Drowning in Christmas (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) (6 page)

Since everything seemed to be going according to plan refreshment-wise, I decided to check up on Santa Claus. I wormed my way through the crush being careful not to jostle the expensively clad assemblage holding cups of Henri's famous holiday punch. The precise recipe was a closely guarded secret, but as someone had described it to me, “it packs a wallop.” I looked forward to sampling it myself a bit later in the evening. Judging from the rising volume of conversation, the brew was working its magic. I could only hope it would loosen the party-goers’ grip on their wallets as well it seemed to be loosening their tongues.

I wondered how soon Santa's official visit was due to occur. Mary was nowhere to be seen, so I headed toward the Office of Museum Education, where the wait staff went to refill their pitchers, to check on progress with James. Halfway across the room, I was startled to see James himself in front of me, heading purposefully in the same direction. The small bald spot at the crown of his head stabbed me to the heart. It reminded me of the one I hadn't yet had the heart to tell Armando about. We're better off not knowing some things about ourselves until we have to, I had decided. Besides, I found it rather endearing.

James was still not in costume. Pausing at the door, he looked left, then right, almost furtively before yanking open the door and insinuating himself inside. I was puzzled by the furtiveness of his movements until I realized that Santa's true identity was probably kept secret. Only the UCC staff would be in the know.

It was doubtful that James would appreciate company while he got into his ensemble, so I changed direction and headed to the Avery Lobby, where things were relatively peaceful. Although there would doubtless be late arrivals, the bulk of the invited guests had already been admitted. The bulging coat racks opposite the guard desk attested to the wintry nip in the air, but that only added to the seasonal festivity.

“How are things going?” I greeted Strutter, who was resting her feet while she could by sitting at the desk next to the guard on duty.

“All quiet here for the moment. Kate, I'd like you to meet Luis Gomez.” She gestured toward the young man at her left. “He was recruited to help out at the last minute just like I was. The flu has invaded the Wadsworth's security staff, too.”

“Hi, Luis.” I held out my hand. “Kate Lawrence, temporary worker at the UCC. Any excitement so far? Inebriated guests? Lost earrings? Forgotten invitations?”

“No, Ma'am, not so far, but it's early yet, so I'm still hoping for some excitement.” He returned my grin.

“Good thing we have this guest list, though.” Strutter patted the pages spread out before them on the desk. “So many of us are new to this group, we wouldn't have a clue who should be admitted without it.”

I scanned the list. A number of the names were vaguely familiar, but I wouldn't be able to pick out their faces in the crowd. A checkmark next to the name indicated that an invited guest had, in fact, shown up, information that would affect his or her inclusion on future invitation lists.

“Why are there two checkmarks next to James Halloran's name?” I wondered.

Strutter peered at the list and shrugged. “Must have gone out and come back in again. Some of them do that, mostly the smokers.” She pointed out another double-checked name. “Listen, Girlfriend, do you think you could have a waiter bring us some of those fabulous canapés? Luis and I are wasting away.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” I apologized and sprang for the door. “Here the rest of us are absolutely wallowing in food and drink, and you two are stuck out here starving. I'll be back in two shakes.”

Ten minutes later, having fortified my colleagues with plates heaped high with Henry/Henri's specialties, I was pleased to hear the musicians signaling Santa's arrival with an elegant rendition of “Here Comes Santa Claus.” I scurried back into the main room to secure a good vantage point from which to watch the fun. Having finally shaken her entourage of young admirers, Margo was taking a break in the shelter of the ornate trees flanking the bandstand, and I crossed the room to join her.

“Hey, Lady,” I greeted her. “How's the refreshment biz?”

“Hard on the feet but otherwise fine,” she rejoined. I noticed that her feet were bare and looked around for the strappy sandals in which she had begun the evening. She pointed to the lowest branch of the tree behind her, where her silver sandals dangled merrily. “Is your CFO person ready to do the Santa thing?”

“James O’Halloran, and yes, I believe this is it.” We looked around expectantly as the musicians paused, then swung into a repeat performance of “Here Comes Santa Claus.” An anticipatory hush fell over the room, but no Santa appeared. I noticed Sister Marguerite waving frantically at me from the other side of the bandstand and excused my way through the crowd to join her.

“Something must have gone wrong with his costume,” she whispered in my ear. Be a dear and nip over to the Education Office and see what's what. I'll have to jolly these people along with an announcement of some kind.” I nodded to show I understood and retraced my steps through the crowd, signaling Margo to join me. Sister stepped onto the bandstand and approached the microphone. “Looks like Santa's been delayed, Folks. Something about a city ordinance forbidding reindeer landings on public buildings, but we'll have it sorted out in a few moments. Until then, please continue to enjoy our hospitality,” I heard her address the assemblage.

While the crowd was thus distracted, we made a dash for the Museum Office. Before I had a chance to knock, the door flew open, and Mary O’Halloran yanked me inside, followed closely by Margo.

“Where's James?” Mary and I demanded of each other simultaneously, looking around the room a bit wildly. The caterer's supplies were stacked everywhere, and a great heap of small, wrapped packages spilled from one corner. A huge, stainless steel vat of Henri's punch sat on the floor, a plastic pitcher floating aimlessly in the middle. The waiters refilling their trays of cups must have been in a hurry, as repeated splashing had formed puddles around the container. I wondered at the sanitation of this arrangement, but then I supposed the alcohol in the punch would kill off any germs.

“Looks like Santa had other places to be this evenin’,” Margo observed, then added practically, “Will anyone else fit into the costume?”

“What costume? I don't even see that. James was headed this way nearly an hour ago,” I said, genuinely puzzled now. “I remember that it seemed late for him not to be in costume, but I know he came into this room. I saw him go through the door, and all the presents for the guests that were in his big sack are piled over there in the corner. Do you suppose he was taken ill all of a sudden? The flu has been going through the UCC like wildfire.”

“Oh, dear,” Mary wailed softly. “He wasn't feeling very well this afternoon, but I told him he'd feel better once he was here. When I came to help him into his Santa suit after you and I talked, Kate, he wasn't here, but I just thought he was in the men's room or something.” She looked forlorn. “Where on earth can he be? I know. I'll call his cell phone. He always has that on him.” She rushed out of the room in search of a telephone.

“Now what?” I asked Margo, at a loss. I picked up the corner of the paper cloth that covered the one steel table in the room and peered underneath. Nothing. “The packages are here, but Santa's toy sack isn't. Oh, this is not good. Sister Marguerite is going to be apoplectic,” I added half to myself, but there was nothing for it but to go out there and give the good Sister the facts.

“Tell you what. Before you give Sister Marguerite the bad news, let's tiptoe out to the lobby and see if Strutter has seen Santa or his toy sack. If not, we'll just have to come up with a Plan B.” She winked to reassure me, and I followed her back to the main hall, where the crowd seemed a bit subdued but still game. As discreetly as possible, we made our way along the walls to the Avery Lobby, where Strutter was bursting to know what was going on.

“That's what we're here to ask you. Have you seen James O’Halloran, the fellow who was supposed to be playing Santa Claus tonight? He was one of those double-checked names we were looking at earlier on the guest list.”

Strutter crossed her eyes at me in disgust. “I think I would have remembered Santa Claus blowing past, with or without reindeer. If O’Halloran went out for a smoke, he didn't do it in costume.” She looked at Luis for confirmation. He looked nonplussed.

“Ummm, well … O’Halloran actually did come through here,” he finally admitted, blushing to the roots of his buzz cut. “I remembered after we were talking about the double check marks next to his name. He wasn't in costume or anything. He asked me where we kept the wheelchairs. Said it would be a lot easier to get his bag of presents into position if he had something with wheels to move it around in. So I pointed him to that closet over there behind the coat racks, and he disappeared for a minute. You were in the women's room,” he added for Strutter's benefit.

“Oh, yeah,” she muttered, remembering.

“Right about then, a big group came in, and I was busy checking them off and so on. A few minutes later, O’Halloran came back pushing a big sack in the wheelchair. Went right out that door.”

“Did he come back in again? Did you put a third checkmark next to his name?”

“That's what I can't remember, Ma'am. I honestly think I would recall doing it myself, but I just don't.”

We looked at each other. “Would you know if one of the wheelchairs was still missing?” Margo asked finally.

Poor Luis turned even redder. “No, Ma'am, I would not. This is my first time here, and the wheelchairs move back and forth from the Main Street entrance to this one, as I understand it. People pick one up where they come in and drop it off wherever they exit the building.”

“Looks like Santa flew the coop,” I stated the obvious.

“Vamoosed,” Strutter agreed.

“Blew this pop-stand,” Margo offered. “Before your time, Darlin’,” she told Luis, who looked confused.
Since we couldn't think of anything more productive to do, we all trooped over to the coat room. Luis flipped on the light. Four wheelchairs were propped neatly against the wall, which gave us no information at all, since we had no idea how many had been there at the beginning of the evening. “What's that?” Strutter bent over and peered at a wet trail on the floor. It led into and out of the coat room. Luis dropped to a crouch and swiped at it with a finger.

“It's sticky,” he reported. “I think it's some of that punch the waiters have been passing around all evening. Look, it goes all the way to the outer doors.” We looked.

I remembered Sister Marguerite and the three hundred guests awaiting Santa Claus in vain. “Okay, first things first. Luis, you're going to have to man the desk by yourself for a while. Get a message to me if you see O’Halloran come in or out.” He hastened back to his station. “Strutter, I need you to check the rest of this floor for signs of James O’Halloran. Middle-aged, medium height, glasses.”

“You just described ninety percent of the men in this room, Sugar,” Margo pointed out.

I thought for a moment. “Okay, he has a little bald spot on the back of his head. If you can't find him, look for his wife Mary. Pretty brunette with some gray at the front, attractively plump, wine-colored dress that buttons up the front.”

“Yes, Ma'am!” Strutter saluted sharply and scooted for the main room.

“Margo,” I grabbed her sleeve urgently. “I want you to find that caterer and charm him into performing a miracle. We need every waiter and waitress in this place to return to the staging area, off-load their refreshments, and fill their trays with those gifts piled in the corner. When they hear Sister Marguerite give them a cue, they're to sweep into the main hall and distribute the gifts. Got it?”

“No problem, Darlin’,” and I knew that for Margo, it would not be. Charm was her middle name. “What will the cue be?”

“Damned if I know at the moment, but you'll recognize it when you hear it,” I assured her. “Now I get the fun job of breaking the news to a very tired nun who's already had one heck of a day that her star performer is among the missing. Go! Go!” I pushed Margo through the doors ahead of me and went to find Sister Marguerite.

B
y
nine-thirty the party was over, and by ten-fifteen, a casual observer would have been unaware that one had even occurred. After a full day of preparation and hours on their feet, the caterer's staff had removed every remnant of food and drink and wiped and mopped their way out the door. Henry Kozlowski had been the hero of the evening. Within ten minutes of our discovery that Santa was among the missing, he had marshaled his ragtag and largely untrained troops, heaped their trays with presents for our generous guests, and lined them up by twos at the entrance to the Avery Court. On his cue, the ambient lighting was dimmed, and two volunteers bearing battery-powered candles led the gift-bearers as they swept magnificently into the hall to appreciative
ooohs
and
ahhhs.
At that moment, Henry became every inch Henri in my mind. The man had true class, the kind that counted when the chips were down.

I thanked Margo and Strutter until they held up their hands in protest. “We absolutely could not have pulled this off without you two,” I gushed for the tenth time as they gathered their purses and car keys and headed for the door.