The Fat Man_ A Tale of North Pole Noir - Ken Harmon [45]
“Rosebud,” Cane croaked again.
“Shut up, Candy!” Rosebud said. “He’s talking out of his head, Gumdrop, and so are you. Use that brain of yours. If I would have just left you for dead in the mistletoe forest, I could have written the story any old way I wanted. I wouldn’t need to go to all this trouble with Cane.”
“Except that Cane knew what you were up to,” I said. “And Dingleberry knew that Cane was stealing toys. Cane figured he might get caught and he was up to his neck. You knew he wouldn’t survive a third degree, so you wrote a different ending. A pretty splashy one, to boot. My hunch is that even though he’s a pompous twit, you knew Cane didn’t have the backbone to lie for you, so you went to work.”
“Rosebud!” Cane wheezed.
“This is all very ‘Colonel Horseradish in the library with the Balzac,’ but we’re wasting time,” Ghost said, clapping his hands like a nanny. “I’ve got to attend to the expiration of a grandma at the expense of a reindeer and some fatally poked cowpoke, so we really need Citizen Cane to start pushing the proverbial daisies with a little more gusto.”
“Gumdrop Coal, someone has rung your silver bell,” Rosebud said, madder than I had ever seen her. “Your thinking’s not so merry and bright. What would happen after that? I’d have to kill Dingleberry and he’s clearly been above ground.”
“Except that you led us both into a fight with a giant nutcracker,” I shot back. “Pretty sweet how Tannenbomb scooped you up to get you out of the way so you wouldn’t get hurt. You just didn’t count on us getting past him or Cane still being alive to stool on you.”
“Rosebud,” Cane said again. He was weak but desperate to get the word out. Rosebud shot forward and bent down in Cane’s face. “Why do you keep saying ‘Rosebud’? You know I had nothing to do with Hall’s murder or your plans. You’re doing this to get back at me for turning you down. If you can’t have me, then nobody else can, is that it? I’m sorry Cane, but you’re not my cup of cocoa. Sorry if I let you believe otherwise, and sorry you fell so hard. I can’t blame you. I let you believe that I was a present aching to be unwrapped, but you should have shook the box a couple of times. You’d have heard behind all the sweet talk there was nothing beneath my ribbon but a hard-boiled newspaper-woman who knows how you can’t use your brain when you have only one thing on your mind. It’s a heck of a thing to learn before you’re about to slip on the pine kimono, but if you want to die in peace, you’ll sit up right now and tell Gumdrop the truth. Do it now, or I’ll start playing a little chin music on that glass jaw of yours, and believe me, I feel a symphony coming on!”
The dame had quite a mouth on her. I loved her. Too bad she was trying to kill me. For his part, Cane looked like he wished Death would run a few red lights and get to him already. “Rosebud,” he said. He was starting to cry a little bit. Rosebud looked like she was about to slap his skull across the room, when Ghost chimed in with a news flash. “Hullo,” he said. “Could this be what the old boy is leaking about?”
We all turned and saw the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come had pulled a sled from a nearby pile of toys. The rails were a shiny crimson and the board was a perfect plank of bleached maple. Across the middle, the word Rosebud was painted in red and gold. Cane lit up. He reached for the sleigh with weak, trembling hands when Ghost brought it over. He was happy, but I never felt worse in my life.
“Rosebud,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for doubting you, accusing you of all that rhubarb before. This whole thing has got me crazy. I don’t deserve it, but I hope you can forgive me.”
She didn’t seem to hear me, but whirled back on Cane. “A sled!” she screamed. “Are you kidding me? All that stupid ‘Ode to a Lovely Rosebud’ poetry you made me sit through night after night was really for a stinkin’ sled? You