“Caroline!” Dad called out.
The smaller of the two oozies turned, waved to us, and began slowly walking over. I recognized the woman in the jeweled turban who had brought the elephants.
“Meg, this is Caroline Willner,” Dad said. “From the Willner Wildlife Sanctuary. Isn’t it wonderful that she could bring both of her elephants?”
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
I muttered something, but I was almost inarticulate with surprise. From the tales Dad, Clarence, and Dr. Blake had told of Caroline Willner’s exploits, I was expecting a strapping Amazon in the prime of life. Caroline was under five feet, plump, and probably in her eighties. She looked like someone’s grandmother dressed up to go to a costume party.
“Of course,” she went on, “Monty will never forgive me for upstaging his camels. He’ll throw a fit when he sees us.”
Monty? She meant my grandfather. I didn’t recall hearing anyone call him Monty before. And she didn’t look the least bit anxious about the impending fit. When Montgomery Blake lost his temper—usually over some environmental or animal welfare issue, but sometimes over people stealing the spotlight from him—most people tried to be in another time zone.
I decided I liked Caroline.
“We should talk later,” I said. “Meanwhile—Dad, you need to get your costume on. I’m starting the parade in about five minutes. And tell Clarence to stop playing with the elephants and change into some other costume. We can’t have a goose driving Santa into town.”
“Relax.” I turned and saw Clarence’s towering form, now incongruously clad in a bright green Christmas elf costume, complete with green tights and a sporty feathered cap. Evidently it was another larger-than-average SPOOR member ministering to the elephant.
“Don’t let Dad get lost,” I said. “I know since you guys are bringing up the rear, he’ll have plenty of time to get distracted and wander off somewhere—”
“I’ll stick to his side and make sure he’s ready to roll by the time you’re down to the last few floats,” Clarence said. “Don’t worry.”
Reassured, I headed back for the starting line. On the way, I glanced over my shoulder. Dad and Caroline were standing by the larger of the two elephants, patting his trunk and talking away. Dad had apparently put down his red, fur-trimmed hat and coat in his enthusiasm to greet the elephants, and Clarence had picked them up and was hovering nearby like an enormous elfin valet.
As I passed by the shepherds, I stopped to say a quick word to Rose Noire.
“Okay, keep your eye on the Nativity float,” I said. “When that takes off—”
“ ’Rise up, shepherds, and follow!” Rose Noire sang, in her light but beautiful soprano voice.
“Right,” I said. “And while you’re marching behind the float—”
“ ’Leave your sheep and leave your lambs,” she sang. “Only we won’t be doing that, of course,” she added, in a normal tone.
No, more likely the sheep and lambs would be leaving them, given how badly Seth Early’s sheep seemed to be afflicted with wanderlust. A month or so ago we’d found one wedged into the tiny bathroom off our kitchen, drinking from the toilet like a cat. But keeping track of the sheep was Seth’s problem, not mine.
“I’m afraid Mary may be starting to have labor pains,” I said, getting back to the point.
“Mary?” I could tell by her expression that she was searching our family tree for a pregnant cousin.
“What’s-her-name—the girl who’s playing Mary on the float.”
“Oh, my goodness.”
“So if we have to haul her off the float and away to the hospital in the middle of the parade, can you step in as Mary?”
“Of course!” she exclaimed, and immediately threw herself into the role. She closed her eyes, crossed her hands over her heart, raised her chin, and assumed an expression of seraphic bliss.
“Great,” I said. “When Rembrandt shows up, I’ll tell him you’re ready for your closeup. Meanwhile, keep your eye on Mary and Aunt Penelope. And make sure Seth has enough shepherds to fill in for you if needed.”
“Right,” she said. “And I’ll concentrate on beaming her good thoughts for a short labor.”
She planted her shepherd’s crook in the ground and began staring at Mary with the intensity of a Broadway understudy who has heard the show’s star sneeze.
A few snowflakes floated down in front of me as I returned to the starting line.
“You’re gorgeous,” I muttered to the snowflakes. “But would you please stay up there in the clouds until I get this show on the road?”