Page 7 of The Grinch Who Stole Orcmas

Is it my imagination or does his voice sound different? He sounds… helpful.

“Yes?”

“We Others have what we call the Grandmother Grapevine. It worked back on An’Wa where we didn’t have telephones. We’ve just updated the system here on Earth. The elders use phones and in ten minutes, every person in the Zone will receive a call.” He puts up one finger and gives me a reassuring… well, it’s not a smile, exactly, but close. “You want volunteers? You’ll get some volunteers.”

“Great idea, Grum. Marcy, when the volunteers arrive, keep them happy. Let them listen to whatever music they want, to hell with the ugly sweaters, and heck, buy them all the pizza they want. Don’t worry. I’ll reimburse you. If, I meanwhen, we find the toys, I want this auditorium to radiate Christmas joy. I don’t want unhappy helpers.”

I call the police, who tell me this isn’t a priority call, but they’ll have someone take a report within the next 48 hours. Ugh. Two days? My tax dollars at work.

I dial the rental agency and endure not only perma-hold, but a phone representative who has exceeded her Peter Principle—and exceeds my patience. Finally, I feel like I’ve found a needle in the haystack.

“Got it!” I crow when I end the call. “The LoJack indicates the truck is parked not far from where Sam left it. We’ve got the address. And Grum, thanks for volunteering to come with me.”

He rolls his eyes, but I catch a glimmer of excitement there. “Lead the way, oh Tinsel Queen. Let’s go find those presents.”

“Marcy, you know as much as I do about this. Do you feel okay about giving the report…ifthe police decide to show up?”

“Yes. Anything you want. I’m really—”

“Sorry,” Grum mumbles.

“The list of all the toys is in my computer under ‘inventory’,” I call over my shoulder as we head toward the door.

Striding toward my car, I’m filled with optimism. We’re going to solve this mystery, save Christmas for these kids, and maybe bring our two communities a little closer together.

After all, isn’t that what the holiday spirit is all about?

Chapter 5: Tinsel Town Troubles

Grum

Despite all the excitement this morning, it’s still fairly early. I’m regretting every life choice that led me here and it’s barely past eleven AM? Joy bounces ahead of me, her ridiculous jingle bell earrings chiming with each step. How can anyone be this cheerful so close to dawn?

“Come on, Grum! We’ve got a solid lead!” she chirps, then quickens her steps.

“You said the rental agent couldn’t find her ass with both hands, how—”

“I said she lacked competence.”

“Right. On your side of Maple Street, it’s ‘lacked competence’. On the Zone side of Maple, it’s ‘can’t find their ass with both hands’,” I grumble, trudging after her.

Joy spins around, her green eyes sparkling with determination. “The rental company got back to me with the license plate number of the truck. With that and the LoJack coordinates, this should be a slam dunk!”

Great. As if this whole situation wasn’t ridiculous enough, now we’re playing detective in the biggest tourist trap in Los Angeles. “You do realize how many trucks rumble through that neighborhood on any given day, right?”

“That’s why we’ve got no time to waste!” Joy insists, heading toward a beat-up car.

The drive to Hollywood is a nightmare of traffic and Joy’s incessant Christmas carol humming—and those damn clanging earrings. By the time we reach Hollywood Boulevard, my patience is hanging by a thread and I’m wondering if Brokka was exaggerating when he said he’d fire me if I didn’t fulfill this community service punishment.

“Um, this is the address she gave me.” Joy’s tone is anxious, because there are no trucks in sight.

For some reason, I want to console her, but there’s nothing reassuring about this.

She pulls into a parking spot, checks her notes, then says, “Give me a minute to think” as she closes her eyes. “Maybe the womanat the rental agency read the information wrong. Perhaps the truck is parked in one of the alleyways or parking structures nearby. I say we do some searching on foot.”

I bite my tongue, stifling my complaint after deciding Joy doesn’t need one more ounce of stress.

For the next hour, we comb the area but see no sign of a fifteen-foot-long, school-bus-yellow rental truck.

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