Secret Santa - 2

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close-up of tree trunk

It was little wonder that I was looking over my shoulder in the following days. Nothing untoward happened and as the days went by without any threat or anything unusual, I began to relax a bit. The week after the Christmas party I went to the Police station to give a statement. I was pleased to know that they were, up to a certain extent, taking this seriously.

The sergeant who was dealing with my case was certain it was a fairly juvenile prank.

'You know,' he said, 'the blood isn't human. It is bovine and probably the run-off from a packet of mince. I really don't think it is anything sinister, Ms Ferguson, but if you are at any point worried, or feel threatenend, or is anything strange is happening, please get in touch. Cite this case number,' and he handed me a slip of paper.

By then I was convinced it wasn't anything to be worried about. A stupid prank, that's all.  My bet was on Little Alan. Unhappy with me spurning his advances, he probably enjoyed pulling this stunt. Well, I would tell him in no uncertain terms that he had gone a little too far. Way too far, actually. So when I was back in the office I marched up to Accounts. Little Alan sat behind his desk, a milky coffee in front of him and a plate of cheap bourbon biscuits beside it.

'Alan.'

He looked up.

'Eva,' he said, 'your face brightens up my day. How may I be of assistance?'

'You miserable toad. Your little joke the other day has not gone unnoticed. I was at the police station this morning to give a statement and they gave me a crime number,' I was a little free with the truth here. I waved the slip of paper with the case number in front of his face. 'So the authorities are informed. I advise you to keep your pathetic jokes and your slimey fingers to yourself in the future. And by the way, I hope you liked your mince.'

During my speech the expression on his face changed from puzzled to incredulous, finally to settle on angry.

'I had nothing to do with that!'

For a split second I believed him. After my tirade I couldn't retract anything without losing face.

'Just stay away from me, you wretched dipshit!'

I walked out of his office, not quite resisting the urge to slam the door.

Back at my own desk, Ella winked at me.

'Could you hear that?' I asked.

'Question is,' she said, 'who couldn't? Well done for telling him off.  See how long it will have an impact. There has been a delivery for you, Eva. A letter and a poinsetta. I put them on your desk.'

I hated poinsettas. It had something to do with the fact that I usually killed them  - involuntary - within two weeks. It was a big one, and there was a little envelope stuck in the foliage. Another envelope, hand delivered, and addressed to me, had also been put on my desk. I didn't recognise the handwriting. What to open first?

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Thank you! Be your nose a pointer for your brain! (OED)

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