Марджери Аллингем - Mystery for Christmas and Other Stories

He stepped forward, drew the automatic from his pocket, and held it close to his chest, aimed at the Santa suit. The gun was between his body and Santa’s, invisible to the waiting shoppers.

“That’s enough, Kevin,” Briggs said, smiling. “Get down now, and let me have my turn.”

Kevin nodded, slid down, and walked away.

The eyes behind the spectacles widened slightly.

“I don’t want to shoot you,” Briggs said, smiling. “But I will. Believe me, I will. Take a break now. I’ll tell them Santa has to take a break.” He jabbed with the gun.

Santa stood up. Briggs hid the gun and turned to face the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, old Santa has to take a short break, but he’ll be right back.’ He turned. “Get moving, Kelso. We’re going to the basement. If you do what I say, maybe you’ve got a chance.”

He would kill him in the basement No one would hear the shot over this bedlam. They walked through the crowd.

“Keep walking,” he said.

It was taking too long. He couldn’t shoot Kelso here in the middle of the main floor. If they didn’t get to the basement before something happened, he’d have to turn and run from the store. He felt confused. The plan no longer seemed nearly as workable as when he’d first thought of it. Kelso is the only one who’s sure, Briggs had thought. Get rid of Kelso and everything will be all right. But now it occurred to him that some of those women and children might remember him, remember that he’d gone off with Santa. He’d have to kill Kelso, if he could, and leave town immediately with what money he had. His chances were limited. He was sweating.

It was too late to turn back now. He’d made his move.

Briggs held one of Santa’s arms, steering him around a corner and along a narrow corridor that led to a basement stairway, aiming the gun with his other hand. Briggs was short; for some reason Kelso seemed shorter than he had earlier. Just as his face went hot with the realization that something was wrong, a hand came from nowhere and gripped his wrist painfully, twisting it so that he dropped the pistol. Powerful hands grabbed him and shoved him hard against the wall of the corridor.

“You’re under arrest,” said George Kelso. Kelso stood in the middle of the hall in his corduroy suit, flanked by three uniformed cops with drawn revolvers. “The charges are embezzlement and murder.”

Briggs stared. “Kelso! Then who the hell...”

The Santa person pulled the beard and mustache away and removed the hat. Briggs saw a smiling, attractive girl with blonde hair and brown eyes.

“Are you all right, Susan?” Kelso asked.

“Ho ho ho,” said the girl.

Kelso, Meyer, and Susan Overstreet sat at a table in the store’s cafeteria. “Silver Bells” played from the speakers, and shoppers at neighboring tables laughed and rustled their packages.

“Look at this meatloaf,” said Meyer, poking at it with his fork. “Now they’ve practically burned it.”

“Actually, mine’s not too bad.” Kelso took a bite. “I was starving.”

“So how did you make the switch with Susan?” Meyer asked.

“I went to the men’s room,” Kelso said. “When I was sure nobody else was in there, I let Susan in and we put the Santa outfit on her.”

“Incredible,” Meyer shook his head. “You’re lucky nobody walked in on you.”

“I was leaning against the door.”

“Sergeant Meyer?” Susan smiled at the detective. “Would you like to come over to my aunt’s house tonight for some eggnog? If you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. I mean, we won’t sing any carols or anything, and Aunt Eleanor doesn’t have a tree this year, just a few lights in the window.”

“Trees are too expensive for people on fixed incomes,” Kelso said, trying not to sound angry.

“So, will you come? We’d like to have you.”

Meyer put down his fork and cleared his throat. “Nobody’s ever invited me to have eggnog before,” he said quietly. “Tell your aunt I’d like to come.” He stood up. “I can’t eat this stuff. I’ll leave you two alone.” He started away, then added: “Take the rest of the afternoon off, Kelso.”

“Gee, thanks.” Kelso glanced at his watch. “All forty-three minutes, huh?”

“Well,” Susan said, eyeing him closely, “are you going to tell me how you knew?”

“Knew what?”

“Don’t do that. How you knew it was Briggs.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Briggs made a couple of mistakes. He tried to convince me that Anderson, the store manager, had gone down to gift wrap at nine thirty. He kept emphasizing nine thirty. But why? I was the first one to question him, and only the other cops knew about the coroner’s estimate of nine thirty as the time of the stabbing. But the murderer would have known. That was one thing.”

“Hmm. What else?”

“He was too eager to tell me about the embezzlement, and to blame it on Arnold Wundt. If he’d been so certain, why hadn’t he exposed Wundt himself, earlier? So I wondered if maybe Briggs was the embezzler, and not Wundt. Maybe Wundt had found him out, and Briggs had killed him to keep him quiet.” Kelso shrugged. “Turns out I was right.”

Susan blinked and folded her arms across her chest. “That’s it? That’s all? I put on a Santa suit and risked my life for nine thirty and some talk about an embezzlement?”

“Well, there was one other thing...”

“Tell me.”

“Well, when I visited Briggs in Anderson’s office, he was eating a sandwich of some kind. He kept dabbing at his shirtsleeve and complaining about how the cafeteria always put too much ketchup on the bread. But after I left him in the hall, I went back to the office and found his sandwich in the trash. There wasn’t any ketchup on it.” Kelso paused. “That stuff on his sleeve was blood.”

“Yuk.”

“Incidentally, can’t your aunt really afford a tree this year?”

“It’d be tough. She buys a lot of presents. You’re coming tonight, aren’t you? Do you think Meyer will come?”

“Sergeant Kelso—” A tall, well-dressed man hurried up to their table. It was Anderson, the store manager, looking breathless. “Finally found you.”

“Don’t tell me something else has happened,” Kelso said.

“We’re supposed to have another Santa session in fifteen minutes, sergeant. With Wundt dead and Briggs in custody, there’s nobody to do it. So I was wondering...”

It wasn’t fair, he thought. He was almost off duty. He was tired. He wanted to go home and relax. He needed a bath, and he was sick to death of the chatter of mothers and children, the tinny music, the announcements of sales in this or that department.

Susan had done it once. She’d looked cute in the padded red suit and whiskers. He turned a pleading glance in her direction, trying to look desperate. She smiled, but slowly shook her head no.

“What do you say, sergeant? Will you help out? Please?”

It wasn’t fair. He sighed heavily in resignation. He nodded.

“Good man,” said Anderson.

“That’s the Christmas spirit,” Susan said.

Kelso scowled.

Kelso met Meyer at the door. Outside it was snowing. “Come in. You’re late.”

“I could leave,” said Meyer testily.

“Nonsense. Susan’s aunt wants to meet you, and there’s still plenty of eggnog. You’re letting in the snow.”

Meyer came in dragging a small, well-shaped tree and a paper bag.

“What’s this?” Kelso asked suspiciously.

“Some sort of festive plant.” Meyer frowned. “Silly lights and ornaments to hang on it. Somebody killed a tree so you people could celebrate.”

Kelso was moved. He stood for a moment, feeling a little of the old magic.

“Happy holidays, Meyer,” he said.