It's Murder at the Buy-Right

44

To say that Daisy Ann was a bundle of nerves and anxiety was an understatement. Her sedan jerked to a stop in front of Foslo's air strip.

"Well," she said, "I'm ready for the big unveil. What's your great plan?"

"It's swell," said Foslo, who was making some final checks on his small plane.

"It better be," she said, "or a lot of little kids and grown ups are going to be awfully disappointed."

"That 'ull never happen," he said. "Not as long as I got you covered, Babe."

Daisy Ann waited until Foslo was done.

"Come on," he said. "Right in here."

When Daisy Ann entered the pilot's shed, her mouth dropped.

"I don't see anything that knocks my socks off, Foslo. Just a pile of papers and the red suit."

"Well, since Alvin Earl's took sick, I guess we have to give those kids something. Even if it is an imitation Santa sitting in one of those Buy-Right buggies filled with empty box presents."

"We're gonna give 'em just what they bargained for," he said.

"But if you're Santa, who's flying the plane?"

"The show must go on," said Foslo, leading her to the plane. "And I'll be flying the plane."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're Alvin Earl's understudy."

"Foslo, I am not jumping out of no plane. No way! No how! Are you crazy?"

"Daisy Ann."

"What."

"Am I not the best pilot to ever sit in a cock pit."

"Yes."

"And didn't I say this was going to be a piece of cake."

"You eat the whole three-layer thing, Foslo. Choke on the icing. Gag on the little plastic decorations. Stick the candles out of your nose. I am not getting in that plane. I am not."

"Sit on the stool," he said, reaching for the cottony white beard and wig.

"Now, wait a minute," Daisy Ann said.

"Just sit still."

Foslo worked steadily. He got her into the suit and began to stuff it with newspapers.

"This will never work. Santa has a deep booming voice. I'll sound like a girl. I'll be laughed right out of the county."

"Never fear, my dear," he said, stuffing the small recorder inside a pocket. "The speaker's taped to Santa's boot. Just pull this string. Go ahead. Do it."

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas! Ho! Ho! Ho!

"Works like a charm," he said.

It was Foslo's loud baritone blaring out in the shed.

"Amazing," said Daisy Ann.

"Merry Christmas, Daisy Ann. Just think of those hoards of little children looking expectantly to the sky for Santa to come down magically, like a floating cloud, drifting down, drifting down right onto the roof of the Buy-Right."

"We can't let them down, can we, Foslo?"

"No. We can't."