“I would like to speak to the head detective,” said the woman.
“Well, let’s start with names. I am Rosemary and he is Mr. Claus. And you are?” said Mrs. Claus.
The woman looked at both of them not sure if they were being serious or not.
“Mr. Claus? As in Christmas?” asked the woman.
“It’s the same name,” said Mrs. Claus without elaborating.
“Well, let’s have a seat in my office,” said Mr. Claus.
He led them into the rear room that was his office, which contained a large oak desk and two matching chairs with black leather pillows. He sat down behind the desk in an office chair also made of oak and covered in cognac-colored leather.
He pointed to the chairs. The woman and Mrs. Claus sat down. They had previously agreed that Mrs. Claus would sit across from Mr. Claus and next to potential clients to help make them feel more at home. The woman didn’t seem any more comforted by their seating arrangement.
“Mr. Claus, huh? Maybe I have the wrong place,” said the woman and started to get up.
“You have the right place. Please sit back down and let’s talk about what brought you here. First things first, though. What should we call you?” said Mr. Claus.
“Oleander- like the flower. My name is Oleander,” said the woman.
“That’s a unique name,” said Mrs. Claus.
“My dad is a botanist at Cal so I guess it came from there,” she said loosening up a bit.
“Does he live here in Berkeley?” asked Mrs. Claus.
“Yeah, I am born and raised,” she said motioning to her tie-dyed pants.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?” asked Mrs. Claus.
“You got anything stronger?”
“Sure. Bourbon okay?”
“Neat. Rocks,” said Oleander.
Mrs. Claus got up and went to the front room to fix her a drink.
After an awkwardly long silence Mr. Claus asked, “So what brings you to us, Oleander?”
Mrs. Claus returned with two bourbons, each with a single but massive ice cube. She set them down on a table in between her and Oleander.
“My sister, Bijou, is missing and I can’t go to the police,” said Oleander and calmly took a sip of her bourbon.
