"I do not understand. Why did she think you were Dutch?"
Wishing Ziva would pay more attention to the road instead of the strange details of his conversation with Agnes Bromstead, Tony dug his fingers deeper into the cushion of his seat. "I don't know. Does it matter? On the way out, the nurse was explaining to me that it was a good thing I came in the morning because Mama Bromstead likes to watch tapes of the Olympics in the afternoon. All afternoon. Apparently she cycles through the winter and summer games from '84 on. She was halfway through swimming from Barcelona, which may explain part of why she's not too clear on what year it is."
"And does that have something to do with why we are driving to this town for reasons you have not yet clarified?"
"Just making conversation. Most of what the poor old lady said didn't really mean much."
"Well, you repeated your alias several times, so I assumed it was somehow relevant to…do not honk at me!" She reached over him and waved her badge at the passenger window. "Federal agent!"
Tony tried to look apologetic before the man in the Honda faded into the background. "They might be a little less upset if you used your turn signal."
"What?"
"Yeah." He gave up feeling like death was only a lane away – he'd asked her to drive after all – and got back on topic. "Anyway, Mama Bromstead was going on and on about how Delores was eight and I was the elementary school principal and how Papa Bromstead lost his job because he got hurt at work and there wasn't much money for Christmas presents and…"
"Breathe, Tony."
"In Delores' personnel file, it said her dad died in the spring of the year she was eight. I think. My math isn't always so good. Anyway, her psych eval seemed to indicate that she's got some unresolved issues about her dad's death…"
"I really do not think you should have…"
Ignoring the interruption, he went on, "The last Christmas little Delores had with her dad she didn't get the one toy she wanted and he felt bad. Now, I'm no expert, but I think she feels bad that their last Christmas together wasn't better. Maybe that's why her heart is two sizes too small. If I can get her Knee-High Cherry Pie like all the other little girls got that year…"
"Is that like the mile-high lemon meringue from Loeb's Deli?" Ziva interrupted as she careened across all the lanes toward their exit.
"No," he yelped as he was thrown against the door.
"I do not understand the importance, then. Is pie a significant dessert at Christmas?"
"We're not talking about pie!"
"I distinctly heard you say cherry pie."
"How can you hear anything over the squeal of your tires and the blaring horns?" He took a deep breath. She was doing him a favor after all, and they'd made it from DC to here in record time. "Just go right at the end of the ramp."
He extended his arms just in time to catch the momentum the seatbelt couldn't as she made an extraordinary effort to obey the stop sign. Why was she so concerned about this particular sign when the ones displaying the speed limit were so easily ignored? He was just feeling his stomach settle when she accelerated again, asking, "If you had told me yesterday, I would have been happy to bake this pie. I could have found the recipe on the Internet and…"
"Not. About. Pie," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Just take a right at the next street and it'll be on your…there, on the left." The sign for A Country Doll House was visible from a hundred yards away.
As Ziva slowed to make the turn into the small, unpaved parking lot, he saw her look, then look again before slowly following his finger with her eyes to confirm where he was pointing as they idled in the road. "A doll shop?"
He grimaced as he lowered the hand that had been indicating a building decorated to look like a gingerbread house. "Yes. Knee-High Cherry Pie is a doll that little Delores didn't get the Christmas before her dad died. I Googled it and found this place, and the woman I talked to when I called said she has it." He waited until the motor was off before unbuckling his seatbelt. "So that's why we're here."
"Why did you need me here?"
"Because if a guy my age walks into a doll store alone to buy a doll, we seriously consider arresting him."
"I do not remember reading any law stating…"
"Just trust me on this." He got out of the car and leaned on the roof for a moment. "It'd be creepy if I didn't have you with me. Oh, and if the lady asks, my niece has an extensive doll collection her mother started as a little girl and this is what we're getting her as a Christmas gift."
"We?"
He opened the door for her and to let her into the shop first, whispering as she passed him, "Go with it, super spy."
A bell over the door tinkled as they entered a tightly packed room that smelled strongly of sawdust and cinnamon. The lighting was dim, either from lack of light sources or the high shelves lined with dolls in dresses, dolls in costumes, dolls with hats, dolls with pets. From every corner, glass eyes stared at them. Ziva grabbed his arm. "Let's do this quickly, yes?"
Tearing his eyes away from a blue-eyed doll that he was certain was giving him an evil eye, Tony nodded. "Uh huh. I thought it was weird visiting a prison with all the eyes looking at you from cells, but this…this…" As if the scene could not have gotten more surreal, a door near the back of the shop opened to admit a woman that could best be described as, "Mrs. Claus?"
Ziva looked confused by his sudden outburst, but the curly white-haired, apple-cheeked woman beamed from behind her wire-rimmed glasses. "And here I was afraid that no one else would see me in my holiday costume! We don't have to stand on formalities, Cindy will be just fine. What can I do for you nice folks on this very merry Christmas eve?"
"Oh, uh…" He felt a shove in his back as Ziva nudged him toward the counter, still clutching his arm. "My name is Tony DiNozzo, I called earlier about the…"
"Knee-High Cherry Pie!" Cindy finished, throwing her arms into the air. "Oh, I'd nearly given up hope for the girl. So pretty and she's been here for so long just waiting to go to a loving home!"
As she turned to reach for something behind the counter, Ziva hissed into his ear, "Are we here for a doll or a stray cat?"
"Uh…" He didn't have much to add as the woman turned and placed a candy-cane wrapped box on the counter.
"I took the liberty of wrapping her because I haven't been too busy today. All little girls want these days is Barbie and those other plastic horrors, so I'm happy to hear your little niece appreciates quality dolls like Cherry here." She removed the lid, revealing something that would have given Tony nightmares for weeks if he'd seen a cousin open it on Christmas morning. He glanced at Ziva, who was gripping him all the tighter, but her reaction was well masked behind a smile that matched the doll's. Wow, and she hadn't even had time to practice that one. Cindy seemed to think their silence was wondering awe. "I know! Isn't she beautiful! A shame so many little girls mistreated her. For all the Cherrys sold, only a few are available in such good condition these days."
"Well, I've certainly never seen anything like that," he stammered.
Thankfully, the lid was replaced a moment later as Cindy unleashed a heartfelt sigh. "I know you'll be happy where you're going, Cherry, but I will miss you, dear." After dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, she took on a surprisingly businesslike mien. "Three-fifty, dear, and no charge for the wrapping."
Tony was about to express amazement over the inexpensiveness of the doll when he realized his decimal point was in the wrong place and he was unable to hide a gasp in a coughing fit, though he carried on with the coughing fit until Ziva started slapping his back. He finally took a deep breath and apologized, "Sorry. Must be, uh, sawdust or something getting to me in here."
"No need to apologize. My husband has the same problem, so he never comes in the shop. But will that be check or charge, dear?"
"Uh…" He knew Ziva could sense his instinct to turn and flee because she was standing very close, blocking him with her body and a leg strategically positioned between his. Even she wouldn't be able to shoot down his argument that there'd been a strict fifty dollar limit set on Secret Santa gifts or that…Agnes Bromstead's family photo, sitting on the windowsill in her room at the nursing home filled his mind. "I hope you take AMEX."
One painful signature later, he carefully picked up what he sincerely hoped wouldn't be a very expensive case of holiday regret – the first not involving alcohol. That had to be some kind of cause for celebration, most likely with alcohol. He missed whatever Cindy said as he maneuvered between the crowded shelves toward the door. "Huh?"
"I was just saying that I hope your niece appreciates Cherry. I don't believe you mentioned her name."
Tony felt the tinkle of the entry bell chill his blood until Ziva piped up, "I am sure Emma will be thrilled with…Cherry."
"Ah, Emma is such a pretty name. Well, she's lucky to have such a nice aunt and uncle. Merry Christmas!"
"Yes, and to you." Ziva stepped out of the store, leaving Tony to smile awkwardly and offer his own season's greetings. She was slightly less cordial when she opened her trunk. "Remind me again why that charade was necessary?"
Still distracted by the cost of the package he was gently lowering into the car, he was struck by a sudden thought. "I think this thing may need a seatbelt if you're driving home."
"You are starting to scare me, Tony."
"Look, I'm gonna put it in the back and strap it in. I'm not blowing all that money just to have it go flying out the window on 95." She huffed with disgust but opened the door for him and lowered the seat. After he had completed the delicate operation of securely belting Knee-High Cherry Pie into the back seat, he had gathered himself enough to ask, "Emma?"
"Please, that was the easy part." She was kind enough not to peel out until he'd yanked his door closed. "Every fourth little girl is named Emma. The difficult thing was keeping a straight face when she said how much the doll was."
"Not the part where she ripped off the lid and revealed the Bride of Chucky?"
"I thought the doll itself was rather pretty. Not worth what you paid, but…perhaps if your thoughts about Delores Bromstead are correct, it will be worth much more."
He kept the tragic loss of his new subwoofer to himself as he tried to relax. Surprisingly, Ziva's driving was much less stressful than what he knew was waiting for him at the office. He glanced over his shoulder every so often to ensure that Cherry's box wasn't being jostled. If this didn't work, he prayed that Agnes didn't mention to her daughter that she'd discussed the doll with a nice man claiming to be an elementary school principal.