"I didn't know we had elves in Trenton," Grandma said. "Isn't that something? Elves right under our nose."

"I think he was kidding about the elves," I said.

"Too bad," Grandma said. "Elves would be fun."

"You're always working," my mother said to me. "You can't even bake Christmas cookies without making phone calls about criminals. Loretta Krakowski's daughter doesn't do that. Loretta's daughter comes home from the button factory and never thinks about her job. Loretta's daughter handmade all her own Christmas cards." My mother stopped mixing dough and looked at me, wide-eyed and fear-filled. "Did you send out your Christmas cards?"

Omigod, Christmas cards. I forgot all about Christmas cards. "Sure," I said. "I sent them out last week." I hoped God and Santa Claus weren't listening to me fib.

My mother blew out a whoosh of air and made the sign of the cross. "Thank goodness. I was afraid you forgot, again."

Mental note. Buy some Christmas cards.

By five o'clock we were done with the cookies and my mother had a tray of lasagna in the oven. The cookies were in cookie jars and cookie tins and some were stacked high on plates for instant eating. I was at the sink, washing the last of the baking sheets, and I felt the skin prickle at the back of my neck. I turned and bumped into Diesel.

"You took my car," I said, jumping back. "You just drove off with it. You stole it!"

"Chill. I borrowed it. I didn't want to disturb you. You were busy with the cookie making."

"If you had to go somewhere why didn't you just pop yourself there... like you popped into my apartment?"

"I'm keeping a low profile. I save the popping for special occasions."

"You're not really the Spirit of Christmas, are you?"

"I could be if I wanted. I hear the job's up for grabs." He was wearing the same boots and jeans and jacket, but he'd substituted a brown sweater for the stained thermal.

"Did you go home to change?"

"Home is far away." He playfully twirled a lock of my hair around his finger. "You ask a lot of questions."

"Yeah, but I'm not getting any answers."

"There's a chubby little guy in the living room with your dad. Is that your boyfriend?"

"That's Albert Kloughn. He's Valerie's boyfriend."

I heard the front door open, and seconds later, Morelli sauntered into the kitchen. He looked first to me and then to Diesel. He extended his hand to Diesel. "Joe Morelli," he said.

"Diesel."

They spent a moment measuring. Diesel was an inch taller and had more bulk. Morelli wasn't someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley. Morelli was all lean hard muscle and dark assessing eyes. The moment passed, Morelli smiled at me and dropped a feather-light kiss on the top of my head.

"Diesel is an alien or something," I said to Morelli. "He appeared in my kitchen this morning."