Must Be Santa

December 15, 2:35 AM

10 days until Christmas

Click, click, click.

Sara sighed heavily as she continued scrolling through hundreds of lists of Christmas sleighs, some of them only a couple of inches in size, some life-size. Only a few were meeting the dimensions of the sleigh treads they had found at the crime scene. That was typically a good thing, narrowing down their options beforehand, but for some reason it was making her feel as if she was wasting her efforts. She had spent most of her night and the night before, searching for sleighs, and she hadn't even started calling numbers to find out if they'd sold any to the Las Vegas area. The search had been almost futile.

"Hey Sara, how're those sleigh tracks coming along?" asked Warrick, materializing beside her, gazing at the computer screen over Sara's shoulder. "Ah…everything's found on Google."

Sara turned her face to him, glaring. "Can you believe the department doesn't have a sleigh directory?" she muttered sarcastically.

"Just makes your life that much more difficult, huh?"

Sara groaned again.

"I have been sitting at this computer for the entire shift, looking for sleighs and have come up with very, very few that meet the dimensions of ours. A 'Santa and Friends Co.' sells life-size Santas and sleighs. Their medium version is about the right size. And then there's 'Sleigh Bells Inc.' who sells sleighs for sleigh rides, like if you were in charge of recreation for a small town you'd probably order a sleigh from them. The final one is 'Happy Holiday Display Co.' They use life-size sleighs for decoration purposes."

Sara rubbed the back of her neck as Warrick replied, "But that's a good thing. We won't have too much trouble finding the right one."

"I've got the numbers of those companies and I have to call them…I bet it's long distance…" She buried her face in her hands.

Warrick gazed at the screen full of visited purple links.

"Well, I just got back from talking to Hodges. That black dirt I found by the girl's window was your run-of-the-mill chimney soot."

"No kidding?" Sara mumbled through her fingers.

"Yeah, and that red thread I found? It's velveteen. You could also look up velveteen Santa suits."

Sara pulled her head out of her hands and glowered at him.

"Why don't you do that? If I sit at this computer any longer my eyes will fall out of my head and I'll be stuck in a hunched over position for weeks."

"Well, it might help if you sit up straight."

Warrick pushed Sara's chair in as far as it would go, forcing her to sit up unswervingly vertical.

"That's not going to keep my eyes from falling out."

"Have you checked the yellow pages?"

"That was my first stop. I looked through that most of yesterday."

"I'll go get you a cup of coffee."

Sara sighed. "Santa costume it is then…"

"And I'll start those phone calls for you too."

He swiftly took the list of phone numbers Sara had written down from the computer desk.

"Hey!" Sara cried, reaching out for them. "I was going to do that."

"No, you weren't. With your social skills we'd never solve this case."

Sara looked sincerely offended. "I can ask about sleigh sales and dimensions just fine."

Warrick waved her off as he pulled out his cellphone and headed out the door. Sara sighed heavily, too drained to bother going after him. As Warrick walked down the hallway, he passed the room Sofia and Nick were inside of, conversing with Mr. Cunningham on the sofa opposite them.

"So, as far as you know, your wife had no enemies?" Sofia questioned gently.

"No ma'am."

"No neighborhood kids she might have upset? Megan, maybe?" Nick pressed.

Mr. Cunningham looked injured. "Megan? Never! Kate was in love with that child. She made cookies for her almost every day, treated her as if she were her own. There aren't really any kids I can think of that would dislike her. She wasn't one of the cranky old coots you see on TV shows all the time. Nothing like that."

His voice nearly broke at the last sentence and his indignity at Nick's comment drained away.

"Umm…your wife brought over a fruitcake, for the Sheriff and his family, we're presuming," Nick continued. "Just a holiday gift, I'm guessing?"

Mr. Cunningham hesitated, his mouth hanging open slightly before he closed it and nodded. "Yes. A gift. She had set it in the kitchen window to cool it that...that…" He couldn't continue and his breathing began to come in shakes as he started to sob.

Sofia handed him a tissue and he loudly blew his nose into it.

"I'm sorry…" he blubbered. " It's just—it's just that it's almost C-Christmas and she was going t-to see her only g-grandchild for the f-first time. He was born a c-couple weeks ago."

He choked and blew his nose again.

Sofia and Nick sat there at a loss for words.

"We're sorry, sir," Nick said in a quiet voice.

"It'll get easier as time passes," Sofia offered in a soft, comforting whisper.

"I'd like to go home now," Mr. Cunningham declared, standing up. "Which way is out of here?"

"To your left," Sofia said.

"Thank you." And he headed out.

Sofia let out a sigh. "Well, that went well."

"Did you notice how he hesitated when we asked him about the fruitcake?" Nick pointed out.

"Why?"

"Doesn't that seem strange?"

Sofia's expression gave off the impression she was trying to think of an answer.

"I'm gonna go check that out, 'kay? See you later…"

"Gil, I gotta talk to you."

Catherine stood authoritatively at the door to Grissom's office, although her body language suggested somebody who really would prefer to be somewhere else, doing something else, with somebody else. Catherine had spent most of the shift trying to figure out the proper way to present her case and somehow convince Grissom to convince the rest of the nightshift to come to Lindsey's Nutcracker.

Grissom looked up from his desk, peeking over the rim of his glasses and setting down a newspaper. It was explaining about a quarter of the case on three pages, even though half a page would suffice. A picture of the sheriff's house was on the front.

"Gil, about Lindsey's Nutcracker…"

Catherine swept into the room, gracefully and self-assured as always, and sat in the chair in front of Grissom's desk.

"What about it?"

"You pulled me out of it—"

Grissom held up a single finger to shush her and interrupted with, "We went over this already. You can go to the one on Saturday. I'm sorry, it was a high-priority case and I needed everybody on board."

Catherine took in a deep breath and continued as if he'd said nothing, though she sounded slightly more dignified. "You pulled me out of it and Lindsey was very upset. She wants me to come to the one on Saturday."

Grissom looked puzzled.

"Then…why are you here?"

"Because you have to come with."

Grissom blinked, then stated simply, "Okay."

"And Nick, and Warrick, Sara, Greg, and Hodges," she continued, rattling them off on her fingers.

Grissom stared. "Hodges."

"She thinks he's funny."

"This was Lindsey's idea?"

"Yep."

"Your daughter wants almost the entire nightshift to come to her Nutcracker?"

"Yep."

He heaved a sigh and placed two fingers to his temples.

"And I suppose you want me to persuade them all to come?"

"Yep," she said, still holding onto the confident aura around her.

"And…is there a reason she wants us all to come?"

Catherine sighed. "She said it was so that nobody can call me to work."

"Smart kid," he sighed, setting his head in the crook between his forefinger and thumb.

She tilted her head to the side, flashing a quick grin at that comment, before continuing. "So will you?"

Grissom set his hands back on the desk, gazing half-heartedly at the newspaper again.

"What time does it start?"

"Thank you."

Nick entered one of the observation labs, a warm, steaming cup of coffee in his hands. Greg was there, gazing half-heartedly at the numerous transparencies and photographs from the scene.

"No drinks in here," Greg ordered almost immediately upon Nick's entrance. "And that had better not be my Blue Hawaiian coffee. That stuff is expensive and there is a reason I don't let anyone else make it."

"It's not," Nick fibbed, setting it down on a table against the wall he was nearest. "Are you getting anywhere with those hoof-prints?" He approached Greg's side, his eyes flitting from picture to picture, transparency to transparency.

"They're definitely reindeer tracks."

"You're not lying?" Nick questioned, thinking nothing but how much of a hypocrite he was.

"No, I'm not. See for yourself." Greg gestured at the table, as if this new found evidence were somehow a bad thing.

Nick examined the transparency over the close-up of the woman's face—a perfect match.

"Are there any reindeer at a zoo nearby here?" Greg wondered aloud.

"I don't think so…maybe. You should check that out."

"And what are you doing?"

"Hodges is processing that fruitcake for me. I think something might be up."

"Oh…well, in the meantime, I'm going to go get some coffee," Greg muttered, photographing the last of his findings, scribbling something down on a clipboard, and putting everything away. He headed out into the hallway, Nick swiping his cup of coffee and following. Greg made a beeline for the breakroom, and when he got there a pot of coffee was slowly filling itself, the tantalizing aroma wafting in the air around them.

"Nick, why does that smell like Blue Hawaiian?"

Nick peered into the mug in his hands, the deep brown swirling liquid shining up at him. The delicious taste lingering on the steam was almost too much.

Greg looked over at the pot of trickling liquid coming from the coffee-maker.

"Soo…" Nick began, trying to divert the subject. He went and sat down at the table and continued. "About your parents' house."

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm not going. That's final."

Greg bustled about, pulling out a mug, creamer, and then pouring the coffee into it. It was definitely Blue Hawaiian. He drifted over to the table and sat down directly across from Nick.

"Raise your right hand," he commanded.

"Oh-kay…" Nick said in a confused tone.

"Now repeat after me: Never again."

"Umm…Never again."

The scrawny lab tech Greg had disappeared almost completely, replaced with the angry face of…something else.

"Now, you were saying, about my parents."

"Umm…yeah…what's the worst that could happen when you go there?"

Greg grimaced.

"I don't want to even think about it."

"Do you have family issues or something?"

"No. I love my family. They're just extremely embarrassing. Like one time, it was my cousin's wedding, and my aunt had gotten a little bit drunk…she started this huge cake fight. I swear, if any of you guys had been there you would never have let me down."

"I wouldn't mind meeting the nuthouse of the nutcase."

"Nobody would mind except me."

"I'm sure Catherine could fix that sweater."

"Julie would notice."

"Who?"

"Cousin."

The room went silent and Greg drained half of his coffee, like a drunkard at a bar. Just then, Catherine rounded a corner out in the hallway. She spotted them inside the breakroom and decided to enter herself.

"Hey guys. Jacqui got back to me on those fingerprints—all of them were the victim's." She sighed. "Another dead end." Then she caught whiff of the brewing liquid. "Ooh, Greg made coffee." She turned to him, taking a half step toward the pot. "May I?"

"Yes Catherine, you may. Thank you for asking." Greg glowered at Nick for another moment. Catherine poured herself a mug, then caught sight of the box holding Greg's sweater.

"What's that?"

"Uhh, it-it's nothing! Nothing!" Greg mumbled.

But Catherine had already opened it and pulled out the hideous sweater.

"What is this?"

"My sweater." It was almost undecipherable Greg mumbled it so low.

Catherine tried to conceal a grimace. She sniffed at it then winced heavily.

"It could do with a washing."

"If you want to, go right ahead."

"Maybe the puffballs will fall off?" she offered.

"We can only hope," Nick replied, smirking behind his coffee cup.