The Kid Who Stole Christmas Page 10

  “Enough!” Nathan looked at her perfect legs and had to close his eyes for a moment. It was no use. He looked her in the eye and capitulated. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m on edge. Where are those two idiots?”

  Angela wasn’t quite through making him squirm. “How should I know? They’re your idiots. You’re the one in charge, right? Or so you keep telling me.”

  Nathan started to say something, but stopped himself just in time. He remembered when he was a boy, sitting right here in this office, watching his father. The old man blustered at everything and everyone that got in his way. There wasn’t a definite link between his behavior and the aneurysm that stilled his nearly endless tirade at sixty-two. But it had to have been a factor. All that yelling and all those bulging veins. It didn’t take a doctor to figure out that wasn’t good for a person.

  The manner of his father’s death was a lesson Nathan had taken to heart, literally. Exercise, a low-fat diet and stress reduction were the order of the day. He had also long ago removed the gun his father had always kept in the top right-hand desk drawer.

  And now, looking at Angela’s smug, perfect face, Nathan was very glad it wasn’t there. “They’ll call,” he assured her in quiet, clipped tones. “They’re probably just out for a walk. Kids get restless, you know.”

  Angela was checking her nails. They were perfect. “I say they’ve made another deal.”

  “Who with?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Another retailer maybe,” she said. “Or maybe even old Pop Lyon himself.”

  Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Joey wouldn’t do that.”

  “Wouldn’t he?” Angela glared at him. “You pay him peanuts and treat him like dirt, Nathan, the same as all your employees.”

  “But he has complete job security,” Nathan said.

  “Well, whoopee!” Angela exclaimed sarcastically. “Did you ever stop to think he might aspire to something better?”

  Nathan laughed. “Joey? Come on.”

  The phone rang. It was Nathan’s private line. He gave Angela an I-told-you-so smile and picked up the receiver.

  “That better be you, Joey,” he said gruffly.

  “Sorry I didn’t call earlier. The phones were out.”

  “But they had them fixed by nine this morning, Joey,” Nathan said. “I’ve been calling the lodge since then.”

  “What can I tell you, Nathan? We’ve been right here the whole time. Maybe they’ve got the lines crossed, or something.”

  Nathan scowled. “Maybe. Everything okay?”

  “What could be wrong?” Joey asked.

  “Nothing.” Nathan leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief. Same old Joey. “Kid okay?”

  “I should feel so good. Any word on the shipment?”

  “Not the one we’re after. But it won’t be long now,” Nathan said. “They hit both coasts at the same time about an hour ago. It’s wild. You ought to see those crowds snappin’ ‘em up.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe there’s something on the radio.”

  “Maybe.” Nathan grinned at Angela. “Anyway, you hang tight, Joey. Call me if there’s any trouble.”

  “Relax, Nathan. Everything is going according to plan.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Shannon had decided to try the undercover shopper route first, with the intent of asking seemingly innocent questions about the Bayers and their life-style, particularly any mountain property they might own. So far, however, all the sales clerks she had spoken to didn’t know, didn’t want to know and, furthermore, couldn’t care less how the Bayers lived.

  In fact, given the dour, elitist attitudes exhibited by everyone in the entire store—including quite a few of the customers—she wasn’t at all enthusiastic about the prospect of becoming a Bayer’s employee, even of the temporary variety.

  Rick wasn’t enthusiastic about being there, period. He had argued against this approach, suggested alternatives and in general had dragged his heels the entire time. He was acting strangely in other ways, as well, nervous and jumpy, as if he expected to be caught at any moment.

  “Would you relax?” she urged.

  “I am relaxed.”

  “Is that a fact?” Shannon grinned. “Then I can hardly wait to see what you’re like when you’re tense.”

  Rick managed a small, crooked smile. “I just think this is a total waste of time, that’s all. We could accomplish the same thing by going down to city hall and checking property records.”

  “Maybe,” Shannon said. “But in the first place, I’ve found that bureaucracies don’t function all that well this close to a major holiday. Second, you know as well as I do that the rich have ways of keeping their names off any lists that might cause them to pay their fair share of taxes. And third, that’s not the only thing we’re trying to find out. We have that one name I remembered Leo mentioned, too. Irv, wasn’t it?”

  Rick sighed, disgusted. “Right. Irv. And what have we gotten when we drop that name, Shannon?”

  “So far, blank stares,” she admitted. “But hope springs eternal. While we’re here, shall we look at ties?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Though he was being a grump, Rick looked sharp in his dark blue wool trousers and coordinating Harris tweed jacket. His shirt, in a shade Lyon’s menswear maven Carl had described as chamomile, was open at the throat, since Rick had absolutely refused to wear the tie Carl had also picked out.

  As they browsed for one he could stand, they heard a flurry of excitement coming from the electronics department and went to investigate. Rather than discover that some kind of special sale was in progress, however, they found that a large crowd had gathered around the wall-size bank of televisions. And every one of them showed the same thing.

  Arnie the Arachnid had arrived in New York. He was taking Manhattan, the Bronx and Staten Island, too. So far, the crowds were manageable and restrained, even festive. The lacquer-haired newsperson, of course, predicted, darkly, that such behavior would only last as long as the Arnies did. And of course, no matter what sort of mayhem ensued, viewers could rest assured that her station’s cameras would be there to film it all.

  Shannon glanced at Rick. “That’s a rather enigmatic smile you have on your face,” she observed. “Bemused, even.”

  “It’s just that...” He trailed off, and turned to look at her. “So much has gone into this moment. Now that it’s started, I’m...I don’t know. Overwhelmed, I guess.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Her eyes widened. “To the grave. What is it?”

  “Those things are ridiculously cheap to make.”

  “And they sell for ten bucks a pop,” Shannon remarked, her eyes opening wider still. “I take it there is some sort of profit sharing at good old Arnie Inc.”

  Rick nodded. “Something like that.”

  “In other words, you may not need to moonlight anymore.”

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I can’t turn in my Santa suit just yet. It’ll be a while before I see any money.”

  “Good,” Shannon said.

  “Thanks!” he said indignantly.

  “You know what I mean.” She linked her arm through his. “Come on. I want to get a look at their toy department.”

  They strolled around Bayer’s centerpiece indoor fountain, with its gaily splashing water, tinted green in honor of the season. In contrast to Lyon’s almost art deco interior, Bayer’s had been originally designed to look flamboyantly rich—not unlike its customary clientele.

  In fact, Pop had once accused Joe Bayer of lifting the decor from a Las Vegas casino. Although the display areas had been updated over the years, those roots still showed in the store’s white marble columns, gleaming brass railings and high, domed ceilings.

  Bayer’s wasn’t nearly as big as Lyon’s, but made up for the lack of space by careful selection of merchandise. But often, the value of this merchandise was implied rather than real, by virtue of its brand name or celebrity endorsem
ent. That there were those who put such things above price, however, was evident. Lyon’s had only the one downtown location, while Bayer’s had that and space in every Denver mall, as well.

  Still, Lyon’s did more than survive, it prospered, in part because of its loyal customer base. A product bought at Lyon’s came with a guarantee beyond that of the manufacturer. Pop was fond of saying that it was a difference in philosophy.

  But where Arnies were concerned, loyalty and philosophy seemed to have gone out the window. So, evidently, had decency.

  “Oh, brother!” Shannon exclaimed quietly. “Look at that.”

  Rick had already spotted the sign hung prominently over the toy department sales counter. He read it aloud. “If it’s an Arnie you need, for Timmy or Sue, by hook or by crook, Bayer’s will get one for you.”

  “I guess that article didn’t faze them,” Shannon said.

  “Hardly.” Rick shook his head in disbelief. “And Pop wondered why Lyon’s was chosen as the sole distributor. Man! That steams me! It’s like they’re thumbing their noses at us.”

  “They are. And unless we can find Leo, we’ll have to pucker up.” Shannon was looking around the toy department, checking out the competition. Suddenly, she grabbed Rick’s arm. “I think we just got the break we’re looking for.”

  “What?”

  “Who,” she corrected. “That clerk. He did some part-time work for me a while back. But he needed a full-time job and I just didn’t have an opening for him. Shame, too. He’s a real nice guy.”

  Rick was still perturbed by the sign. “Then what’s he doing working in a garbage dump like this?”

  “Making a living,” Shannon returned dryly. “But I’ll bet he’ll be more open about this dump than those other stiffs. Maybe you’d better look around, or something, divert attention from me while I have a word with him.”

  “That’s me, just a momentary diversion. How big a fire do you want me to start?”

  “Tempting,” Shannon said. “But just ask that other clerk to show you a slime gun, or something.”

  She left him to his own devices and went to talk to her former employee. Rick didn’t want to see another slime gun, but there were some very interesting dolls in a locked glass case that he wanted to get a better look at.

  He always sent a gift to Chelsea on her birthday and for Christmas. Angela probably just threw the presents away, or told her they were from someone else, so Rick knew he was really doing it more for himself than his daughter. But he had to try to stay in contact somehow, even if Chelsea didn’t know about it.

  Pop was right to make him get some fancier clothes. If he’d been wearing his faded jeans, he doubted the clerk would have let him near the expensive, computer-controlled doll. As it was, the man opened the case, handed Rick one, then went to help someone else. Since the clerk wasn’t paying any attention to Shannon and the other salesperson, Rick figured he had diverted as much attention as was necessary, and turned his to checking out the doll.

  It was okay, he supposed, but in his opinion, overwrought. Turn it on and it behaved as much like a real baby as was technologically possible at the moment. Not much had been left up to the imagination. Educational toys were great, but this one seemed more like a simulator. Where was the play value? Where was the fun?

  Maybe it was just something he couldn’t understand. He decided to go to the source, and looked around for a little girl to ask.

  That’s when he saw her. For the first time in a little over three years. She had grown, in so many ways that at first he couldn’t take them all in, and he realized with a sharp pang of grief that those past three years had been important ones for Chelsea.

  Though he knew he should turn around and walk away, for a moment, Rick could only stand and stare. There was just so much more of her. She was taller. Her hair was longer. That nose, his nose, still didn’t quite fit, but it wouldn’t be too long now. In another three years, she would be on the verge of young womanhood. Two more after that and she’d want her own car. A few more and...what? Her own children, perhaps? It all passed so quickly.

  And it was passing without him. All the bitterness and rage that he had spent three years putting behind him suddenly came boiling up in a dizzying rush.

  But then she looked at him, and in an instant all the anger was gone. Her sweet smile was like a balm to his wounded heart. At least some things hadn’t changed. Those big, brown eyes. And she was holding a plastic model of a horse. He remembered horses had been an obsession of hers since she was four or five.

  When she turned back to studying the little horse, Rick realized he’d been fooling himself. She had changed, but so had he. There were fewer pounds around his middle, and a few more gray hairs on his head. His face hadn’t escaped the effects of time, either, especially when combined with too much anger and not enough understanding—from both himself and the one person he cared more about than any other.

  Chelsea didn’t recognize him. His own daughter had forgotten who he was. And Rick simply couldn’t bear it.

  All the things he had been working for suddenly didn’t seem to make any difference. Putting the doll he still held in his hand down on a nearby counter, he did the one thing that could bring those hopes crashing down around his ears.

  He approached his own child. “Hi, Chelsea.”

  “Hello,” she said distractedly. She was focused on the model horse, and her reply was mainly a reflex action.

  But at the sound of his voice, a connection that had already started to form in the young girl’s mind was completed at last, and she looked up at Rick. Her sweet, tentative smile wavered, then melted into a frown. Slowly, that frown turned into something even uglier.

  He saw that Chelsea recognized him now. And that she was afraid of him.

  “Momma says you’re supposed to stay away from us.”

  Rick didn’t know which hurt worse, the look on her face or the way her voice had quavered when she’d said those words.

  “Chelsea, honey—”

  “Momma says you’re not supposed to talk to us, either,” she told him. “She says you’ll be mean.”

  “I’m sure your mother has said a lot of things about me, Chelsea,” Rick said, struggling to keep his voice calm. What he wanted to do was grab her, hug her, somehow communicate all the love he had inside for her.

  However, Angela had done her dirty work well; his own flesh and blood was backing away from him. “But you have to believe me, Chelsea. I never hurt your mother. And I would never, ever hurt you.”

  “She cried. Her eye was all purple and black.”

  Rick felt his stomach knot up. What could he say? Call her mother a liar? Down that path lay certain defeat. Rant and rave about a judge who had accepted her word against his? Chelsea wouldn’t understand that. He didn’t understand that. All he knew was that he had been mangled by a legal system gone astray, the best justice money could buy.

  And all he could do was continue to plead his own case. “It wasn’t me, Chelsea. I don’t know what happened to your mother, but it wasn’t me. I love you, honey. And I’m so very sorry about all this mess.”

  For a brief, glorious instant, the fear on the little girl’s face went away. “Is that true, Daddy?”

  It was just four words, but they meant the world to Rick. In them he could hear her confusion. Her mind was not yet totally made up against him. And in her suddenly teary eyes he could see a question, a need not unlike his own.

  He bent down on one knee and opened his arms to her. “I know we’re not supposed to, Chelsea. But I could really use a hug right now.”

  She took one hesitant step toward her father. It was as far as she got. “Chelsea!” her mother yelled. “Stop!”

  Again, fear marred Chelsea’s sweet features as Angela came striding up behind her and grabbed the child’s arm, pulling her backward. Rick took one look at his former wife’s face and saw all he needed to. He was in big trouble. As he turned around, hoping against hope that it wasn’t
too late, his gut feeling was confirmed.

  There were two of them, large-size males, and they didn’t look in the mood for resistance of any sort. Rick had no intention of offering any. The moment he had seen Chelsea, he knew that what was about to happen was a very definite possibility. When he hadn’t left her vicinity immediately, he had broken the law.

  “Are you Rick Hastings?” one of the police officers asked.

  Rick nodded. “I am.”

  “Mr. Hastings, you have violated a restraining order that was obtained against you by your former spouse for her own protection and that of her child, Chelsea Bayer. At this time, I am going to place you under arrest.”

  Even with his fine new clothes, the officers weren’t taking any chances with Rick. While one continued the legal spiel and kept a wary eye peeled, the other got out his handcuffs. As he maneuvered Rick into position and snapped them around his wrists, Shannon pushed her way through the crowd that had started to gather.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded. “Rick? What is this?”

  “Stay out of it, Shannon,” he said curtly.

  “Please step back, ma’am,” one policeman told her in a no-nonsense tone. “Mr. Hastings is under arrest.”

  “What!” Shannon cried. “What did he do?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Shannon!” Rick exclaimed. “Do what they tell you and keep away!”

  She tried to move closer, and the officer physically prevented her. “Mr. Hastings has violated a restraining order. If you have an interest in this case, you can come to this precinct and inquire through proper channels,” he told her, handing her a card that he whipped out of his uniform pocket. “Now stay back, or I’ll be forced to arrest you for interfering with us and you’ll be coming along with him right now. Have I made myself clear?”

  Shannon nodded. She knew that domestic disputes were one of the most dangerous situations a police officer encountered. Besides, she knew this wasn’t their fault. As they led Rick away, Shannon turned to glare at the woman she suspected was responsible.

  There was a smug little grin of victory on her pretty face and Shannon had the sudden urge to claw it right off. But then, Angela noticed her, and Shannon realized such a thing wouldn’t be easy. Never in her life had she seen such a fierce, almost blood-thirsty expression on a woman. It made her own blood run cold in her veins.