The Silly Santa Mystery

Written by Moe Zilla, Published on 12/1/2008

"Welcome, kids, to Santa's store! … He's got toys and plenty more!"

"I hate this job," Doug muttered. He was trying desperately to scratch the back of his itchy green elf costume.

"We're supposed to be elves," whispered Jimmie, his best friend, “so try to act cheerful!"

Jimmie smiled as the children formed a line to sit on Santa's lap. With his curly red hair, Doug thought, Jimmie actually looked like an elf. It helped that Jimmie was always smiling. He, it would appear, had a better attitude than Doug.

Their job was to entertain waiting children with smiles and rhymes — but Doug wasn't smiling. His green cap was hot and uncomfortable, and his head was starting to itch, making it difficult to pretend that he was really a cheerful elf.

"You begged me to get you this job," Jimmie teased, "and we can't find another elf now. So you're stuck here until Christmas!" Doug was glad their shift would be over at 4:00 p.m., as he wanted desperately to take off his obnoxious pointy shoes with jingling bells, and to finally get back into his quiet sneakers.

"Welcome, kids, to Santa's store! … We're here for an hour more!"

Jimmie grinned at Doug, but slowly his facial expression turned timid, as he nodded in the direction of Mr. Corrigan, the shopping mall's wealthy owner. If Corrigan caught them goofing around, they would be at risk for losing their jobs. Though Mr. Corrigan wore a cheerful red Christmas sweater, he seemed worried. He was talking to a young woman with a clipboard. What she was saying, the boys couldn't tell — but she was moving her hands frantically, and the boys sensed trouble.

Mr. Corrigan checked his watch and left in a hurry — still without smiling — and the woman with the clipboard walked over to them, the elves. She seemed very upset, and Doug wanted to help.

"Is there anything wrong?" he asked.

Mrs. Martin glared. She was, apparently, having a bad day, and Doug had just broken the rules.

"Everything you say is supposed to rhyme," she shot back sternly. "It's in the ‘Rules for Elves’ booklet we gave you on your first day here. Didn't you memorize the rules?"

Doug looked to Jimmy for help. Jumping in quickly, Jimmy said, "Sorry about my friend. He's new!"

Doug, wide-eyed, followed with, " … I forgot what I should do!"

Mrs. Martin laughed, "I'm sorry, guys," she said wearily, "I shouldn't be cranky — especially at Christmas time. But I'm in a lot of trouble. I've been robbed — that is, the store has been robbed. Someone stole a lot of money from one of our cash registers. It's the one in back of where Santa sits, behind the giant candy canes.”

"It's Santa's money that they stole? … They deserve a lump of coal!"

Mrs. Martin smiled again at the improvised rhyme. She, now less irritated with the elves, added that policemen were already investigating the crime. But her worried face told Doug the police weren't having any luck.

"I check the cash register every hour, but I always leave it locked," she said with concern. "That means the thief had to be someone who works for the mall."

Mrs. Martin had another problem. Mr. Corrigan was worried that the mall wasn't earning enough money, and so he had invited a banker to visit them that morning. She still hadn't told him how much it had cost to build Santa's display.

"The giant candy canes were expensive, and he doesn't know that this year I've hired two elves." Now the police were investigating Mr. Corrigan — and it was likely that they would question Mrs. Martin, as she was responsible for all of the mall's money. Beside herself, the only people who had a key to the register were Mr. Corrigan, the photographer and Santa Claus.

"Maybe we should take a look. … Santa's not a Christmas crook!"

Mrs. Martin agreed, and the case had begun. Instead of playing elves, they were now playing detectives. And Doug was happy that they'd get to stop working early. Until he heard some very bad news …

"You have to keep your elf costumes on!" Mrs. Martin shouted after them. At which point, Doug realized this would prove to be one goofy investigation.

"What am I supposed to do?" he complained to Doug, “Just walk up to a suspect and ask: 'Any hints that we can use? Have you noticed any clues?’"

Jimmie laughed, and added, "Know when all the money leaves? Did you notice any thieves?"

But his laughter stopped abruptly when a stern new voice commanded, "We need to talk to you." Doug was startled to see a blue police uniform with a large badge, and a serious-looking man with a big moustache.

"You two work outside the room where the cash was stolen. Did you elves ever feel tempted to steal some cookie money out of Santa's cash register?"

Jimmie was surprised at the question, and police officers made him nervous. Looking nervous made him seem guilty, Doug realized, so he did the talking for both of them.

"We just greet the kids as elves. … We wouldn't take their cash ourselves!"

"Look," he said with agitation, "somebody told me they'd seen two suspicious elves opening the register. And right after the visit, all of Santa's cash disappeared."

Jimmie was too scared to talk, but Doug knew what to say: "We just work outside his store. We just jingle! Nothing more!"

The policeman noticed, with annoyance, that Doug was talking in rhymes. He looked at their strange green costumes, and started to issue a warning with his long, pointed finger. Instead, the officer shook his head and walked away.

Jimmie started talking fast, "We didn't steal the money!" he told Doug excitedly. "You've been with me the whole time! Who would tell a policeman that we'd been near Santa's register?"

"The thief!" Doug answered. "They're trying to trick the police into arresting us."

"I don't want to spend Christmas in jail!" Jimmie wailed.

But Doug was too busy to console Jimmy, as he was staring curiously at Santa Claus. A happy little boy was sharing a list of the toys that he wanted for Christmas. While he sat on Santa's lap, a photographer took his picture. The child’s mother gave $15 to the photographer. In turn, he gave the mother a ticket that would allow her to pick up the pictures later.

The photographer was a silent middle-aged man with bags under his eyes. Doug thought he looked too tired to smile, and wondered if the mall also had a “Rules for Photographers” booklet, since the grumpy photographer was wearing a cheerful red hat trimmed with white fur.

"Smile," he said to a little girl — while not smiling at all himself.

Jimmie motioned to a table beside the photographer. The photographer had already used several dozen rolls of film; the table beside the cash register was cluttered with empty black cylinders. The photographer seemed annoyed, looking at the two elves with an irritated expression.

Jimmie tried to launch an explanation, "Would you notice something funny? … Do you know who stole the money?”

"I already told the police," the photographer griped. "Besides, I don't think they're missing as much money as they think. Corrigan just wants the insurance company to reimburse him for money that was never stolen. I've only shot pictures of 18 kids today."

Santa Claus laughed a hearty "Ho! ho! ho!" The photographer rolled his eyes, and went back to his camera. The little girl struck a pose, smiling like a movie star. She ran to tell her father about Santa Claus. The indifferent photographer waited while the girl's mother searched her purse for $15.

Doug decided it was a good time to question their next suspect, "You seem cheerful, Mr. Claus. … Have you broken any laws?"

Santa laughed, and his dark, shiny eyes seemed to twinkle above his white beard. It was a thoughtful laugh, a slower "Ho, ho, ho" as Santa seemed to think carefully about how to answer the elves. "No, boys, I didn't take the dough. … They won't ever let me go!" Doug and Jimmie, confused, stared back silently.

"The mall's rule booklet!" Santa explained, laughing at his rhyme's ineffectiveness. "Santa has to remain seated at all times — so I never get a bathroom break!" Santa pointed at the old cash register, which sat on the photographer's table on the opposite side of the room. "Besides, when you're as fat and jolly as I am — it's hard to stand up! Ho, ho, ho!" Santa said, as a little boy rushed in to sit on his lap.

The photographer nodded silently in agreement. Once an hour the photographer put the money in the cash register, and it was Mrs. Martin who would scoop it up and deliver it to Mr. Corrigan.

And so, the elves headed for Mrs. Martin's office. "Should we skip?" Jimmie joked. Jimmie had already thought up a rhyme for when they would confront Mrs. Martin: “We must ask you questions, too. With the money, what'd you do?"

But when they got to her office, they spotted the police officer walking in the same direction. When the officer noticed the elves, he displayed an irritated expression. He tried to ignore their costumes, muttering, "I need to talk to Mrs. Martin. She's the last suspect, and I haven't questioned her yet."

But Doug suddenly jumped in front of him, put his hands on his hips, and delivered a rhyme in his sassiest, proudest elf voice, "Wait! I've assembled all the clues. Tell the thief: ‘Ha, ha! You lose!’"