“It’s no joke,” Lex said curtly. “Heather and I went over to her house and talked to her. She described the vision and added precise details about the mall that only an insider would know.”
“Like what?” Richards looked bored.
“I’ll fill you in on it as soon as I can write it all down. But my instincts tell me that the kid isn’t lying. Lives could be at stake here. Timberwoods could blow. Worse things have happened in this crazy world.”
Heather nodded without adding her two cents.
Lex went on. “We have to do something. Angela insists that what she sees, happens. The safest thing to do is shut down and sweep the place from basement to roof for explosives or incendiary devices.”
“And what does a public relations man know about either?” the other man asked rudely.
Lex shrugged. “Not much. So call in experts. And close the mall.”
“You’re out of your mind!” Richards was horrified. “The loss of revenue and failure to renew leases—it would be catastrophic! Harold, what do you have to say?”
The chief of security had developed a grayish pallor. “Hell, I don’t know what to do. First the bomb threat this morning and now this,” he said hoarsely. “I knew there was something different about it.”
“It’s all a joke. For whatever reason, Angela is playing a prank on you, that’s all. Teenagers, college kids do that sort of thing—what do they call it—getting punked?”
“I believe that’s the current term,” Harold said dryly.
“How old is she now? Twenty?” Richards answered his own question, sounding relieved now he was on surer ground. “Obviously had nothing better to do.”
“At first we thought Angela might have sent the bomb threat herself, but she didn’t. We know that now,” Eric stated. “The police say the MO is the same as the previous two. I checked with them before I came in here.”
“The girl is probably on drugs!” Richards cried. “You’re believing the word of a druggie?”
“Drugs or no—I believe her and so does Heather. If you could have seen her, heard her . . . Something has to be done,” Lex said.
“Nothing is going to be done. This whole thing is ridiculous. I don’t believe in all this shit you’re spouting. I believe in the here and now. No one can foresee the future. If either of you says one word about this . . . if this gets out . . . you’ll be fired on the spot. Do you hear me, Harold? I’m holding you personally responsible. You never should have let it get this far, you moron!”
Harold was having difficulty speaking, so he just nodded and wiped his damp hands on his trousers.
“Listen to me, Richards,” Lex insisted. “We went to see Mrs. Steinhart at her house. It was a disaster. The whole downstairs was flooded, thousands of dollars in damage. Mrs. Steinhart intimated that Angela did it, that her daughter wasn’t sane. On the other hand, she also hinted that she knows about Angela’s visions and that they come true. She didn’t come right out and admit it, but she might as well have. She probably thinks that if the word gets out it will ruin her social standing in the community or some damn thing. When we mentioned that Angela told us she’d seen a psychiatrist, she almost fainted.”
“What was his diagnosis?” Richards asked craftily.
“Who knows? But her mother calls Angela’s condition nervous fits.”
“There, you see!” Richards laughed heartily. “The girl is a mental case and the psychiatrist recognized it. I can almost understand your being taken in by her. It sounds like she really worked you over.” He shook his head. “Forget it. Why don’t you both go out to dinner and forget the whole thing? Everything will look different in the morning. And remember, not a word of this to anyone.”
“Mr. Richards,” Harold said hesitantly, “what if it is true? What if the girl can predict these things? When you stop and think about it, it does happen. I read about things like this in the papers every week. Not necessarily something as catastrophic as this, but things of this nature. Do you know how many people will be in this mall next week?”
“More than last year, I hope,” Richards snapped. “Now quit trying to get a free vacation. You always were a mealymouthed son of a bitch, Harold. I just told you it was a trick, and you know damn well that no one in his right mind would blow up my shopping center. Remember, all of you . . . if one word of this gets out, you’re fired!”
“You can sit here and pretend till hell freezes over that we never talked to you,” Lex said, his temper rising, “but I’m going to talk to anyone who will listen to me, and that includes the police. I want to be able to live with myself. I have to try to do something. You can’t play with human lives. You’re going to be forced to close!”
“I won’t close the mall. You’re crazy, Lassiter. Isn’t he, Baumgarten?”
Harold frowned as something stirred in his gut. He squared his plump shoulders and said quietly, “I don’t know if he’s crazy or not. But if I were in your position, I’d padlock the doors and deal with the consequences. If this ever comes to pass and word gets out that it was your decision to keep the mall open . . . think about the legal consequences. I’m talking major liability, in the hundreds of millions.” Might as well appeal to Richards’s mercenary side. The man had no morals to speak of. “These bomb threats could be some sort of warning. The seventy-two hours takes us right into the Christmas parade.”
“But Angela Steinhart’s a mental case! You’d believe some kid who’s so screwed up she doesn’t know what day of the week it is? Fools! This mall stays open, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
“Over my dead body,” Eric shouted. “Don’t be stupid! Get your brains in gear and do something now, before it’s too late!”
“You’re going too far, Summers. Your chief won’t like it. And I don’t have to sit here and listen to this!” Richards shouted angrily.
“You don’t have to, but you’d better. All this is too much of a coincidence. The bomb threat, the Steinhart girl coming to talk to Heather . . .” Lex faced Richards’s fury.
“You’re a jackass, Lassiter. I’m warning you, stay out of this. No one is shutting down my mall. No one is going to tell me what to do, not even Homeland Security. I should have all of you thrown in jail.”
“Try it,” Summers said coldly.
Harold stood up, his short legs trembling. “I’m on your side, Summers, for whatever it’s worth. I vote to close and I’ll tell the police so. I am the chief of security.”
“Not any longer. You’re fired!” Richards shouted.
“My contract says you have to give me two weeks’ notice,” Harold laughed, enjoying his own private joke. “I really don’t care if you fire me or not. I’ll stay for my two weeks and you can’t do anything about it.”
“You’re too stupid to get a job anywhere else. I’ll hold you responsible, Baumgarten, if this insane prediction gets spread around.”
Harold continued to laugh. He walked around to the portable bar and poured himself a glass of brandy. He held the glass aloft and said, “To all the stupid fools the world over.” He took one gulp of the fiery liquid and poured the remainder over Richards’s desk.
Stunned, Richards watched the brandy seeping into his trousers before jumping to his feet. “You’re out of your minds, all of you! Get out before I throw you out!”
Outside Richards’s office, Lex turned to Heather and put his hands on her shoulders, gently squeezing them. “You need to get some rest. Go on home. I’ll be in touch.”
Heather leaned toward him, needing his strength. “But what are you going to do?” she asked, knowing there were purple shadows of fatigue under her eyes and not caring. Something was developing between Lex and herself, something that went deeper than smudged makeup and disheveled hair. This was something that came from the inside out.
“Lex is going to come home with me,” Summers explained. “I’ve got a connection through the police force with a man by the name of Noel Dayton. I’ve already called him
and he’s going to meet me at home. I don’t want to make this official by talking to him in the office or downtown at the station.”
“Who’s Noel Dayton?” Heather asked.
“He’s a police psychiatrist from New York City. I’d like him to talk to Angela.”
Lex wrapped an arm around Heather’s waist and started walking. “You’ve had a long day. I’ll walk you down to your car.” Lex smiled down at her, his concern evident. “We’ll get a fresh start in the morning. And another thing—I don’t want you losing sleep over this,” he added sternly. “We’re going to do our best, and that’s all any of us can do.”
Heather nodded gratefully. “Will I see you later?” she asked, hoping he would catch her silent invitation.
“I’ll give you a call,” he said, smiling.
“Harold, you should be in on this, too.” Summers turned to address the chief. “You will come home with me, won’t you?”
“Of course. I’m chief of security. I’ll do everything I can.”
“Thanks for the backup in Richards’s office. If we stand together maybe we can get to the bottom of this.” Summers’s voice was weary. “I don’t know what to believe at this point. All I know is that the bomb threat seemed real and tangible. I could hold that letter in my hand and look at it. This Steinhart thing, well, I just don’t know. But I do know that we’ve got to follow every lead, look into every corner. If Angela knows something, we’ve got to make her tell us. That’s where my concerns lie. I had an old sergeant in the police academy who used to say, ‘No threat is an empty threat.’ I tend to agree.”
Harold worked his mouth into a smile and patted Summers’s back. “Exactly. And don’t worry about Richards. He’s the moron. I’ll get my coat and meet you by lot number five.”
Lex hurried Heather through the cold, windy parking lot to her car.
“It’s over there,” she said, pointing a gloved hand. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know, I know. Let’s just say I like to do it. It doesn’t mean I think you’re not capable of getting out to your car by yourself.”
Heather laughed. Being with Lex was so nice, so easy. In the past two days their relationship had deepened—she’d heard that getting through a crisis made that happen sometimes. It was an awfully thin silver lining, she thought as they kept walking, but it would have to do.
They stopped at her car. “Here it is,” she said. “Now you hurry over to Lot Number Five. Eric and Harold are probably waiting for you.”
Lex grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “Let them wait. I’ve got something important on my mind.” He rested his hand on the car roof and leaned close to her. His breath was soft and warm on her cheek and his eyes held hers softly.
Heather lifted her face, offering her lips to his kiss. He gathered her in his arms and held her close, tight against him. “Mmmm,” he sighed into her ear. “I wish I was going home with you rather than Summers.”
Heather laughed lightly. “I do, too, but you have to get together with Eric and Harold. No way am I going to be responsible for breaking up the three musketeers. On your way, mister.” She gave him a gentle push. “If it’s not too late when you’re through, give me a call.”
“Will do,” he told her, touching her lips with his once again.
Angela scanned the interior of the burger place for an empty booth. The lighting was dim and she found it soothing after the brightness of the mall. Still, she had to peer intently between the tinsel and artificial greenery that hung from the beams overhead.
She almost wanted to put her hands over her ears and keep them there. God, she was tired of Christmas carols. Especially “Jingle Bells.” Didn’t they have any other holiday recordings? Even “Rudolph” would have been an improvement.
Fighting her way between strollers pushed by harried mothers, Angela made her way to what looked like one of the waiting lines. She tapped her foot impatiently, to the undisguised annoyance of the woman behind her. As if she cared. If the woman could put up with the little kid pulling on her trouser leg, she could certainly put up with Angela’s nervousness. She switched from floor tapping to nail nibbling as she moved slowly to the front of the line. “Two coffees,” she muttered finally, forgetting to take plastic lids. The scalding coffee slopped all over her hands and wrists as she turned, but she barely noticed it. She waited patiently for an elderly couple to vacate the booth next to her and immediately sat down. The woman with the little boy fixed her with an angry look and spoke in an offended tone. “You could have taken a small table. Why do you have to grab the last booth?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m waiting for someone,” Angela said, indicating the second cup of coffee.
“I just bet you are. You college kids are all alike. You take over and hog everything.”
Angela frowned at the woman, not understanding why she was so upset. Then she looked pointedly at the child, who was now demanding an ice cream cone and some French fries to go with it, which were sure to upset his digestion. And a seat—hers. Maybe if she had a child like that she would be rude, too. She didn’t budge.
Several minutes later, Angela was startled as a shadow fell across her table. She glanced up and sighed with relief.
“I wasn’t sure if it was you. It’s kinda dark in here,” Charlie Roman said as he wedged himself between the orange table and the brown plastic seat.
“You’re right. It looks like they took out all the overhead lights and put in those tiny colored ones. More Christmassy, I guess. Here,” she said, sliding the coffee toward Charlie, “I thought you might want coffee. I hope it isn’t cold. I drank mine while I waited.”
Charlie reached for the coffee, his eyes on the girl across from him. He wondered what she was all about. “How much do I owe you?”
“You don’t owe me anything. What’s a cup of coffee between friends? You can buy it next time.”
Friends? Charlie frowned. They didn’t even know each other and she was calling them friends. He’d never had a girl for a “friend” before. “Yeah, sure, I’ll buy the next time.”
“Well, now that that’s settled, why don’t you relax and enjoy it—the coffee, I mean. I got it black because I didn’t know what you took in it.”
“Black is fine,” Charlie mumbled. He hated black coffee. He liked it with lots of cream and at least three sugars. And he hated lukewarm coffee with a passion. But he would keep his complaints to himself.
“My name’s Angela Steinhart.” Angela held out her hand.
Charlie looked down and saw her ragged nails. “Charlie Roman,” he said, holding out his own hand hesitantly.
Angela noticed that he wiped his palm on his trousers before he offered it, and she wondered vaguely why he should have sweating palms. Playing second fiddle to Santa Claus must be tougher than she thought. All those whining kids.
“Do you shop here often?” Charlie asked, wondering why he hadn’t seen her around before.
“Not really. Lately, though, I’ve been killing time here a lot,” Angela volunteered. If he wasn’t aware that she’d designed some of the displays, so what? She would have liked to tell him the real reason she was there, but she didn’t want him to think she was crazy.
Charlie was uncomfortable. He squirmed on the hard plastic seat. He didn’t know how to talk to women, and she looked uncomfortable, too. The knowledge that she might be nervous pleased him, and he relaxed for the first time in days. He’d had reservations about meeting her, but now he was glad. She was anything but pretty, but she wasn’t homely, either. He frowned, trying to decide if it was her nose or her teeth that made her face look irregular. Somehow one didn’t seem to go with the other. Aside from that, she was as skinny as a rail, but what the hell? He could put up with her. It wasn’t like they were going to jump into the sack together. They were just having coffee and talking.
“Do you pick up guys all the time?” he blurted. She was staring at him, and God only knew what she was
thinking.
“Nah. You never know what you’re getting. You’re different, though. You work here with Santa Claus and all. That makes you a safe bet.” She giggled, waiting to see Charlie’s reaction. There was none. Then she asked, “Do you pick up girls often?”
Charlie’s eyes widened and he almost burst out laughing. Did she really think that? A guy like him, who was big and awkward and nerdish? She was obviously putting him on. Still, she didn’t look like she was poking fun at him. All the guys he knew lied to women; why couldn’t he?
“Sometimes,” he said quietly. Let her make whatever she wanted out of that.
Angela pursed her mouth. “Well, let’s get one thing straight right now. I don’t go in for onenight stands, and I don’t sleep around.”
Charlie’s face drained. Not the answer he had been expecting, but at least he knew where he stood. She was no Heather Andrews, but she had something Heather didn’t: honesty. He liked the feeling that was starting to stir in him. “So who said you did? I don’t remember inviting you anywhere. You invited me, remember?”
“I just don’t want you to think I’m looking to hook up. I mean, I sort of like you, but I don’t want any misunderstandings later on,” Angela replied.
Charlie stared at her a full minute before he replied. “You’ve made your point.”
“Have you worked here long?” Angela questioned, hoping to change the subject. She had no idea how it had cropped up.
“Close to six years. Why do you ask?” he asked bluntly.
“Why not?” Angela retorted carelessly. “Is it a secret?”
Jesus, just the way she said the word secret sent a chill up his spine. He was getting the feeling that she was unstable. The last thing he needed in his life was someone like her. But he was uncomfortably aware that his body had other ideas.
“You certainly ask a lot of questions,” he said coldly, not liking his physical response to her. No point in his getting excited when he knew it would end in frustration. How was he going to tell her he had never had a woman before? She looked experienced. Hell, he would just have to bluff. A bright flush stained his cheeks and he adjusted his pants. “I never had a secret in my life,” Charlie lied.
Christmas At Timberwoods Page 8
