The Washington Post, April 20th, 1987
It was a race, as it so often is at 3 a.m., between fatigue and murder most foul. Would I finish the deliciously bad mystery before my eyes clanged shut? Or would Dreamland catch me before the inspector caught the butler? I turned to Page 279. Just 15 pages to go. The inspector was chasing a man in a red jacket . . . . a red jacket . . . . a red . . . . "Mr. Levey?" "Yes?" "Mr. Levey, you may not recognize me without my reindeer, but my name is Claus. Santa Claus." "Santa Claus! Not recognize you? You must be kidding. Hey, one graybeard always recognizes another, know what I mean, pal? Anyway,...
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