“There’s always Max Hewitt,” Finnie said brightly. “He’s keen on you, you know.”
“I know, and he’s a nice man, but…” Agnes closed her eyes. “You can’t manufacture magic, and he’s not…” Intoxicating. “I’ve always had a weakness for a man with a little spice and sizzle.”
“Agnes. We’re closer to ninety than nineteen. Leave the spice and sizzle for Pru.” She turned and looked into the crowd, then reached into her pocketbook to glance at her cell phone. “Where are those two, anyway? I hope that lad didn’t have a wee bit too much sizzle, if you know what I mean.”
“Is magic only for young people?” Agnes mused, stirring her coffee, watching the man who had yet another mother laughing. Although this time there was a father, too. So maybe he was just as charming as Santa as he was by text.
Finnie smiled. “We had our magic, lass. ’Tis a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”
“Really? Then why live? I mean, does romance fade right along with good knees and a strong bladder? It’s an age thing? That’s just so sad and—” She scowled as two men approached the next table and stared at the dogs. Gala barked, but Pyggie didn’t move.
“Mind if we take this table?” one asked.
Yes, she did. “It’s dirty.” Agnes looked up at him and was met by an intimidating narrow-eyed stare.
“That’s fine,” the other man, a huge, beefy fellow with a beard, said. “We just need this seat.”
And so did she. “There’s a table over there by the Chinese food,” she said. “Much more room and no dogs.”
“I like dogs,” the staring guy said, flipping her bag off the back of the chair and handing it to her. “Here you go, ma’am.”
And down he went, with the house-size guy directly in front of Agnes, completely blocking her view. In fact, the two of them sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder, creating a veritable wall between Agnes and Aldo.
“Now I can’t see him,” she mouthed, frustrated as she shifted her seat to try to see through the space between the men’s heads and shoulders.
“You’re not missing anything,” Finnie said.
“Except the very reason we’re here.”
Finnie tipped her head and pinned her blue gaze on Agnes. “What is the real reason we’re here, dear friend? What are you searching for? Last year, ’twas the dog you’d seen in your dreams of heaven.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” she whispered.
“And now it’s the elusive man.” Finnie pressed her hands together. “Is it the holidays that bring this out in you, Agnes? You spend so much time and money trying to look young and feel…somethin’. When you’re surrounded by a beautiful family that gives you everythin’. Why are you searchin’ so hard for happiness when, as we Irish say, you’ve got contentment knockin’ at yer door?”
She had no answer for that, turning from Finnie’s sincere gaze to try to see Aldo. But Big Guy leaned closer to Hard Eyes and blocked her view.
“I don’t love that plan,” Big Guy said. “It’s not like we can walk right up to Santa and offer a bribe.”
Wait, did he say Santa? And…bribe? Agnes glanced at Finnie, whose wide eyes showed she’d heard the same thing.
“But if he takes it,” Big Guy said, “then what an FBI win we would have.”
Agnes felt her jaw drop as she shared a shocked look with Finnie.
“I told you,” Finnie mouthed.
Agnes shook her head to quiet her friend, inching closer.
“He has to take a break,” Big Guy said. “I’m telling you, Sammy. That’s when we go in for the kill.”
The kill? Were they going to bribe him or kill him? Or kill him if he didn’t take a bribe?
Sammy took out his phone and tapped the screen, and Finnie leaned around his other shoulder to see if she could read it, every bit as curious as Agnes was.
“I got his schedule here. Tony slipped it to me.”
Finnie looked skyward—like just because someone named Tony was involved, that was proof positive they were dealing with mobsters. Of course, the mention of the FBI didn’t exactly give Agnes a good feeling.
“His shift is done in fifteen minutes,” Sammy said. “And he’s not allowed to walk around in that costume, so he’ll go right over there to the men’s room and change. I say we get him in there, because then there shouldn’t be any kids around.”
Get him? Agnes bit her lip. What would they do to him with no kids around?
“You got the ghost?” Sammy asked.
Big Guy patted his jacket pocket, which bulged. “Oh yeah. And I’ll put this sucker right under his nose and make him an offer even Aldo Fiore can’t refuse.”
Agnes and Finnie hissed in a breath at exactly the same time, making Gala jump and bark.
“Oh, did I bump her?” Big Guy said, turning in his chair to look at them. “Really sorry.”
“No, no, ’tis fine,” Finnie assured him in a reed-thin voice. “We’re fine. No problem.”
The man nodded and turned, while Sammy still studied his phone. “Did you see this?” he asked, angling the screen toward Big Guy. “Aldo’s boys are busy.”
Agnes inched closer, squinting at the screen, but seeing only the glare from the lights.
“Oh hell. That’s a corpse. They found the damn corpse. We gotta get to Aldo, Sammy. This is a crime.”
Agnes put her hand over her mouth, sharing a look with Finnie.
“We gotta step in here,” Sammy said. “It’s time for an FBI victory for a change. I’m sick of Fiore being so stinkin’ elusive.”
The two men both pushed up at the same time, their chairs noisily scraping the tile and waking Pyggie.
“Gosh, I’m sorry, little doggie.” Big Guy leaned over, and his jacket—the one with the bulging pocket—opened when he leaned over to pet Pyggie. He wore a black T-shirt with a simple insignia on the pocket.
FBI.
Agnes just stared at him, holding her smile until they walked away in the direction of the men’s room.
“Agnes!” All the color had drained from Finnie’s face. “Do you believe me now?”
“I guess I do.” She fell back in her chair. “How could I have been such a terrible judge of character?”
“Just be happy we found out the FBI is after him before you got involved with him.”
Agnes nodded. “Is ‘ghost’ a slang term for a gun?”
“Of course it is!”
“Are you sure?” Agnes scowled, zipping through her memory. “I’ve never heard that.”
“Neither have I, but did you see how his pocket was…” She made a bulging gesture with her hands. “And corpse is slang for a corpse, and crime means crime! Agnes, sweet Saint Patrick, you’ve dodged a bullet.”
“Literally.” She rubbed her hands together, only then realizing how cold she was. “What do you think they’re going to do to him?”
“’Tis a sting,” Finnie said with an amazing amount of authority for someone whose closest interaction with the FBI involved Efrem Zimbalist Jr. on a black-and-white TV screen.
“In the bathroom of the Vestal Village Mall on Christmas Eve?” It still seemed preposterous.
“Look around. There could be agents everywhere!” Finnie gestured toward the crowded food court. “More men than you ever see at a mall.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Agnes reminded her sharply. “That’s when men shop.”
“Why are you determined to protect and defend him?” Finnie asked, sounding flabbergasted.
“I’m not. But did those two guys really seem like FBI agents?”
“Undercover,” Finnie said. “They’re not supposed to look like FBI agents.”
“They certainly didn’t.” Agnes shifted her gaze to Santa, who was waving to the kids and climbing off his throne.
“Ho, ho, ho! I gotta go! But I’ll be back soon!” he called to them. “Watch the elves sing while I’m gone.”
A ripple of disappointment as palpable as the one rolling through Agnes rumbled through
the small crowd as he stepped off the small platform and headed directly toward them.
“Oh, he’s coming here,” Agnes exclaimed.
“No, no. Bathroom,” Finnie corrected as Santa took a turn.
“Right into a sting.” Agnes shook her head. “I feel like I should—”
“Agnes.” Finnie grabbed her hand. “Just thank the good Lord you didn’t fall for someone like that.”
A little boy ran up to Santa, arms outstretched like he wanted a hug, and Aldo bent over and gave him a huge squeeze, lifting him in the air with a noisy, “Ho, ho, ho!”
“That doesn’t look like a criminal,” Agnes grumbled.
Another child came running over, then another. For at least ten minutes, Santa gave them hugs and encouragement and promised Santa would be back. With every passing second, Agnes began to doubt more and more what she’d heard.
“Are you ready to go, Agnes?” Finnie asked softly.
“Not until he walks into that bathroom and comes out in handcuffs,” she whispered. “Then I’ll give him up.”
But just then, Santa turned in the other direction and walked right into the wide opening of a department store at the end of the mall.
“Where’s he going?” Agnes asked, standing up.
“Penney’s! He’s getting away!” Finnie exclaimed. “We should tell the FBI men.”
“You can.” Agnes gathered the dogs’ leashes and her bag. “Just waltz right into the men’s room and look for the agents, Finola. See how that goes for you. I’m going to follow Aldo.”
“Agnes!” Finnie sputtered, pushing up as well. “You can’t.”
“I can and I will. He’s going into Penney’s, Finnie. How much trouble can we get into there?”
“Speaking of trouble.” Finnie put one hand on Agnes’s arm and pointed with her other. “Here comes Tor, and…oh, look at that lassie and lad laughing.”
Agnes couldn’t resist an I told you so look. “I just had a feeling.”
“Come on, let’s go talk to them.”
“Finnie! I’ll lose him.” She blew out a sigh. “Which is exactly what you want, isn’t it?”
“What I want is for you to see straight where this awful man is concerned.”
“Me, too. So let’s follow him. And if he steals jewelry or does a drug deal or accepts a bribe, then I’ll know.”
“Gramma! Yiayia!” Pru called to them, and Gala tugged at her leash, eager to get to Pru.
“What will we tell them?” Finnie asked. “Can they go with us?”
Agnes watched the greyhound trot closer, his very presence catching every eye in the food court. “We’ll be too conspicuous with that dog. They should stay here,” Agnes said, glancing to see that Santa had been stopped by a kid again, giving her at least another moment.
“We’ve been looking all over for you,” Pru said, a little breathless as she threaded through the tables to Agnes and Finnie, getting ahead of Lucas and Tor. “How’s it going, you guys? Have you done any Santa stalking without me?”
“Not enough,” Agnes said.
“Have you ‘racked up’ Random Acts of Christmas Kindness points, lass?”
“Not enough,” Pru echoed. “But we were hoping to spread some cheer. And maybe get some food.”
Agnes glanced over to see Santa waving at the last group of kids, still heading toward Penney’s. “You stay and eat,” she said, whipping out her wallet to throw twenty dollars on the table. “My treat. Take your time. Finnie and I are going—”
“He’s wanted by the law!” Finnie burst out, just as Lucas and Tor reached the table.
“What?” The kids spoke in perfect unison, and Tor folded down next to Pyggie like he’d found a sleeping soul mate.
“Why did you tell them that, Finnie?” Agnes demanded.
“Because it’s the truth,” she fired back, her color high now, her Irish blue eyes lit like gas flames. “We overheard two gentlemen from the FBI planning to bribe him, then arrest him.”
Pru’s jaw dropped so hard it nearly hit the ground. “Are you kidding?”
“Who?” Lucas asked. “The Santa dude? The one right over there with the kids?”
Another group of youngsters had surrounded him, thank God, delaying his disappearance.
“Yes, that’s him,” Finnie said. “Aldo Fiore.”
Agnes snorted. “You don’t have to say his name like he’s Satan himself, Finnie.”
“Well, they said something about corpses and crime and a bribe. And a ghost! Isn’t that another word for a gun?”
Lucas and Pru shared a look of utter confusion.
“Do you mean a Glock?” Pru asked.
“If ghost is a nickname for that,” Agnes said. “Is it?”
“Hasn’t reached California yet,” Lucas told her.
“Whatever!” Agnes said. “I want to follow him.”
“Why?” Again in unison.
“Because…” She looked from one to the other. “What better act of Christmas kindness than to help bring in a wanted Mafia boss? If we do that, Bitter Bark High School would win for sure.”
Pru started to frown. “I don’t know about that, Yiayia.”
“She’s right,” Lucas said. “No way anyone’s going to do anything bigger or better.”
Finnie and Pru shared a look of silent communication, the connection of years and family and inbred caution easy to feel in the exchanged glance.
“’Tis a bad idea,” Finnie said, adjusting her crooked glasses.
“Just to follow him?” Lucas asked. “How?”
“Thank you,” Agnes said, her shoulders dropping in relief. “It looks like he’s trying to get to Penney’s.”
“Where all hardened criminals hide,” Pru joked.
“Finnie and I will follow him, and you stay here. With Tor. And the doxies.” She shoved the leashes into Pru’s hand. “There’s money for your lunch. Oh, and watch the men’s bathroom.”
“Excuse me?” Pru asked on a dry laugh.
“Watch for two men who will be coming out,” Agnes said. “One is about forty, with kind of hard, squinty eyes and a gray sweatshirt. That’s Sammy. The other is very tall and large, wearing a navy blue jacket.”
“With a bulge,” Finnie said, leaning in to whisper, “’Tis his ghost.”
The kids shared another look, just enough of a spark in their eyes to tell Agnes they weren’t taking this seriously.
But Santa was almost completely out of the food court area, and there was no time for another word of explanation or persuasion.
“I’m going after him,” Agnes announced, pushing a chair and anything else out of her way.
“Then I guess I am, too,” Finnie said, right behind her.
“Gramma! Yiayia!”
But Agnes didn’t wait to hear the rest or even turn when Gala panic-barked. After all the nice things Aldo had texted her this week, she was not going to just shrug and walk away.
If he was a criminal, then she was a fool.
If he was innocent, then she wanted to prove that.
Either way, she wanted to know the truth.
Chapter Seven
Pru dumped her backpack on the table as she sat, letting out a sigh. “Something tells me we are not really going to win the RACK IT UP contest.”
“Winning’s important to you, isn’t it?” Lucas asked, smothering her in that intense gaze as he took a seat.
“I like to…achieve,” she said, certain a guy like him would think that was completely lame. “I mean, it’s better than losing.”
“Guess it depends on what’s at stake.” He dropped his chin on his knuckles, looking hard at her. “Popularity? College? Attention? Validation? What ticks your boxes, Pru Kilcannon?”
Besides you? “Bancroft,” she said softly, making him frown. “My last name is actually Bancroft.”
“I’m sure I heard you called Pru Kilcannon at school.”
“You talked about me to other kids?”
He leaned in a little, a
smile deepening those dimples. “No, I don’t talk to anyone, if you haven’t noticed. But I heard about you. We’re in a class together, remember?”
“But Mr. Thorgrim doesn’t use my last name.”
He shrugged. “I notice things about people who…attract my attention.”
“Oh, that’s…” An unexpected and unwelcome thrill danced through her, fluttering some of those butterfly wings. Dang. And she was just getting comfortable with him. “Interesting.”
“You want to know why?”
Kind of more than anything. But she managed a shrug as she reached to open her bag, desperate for a distraction. “Probably because I’m the obnoxious kid in class who knows all the answers. Oh, look what I found. Dog treats.”
Gala barked, Pyggie lifted his head, and Tor took two steps closer, so tall that he was almost eye to eye with her.
“Can I?” she asked Lucas.
“Of course.”
She broke a Milk-Bone for Pyggie and Gala to share, then took out a whole one for Tor. “Can you sit?”
Lucas snorted. “All he can do is R-U-N.”
“Ahhh. Well, let’s learn to sit, okay?” She held the treat under his nose. “Down.”
He stared at her but, to his credit, didn’t try to eat it.
“Don’t they train them with commands when they turn these dogs into racers?” she asked.
“He has commands. I just don’t know them.”
“Oh, like a Schutzhund,” she said. “My uncle Liam trains German shepherds as four-legged bodyguards, and they have words that only they know. That way, a bad guy can’t call your dog off, only you can.” She studied him again, holding the dog’s gaze, which was as magnetic as his owner’s. “So you’ve never said a particular word, and he immediately stopped what he was doing?”
He shook his head. “I just say ‘down’ and ‘stop’ and ‘oh crap, don’t do that.’”
She laughed. “Well, we can try to give him new words. He’ll be a breeze to train.” She broke the Milk-Bone into three small pieces, then lowered a piece all the way to the floor, her grip on it tight, holding Tor’s gaze. “Down, Tor.”
After a second, he lowered his head toward the treat, but she held it back.
Feliz Naughty Dog (The Dogmothers Book 7) Page 6
