

  When Dawn Lambert answered the phone Nick said, “At this point, you’d probably rather be hearing from a crank caller.”

  “I thought I was.”

  There was something in Dawn’s voice that started Nick’s adrenaline pumping. He could hear her suppressed excitement.

  “There are already a dozen people on the waiting list for Stowaway Bag, Nick, but it doesn’t
look like any of them have any connection to Laura. But a volunteer named Doris helps out in our children’s section a few afternoons every week, and she said there’s a girl who comes in regularly that likes the same kind of books that Laura does. The girl’s very precocious, Doris said, and very shy. She’s always brought in by a young woman in her twenties that Doris doesn’t think is her mother. According to Doris, the girl never leaves without a pile of books.”

  Laura’s note to Santa had likely been left by a woman that met that description, Nick remembered. His gut told him they were getting close.

  “Does the girl check out her own books?” asked Nick.

  “No. The woman accompanying her checks them out for her.”

  “What day do they come in?”

  “Doris wasn’t sure, but she thinks it’s usually on a Thursday. They come in towards closing time. Doris said it looks like the woman comes from work.”

  Thursday, he thought. This coming Thursday would be the day after Christmas. Nick groaned out loud.

  “What?” Dawn asked. “I thought you’d be pleased with the news.”

  “I am. I’m just not pleased with the timing. If this girl is Laura, we won’t be able to get her the presents until after Christmas.”

  “It can’t always be a Cinderella story,” the librarian said. “Sometimes things happen in their own time.”

  “You’re right,” Nick said.

  Dawn’s was the sensible outlook, but he still wished he’d been a better detective—or a better Santa Claus—and found Laura before Christmas.

  No, it wasn’t a Cinderella story, he thought. And besides, happily ever after wasn’t the modern ending.

  Nick went back and took his place in the sleigh. From his perch, his attention fixed on the mall’s Christmas tree. Even now, weeks after being cut down, the large tree retained much of its beauty. Of course it was masked with garlands, icicles, and ornaments.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” said Angie.

  Shaking his head, Nick said, “They’re not worth a penny. I was just remembering my family’s Christmas tree tradition.”