“You’re five-five in heels,” Gregory said.
“Pah. If anything, you’re too tall! Santa Claus is an elf.”
Gregory bellowed out a laugh. “Santa’s not an elf!”
John held up one finger. “Come with me.” He beckoned Gregory to the bookshop. Floyd had been watching from the doorway and quickly stepped aside to let them in.
John looked along the holiday section—an entire bookcase holding nothing but volumes with red or green covers—pulled out a copy of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and opened it. “It says right there that Santa Claus arrives on, and I quote, a miniature sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer. And, and, he was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf. It says it right there. Elf.” John slapped the book closed and put on what must surely have been his smuggest smile. “Santa Claus
