Ник Сайнт: Purrfect Santa

“He has to be, if they’re willing to spend so lavishly on him.”

He blew into his hands and stomped his feet to stay warm. “So what about my grandfather?”

“Well, turns out he’s also staying here. Someone saw him and Knicks Cap Man head inside.”

“Who’s your witness?”

“You know I can’t talk about that, Chase. I have to protect—”

“Your sources. Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He glanced up at the white façade of the hotel. “Why would my grandfather stay in such a fancy place? And why not tell me about it? None of this makes sense.”

“Unless he was lured here under some kind of pretext and now he’s being held captive.”

He nodded grimly. “Let’s find out, shall we? Solve this mystery once and for all.”

We went inside, through the ceiling-high doors, and found ourselves in a neat little atrium, a giant Christmas tree reaching to the second floor, a sort of bridge running over our heads, garlands and Christmas lights dangling down from it. The desk was straight ahead, and we made our way over.

“Hi,” said the receptionist, a neat little swarthy man with perfectly trimmed black mustache. His head was bald and egg-shaped. “How can I help you?”

“We’re looking for a man,” I said.

“Two men, actually,” said Chase.

“One is my grandfather,” said Chase, “and he’s missing.”

“The other is the new Hampton Cove Santa, who’s rumored to be staying at this location.”

The man clamped his lips together, his eyes widening slightly. Then he shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Chase gave him his best frown. “What do you mean you can’t help us?”

“Such a man is not staying at this establishment. He never has and he never will.”

I exchanged a puzzled glance with Chase. “You mean Chase’s grandpa or Santa?”

“Both. Neither. They’re not here. Neither one of these gentlemen.”

“But we have credible information that they are,” said Chase.

“Your informant has made a mistake, sir,” said the man. “No such person is staying at the Hampton Cove Star, I can promise you.”

With a grunt of annoyance, Chase took out his badge and placed it on the counter. “This is a police matter, buddy. Now think again, please.”

The man’s eyes widened even more, and he produced a soft whimpering sound. Then he leaned in and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “IF such a man were to stay at the Hampton Cove Star—and I’m not saying he is—he would be staying in the Ambassador Suite.”

“Which man? Chase’s grandfather or the new Santa?” I asked.

“Both. Neither.” He produced another whimper. “I’ve said too much already!”

We turned away from the highly distraught receptionist to convene about the matter. “This is all very strange, Odelia,” Chase determined.

“You think? Who is staying here? Your grandfather or the new Santa?”

“Both. Neither,” said Chase with a tight smile. “Let’s find out, shall we?” He took out his gun, causing the man behind the reception desk to utter a startled cry and duck down to take cover.

“Is that really necessary?” I asked.

“Yes, it is. I’m pretty sure that my grandfather is the victim of foul play, and if I have to bust him out of that room where he’s being held captive, I’m not going in there unarmed.”

“Maybe we should call for backup. My uncle can be here in minutes.”

Chase wavered, then shook his head. “Let’s first find out what’s going on. We can always call for backup later.” And he set foot for the stairs.

I followed closely behind him, making sure I stayed hidden behind his broad back. I’m not a scaredy cat, but if Knicks Cap Man tried any funny business, I preferred not to get shot. From watching many, many movies I knew for a fact that it’s always the ditzy blonde who gets it first, while the big, burly cop makes it out alive.

We arrived on the second floor, and traversed the funny little bridge that stretched across the lobby. The Ambassador Suite was on the other side of it, apparently the best room in the house.

Chase had slowed his pace down to a crawl as he approached the entrance to the suite, and he had his gun cocked and loaded, aiming it straight ahead.

“No goons,” he whispered. “Whoever Knicks Cap Man is, he’s not very careful.”

“Must be an amateur,” I whispered back, still taking cover behind Chase.

“Well, he’s dealing with a professional now,” he said through gritted teeth, and tapped the door to the suite with the barrel of his gun. “Police!” he bellowed. “Open this door!”

From down in the lobby, a loud whimper came, and when I glanced over the railing, I saw the receptionist looking up at me, still huddled behind his desk.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered, then pointed at Chase and me. “We’re the good guys.”

He nodded, a look of extreme distress on his face.

Chase tapped the door again. “Hampton Cove Police. Open this door now!”

And then the door did open, and an old man appeared, dressed in a long red robe, and sporting the most beautiful white beard, white mustache, and white curly hair I’d ever seen outside of the movies. He even had twinkly blue eyes and wire-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the tip of a stubby nose.

“Grandpa!” Chase cried, lowering his gun.

“Chaser!” said the old man, and opened his arms for an embrace.

Chapter 14

But before the old man could wrap Chase—or Chaser—in his arms, the consummately professional cop went into a crouch and pressed his back against the wall. “How many?” he hissed.

“Huh?” asked his grandfather.

“How many guards?”

“Guards?”

“How many people are watching you?”

“Nobody is watching me, Chaser. It’s just me, myself and I, I’m afraid.”

Chase rose from his crouch, disbelief etched on his face. “You mean to tell me you’re not being held captive here?”

“Do you really think they’d let me answer the door if I was being held captive?”

“Good point,” said Chase after a pause.

“Come on in, Chaser, and who is the lovely lady?”

“This is Odelia Poole,” said Chase. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend! My, my. Well, do come inside. It’s much cozier here than in this drafty lobby.”

We stepped inside the suite, which offered a nice view of the bathroom through a glass wall.

When Chase’s grandpa caught my look, he shook his head. “Not really my style, I’m afraid, Miss Poole. I’m always afraid the maid will walk in while I’m taking a shower and catch a look at my nekkid willie. And trust me, it’s more her than me I’m afraid will be scarred for life.”

“It is… very modern,” I admitted. Near the window, there was a piece of art—at least that’s what I thought it was—with a bunch of iron rods sticking out of a concrete base. The rods were covered with LED lights and shone with a soft yellow glow. Very, very modern.

The old man offered us a seat next to the concrete construction, and only now did I see that what I’d assumed was a concrete platform was actually a couch with gray cushions. I gingerly took a seat. “Can I offer you some refreshments?” asked Grandpa Kingsley. “Martini? Scotch? I have the full use of the minibar, and the council has assured me I don’t need to stint. Oh, I know what you need. Some eggnog.”

“The council?” I asked. “The council set you up here?”

“Yes, they most certainly have.”

“Please tell me, before I go crazy, what the hell is going on,” said Chase.

“Well, Chaser,” said Grandpa, taking a seat across from us, “that’s a bit of a long story.”

“Tell me. I’ve got all night,” said Chase.