“Wow,” Eric said. “You’re getting really good at that Grandma voice.”
He trotted off toward the house. I winced. Had I sounded that much like Mother?
I’d worry about that later.
“Of course, if you’re not interested in taking photos of the rest of the parade . . .” I added, turning to Werzel.
“No, no,” he said, backing away. “That’s great. I could use your camera, sure. Just as long as everyone knows I really need my camera, too.”
He backed away for about ten feet, then turned and fled in Eric’s wake.
“Six geese a-laying,” I called. “You’re up!”
The six chosen geese stepped out in formation. I thought they looked more festive as white geese than they had as Canada geese, especially since they’d all hung garlands of holly and red ribbon around their necks.
All the rest of the SPOOR members stood around with drooping shoulders, looking ostentatiously forlorn and bereft. If they were trying to make me feel guilty, they were wasting their time.
“Seven swans a-swimming!” I called.
A tractor lurched into action, pulling the float on which seven budding prima ballerinas from Madame Vorobianinova’s École de Ballet were twirling in full Swan Lake costume. A chorus of moos behind me announced that the eight maids a-milking were on deck. I could also hear the tambourines of the nine ladies dancing, the morris dancing bells on the shins of the ten lords-a- leaping, and any second now the bagpipes would begin droning and the drummers would begin drumming.
“We might actually pull this off,” I said, to no one in particular.
Chapter 14
It took an hour and a half to get everyone on the road. Ainsley Werzel borrowed my camera and gave me a wide berth. I had no great confidence that I’d ever see my camera again, but if that was the price of not having Werzel underfoot for the rest of the parade, it was worth it. I could always bill the Trib.
About half an hour into the launch, word came back that Mary had definitely gone into labor, and one of the state troopers rushed her and Aunt Penelope to the hospital, but that I was not to worry, because Rose Noire was doing a great job as understudy.
I lost sight of the various floats and marchers immediately after they passed my post in front of the house, but farther along, the road went up a long, gentle slope. If I glanced over my shoulder, I could glimpse the floats and marchers before they disappeared over the crest of the hill toward town.
From those stolen glances, I realized that the SPOOR members, instead of marching in civilian dress, had found their backup costumes and infiltrated the parade in ones and twos, making it look as if we’d inserted white geese into the procession at random intervals as a sort of running gag.
One goose climbed into the convertible carrying the mayor of Caerphilly, who was too polite to kick him out, so the two of them sat side by side, waving to the crowd, all the way to town.
I saw several pairs of goose feet pattering along beneath the sinuous red silk Chinese dragon, and at least one pair beneath a maroon robe in the New Life Baptist Choir.
By the time Seth Early’s shepherds reached the hill, they were watching a mixed flock of real sheep and faux geese.
Several geese grabbed pails and joined the Boy Scout cleanup squads marching behind the large animals.
There were geese throwing Chanukah gelt from the Jewish Community Center’s float, geese dancing along with the Clay County Cloggers, and geese waving and throwing confetti from the platform of the boom lift.
The Dickens float was the last straw. Since Dr. Smoot was still at the crime scene, they’d turned to the surplus SPOOR members to find a replacement. Unfortunately, they picked someone who was much taller than Dr. Smoot, so the phantom’s robe didn’t come down far enough to conceal the feathered costume he was wearing underneath it.
“Oh, look,” Eric said, as the float rolled away. “It’s the Goose of Christmas Yet to Come.”
“I give up,” I said.
Clarence was as good as his word, and showed up just when I needed him, with Dad, in full costume, happily perched behind him, beaming and waving at everyone.
“Wow!” I looked down to see Cal Burke standing nearby. “Santa came after all!”
“That’s Eric’s grandfather, playing Santa,” I said. “But he sure does look a lot more like Santa than poor Mr. Doleson, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Cal said. And then he ran off happily to join the crowd of children tagging along in Dad’s wake as devotedly as if he were the Pied Piper. I felt a sudden surge of pride—Dad really was a great Santa. For the first time in years, the children of Caerphilly would see a Santa Claus who loved his job and cared about Christmas as much as they did.