Read Christmas At Timberwoods Online
Authors: Fern Michaels
Christmas At Timberwoods (18 page)
He stopped for a red light and decided to drive past the mall rather than go into the lot. You never knew who would be watching, and if one of the men from maintenance spotted him, it wouldn’t be good. He craned his neck to peer through the swirling snow and was satisfied to see shoppers’ vehicles peppered throughout the parking lot. He let out a deep sigh and headed for a U-turn. He could go back home and wait. It wouldn’t be long now.
It was eight in the evening when Lex and Heather entered the mall. They had decided it would be best for all concerned if they kept their romantic relationship a secret, at least until after the crisis was behind them. Harold and Eric were waiting for them in Richards’s office.
Richards was leaning back in his swivel chair, a triumphant look on his face. “The bomb squad has given the mall a clean bill of health. I knew they would, but we have to go through these . . . channels. We open the doors tomorrow morning on schedule for the final stampede.”
“All that is fine, Richards,” Eric said coolly, “but what about the other matter we discussed? What are we going to do about that? There’ve been a few new developments since we last talked to you.”
“I told you, we aren’t closing. So whatever you have up your sleeve, forget it. The mall stays open. What is it with you, Summers? Do you have some kind of personal ax to grind? You have a one-track mind.”
“You’re deliberately closing your mind to anything I say about the Steinhart kid, and you know it. Why can’t you listen and make a decision? I called the chief of police to meet us here. I want to know I did everything I could, and Lassiter and Baumgarten are with me on that. You’re sitting alone, Dolph.”
“Quit your goddamn obsessing, Summers. You’ve already gone beyond the call of duty. What more do you want? Do you have any idea how many employees you tied up today? Some of them were needed outside. In case you aren’t aware of it, there’s a full-scale blizzard raging. And the police you called in are needed out on the roads.” He paused to glare at the detective, who glared back. “We’ve done what we can. Our own security will patrol the mall all night and tomorrow when the doors open. Now for God’s sake, get off this cockamamie kick about that Steinhart kid!”
“There are those that are ignorant beyond insult,” Harold said sarcastically.
“All right, all right, tell your story to the police, but when they laugh at you, don’t say I didn’t warn you. They aren’t going to close the mall and neither am I,” Richards said smoothly, forgetting for once to beam his movie-star smile.
There was a sharp rap at the door. “Come in,” Richards called briskly.
The chief of police walked into the room, accompanied by a few officers. Eric got up and held out his hand. “You know Baumgarten and Lassiter,” he said. “This is Heather Andrews, head of mall security. And CEO Dolph Richards, of course.”
Harold sat back in his chair and relaxed. The detective could do the honors. This was a time for action, and Summers was damn good at action. He listened intently as Eric told the police chief more about the plane crash and filled him in on Angela Steinhart’s harrowing vision, including their clandestine visit to the child’s hospital room and the confirming detail of the tiny earring.
“You can check this out if you want to,” he finished. “The question is, what do we do now?”
The police chief nodded to one of his men to see to yet another security sweep and for Summers to continue.
“I know there are people who don’t believe in this sort of thing,” Eric went on. “I didn’t myself. But that doesn’t change what I saw with my own eyes. If there’s any chance at all that this could be true, then the mall should be shuttered. Do you have any idea how many people will be here at any given moment this week? Well over one hundred thousand! If this center blows, they go with it. Do you want that on your conscience? I don’t want it on mine. We have to close! That’s it.”
“No, that isn’t it,” Richards interrupted harshly. “If Angela Steinhart was some sort of psychic, don’t you think the people of this town would know about her? She’s just doing this for attention. You can’t close the mall just because a hollow-eyed college kid thinks something is going to happen. If you think I’m kidding, take a poll of the merchants who have shops here. They’ll be down on your backs in an instant. They need this week to carry them through the first half of next year. I wouldn’t be surprised if Angela Steinhart was the one who sent the bomb threat in the first place, just to get her kicks out of watching the police bust their chops. That happens and you know it!”
“Summers? Any comment?” asked the police chief. “There are explanations for everything, and that includes the plane crash. But not the little girl you mentioned—is she still alive, by the way?”
Eric felt a painful tightness around his heart. With his own baby about to be born, his brief glimpse of the child in the hospital bed haunted him. He took a breath and answered simply, “I don’t know.”
The chief nodded to his captain, who left the room to make a phone call.
“Angela wasn’t sure about her. But the fact that the plane crashed wasn’t just a freak occurrence. How many times do I have to say it?” Eric said, pounding his fist in his palm.
“Look, stop and think for a moment,” the police chief soothed. “Some things don’t add up. For one, do you know how much explosive that would require? If there was any, we would have found some trace of it. Right now, every floor checks out clean. I can’t close Timber woods just on suspicion.”
“I don’t believe this,” Lex said, jumping up and slamming both hands down in front of Dolph Richards. “Don’t you care? Can’t you see that what we’ve been telling you could actually happen?”
“There—you said it yourself. It could happen. And it just as easily could not happen. Think about the merchants. They’re the ones who pay your salary and mine. Don’t you owe them something?”
“I owe them a day’s work for a day’s pay. Up until now I’ve done just that. This is something different. We’re talking about thousands of innocent people.”
“More than one way to look at that. Our store owners have families depending on them. They’re people, too. What about them?” Richards asked angrily.
Eric shook his head. “The worst that could happen is they will lose a little money. We’re talking about human lives!”
“I’m warning you, Summers, and you too, Baumgarten—if word of this gets out, there’s going to be big trouble.”
“Are you going to go along with Richards?” Harold demanded of the police chief.
“I have no other choice. I wish there was something I could do, but I have to have hard evidence and there isn’t any. This center was checked out thoroughly. If I were to send you a bill for the manpower, you’d blow a gasket. The police department isn’t for your personal use, you know. Richards is right. I’m sorry, Baumgarten.”
“We’re right back where we started from,” Lex said angrily.
Heather drew Lex out into the hall and whispered to him, “What if we call all the shop owners and ask them to come into the mall early tomorrow, say around eight? We’ll ask them what they think. Perhaps they can bring some pressure to bear on the police. It’s worth a try.” She continued quietly, “After Richards goes home, of course. If you can get Noel over here, that will be five of us calling. It’ll take us hours, but it might be worth it. At this point, with the storm and all, I don’t think any of us should even attempt to go home.”
“I agree. We’ll go back to Baumgarten’s office and work from there. Richards isn’t going to hang around. He thinks he’s won, so he’ll go home and crow a little. Look, here comes the cop and the captain. I want to hear what they have to say.”
“The little girl is still alive—just barely,” the captain reported. “The hospital said her picture was in the paper about a month ago, and the parents were pleading for help. I’m not saying Angela Steinhart saw that and made her story fit the real one, but it is possible. The rest of the details check out, too.”
The chief of police addressed himself to Dolph Richards, plainly ignoring the others. “That does it then. If there are any changes, if you get something more concrete, give me a call.” His tone clearly indicated that there had better not be anything else. “Have a merry Christmas,” he called over his shoulder.
Chapter 12
Harold stood on the dais of the large community room, flanked by Eric Summers and Felex Lassiter. Heather Andrews stood next to Lex.
The chief of the security rapped on the lectern for order. “First of all, let me say that we appreciate the fact that you braved the storm to get here so early. There was no other way this could have been handled. This meeting had to take place before the mall opens. Now, I want your attention and I want all of you to remain quiet while I’m speaking. When I’m finished, you can ask all the questions you want.”
Quickly and concisely, he ran through the events of the past several days. He ended with, “And the four of us standing here are in favor of closing the mall. But, as I said, the police were here and they, along with Mr. Richards, have refused to close Timberwoods.”
“If this is some kind of joke,” Barry Skyer said angrily, “I don’t appreciate it and I’m sure the others agree. What kind of stunt is this?”
“Believe me, Mr. Skyer, this is not a stunt. We’re trying to save lives. That’s why I called this meeting. If you, as a group, bring pressure to bear, Dolph Richards will have to give the order to close the center.”
Pandemonium broke loose. The shop owners looked at each other, fear, anger, and distrust on their faces. Fists were clenched and shaken in the air.
“Money! It always comes down to money!” Harold shouted. “Are your lives worth a few extra dollars? Think about your families! Think about all those innocent people who will be here. Think—I’m begging you!”
“We lost,” Eric said sotto voce. “Just look at them. I told you, Baumgarten, the center stays open.”
The chief of security banged on the lectern with his gavel. “All right, the decision was left to you. It’s obvious what your answer is.”
Barry Skyer said harshly, “I’m leaving; the rest of you can do whatever you please. Right now I have to get ready for a sale!”
“If he leaves, the rest will follow,” Lex whispered. “How can they be so stupid?”
“Ka-ching, ka-ching,” Harold grumbled. “All they want to hear is their cash registers. Well, we tried,” he said in defeat.
“Do you think any of them will carry the story to the outside?” Lex asked.
“No way! You’ve heard of lips being sealed? Well, this is the perfect example. You won’t hear a word of this being mentioned. Not one word.”
“We’re back to waiting,” Heather said softly, tears filling her wide blue eyes.
“It’s just like in the storybooks,” Maria Andretti sighed happily. From the window near her bed in the little house across the highway, she could look down on the Timberwoods Mall. The shadow of the nearby hospital had almost reached it. But for now she could see the mall well. She reached for her little sketch pad and a piece of crayon, made a few strokes, then laid the pad back down. She was too tired to draw. Instead she would watch the busy men shoveling the snow outside the mall. If only she could go over there. Dr. Tucker had said that if the outside temperature reached the forties, she could go in her wheelchair. Maybe if she could manage to stay awake she might see it again—her miracle! What an awesome secret it was. She had been so excited she’d thrown the covers off, and then her mother had closed the drapes and told her to take a nap. This time, Maria vowed, she wouldn’t get so jumpy. She would watch and wait. Sooner or later he would be back, she was sure of it. It must be a gift that God was giving her because she was so sick. Mommy said that God did make miracles and this had to be one! No one else had seen Santa Claus on the roof of the shopping center. If anyone had seen him, her brothers and sisters would have told her about it.
She, little Maria Andretti, was the only one. The only one to see Santa Claus in the daytime. Everything was so wonderful. If the temperature would just get to the forties, then everything would be perfect.
“Hi, honey,” Carol Andretti said cheerfully as she came into the frilly pink and white bedroom. “Did you sleep well? Have you been drawing?” she asked, her eyes going to the few crayon lines on the sketch pad.
“I started to and then I got tired. I’ve been watching the men working at the mall. I never saw so much snow, did you, Mommy?” Not waiting for a reply, the six-year-old continued. “Is the temperature high enough, Mommy? Will today be the day?”
“I’m afraid not, sweetie. It’s thirty-two degrees outside and it’s still snowing. You know what Dr. Tucker said. We can’t risk you catching cold.”
“But Mommy . . .”
“No buts, little lady. A promise is a promise. I said I’d take you to the mall when the doctor said it was okay. Anyway, today is Sunday and Santa is resting. He’ll be back tomorrow. Right now I want to know what you’d like for breakfast. How does a nice glass of eggnog sound? With some French toast?”
“I’m too tired, Mommy. I just want to lie here and watch all the people going into the mall.”
A note of panic edged its way into Carol Andretti’s voice. “You have to eat, sweetie. Remember what the doctor said? And the doctor’s coming over today to see how you’re doing.” She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. God, her daughter was so young, so little. Why her? “I’ll pour you some eggnog—at least it will go down easy.”
Why were Maria’s eyes so bright? She laid a practiced hand on the small forehead. The ominous statement of the doctor rang in her ears:
If she gets a cold or infection, it’s dangerous. She has virtually no resistance at this point.
His tone had been kindly, but facts were facts.
If she gets a cold or infection, it’s dangerous. She has virtually no resistance at this point.
His tone had been kindly, but facts were facts.
Please, God, not now. Not until she sees Christmas.
One by one, Charlie Roman closed the whitefur-covered snaps on the jacket of the old Santa Claus suit he’d found in a box in the dressing area for employees. He threw a red sack over his shoulders. He didn’t have to look in a mirror to see what he looked like. Santa was Santa, someone Charlie had never wanted to be. But it would do for a disguise and this wasn’t the first time he’d used it. Nick Anastasios was the mall’s main Santa, but the kindly old man wasn’t the only one. Some of the individual stores hired walk-arounds in red velour, too.
No one would give him a second glance. But then no one ever had, Charlie thought. The happy interlude with Angela was something he’d forced himself to forget. He was alone again. By himself. But somehow complete. The strange feeling of being split in two that had plagued him for so long had gone away when she did.
He was stronger now that he was whole. Strong enough to strike back at everyone who’d treated him like he was nobody. The plans he’d made were foolproof, the orderly product of a disordered mind. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that no one else could pull off the lethal scheme. No one had the know-how . . . or the triggering rage. Charlie had to go back up on the roof to be certain that none of the equipment near the fresh-air duct had been discovered or disturbed. The plan—his plan—had gone from hypothetical to real. Given that first lucky break of a very large propane canister right where he’d needed it, he’d made the most of it. The prep work was over, all was in readiness, but something could still go wrong. Should he go up now or wait until lunchtime? Was it taking too much of a chance to go on the roof in the Santa suit, or should he change?
He didn’t really have the time to switch outfits, he decided. The red velour and beard would keep a passerby from remembering him, though one of the guys still might. If so, he’d bluff—and dash up as soon as he could. Better to go now while it was still snowing, he decided. That way his footprints would be covered if someone else from the maintenance department went up there later.
Now. Now.
He kept saying it to himself as he worked his way down the mall and up the escalator to the promenade level. Down past the community room and up the ramp to the exit. Once the doors had closed behind him, he moved more quickly.
He kept saying it to himself as he worked his way down the mall and up the escalator to the promenade level. Down past the community room and up the ramp to the exit. Once the doors had closed behind him, he moved more quickly.
“Dammit,” he muttered as he walked over to the fresh-air duct on the vast expanse of the roof. He hadn’t thought of how he was going to explain if anyone asked why the borrowed suit was wet. So were his shoes. Someone was sure to notice. He would have to go into the bathroom and try to dry off.
Satisfied that his setup was untouched and the red cylinder was just as he had left it, Charlie stood erect and picked up the sackful of coloring books and candy canes. Suddenly he realized that he could be seen from the highway.
Timberwoods Mall had been erected in a gully, and the old highway where the hospital was looked down upon it. This fact gave Charlie quite a jolt; then it seemed humorous.
Dressed in his Santa suit he would probably just be mistaken for part of a publicity stunt for Timberwoods. He was so relieved he waved his arms and laughed. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” he roared, just as a rooftop Santa should.
Maria Andretti raised a frail arm and waved wildly. He had seen her and waved to her! Her pale little face flushed; her eyes were bright and sparkling. He was her own special miracle.
Angela had left Amy Summers with a brief wave, promising to get back as soon as possible and help her. It was going to be a long, cold walk to Timberwoods Mall to pick up her car. But with any luck, Charlie would be working and she would be able to apologize for leaving without telling him. She’d decided to tell him that Mrs. Summers had needed her. It hadn’t been the reason she had left in the first place, of course, but it was the reason she’d stayed away so long, and the reason she was going back. The detective’s wife had really reached out to her, and seemed to instinctively understand a lot of the raw emotion Angela tried so hard to hide. Besides that, the warmhearted Amy made her feel needed and useful.
She would tell Charlie that she’d tried to call him—twice—that she’d let the phone ring and ring. And she would scold him for not having voice mail to take messages. Everybody did these days. Everybody! She hoped he would believe her and if he was mad at her that he would forgive her. Charlie meant something to her in a funny kind of way, and she didn’t want him mad at her.
Her search for Charlie in Timberwoods led up one alley and down another. The photographer and elves said he was on a break. An overextended break, they complained, adding that Santa was facing an unusually long line of kids. She waited a half hour, and when he still hadn’t returned, left a hasty message with the photographer.
“Tell him I’ve been trying to call him, that I need to talk to him.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll tell him,” the photographer said, then waved her away when a customer approached. Something told Angela that her message would never reach Charlie, but what else could she do? She had to leave. Mrs. Summers was waiting for her; she couldn’t hang around forever waiting for him to get back from wherever he was.
An hour later Angela managed to find her Porsche in the crowded parking lot and got in, taking a few minutes to collect her thoughts before she turned the key in the ignition. An old, beat-up Volkswagen stopped within a few feet of her car, its door opened and closed, and then the car drove off. Idly she realized that a man was behind the wheel, but she didn’t pick up any more detail than that.
What was going on? she wondered. Looking over to where the VW had stopped, she saw three small round bundles of fur shivering in the snow. She opened her car door and ran over to them. Quickly she scooped up the shivering puppies, cursing long and loud. “Slimeball!” she screamed. “You’re nothing but a slimy slimeball!” she yelled to the retreating VW.
Back in her warm car, she turned on the overhead light and stared down at the tiny balls of fur. My God, they were so small. And that awful man left them to die. “You poor little babies,” she said to the whimpering pups. She cuddled them to her, crooning soft words of comfort. “He took you from your mama and left you to die. How could he? Poor babies. I won’t let you die. I’ll help you. I’ll see that you’re taken care of. I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
Cuddling the puppies beneath her coat, she went back into the mall and headed straight for the pet shop to ask the owner how to feed them. On her way back out she looked to see if Charlie had come back yet. She’d bet he’d be a soft touch for such little puppies. Maybe he would even let her keep them at his house until they were old enough to be given away. Maybe he would want one.
But Charlie still wasn’t there. The photographer was beginning to look anxious.
Disappointed, Angela left the mall for the second time that afternoon. On the floorboard she made her scarf into a nest of sorts for the puppies, slipped the Porsche into gear, drove out of the parking lot, and headed for the Summerses’ home.
Her arms full of squirming puppies, Angela managed to find the doorbell and hit it with her elbow.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Angela, Mrs. Summers.” She heard the chain being removed, and the door opened. “Surprise!” Angela laughed as she held open her coat.
“Where . . . how . . . whose are they?” Amy was delighted.
“Some guy just dumped them out in the Timberwoods Mall parking lot and drove off in a hurry while I happened to be watching. I couldn’t leave them there to die, so I brought them here. I didn’t know where else to take them. I bought them some milk replacement. I don’t think they’re old enough to eat solid food by themselves. Look how tiny they are.”
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