Trixie twitched the blinds open again and peered out, looking across the famed New York City sea of traffic; the snow that was snarling everything; and examined the storefront across the street. The little mom and pop delicatessen opened about a year after she and Honey finally got their agency off the ground.
The Belden and Wheeler Detective Agency had morphed into Baker Street Investigators, Inc. This was due to several factors; one was the fact that Trixie's last name wasn't Belden anymore; Honey's last name wasn't Wheeler; and the third partner in the agency was Dan Mangan.
And it was kind of serendipitous that they were renting space in a building Honey's father owned on the east side of Manhattan, on Baker Street. The irony didn't escape any of them; the only thing that would've made it perfectly perfect is if their address would have been 221B.
Trixie flipped the blinds back into position and sighed. There was something… mysterious… about that place. She felt it in her bones. Both Honey and Dan pooh-poohed her premonition. She remembered the conversation they had on a rare day they were all in the office.
She had been looking out of the blinds, much as she was doing today. When they saw the delicatessen opening up across the street, all of them were pretty stoked about it. There was nothing like a jen-yoo-wine New York deli. Back home in Sleepyside, Wimpy's made the best burgers outside of the ones Moms made at Crabapple Farm, but nothing could beat corned beef on rye with a generous dollop of mustard in practically any deli in the City.
As neighbors, they had each made a visit over there to welcome them to the neighborhood and scope out the offerings. Their initial impression of Baker Street Deli (We Cell Lottery Ticket's!) was not exactly one that they would be raving to Zagat's about.
Trixie's first impression of the interior of the store was that they had spent more money on the misspelled sign than they had renovating the interior. It seemed rather dark and dirty; cheap metal shelving lined one wall with barely anything stocking it. The lunchmeat and salad case was just as sparsely populated.
The cash register was one of those old manual ones, and the shelves behind held a few lonely rolls that looked like Bobby could use them for hockey practice. A heavyset woman with almost completely white hair looked up when Trixie entered the shop accompanied by the tinkling of the little silver bell. She wore a flowered sort of housecoat/dress with a bib apron covering her ample bosom.
"Hello, dear," the woman greeted her. "Welcome to the Baker Street Deli. I'm afraid you've caught us before most of our stock has been delivered. Is there anything I can help you with?" She smiled widely and Trixie noted the horrible, yellow teeth. An older man was behind the cold cut case, also with a shock of white hair and silver wire rimmed glasses. As fat as the woman was, he was thin. He glanced at Trixie, barely nodded, and turned back to whatever task he had been doing before she walked into the deli.
Jack Sprat could eat no fat, she remembered thinking sarcastically.
"I'm Mrs. Smith and this is my husband, John Smith." She folded her fingers over her protruding abdomen and waited.
"Uh, hi. I'm Trixie Frayne; I work across the street at Baker Street Investigators." She hooked a thumb towards the office. Reaching for something to say, and not having Honey's tact, she finally came up with, "I can see that you haven't gotten all your stock yet. Well, I just thought I would come over to say hi and welcome you to the neighborhood," she smiled as she tried to sidle towards the door.
Trixie noticed the alarmed glance the two exchanged when she mentioned her office. Immediately the hackles raised in the back of her neck. Innocent people didn't exchange speaking glances when one announced one was allied with the law enforcement community. Unless of course said people were guilty of something. She flashed a quick smile at them, pulled the door open and quickly exited. Her sharp eyes watched as the woman and man began to speak excitedly to each other.
A few days later, Dan and Honey were in the office. Normally, one or two of them would be out doing on an investigation. It kind of helped that Matt Wheeler put their name out there among his CEO friends, and they almost had more business than they could handle at this point.
"Don't you find it's kind of strange that the delicatessen across the street never appears to be open?" Trixie began her opening salvo. "I mean they're a small business. I would think it would be appropriate for them to be open a lot more than what they are. And were you ever in there? I went in a couple of days after they opened and the shelves were bare. I've been in several times since, and I don't seem to see any stocking taking place."
"Geez, Trix, if we were all stranded on a desert island you would find it mysterious that there were seashells," Dan joked. "Maybe they just don't know how to run a business. It seems to be the downfall of small businesses now. They don't want to put hard work and hours into them." What was that Mart always called her? Miss Nosy Parker? Sheesh.
Honey agreed. "I stopped in there a couple of times. The old couple appeared flustered. I think it may just be too much for them. A lot of people have grand ideas about opening a business but have no idea about all the stuff behind the scenes it takes to run it." That's why she was thankful they had an accountant. Let her worry about all that profit and loss and arcane New York tax laws.
"Yeah, but how do they stay in business?" Trixie persisted. "I mean you have to be able to sell merchandise in order to make money and if they're never open how could they be selling stuff? And Mr. and Mrs. John Smith. Couldn't they get any more original?"
"Trix, we're not here 24 hours a day, seven days a week. And when we are, I don't make it a practice to watch the store across the street and their comings and goings. Maybe their clientele comes really early in the morning before we open, or late at night after we close up. Maybe they have a lot of capital. I don't know and I don't really care. And believe it or not, there are really people in the world named John Smith. Why don't we talk about the Crimmins case? Jack Feldstein seems to think it was an inside job," Dan changed the subject.
Trixie twitched the blinds closed. It was obvious her partners didn't see what she did. She dropped the subject for now as they discussed the latest case that was dropped into their lap. Industrial espionage. It was going to be a test of their agency and their abilities.
And that was six months ago. And now here it was, the day before Christmas Eve, and she was the one stuck minding the office. Dan and Hallie had flown out to Idaho a few days earlier for a holiday visit with her parents and brothers.
Honey was taking the New Year's Eve shift because Brian had off today but he was on rotation on December 31. So that left Trixie. It's not that she minded…so much. It's just that she missed Jim. Here it was, the eve of Christmas Eve, and they weren't together.
It really sucked.
She wandered over to the gaily decorated tree in the corner of the office, and ran a finger along the bright lights reflecting off it. She finally found the most wonderful gift for Jim, and she wanted so badly to just lock up, leave and go home to Ten Acres.
But Jim wasn't there, either. There'd been a problem at the school the Foundation was constructing in Nevada and he flew out there earlier in the week. He promised he'd be back in time for Christmas, and she believed him, except now the snow was coming down even harder and she began to think maybe his flight would be delayed.
Or maybe not even make it back home at all.
She took a look at her watch, and decided this was silly. Nobody was going to come into the agency while a major snowstorm was raging outside. She flipped on the radio and all she heard when the traffic report came on was delay delay delay delay. Shut down. Great. It was going to be impossible to get a taxi; the subways were snarled and they were announcing the trains out of the city were running at least an hour or two or more behind schedule.
Trixie peered through the blinds again and was surprised to see she could barely see across the street, the snow was that heavy. She put a slender hand to her mouth as it bowed open in an O. At least three or four inches more had already fallen since the last time she looked out.
And all it took was one measly snowflake to snarl transportation for hours.
The wind was really howling now and the snow was blowing sideways; mesmerized by the white curtain, Trixie was startled when the telephone rang. She let the blinds go and they snapped together as she ran to get it. "Trix! You're still there!" Honey exclaimed, a panicked note in her voice. "It's really bad out there. Oh, I knew we shouldn't have stayed open! It's like a blizzard here in Sleepyside."
"Yeah, it's pretty bad here, too, Honey. I was just thinking of calling it a day and going home, but now I'm wondering if I can even get out of here. I haven't heard from Jim either and I'm worried." Trixie wound the curly cord around one slender finger. Jim was coming into LaGuardia, and that airport was always dicey even on a sunny day. How many times had planes slid off the runway into the East River?
"Trix, I…" Honey began to say something, but the line gave had a terrific burst of static and went dead.Gleeps. No landline phone. God, please don't let the electricity go out, Trixie prayed. That's all she would need; to be stuck in the office with no heat.
"What a wonderful Christmas I'm having," she said out loud.
She was sitting there feeling just that tiny bit sorry for herself when all of a sudden, there was a terrific crashing noise from outside. She ran to the window and spread the blinds wide.
"Attention passengers. May I have your attention please?" The captain's tinny voice came over the intercom.
"What now?" The lady in the seat next to Jim moaned. She had a distinctly greenish tint and Jim was just praying that she didn't hork all over the place. The ride had become markedly uncomfortable for the past hour and Jim himself, while normally a good traveler, was starting to feel just a tad dizzy.
"This is Capt. Brett Crowell. Our flight is being diverted to Newark Airport. Unfortunately, New York City is experiencing a pre-Christmas Eve snowstorm, and it was deemed safer for our flight to land at Newark instead of LaGuardia. Buses will be provided at the terminal to get you back to the City. I ask that you not use any electronic devices right now as we are busy trying to maintain altitude until we are directed to land."
Immediately, murmuring began among the passengers.
"Newark! If I wanted to fly out of Jersey I would've gone there to begin with," snarked one man wearing an obviously expensive suit.
"I guess it's not snowing in New Jersey," said another.
"Yeah, it prob'ly is," said a woman with a decidedly Brooklyn accent. "But they're used ta it. They get all that practice movin' the landfills around."
A couple of the other passengers erupted into laughter. Jim leaned against the window, staring out at the ominous clouds. Trixie. He hoped she'd gotten home before it got bad.
The woman next to him made a sudden shift in her seat, and he turned to her, just as she leaned over and horked all over his nice, clean pants.
"Sorry," she said weakly, as passengers in the adjacent seats began to complain about the smell.
Great. Just great.
He vowed never to be away at Christmastime again.
Trixie stared at the street in horrified fascination. A large panel truck with a faded Empire Produce stenciled on the side in fancy script, completely at odds with the dancing banana wearing a tutu and the bunch of grapes in a sombrero, had crashed into parking meter and ended up on the sidewalk, its front end a bit crumpled.
She threw on a coat and gloves and made her way over. The driver could be hurt or worse, dead. Another part of her was totally amazed that they were actually making a delivery to Baker Street Deli.
It was so strange that nobody else ran out of any of the buildings to assist; not even the old couple from the deli. Battling the wind and snow, when she got there she found the driver's door open – and no driver.
Huh.
Trixie examined the interior of the cab of the truck. There were no signs of blood indicating that the driver may have been hurt. There was nothing, except blowing snow. The keys were still in the ignition.
And then she heard the thump against the back wall of the truck. For a moment she thought she was imagining things; a muffled voice cried, 'help me' and there was another thump. Well, fruit doesn't talk, unless it's sewn into the waistband of someone's underwear. Then it sings, too.
She banged against the back wall with her fist. "Hello? Is someone in there?"
"Help," said a faint, rather high-pitched voice. "Please help me."
Trixie grabbed the keys from the ignition; hoping one of them would open the doors in the back of the truck. She shut the door to the truck and wondered why there was no traffic at all coming down her usually very busy street.
The wind was fighting her as she fumbled with the keys. She was already encrusted with snow and her fingers were getting quite numb. The doors were secured with a simple padlock, and she finally found the tiny key that would release it.
It was so cold it nearly burned her hands. She inserted the key, and removed the padlock, dropping it in her pocket for safekeeping and rolled up the door.
Her intake of breath was audible as she stared inside, incredulous.
"Honey, I haven't been able to get in touch with Trixie," Jim was complaining into his cell phone. "Is the power out in Sleepyside?" It shouldn't be at Ten Acres. They had a generator for just such an emergency.
"I think the land lines are down between Sleepyside and the City." Honey bit her lip, pacing with the phone. Her brother was not at all going to like what she was going to tell him.
"Yeah but she's not answering her cell phone either," he grumbled. "What's the use of having a cell phone if you don't answer it?" Honey's words finally permeated his consciousness. "Why should it matter if the land lines between Sleepyside and New York are down?" he asked, his voice very smooth and calm. "It's almost Christmas Eve and Trixie's at home, right? Please don't tell me she's at the office, Honey."
"Ummmm, okay, Jim I won't tell you she's at the office. But she's not home." Whose harebrained idea was it to have the office manned on the day before Christmas Eve anyway?
Oh, right. It was hers.
There was dead silence on the other end of the phone. All Honey could hear words the muffled announcements of the loudspeaker in the terminal. "Are you at LaGuardia, Jim?"
Jim's hand tightened around the cell phone. For a moment, the famous Frayne temper flared out of balance and he almost punched one of the cinderblock walls. Trixie wasn't safe at home. She was in the City. Great. Wonderful. They hadn't even been married a year yet, and he was going to miss Christmas with his own wife.
"No," he ground out. "We were diverted to Newark." He tried, he really tried, to dial down his temper. But his sister could hear the frustration in his voice, the frustration that was now riding him hard.
"The plane was diverted to Newark because of the condition of the runways at LaGuardia. Right before we landed, a woman sitting next to me horked all over me. I tried to clean up as best as I could in the restroom of the plane when we landed."
Honey was sympathetic, although strangely enough, she had the most insane urge to laugh her ass off. "I'm so sorry, Jim. That was absolutely terrible."
"Yeah, tell me about it," he grumbled. "That's not even the worst of it, Honey. After I cleaned up, I figured that I'd just go get my bag and change into something else. But when I got to the carousel my bag never arrived. Apparently it's on its way to Tahiti. Someplace I wish I was going to."
"Oh no, Jim! What are you going to do?" Try as she might, she couldn't keep the hint of laughter out of her voice. It wasn't very often any of the BWGs saw Jim nonplussed. And now here he was, in the wilds of Jersey, with no bag and smelly pants.
"All the stores are closed because of the holiday. Otherwise I could've gone into Brooks Brothers or Hugo Boss and got something off the rack." Although she couldn't see him he grimaced. "The only things open are the little news kiosks and souvenir stores. Right now I've got on a pair of pink track pants that are a bit too short with Juiceee written across the butt, and a T-shirt that says 'I Got to Second Base With a TSA Screener'."
She couldn't help it. She absolutely couldn't help it as laughter pealed up and out of her. She couldn't even stop laughing when Jim hung up on her in a fit of pique.
"You have to hide us somewhere," one of the little men was saying. "Before he comes back with help."
As she stood there with her jaw dropped open, five or six small men scrambled out of the back of the truck. They were all dressed alike although they didn't look alike. They all wore identical green tunics, the hems on the tunics and the sleeves ending in points with jingle bells attached to them. A shiny black belt was around their waists, and they had on green tights and pointy red shoes that curled up at the ends. Their heads were topped with red slouchy hats that peaked into point with a green jingle bell on it.
"Ma'am, please help us," one of the little guys begged her. It seemed to break her trance.
"I have an office across the street, follow me." The wind was really howling now, and none of the men had any sort of coat or other winter protection. Trixie herded them across the street and into her warm office, where she gratefully took off her snow-encrusted coat.
"Who are you? Why you dressed like that? And what were you doing in the back of the produce truck?" As Trixie asked each question, she was locking the front door and peeking out the blinds. No sign of the driver yet.
"We've been elf-napped!" One of the little men responded dramatically.
Trixie sort of edged away from them at that. Gleeps, maybe they were all inmates of a psychiatric facility being transferred to a different one. Although, her brain reminded her, they didn't normally transfer psychiatric patients in a fruit truck and they weren't all 3 feet tall in costume.
She hoped.
One of the elves stepped forward, held his hand up to quiet the almost deafening chatter. He bowed low to Trixie and looked at her with bright, lime green eyes. "Hello, I do have your acquaintance, even though we have never formally met," he said very formally. "My name is Elmer."
Trixie sank down on the nearest chair, closed her eyes briefly, and wondered if she was hallucinating. She said very carefully, as she stared at the slanted brows and pointed ears of the man calling himself Elmer, "I think I would've remembered meeting you, even if it was only briefly."
"Oh, we never actually met face-to-face, but I was involved in a very momentous event in your life," he explained seriously. It would've helped if his voice didn't sound like he was sucking down helium balloons.
Trixie looked puzzled. "You helped me? I don't remember anything."
Elmer smirked as he looked at the pretty blonde woman. "Oh, it was a couple of years ago. Christmas time. You bought a man you considered your friend a couple of scarves. He bought you gloves. When you opened your gifts, however, he received a box of shall we say, contraceptive devices that he thought you bought for him and you got a very fancy negligee that you thought he bought for you. And from what I understand you became much more than friends. Now who do you think arranged that? Mrs. Frayne." He emphasized the last two words.
"Wha...how do you know about that? Jim and I never told anyone. We just thought it was a mix-up in the stores." She was flabbergasted, absolutely flabbergasted.
Elmer snorted. "Come on now, Trixie. Mix-ups happen, but not two different stores for two different people who happen to be giving each other presents. Mrs. Claus just thought it was about time the two of you got together. So we had a little switcheroo."
Okay, now she knew she was dreaming. She probably fell asleep at her desk waiting for Jim to call and she was having this strange, strange dream where Santa's elves were in her office because they were being kidnapped. No, elf-napped.
She'd wake herself up. That's what she'd do. Because if she didn't get up from this dream, she was sure that she'd be spending the next several weeks resting at Bellevue.
Jim was grinding his teeth together. He knew that the people at the airline were trying to be helpful, but this day probably couldn't get much worse. When he was changing in the men's room, he placed his jacket over the top of the stall. And before he knew it, someone tugged on it and it was gone in a flash.
Now in addition to the other wonderful additions to his wardrobe, he was wearing a short black leather biker jacket with a crown painted on the back that look like the logo of a popular fast food chain, and the words 'Kingz of the Road' arched around it.
The only bit of luck that he had was that the pockets of his jacket were empty, so all the thief got was a jacket that had been horked upon. Jim guessed there was just a little bit of karma in that.
So here he was, sitting on the AirTrain monorail, in the most wildly mismatched outfit he ever worn, while snow was blowing all around. He was just praying that train service to Penn Station wouldn't be interrupted.
He kept trying Trixie's cell, but either he wasn't connecting or there was no answer. Looking at the decreasing amount of battery power he had left, he made the decision to turn it off and slip it in his pocket.
And that's the exact moment when the monorail came to a screeching, shuddering halt.
"Okay, Elmer. Let's say, for arguments sake, everything you're telling me is the truth. Who is elf- napping you and why?" She thought it was a fair question. After all she was sitting in her office during a blinding snowstorm with six guys who obviously had plastic surgery to make them look like elves. It was very mysterious.
"Well, that's the problem. I think I know who it is, but I don't really have proof."
Trixie rubbed her eyes. She was getting a tension headache. With a note of exasperation in her voice she said, "Why don't you tell me what you think is going on? Like, where were you taken from? Is anyone looking for you? Do you think your elf-nappers are looking for ransom?"
"It started about eight months ago," Elmer said, laying a finger on the side of his nose. "Santa to have a little more free time to spend with him in the off-season. You know, even though he's off, she's still having to provide and oversee all the food and housing operations for us elves. So Santa hired a housekeeper. I didn't like her from the get-go."
"That's a lie, Elmie. You were kind of glad." Another one of the elves stepped forward. "I'm Ernie. And he did so like the housekeeper. He said she made better butter cookies then Mrs. Claus." As if!" Ernie snorted.
Trixie watched while Elmer's cheeks filled with a green blush. Gleeps! Even elves blush! She turned her attention to the two elves who were now locked in a did not/did too argument.
"Gentlemen, or should I say gentlelves, let's leave that for a moment and get on with the story. So you say that Santa hired a housekeeper. What happened then?" Trixie tried not to look at her cell phone on the desk. It was dark and quiet and she hadn't heard from Jim.
"She always asked a lot of questions, especially about us elves. Not like what did we like to eat or did we want cake or cookies that day. It was always about the warehouses and security and stuff like that. And I hated that creepy husband of hers too. He was always around. Always. Listening in like some sort of a big slug or something."
"So you think it would be fair to say she was casing out the joint," Trixie proffered.
"Yeah and then all of a sudden she disappeared," Ernie said. "She didn't give any notice or anything; just one day she wasn't there. Santa didn't think anything bad of it; he just thought maybe she was sick of us. He said it wasn't easy cooking and cleaning up after a couple hundred elves."
"And then?" Trixie prompted. Gleeps, by the time they get their story done, she'd probably be attending the wedding of her firstborn grandchild.
"And then nothing. We went along as we normally did and Mrs. Claus went back to cooking and taking care of us. And then we started disappearing. First it was Enos, then Eddie. Then Earl and Egbert." Elmer shook his head sadly, setting his jingle bells to jingling.
"Well, I thought Santa knew what was happening with everybody," Trixie said, trying to be logical.
"We elves are not on the scope. After all, Santa knows exactly what we're up to most of the time. And after kids turn eighteen, Santa turns the scope off of them. You know he doesn't want to look too deeply. You and Jim were a special case. I went to him with my suspicions, but he brushed me off. He just doesn't take me seriously." Elmer's little elfin face set into disgruntled lines.
"Yeah, tell her why Santa doesn't take you seriously," Ernie smirked. As Elmer kept his mouth tightly shut, Ernie proceeded to explain. "A few years ago at the North Pole after-Christmas party, Elmer had a little bit too much to drink and was looking up Mrs. Claus' dress. Santa was not too happy about that."
Trixie sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. Gleeps. She had an office full of horny elves who believed that they were being elf-napped by a mysterious couple who, for some arcane reason, wanted to stop Christmas.
Another little guy stepped up, his face a mask of fright. "Somebody's coming."
"All of you, now, into the back rooms. Try not to jingle," Trixie snapped. She waited until they were all safely in the back and shut the door, just in time to see the rattle at the office front door.
She stealthily crept to her desk and took out her Glock. She sidled over to the front window and peered out between the slats of the blinds. A man, about 5 foot eleven with a thin rangy build, dark greasy hair and a jacket that read Empire Produce was rattling the handle back and forth.
The driver.
He didn't notice her peering through the blinds and began to knock loudly. "Hello! Is anyone in there? Hello? I had an accident with my truck."
She was an investigator. It was about damn time she began to investigate. Hoping that the elves or whatever they were in the back room knew enough to keep quiet, she unlocked the door and faced the man.
"How can I assist you?" The man started, obviously not expecting anyone to answer the door.
He gestured over to the truck that had previously been partially on the sidewalk. "My truck slid off the road because of the ice," he said. "I was able to get it back onto the street. I had a bunch of midgets in the back that were dressed as elves." He stepped inside the office closing the door behind, and Trixie tightened her hand on her Glock that she had shoved in her pocket.
"In a storm like this, you had a bunch of little people," Trixie stressed. "In the back of an unheated panel truck." Try as he might, the weaselly man could not look sincere.
"I was delivering them to a Christmas party that one of those rich people was giving. Up…up at the Wheeler building. It was only crosstown. Boy, Mr. Wheeler is sure going to be pissed at me. I was just wondering if you saw any of them." As he spoke, the man's rat-like eyes were shifting from corner to corner of the office.
"No, I'm afraid I haven't. There's a subway stop about half a block from here. Maybe they went there." Okay, this guy was stretching the truth. More than stretching the truth. He was outright lying. There was no way Matthew Wheeler was giving a Christmas party at the Wheeler building on the day before Christmas Eve. No way at all. He had missed too many Christmases with his family already, and now that Honey was married, he wanted to spend every moment he could with his daughter.
"Are you sure you haven't seen them?" he persisted. "You couldn't miss them."
Trixie pointedly opened the door, waiting patiently as the cold air and snow blew in. "No, I haven't seen them. I suggest that you try the subway stop and, if not, my second suggestion would be to try and find a vacancy in a hotel because it looks like we're all going to be stuck here in the city."
"Thanks, miss." Crap. Where were the little buggers? The boss was gonna be pretty damn mad at him. Too bad the blowing snow obliterated any footprints.
She locked the door after the man exited and again peeked out the blinds to see him climbing in the truck. She made her way into the back of the office, where there was a small kitchen and a sparsely furnished lounge.
She was going to get the rest of the story out of these elves no matter what. She snatched her cell phone up hoping to hear from Jim, but it was stubbornly silent.
A collective moan came from the passengers of the monorail. A few minutes later, the tinny voice of the engineer came over the intercom. "We should get going in a few minutes, ladies and gentlemen. We apologize for the delay. The storm is causing havoc with the machinery and one of our trains was stalled in the station."
"You think with all the money they invested in this thing," one of the passenger snarked. "They would have gotten a better intercom system."
Jim stared out at the falling snow. If they didn't get going soon, he suspected he'd miss the last train into the city. The sky was leaden and didn't look like this storm would be stopping anytime soon. And his Trixie was at the office alone. On the day before Christmas Eve. Their first Christmas together as a married couple and they were spending it apart.
He leaned his forehead against the cold window, closing his eyes and cursing the darkness. A few moments later, the train started up and lurched into the station. As the doors slid silently open, he could hear the train announcements in the small station that served as the transfer from the AirTrain to the regular New Jersey transit trains. "We regret to inform you that AirTrain is suspending service. Unfortunately, the track is iced up making it extremely dangerous to traverse. We will be providing bus service to Newark Liberty Airport as long as the roads are passable."
He was swept along with the tide of passengers exiting the monorail. Of course, there was no one at the terminal to offer any assistance. It was late, after all. He dashed down the stairs to the train level, just as the train to New York City was pulling out.
"Dammit." He scraped long fingers through his hair, lifting his jacket and exposing the little logo on the butt much to the amusement of other passengers in the waiting area. He looked up at the small screens scattered about the station. Delay, delay, delay.
A couple of teenagers walked by sniggering. "Yo, nice pants, man. My sister has a pair just like them." A dull flush stained his cheeks and he pulled out his cell phone again. He plugged in Trixie's number, but all he got was a burst of static.
They heard the unmistakable sound of the next train approaching, going to the Newark Penn Station, followed by the Secaucus Transfer Station and then New York Penn Station. He definitely wasn't going to miss this one, as he hurried outside.
The woman next to him, and he could swear it was the same women who horked all over him on the plane, suddenly slid in the slush outside. She grabbed hold of his arm and was able to right herself, but he watched in horror as his iPhone tumbled out of his hands and onto the tracks, only to disappear in a crunch as the train rode over it.
"Sorry," she said and disappeared into the crowd. After all, she knew how much those things cost.
Jim had a sinking feeling this wasn't covered by his service contract.
"Okay. What name was this couple using?" Trixie took out her iPad.
"Beulah and John Smith," Ernie said. "Was that that greasy-looking guy with the dancing banana on his jacket?"
"Beulah and John Smith?" Trixie looked up, eyes wide. "Was Mrs. Smith rather heavy and Mr. Smith tall and thin like a stringbean?" She knew there was something suspicious going on across the street!
"Yeah. How did you know that?" Ernie asked, clearly amazed by Trixie's prowess.
"Cause she's an investigator, Ernie," snarked Elmer. "Geez."
"Now, why do you think they are…they are elf-napping you guys?"
"I don't know." Another elf approached Trixie, laying his small hand on her knee. "I'm Englebert. They have my brother, Egbert. All I know is that I want my brother back and I want all the kids to have a Merry Christmas." His big, lime-green eyes filled with tears. "We need to get back to the North Pole to finish up. It's getting late, and it looks like we're not gonna get there."
Elmer rolled his eyes. "You want to get back to the North Pole because it's elf mating season, and you're afraid that Elizabeth is going to find somebody new."
"Yeah, well there's that, too," Englebert agreed.
Trixie stood and walked over to the other side of the lounge with her iPad. Just what she needed to be stuck in her office with six or seven randy elves. Her day was getting better and better.
"Okay, I will tell you what I know. I think the truck was delivering you to the deli across the street, Baker Street Deli. The deli is owned by an older couple, a Mr. and Mrs. John Smith. They opened up the place about four or five months ago and I have no idea how it's staying in business. The shelves are minimally stocked and from what I can see, the place is hardly ever open. I went over to introduce myself as a fellow business owner when they first opened, and they seemed to be taken aback that I worked for Baker Street investigators. So, if the driver was bringing you all to the deli, I think it's a safe assumption that they are holding the other elves there."
Elmer scampered over to Trixie and began pulling on her blouse. "What are we waiting for then, Trixie? Let's get over there and rescue our brethren." He seemed to be ready to march out of the lounge and across the street when Trixie stopped him by grabbing the back of his elf tunic.
"Listen, Elmer, and that goes for the rest of you, too. You can't just go charging over there, especially with Greasy Guy out there gunning for you. Besides, none of you are dressed for the weather." Trixie gave them all a stern, warning look.
"Sheesh. We're from the North Pole. This weather is balmy to us," Elmer snarked.
"Be that as it may, you're all covered in jingle bells. I don't think I can make a surreptitious casing of the joint over there with you jingling all the way." Trixie was pulling on her coat, hat and gloves. "When I leave I'm going to lock the door. Do not open it for anyone. And please don't touch anything in here."
She was greeted by a chorus of we won't! But she had her doubts. She must be crazy going across the street in the middle of a snowstorm to investigate whether the old couple were kidnapping little people dressed as elves.
But hell, she once thought there was a crazed escapee from the circus riding his unicycle in Matt Wheeler's game preserve. And at that time, it seemed totally logical. She shrugged her shoulders, stepped outside into the cold, locked the door and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible while crossing the street.
Newark Penn Station was maybe a ten minute ride from the monorail station. The train swayed across the tracks, and Jim looked out of the dirty window in the vestibule. With the snowstorm snarling traffic, the train was packed with people and it was standing room only.
Even in an old eastern city such as Newark, with many decaying, graffiti covered and abandoned brick buildings, the fluffy white stuff falling from the sky made everything look quite pretty. There was nothing like being home at Christmas time, and married to his special girl. That is, if he could ever get home.
Astonishingly, the train stopped without incident in the main Newark terminal, and proceeded on its way to the Secaucus transfer station. A few more miles and they'd be entering the tunnel under the Hudson River that led to New York Penn Station.
At least he'd be in the same city as Trixie, and who knows, he might be able to get out of these ridiculous clothes if one of the clothing stores in the station was still open. After all Newark might nap, but New York never slept.
There was always a taxi at the taxi stands right in front of the Seventh Avenue entrance to the train station. He'd have to hurry though, getting off the train, because the hundreds of people that were packed into the train would probably also be looking for taxis. He recalled that New Jersey had a special portion of the terminal that was near the entrance to Seventh Avenue.
And he had a good position, being stuck standing in the vestibule. Today was starting to look up a little bit. Pretty soon he'd be with his special girl, and even if they spent the next three days stuck in the office, it was well worth it to be with her.
A goofy sort of smile started across his face, and just then the train came to a shuddering, screeching, lose-your-balance-and-hit-painfully-into-the-corner-of-the-metal-wall, stop.
The snow had finally slowed a bit. Trixie first walked by the deli, trying to peer inside and see if anyone was there. It was dark inside, only security lights were on. If no one was there, how was Greasy Guy going to get all those elves herded inside by himself?
"I bet he was going to back in the truck up onto the sidewalk really close to the entrance. The back door to the truck rolled up, it didn't open outwards. So that means he could possibly do it by himself."Trixie was thinking things through. "Now, how do I break and enter?" She couldn't go in through the front door, because it had that stupid bell that rung when a person entered. She didn't want to alert anybody that may be hiding in the dark in some back room doing God knows what.
There was a short alleyway next to the store, and Trixie crept down it as silently as possible, surmising that there may be a side or back entrance. When she saw the doorway with hastily hand-painted sign 'Delly' on it, she gave herself a little pat on the back. And snorted out her opinion that somebody sure needed to learn how to spell!
Looking up and down the alleyway, she wanted to see if there were any surveillance cameras or other security measures; she doubted it since the people that owned the store didn't even keep it open long enough to have a customer to surveil. Taking out the lock picking set that Dan carefully equipped each of them with and also taught them the basics of use, she deftly picked the little round lock that secured the door and slipped inside, praying that she didn't set off any kind of alarm.
The rear portion of the deli was just as old and disgusting as the front was. There was no updating at all; there were a bunch of old cardboard cartons that look like they had been there since World War II. Trixie briefly wondered if they were worth anything on eBay.
There were several small rooms off to the side of the central, larger room. Listening carefully, she didn't hear any sounds coming from anywhere. The first door she checked opened easily. Of course, the bathroom. It was gaily decorated in lime green tiles halfway up the wall, with a black trim. The floor was that browned speckled asbestos tile that was ubiquitous everywhere. The toilet was a rosy pink and obviously not a water saver; the sink was attached to the wall with grimy faucets that were losing their chrome and a stained sink. The wall above the tile was a brown and tan stripe; the light was provided by a single bulb with a pull chain. In the corner was an old spiral of flypaper with hundreds of bodies of deceased flies on it. "Body farm for flies," Trixie laughed to herself.
The next door led to a tiny kitchen area. It was obvious it was never used. An old white refrigerator was gasping in the corner. There were several small bags of country style potato salad that were opened and the contents removed, and the bags simply tossed aside.
It's a wonder they don't have roaches, Trixie shivered.
She carefully opened the refrigerator, but it was relatively empty except for a couple more bags of the potato salad and several trays of Christmas cookies. Now that's odd, they have prepackaged potato salad, this place is as dirty as all get out, and they have dessert. Her stomach gave a loud rumble and she was tempted to filch a cookie, but heaven only knows who made them or how long they had been there.
The next door was locked. She placed her ear to the door and thought she heard a rustling sound inside. Now what should be my next move? If it's John and Beulah Smith, they're not likely to be too happy about my being in the back of their store. If it's Greasy Guy, that's even worse. I certainly don't want to be alone with him. She slipped her hand inside of her pocket to make sure her Glock was still safely ensconced there. Once she was assured it was, she tapped lightly on the door.
"Hello? Is anyone in there?" she said softly.
She heard a scrambling sound and a faint jingle of bells. Bingo! She jimmied the lock again, opened the door, and had a sense of déjà vu as she looked into a sea of lime green eyes.
If it would have done any good, James Winthrop Frayne the second would have bounced his head off the side of the wall in the vestibule of the train. They were so close, so very very close that he could see the maw of the tunnel leading underground to Penn Station. The train was unmoving in the swamp that surrounded the tunnel. And it had been so for the past forty-five minutes, while another tinny announcement was made that a train was stalled in the tunnel and they were waiting to have it cleared.
He was cold; he was tired; he had no way of getting in touch with anyone since his iPhone was now in a gazillion little pieces someplace in New Jersey. All he knew was that he was wearing ridiculous clothes, he missed his wife and his temper was starting to ratchet up.
He didn't even know that Trixie was still in the City. Maybe she made it home to Sleepyside and he would be traipsing all the way over to Baker Street for nothing.
Jim thought about home, and his special girl, and his lips tilted slightly at the corner as he closed his eyes. They had a beautiful live tree, with the root ball still attached so they could return it to the forest. He had the joy of cursing out the strands of lights, brand new out of the box that died as soon as they were placed with care on the tree.
There was nothing more he wanted to do than cuddle with her in front of the fire and celebrate their first Christmas in their own home; for the first time he wouldn't have to leave and go celebrate with his family and Trixie go with her family.
They were their own little unit.
His pretty daydreams were totally destroyed by the guy standing on the other side of the vestibule with blue tinted hair, mascara, lip gloss and a tight leather outfit. "Hey, man, you going to the Blue Squirrel?"
Jim opened his eyes to look into the smirking face of the other man. He was standing awfully close all of a sudden. "The Blue Squirrel?"
"Yeah. You know, the bar down in the Village. They're having the worst gay stereotypes clothing contest, and I thought you were gonna be an entry."
"Umm, no," Jim was horrified. "Some woman threw up all over me, the airline lost my bag and this was the only thing I could buy at the souvenir shops. The jacket was unclaimed from Lost and Found." He gestured to his odd assortment of clothes.
"Oh. Well you should come anyway. I know I could definitely show you a good time." Was the man actually blinking his eyes at him?
"I'm meeting my wife at her place of employment," Jim said quickly. This day was getting better and better, he thought sarcastically.
"Your loss, man," the other purred.
And the train still didn't move.
"Please, ma'am, please get us out of here!"
"Help us!"
"We need help!"
The cacophony of helium balloon enhanced voices was making Trixie's head ache. Taking her two fingers together on her lips, she blew the shrill bobwhite whistle that got attention, fast.
"Is there an Egbert here?" she asked tiredly. Somehow, she had fallen down the rabbit hole, and instead of Red Queens, grinning cats and hookah-smoking caterpillars, there were elves.
"That's me, ma'am. How did you know my name?" A tiny elf with suspicion in those day-glo eyes stepped up.
"Your brother, Engelbert, is at my office across the street," she returned in a whisper. "I have six or seven more of you that were, um…elf-napped. The truck that was transporting them had a slight accident. No-one was injured," she assured them when they began to look apprehensive. "Do you know the people who did this?"
"Yes, ma'am. It was Santa's former cook and housekeeper, Beulah Smith. And her husband." Egbert looked angry. "We figured out that she has an accomplice on the inside. All of us ate pecan tassiesright before we were elf-napped." He tried to look tough, which was a little hard wearing a cap and tunic with jingle bells on them. "They must have slipped a mickey in there."
"That explains the trays of cookies in the fridge," Trixie muttered. "Gleeps, don't you eat anything else?"
"Sure. Cakes and mousses; parfaits; all kinds of candy but we are all partial to candy canes the most." He sighed. "Nothing like a shot of Patrón muddled with crushed candy cane pieces."
"Well, that's nauseating," Trixie looked a bit green. "Doesn't it get tiresome eating desserts all the time? We usually have them Christmas morning, but a steady diet…"
"Oh no, that's what elves live on," Egbert replied, rolling his eyes. Geez, everybody knew elves lived on nothing but desserts, didn't they?
"Okay guys. We've got to get you out of here and across the street." Trixie cut short the dessert conversation. "And I think we've have to do a jingle bell-ectomy."
She turned around to go back to the kitchen to see if she could find a knife or pair of scissors, and walked straight into the solid wall of Mrs. Smith's bulk.
Jim had no idea how long the train had been idling, waiting its turn to enter the tunnel that would lead him to his home state. And his wife, if the Force was with him.
It was just such a crazy day and now dusk was settling over the East Coast. The snow was coming down at a slower pace, big white fluffy flakes that reminded him of Trixie's snowflake mascara. She looked so pretty sitting in that snow bank, her eyes sparkling with snottiness and it was only because her brothers, his sister and their friends and relatives were standing around that he didn't just plant one on her right then and there.
The train gave another shuddering lurch; stopped suddenly, throwing him off balance and into Mr. Blue Squirrel; and then finally started chugging its slow way into the tunnel to Penn Station.
"Sorry," Jim muttered.
"Oh honey, I'm not!" The other man grinned.
Jim's squished himself into the far corner of the vestibule. After all, the tunnel was dark. Strange things happened in the dark. And nothing was stranger than this day.
"Just what do you think you're doing here, missy?" Mrs. Smith ground out. "How dare you break into my store?" She pushed Trixie back into the room using her great mass.
"I was walking by the alley and I saw your door flapping in the wind," Trixie said, quite calmly. "I thought perhaps it was a robbery taking place."
"You know that we don't have enough stuff in here to even attract the most desperate of crooks," Mr. Smith said, stepping out from behind his wife.
Trixie fingered the gun in her pocket. She didn't want to use it but she would if she had to. "Theseummm… elves here," Trixie gestured to the frightened little people. "They say you elf-napped them."
"So what if we did?" Mr. Smith sneered. "It's no crime. There's nothing on the books that says you can't kidnap an elf. Humans, dogs, cats; even parakeets, but no elves."
"It still unlawful imprisonment of a sentient being," Trixie shot back.
Greasy Guy chose that moment to make an appearance. "Ma, I can't find the little buggers anywhere. It's like they vanished… hey it's the lady across the street!" Greasy Guy turned to his mother. "She works for that investigative agency. I stopped by her office to see if the latest batch made it over there. She said they hadn't. You lied lady." He faced Trixie shaking a dirty finger in her face. "Ma, I bet the rest of them are over in her office."
"What I don't understand is why you are doing this. I mean going all the way up to the North Pole, getting a job in Santa's workshop, and then elf-napping right before Christmas. It doesn't make any sense to me. Did you hate working there all that much?"
"Do you have any idea what it's like up there at the North Pole, lady?" Mrs. Smith snorted. "It's cold. There's nothing to do except cook for and clean up after elves and reindeer. You have any idea how much reindeer can crap in a day? If they can harness the methane those things produce, they'd be able power several small cities."
"And the freaking elf songs," Mr. Smith complained. "You know the Seven Dwarves? They whistle while they work. These guys hum and sing and hum some more and sing some more. And it's always Christmas songs. If I hear Joy to the World one more time, or Dominic the Donkey, I swear I'll take those partridges from the pear tree, those five golden rings and some of those eggs from those geese a laying and shove them down somebody's throat."
"Well, you quit," Trixie said. "You don't have to listen to that stuff anymore. You don't have to cook endless desserts anymore. I don't see what the problem is now."
"Well, I'll just tell you what it is, missy." Mrs. Smith got really close and stuck her angry face right near Trixie's. "My boy here, Smith, wanted to be an elf and they wouldn't let him. They broke his heart."
"Your son's name is Smith. Smith Smith. How… unusual." Trixie nearly laughed. She looked over at Smith Smith and back at the Smiths. "He's a little tall to be an elf, don't you think? He doesn't quite have that Elvish sort of presence."
"So he doesn't look like an elf. Big deal. Whatever Smith wants, Smith gets. And since they wouldn't let him be an elf, well, I'm getting revenge," Mrs. Smith continued.
Trixie figured out by this time she had to be dreaming. There were so many Smiths and elves and dancing bananas and Mexican grapes that she knew, without any doubt, either she was dreaming or had gone completely mad.
"Don't you think, ummm… Smith here should have earned the right to be an elf? You can't just go forcing people to do what you want them to do or to make something of someone who is obviously not whatever it is you think he is." If they understood that Honeyspeak, then she'd know she was dreaming.
Trixie opened her mouth to say something, when the outer door opened and a great blast of icy cold air and snow blew in.
New York Pennsylvania Station. When they finally pulled in, Jim felt like getting off the train and kissing the disgustingly filthy ground. The passengers surged up the escalators, eager to get home to their loved ones or to continue their journey.
He walked out of the New Jersey Transit section of the station, made a quick left, walking up the stairs and out onto Seventh Avenue where taxis would be waiting for him.
The snow was blowing heavily and he shivered. And then he shuddered again. The stand was completely empty. There was not a taxi to be found. The snow was blanketing the city, quieting the ever present jumble of horns, sirens and jackhammers that seem to make up the background noise of the city.
He pulled his skimpy jacket closer around his body and tried to contain his disappointment. It was too far to walk to get to Trixie's office. Again he was so close, yet so far as he stood in the blowing wind and delicate flakes of snow began to coat him.
A large, rotund man with a snow white beard and red suit followed the wind and snow into the dirty little delicatessen. "Ho ho ho, what have we here?" his booming voice rang out. "Beulah, John and Smith. And the rest of my missing elves." He handed Trixie back her iPhone.
Huh. The elves were able to call the North Pole and she couldn't even get a call through to LaGuardia.
"Santa!" The captive elves rushed past Trixie and the Smiths surrounding Santa and all babbling at the same time. He nodded his head, and the elves that had been waiting in Trixie's agency joined the throng. With the touch of a finger to the side of his nose the whole room became eerily silent.
"John and Beulah, I am very disappointed in you," Santa began. "You must know as parents by now that is not a good idea to grant every single wish, no matter how ridiculous or expensive, that your child wishes for." He gave the couple a stern look.
"And Smith. I should think you would have more sense than to try and be something you are not. While you and your parents have spun Trixie a nice tale. You left out a few pertinent facts. You were offered employment at the North Pole as the reindeer wrangler. You chose not to accept. And you two didn't realize how hard you would have to work to get something that you wanted – namely a salary. For upsetting my wife and almost making me have to cancel Christmas, I think that you three deserve to be punished."
Elmer snarled, "I think we should drop them off at polar bear cave."
Santa rolled his eyes. "That's not very forgiving or Christmasy of you, Elmer. What do you think, Trixie?"
"Gleeps, Santa! I have no idea." Trixie had been standing there bemused. Santa Claus, elves, elf-nappers… Yes, it definitely was a strange day.
"You must have an opinion, Trixie," Santa persisted.
Trixie looked at the three huddled together and softened a bit. What they did, however wrongly, they did out of love for their son. They didn't bother to think of the consequences. Her bright blue eyes met the sparkling blue of Santa's.
"I definitely think they need to learn a lesson. Every action has a consequence. But we also have to learn forgiveness, too," Trixie said gently, shrugging her shoulders.
Under that great white beard, Santa's lips tilted up in a beatific smile. That was his Trixie! "I've made my decision," he said in a rather stern voice. The Smiths huddled even tighter together and waited to hear their fate. "What do you wish for Trixie, on this Christmas Eve?"
Trixie stared at her watch; it was already past midnight. A million wishes went through her head. "I guess world peace is a little beyond you," she smiled sadly. "I wish that Mr. and Mrs. Smith and their son would find a place where they could learn to be a real family."
"And so your wish is granted," Santa said. "You three are banished to the island where the recalled toys are kept. Those are toys that for whatever reason, pose a danger to a child. You three will have the distinct honor of reworking those toys into something that will delight a child safely."
"We don't deserve this, Santa," John Smith said, chastened.
Santa merely nodded his head and ushered everyone out into the cold alley. He'd drop the Smiths off along the way back. The snow was coming down harder, and there was a sleigh in the narrow alleyway pulled by eight reindeer. "Everybody in the sled now. We've got to get back to the North Pole." He turned to Trixie. "I'm very proud of you, my dear." He touched her face with his gloved hand. "I know what you really wanted. You want to spend Christmas with your husband, but yet you looked outside of yourself and made a wish for someone else. Thank you, Trixie."
She stood there in the freezing wind and snow and blushed. "It was the right thing to do," she whispered. Then louder, "How can you get back to the North Pole in the snowstorm? You can't see 2 feet in front of you!"
"Oh, but I have Rudolph. His shiny nose will cut through anything!" At the sound of his name Rudolph turned to Santa and turned up the wattage. Santa climbed in the sleigh which miraculously held everyone, gave a wink to Trixie and grabbed the reins. "Let's dash away, all," he said, and a few seconds later the sleigh lifted up into the sky with the sound of jingle bells trailing after it.
Trixie watched for a few seconds, and then made her way slowly back to her office. She opened the door and went in and flipped on the lights.
And drew in a rasping breath.
Oh my.
The entire office was one big mass of Christmas. Twinkling lights were strung up everywhere. Snowflakes and icicles and Christmas ornaments were hung from the ceiling, the walls and even the furniture. What wasn't covered was decked out in silvery tinsel.
She was tired, she was hungry and she wondered if she was ever going to wake up from this dream. She shrugged out of her coat, hung it on the coat hook (after moving some golden garland) and flopped on the sofa in the waiting room, missing Jim.
Sometimes it sucked to be all honorable and stuff.
A bright yellow taxi was coming down the deserted street. Jim didn't see it, his head was down and he was staring at the snow starting to cover his boots. The beeping of the horned snapped his head around and he gratefully approached the vehicle.
"Are you on duty?" he asked the driver.
"Sure, buddy, hop in. Where to?"
"21 Baker St." The warmth in the backseat of the taxi felt so comforting.
"Nasty day for you to be out just like you are," the driver said conversationally. They were two types of taxi drivers in New York. One didn't want to have any interaction with the customer at all – probably didn't even want to drive him to his destination. The other talked your ear off.
Jim obviously had the latter.
"It was a long series of mishaps starting at Newark Airport," he said.
It seemed to Jim that in no time at all, the driver was pulling up in front of Trixie's office. But that couldn't be right; it was dangerously snowy out and the trip should have taken much longer crosstown.
The taxi meter wasn't showing a fare either. "How much do I owe you? Your meter seems to be broken."
"The ride's on me, buddy," the taxi driver said as Jim climbed out of the car. "Merry Christmas." Jim was left standing there with bills in his hand as the taxi glided away. Glided. Now why did he think that?
He shook his head and pulled his keys out, opening the door to the office. He locked it again once he was inside, flipped on the light and closed his eyes. Please let Trixie be here. Please.
He opened his eyes and turned around and there she was. Asleep on the couch, but boy was she a sight for his weary eyes. Trixie sat up abruptly, reaching for her Glock.
"Trix, it's me," Jim said, well aware of his wife's lightning fast reflexes. "What the heck happened in here? It looks like a Christmas decorations delivery truck exploded in here."
It took a moment for it to sink in, and then she leaped from the sofa and into his arms, peppering his face with dozens of tiny kisses. "Gleeps, Jim! How did you make it here? I was just resigning myself to spending Christmas alone with a can of Campbell's Scotch Broth."
Everything. Everything he went through today, all the trials and tribulations just disappeared looking into her bright blue eyes. "I'll always be here for you, baby. Always." He couldn't help it; he just had to bend and taste her luscious mouth.
Her hands moved up his chest and suddenly, she realized he was wearing leather. Jim? Leather? She pulled away from him and flicked her eyes up and down. "What in heaven's name do you have on, Jim?"
He groaned. "Oh, Trix, you would not believe the day I had. Let me get out of this coat first." He turned and she saw the crown logo and rubbed her head. This was the longest, weirdest dream she ever had in her life.
Her eyes went lower and she saw his butt, his very nice butt, with the word Juiceee printed right across his pink sweatpants. She watched his Juiceee butt takes several steps away from her as he hung his coat on the coat rack. And when he turned she saw the front of his shirt.
"Ummm," she couldn't keep the giggle out of her voice. "You made it to second base with a TSA screener, Mr. Juiceee Butt?"
"C'mere, you." He swiped out a hand, flopped back on the sofa, and pulled her down into his lap. "No, I didn't make it to second base with a TSA screener. There's only one person in my life I've ever made it to second base with and she is sitting right here on my lap." He rubbed his forehead against her shoulder.
"Oy, what a day I've had today!" he continued. "First they diverted us to Newark; the lady in the seat next to me horked all over me; they lost my luggage and the only shops that were open were the souvenir stands so I cobbled together this outfit. When I went to wash up in the men's room, I hung my jacket over the stall door and somebody stole it. When I was waiting for the train to take me into New York Pennsylvania Station, I was trying to call you and some lady jostled my arm and my iPhone is now somewhere on the track in New Jersey being run over by the finest trains in the land. Some guy thought I was going to a gay club in New York and hit on me. And when I finally got here in New York, there were no taxis on 7th Avenue."
"Jim. I hope you didn't walk all the way here dressed like that in this snowstorm," Trixie scolded. "I really would like you to live to have more than one Christmas with."
Jim sat back, tilted his head and widened his green eyes. "It was the best luck. I was standing there in the snow and actually debating walking here just like you said. A taxi pulled up and asked me where I wanted to go. I barely remember the ride for some reason. I must be that tired. Then the driver wouldn't even take money and wished me a Merry Christmas."
Trixie stroked his rather raspy cheek. "My poor Jimmy. You have had quite a day, haven't you?" She slid her arms around his neck and nestled her head against it, and sent out a thought to the big man in the red suit: Thank you, Santa.
He was stroking small circles on her back, and his strong arms pulled her tight against him. "I'd do anything to get back to you, baby. Although, I was kind of picturing a different sort of Christmas Eve." He gave a heavy sigh. "How was your day?"
Trixie opened her mouth to tell him, and images of the day flashed through her mind. "Oh, it was about the usual," she said. "Not like yours at all." She slid off his lap, and went over to the window, peeking out the blinds. "It's still snowing a bit. We might be able to make it home for Christmas."
Trixie sauntered slowly over to the office Christmas tree. The multicolored lights played gently across her face, bringing an extra sparkle to her eyes. "You know, Jim, I have one of your gifts here. I wasn't going to give it to you until tomorrow, but since you had such a rotten day, I think I'm going to give it to you now."
"But, Trix, I don't have anything to give to you now." He wanted to give her everything, the world in fact, if he could. But she never would let him.
"As if I care about that. Well? Do you want your gift now?" She was wearing that impish smile that made him absolutely crazy. He'd do anything she wanted him to do.
"Okay. If you insist." Secretly, a small thrill snaked up his spine. It was better to give than receive, but sometimes receiving was nice, too.
Trixie pulled a small box from beneath the tree. "Here it is, Jim. I hope you like it. I think you will."
Jim shook the box this way and that way. "It's not breakable, it is it?" he asked.
"Fine time to ask now, after you shook it wildly. If it was breakable, you'd have broken it," Trixie said wryly. "Just open it, Frayne."
For some strange reason there was a slight tremor to his hands as he pulled off the cheerful wrapping paper. Opening it up, a frown crossed his handsome face.
"Trix, why are you giving me a thermometer? Not that I don't like it, it's the nicest-looking thermometer I ever saw," he added with haste when he saw her frown.
"Turn it over on the other side, Jim. You shook it up so much you flipped it over." A small smile was tilting her lips as she watched him flip it with his index finger.
And freeze.
He ran his index finger, so soft and gentle, down the object as if to make sure it was real. When he looked up at her, his eyes were the deepest green they had ever been, and they reflected the most incredulous joy. "Seriously?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Seriously," she whispered back, letting all the love she felt for him shine through her jeweled eyes.
The little box dropped out of his hand and landed on the floor as he gathered her to him, taking her mouth in a in a kiss he hoped expressed all the love, light and joy she brought into his life since he stared at her down the barrel of a shotgun, and fell hard for the feisty blonde right then and there.
They both never mentioned to the other that it kind of sounded like helium-filled voices were singing Joy to the World, there was the sound of dozens of jingling bells and a faint Ho Ho Ho in the background.
They never even noticed the little object on the ground with its life-changing word staring right up at them.
Pregnant.