Free The Paper Bag Christmas by Kevin Alan Milne Page A

Claus!”
    I doubted very much that anything would come of our investigation of Dr. Ringle, but at least it was a very exciting way to pass the time. Our first stop was the nurses’ station, where Nurse Doyle was covering for Nurse Crowton, who was helping Nurse Wimble at the pageant rehearsal.
    “Hi there,” she said kindly. “What can I do you for two fine gentlemen this evening?”
    “Actually, we . . . um . . . need to, I mean, we need the combination for Dr. Ringle’s locker downstairs in the doctor’s changing area,” I said sheepishly. “I’m one of his . . . ummm elves. He left some stuff there for me to give the kids, and he gave me his combination, but I lost it. Do you have it?” I hated lying, but I knew she’d never give us the combination if I told her what we were really up to.
    “Is that so?” she asked skeptically.
    “That’s right,” said Tim. “He’s telling the truth. Totally.”
    Now Tim was lying too, but it seemed to work.
    “Fine. I have his locker combination on file here,” she said as she opened up a cabinet. “I wouldn’t normally give it to you, but since he’s out of town anyway, I’m sure it’s empty. So have at it. But if anyone asks, don’t mention my name. Okay?”
    “Great!” I said as I took the combination from her.
    Once we were downstairs we found Dr. Ringle’s large locker right next to the two smaller ones he had reserved for Aaron and me on our first night at the hospital. I read the numbers in sequence to Timothy as he dialed in the code.
    Click. The locker opened without complication. To our surprise it was not empty at all, as Nurse Doyle had supposed. Instead it was stuffed full with hundreds, if not thousands, of letters addressed to “Santa Claus, North Pole.” They all came tumbling out onto the floor as the door swung open.
    “Would you look at that!” Timothy clamored. “I think we’ve found ourselves a clue. These are from all over the country. Why would letters to Santa come to Dr. Ringle if he was not, in fact, Santa Claus?”
    “I dunno, Tim. I’ve got to admit, that’s pretty weird. But it doesn’t prove anything. Let’s keep looking around and see if we can find any other clues.”
    Our second stop was to Dr. Ringle’s office on the second floor. When we got there we found the door tightly locked. Tim tugged and twisted on the handle several times in desperation, but it didn’t budge.
    “Hey you! What’re yous guys doing down there?”
    We both turned around, startled that someone had caught us. A janitor, who had just stepped into the hallway from the bathroom he was cleaning, saw us loitering outside Dr. Ringle’s office and was yelling as he approached.
    “Uh, nothing,” I lied for the second time that night. “We were just looking for a friend of ours.”
    “Oh yeah? You’re doin’ nothin’, huh? Wha’da I look like, a friggin’ idiot?” The janitor squatted down to look me directly in the eyes. For some reason he had a very familiar face.
    “Do I know you?” I asked.
    “Sorry kid,” he said, ruffling my hair. “I can’t say as how we’ve ever met. Now you guys run along and stay outta trouble. I’ve got to get back to my important ’sponsibilities.” He pointed back to his cart of cleaning supplies.
    Then I remembered. We
had
met before.
    “You’re the elf from the mall! You were handing out red papers at the end of the line—from New York, right?”
    “That’s right! You remember my ugly mug?”
    “Your face? No, you look a lot different without the elf costume on. But I remember the funny way you talk.”
    He chuckled as he stood up. “So what’re yous guys doin’ here at the hospital? You ain’t sick, are ya?”
    “Well I am,” said Timothy cheerfully. “My name is Tim, and I got cancer. But this is Mo. He’s an elf like you. He’s been helping Santa Claus here at the hospital.”
    “Is that so, Tim?” The janitor was smiling. He leaned down and patted Timothy on the arm. “I