The Kid Who Stole Christmas Page 9

  But Pop beat her to it. “You saw the paper?” he asked perfunctorily, as if that were the only thing that mattered.

  “Yes, Pop,” Shannon replied.

  “The media.” He screwed up his wizened features as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “How dare those fiends call themselves journalists! All they want to see is blood! Blood to dip their poison pens in and play God with people’s lives. But this time, they had help opening the vein.” He looked at Shannon. “Do you know who told?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No, Pop.”

  Rick was next to be pinned by those stern, appraising eyes, and he was already shaking his head. “Don’t look at me, Mr. Lyon,” he said. “I have no idea who leaked the story. But I must say, I can’t see why you’re so upset about it.”

  Shannon’s eyes went wide as she looked at Rick, then abruptly turned to Pop. “What he means is—”

  “Tut!” Pop held up his hand to cut her off. He was still looking at Rick. “Mr. Hastings was perfectly capable of making himself and his meaning clear last night. I don’t imagine that has changed. Go on, Mr. Hastings.”

  “I prefer Rick.”

  “And I prefer Pop,” the older man told him. “Or I do when addressed by friends. Are you a friend, Mr. Hastings?”

  Rick couldn’t help smiling. “Well, I think I’ll call you Pop, no matter what,” he said. “Because it fits. You remind me of my father. He’s a foul-tempered, crusty old curmudgeon with an ax to grind, too.”

  Shannon cringed and waited for the explosion. Instead, Pop chuckled. Then he laughed out loud.

  “Sounds as if I might like your father, Rick,” he said.

  “You would, Pop,” Rick assured him. “If you ever get to Las Vegas, look him up. He’ll be the oldest old coot at any poker table with more interest in pinching the cocktail waitress than in who won the last hand.”

  “Like father, like son?” Shannon asked dryly.

  Rick shrugged. “Ask me again when I’m seventy-five.”

  Pop dismissed his nurse, then motioned for them to have a seat on an old leather sofa near the window. He rolled his wheelchair closer to them so he could see better.

  “So, Rick,” Pop continued. “Tell me why you don’t think I should be angry that someone leaked news of Leo’s abduction.”

  “I didn’t say that. Go ahead and be angry if you want,” Rick said. “It won’t get the story out of the paper or help you find out who the leak is, though. Nothing can do the first, and the latter doesn’t really make any difference.”

  “No?”

  “No. What’s done is done. There is no such thing as bad publicity. When life hands you a lemon, make lemonade.” Rick grinned. “I think I’ll stop now. As the eldest here, the right to spout clichés is yours.”

  Pop glanced at Shannon. “Where did you find this guy?”

  “He found me,” Shannon replied. “And under somewhat erroneous circumstances, too, I might add.”

  “Tell me,” the old man prompted.

  “You already know that Rick was once married to Nathan Bayer’s wife, Angela, and that their divorce was less than amicable,” Shannon began.

  “It was a creeping case of the plague,” Rick inserted with a grimace. “And call that understatement.”

  “At any rate,” Shannon continued, “I have heard enough about it now to be certain Rick owes nothing to the Bayers except the retribution they so richly deserve.” She smiled at Pop’s impatient frown. “In other words, he’s on our side, Pop. I also found out something else last night.”

  Pop raised his bushy gray eyebrows. “Last night, eh?”

  “Over a stout at the local pub, you dirty old man.”

  “At my age, young lady, that’s a compliment. And it’s what happened after the drink that has my filthy mind working overtime.”

  “Nothing,” Shannon told him sternly.

  Pop shook his head. “That’s a shame. Life is precious, and our time on this earth so short.” He looked at Rick and winked. “That’s one of my best. How am I doing?”

  “I’m taking notes,” Rick assured him.

  Shannon cleared her throat loudly. “Anyway, I found out that Rick is an agent for the Arachnid Arnie company.”

  “Arnie the Arachnid,” Rick corrected. “It’s patented.”

  “Whatever.” Shannon was looking at Pop. He had a very unusual expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Hmm?” Pop blinked a few times. “Oh! Nothing, really. An old mind will wander, you know.” He smiled at Rick. “So, you have a vested interest in this, eh? No wonder the story in the paper didn’t bother you.”

  “It shouldn’t bother you, either, Pop,” Rick said. “I saw the Lyon’s name right next to Arnie’s in that article.”

  The morning sun streaming in through the office window caught Pop at the wrong angle, so he moved his wheelchair a bit. Shannon still thought she saw something odd in those pale blue eyes, but shrugged it off as her imagination. Just because Pop treated everyone in his company like part of the family, that didn’t mean they knew his every little nuance.

  “That’s true, Rick,” Pop agreed. “But the affiliation won’t do Lyon’s a lick of good if it’s Bayer’s that has the spiders, now, will it?”

  “Which brings us to the reason we’re here,” Shannon said.

  Pop held up his hand. “I’m sorry to keep cutting you off, Shannon. I know you’re busting to tell me something and I promise I’ll hear you out. But I want to ask our Arnie rep here something before I forget.”

  “Shoot,” Rick told him, expecting the usual.

  “Exactly why was Lyon’s chosen as the sole supplier for the Denver area?”

  The question took Rick by surprise. He smiled, his mind searching furiously for an answer any self-respecting field representative would have had on the tip of his tongue.

  “The owner is a big fan,” he said.

  “Of Lyon’s?”

  Rick nodded. “Of you, too. And all toy makers. In fact, he has one of your original Leo the Lions in his collection.”

  “Does he now?” Pop’s expressive gray eyebrows went up. “I’m touched. And what is this person’s name?”

  Rick had thought the old man was trying to trip him up, but now realized Pop was just being cagey. “I’m not at liberty to divulge that information,” Rick replied with a grin.

  “That’s the same thing he said when I asked if he knew when the shipment was coming in,” she told Pop.

  Pop was still studying Rick intently. But salvation was at hand, and Rick grabbed it. “Actually, I have some news in that area,” he announced. “In all the excitement this morning, I forgot to tell you.”

  Shannon spun her head toward him and leaned close. “The shipment arrived!” she exclaimed.

  “No, not yet.” Rick smiled at her sympathetically. “But I did get a report that delivery will be made in New York early this afternoon.”

  Pop was nodding his head. “And in Los Angeles at about the same time, correct?”

  “That’s right,” Rick confirmed. “Allowing for the time difference, of course. How did you know?” he asked curiously.

  “I didn’t. It was just an experienced old retailer’s guess,” Pop returned. “I don’t think anyone is going to have trouble selling out of Arnies, but that will be especially true on both coasts. Middle America has always been a harder sell, traditionally.”

  Shannon agreed. “Will it play in Peoria?”

  “Correct.” Pop smiled at her like a proud father. “So, I imagine the shipments will be delivered in stages, in two waves, if you will, starting at the coasts and moving toward the center of the country. Probably meet up along or around the Mississippi River.” He glanced at Rick. “Right?”

  He cleared his throat. “You’ll be hearing about it soon enough, so I guess I can tell you. That’s exactly right.”

  And it was, or close. There would be a little glitch along the way, and he wouldn’t put it past this wily vetera
n to figure that out, too. Maybe he already had.

  “I thought so,” Pop said. “That way, by the time Arnie reaches Peoria, so to speak, even reclusive farmers will have heard about him. Smart man, this employer of yours.”

  “You said it,” Rick told him.

  Pop smiled, then laughed. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” With one last twitch of his eyebrows, Pop turned his attention from Rick to Shannon. “Now, what’s on your mind?”

  Shannon was glad to comply. “Obviously, Rick isn’t here by coincidence. There were indications the Bayers might try to interfere with or intercept our shipment, and since Rick has had dealings with them before, he was chosen to watch over it.”

  “By playing Santa Claus?”

  “He’s just moonlighting. Evidently, the Arnie campaign is on a budget,” Shannon said before Rick could open his mouth. It couldn’t be easy for him to keep explaining his situation.

  “I can well imagine,” Pop said, smiling slightly.

  Shannon didn’t know any other way to put this, so she just said it. “But now he wants to help me get Leo back.”

  Pop’s smile disintegrated into a scowl. “I believe you know how I feel about that, young lady,” he said sternly.

  He sounded very much the perturbed parent. And Shannon felt like a high school girl trying to convince her father to let her use the car.

  “But Pop, we have to at least try,” she objected.

  “Absolutely not! I forbid it!”

  Rick was chuckling. “I bet if I were to light you a cigar and close my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between you and my dad.”

  “Now, you listen to me, young man—”

  “No, I won’t,” Rick interrupted happily. “Because I don’t have to. You’re not my father. In fact, you’re only marginally my employer. I could go bounce boxes around for a lot more money than I’m getting here, so don’t even bother threatening to fire me.”

  “I’ll fire Shannon then. Just for subjecting me to you.”

  “One of your best managers?” Rick laughed. “Even you aren’t that much of a curmudgeon. Besides, it’s obvious you think of her as a daughter. No, you’ll just have to listen to me, old man.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Pop muttered.

  “Whether you like it or not, I’m going to try to find Leo. In the process, I’ll also try to pin the kidnapping on the Bayers. Failing that, I’ll try to catch them in the act of unlawfully taking control of the Arnie shipment. One way or another, I intend to get something on Nathan and Angela.”

  Pop met Rick’s defiant gaze without blinking. “They’ll squash you like a bug.”

  “They tried that once before, and I came crawling back,” Rick told him. “This time I’m going to sting them.”

  Pop turned his wheelchair so he could look out the window. He was silent for a long time. Finally, he appeared to come to a decision, and turned to face the pair on the couch. For Shannon, who knew him well, the sparkle in his eyes told the story.

  “Go find my grandson, Rick,” Pop said. “And do whatever damage you can to Nathan Bayer. I’m behind you all the way.” He smiled at Shannon. “Both of you. Do you have a plan?”

  “First, we’re going to poke around Bayer’s, maybe even go undercover there if we can,” Shannon informed him. “Which means we’ll need some time away from the store, I’m afraid.”

  Pop started to wheel himself toward his desk. Rick got off the couch and helped him. “Covering for Rick won’t be easy,” Pop agreed. “But if you hold off till lunchtime, I’ll hit the cafeteria. The man who signs the Christmas bonus checks is a hard man to refuse a favor.”

  Pop handed her the note he had just scribbled out. “This authorizes a raise and advance for Rick. We can’t expect a spy to make it on Santa Claus wages. And then take him to see Carl in Menswear.” He eyed Rick’s faded jeans. “If you want to fit in unobtrusively at Bayer’s, you’ll have to upgrade his wardrobe a notch.”

  “They are snooty. Isn’t it nice to be one of the good guys?” She smiled. “Thanks, Pop. Great minds think alike.”

  “In that case, I wish you’d help me think of something to tell my next appointment,” Pop said, grimacing.

  “Who’s that?”

  “The police. They want to ask me why I didn’t inform them of Leo’s kidnapping.”

  “What are you going to tell them?” Rick wanted to know.

  “Exactly what they want to hear, I suppose,” Pop replied. “That the whole thing is just one big publicity stunt.”

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s ringing now,” Angela said. “Finally. But they’re not answering.”

  Nathan glared at her. “What do you mean, they’re not answering? They have to be there.”

  “Listen for yourself.” Angela dropped the phone in his lap and crossed his office to the built-in wet bar, where she poured herself a cup of coffee. She didn’t offer him one. “I told you it was a bad idea to put them in charge.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Angela?” Nathan said. “They are not in charge. I am.”

  Angela sipped delicately at her coffee so as not to ruin her lipstick. As she did so, she looked at him over the rim of the cup, her expression one of boredom.

  “Don’t grit your teeth like that, darling,” she told him. “You’ll ruin your caps.”

  “To hell with my caps!”

  “Nathan!” Angela’s voice cracked like a whip, and she scowled at him ferociously. “How dare you swear in front of the child.”

  Chelsea was sitting primly in one of the office chairs nearest the window, where she could look out at the people passing by on the street below. If she heard her mother or Nathan, she didn’t acknowledge them, so intent was she on the street scene being played out down there.

  Like her mother, she had long, honey-blond hair, pulled back and tied to one side today, as was Angela’s. They were dressed in similar outfits, as well, white knit suits with gold-buttoned jackets and knife-pleated skirts. But Chelsea had on thin-ribbed white tights rather than panty hose, and wore a cream-colored turtleneck, where her mother was showing plenty of cleavage at the low-scooped neckline of her jacket.

  Still, they looked remarkably similar, and when they walked along together, they got plenty of attention, which was of course what Angela wanted.

  At least for now. After all, Chelsea was only eleven. Once she hit puberty and started to turn heads for other reasons, which was a given, considering her genes, Angela probably wouldn’t enjoy sharing the limelight quite as much.

  Angela put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Chelsea, sweetie?”

  She looked up, and it was then that the differences between them became more apparent. Where Angela’s eyes were a pale, almost reptilian gray, Chelsea’s were soft brown and soulful, like her father’s. She had her father’s nose, too, for better or worse. At eleven, her small face didn’t do it justice; by her teens, however, the Roman contours would give her a proud, regal air to Angela’s pert and perky.

  Not that it would be given the chance. Angela had already planned to correct what she perceived as a flaw. There wasn’t much she could do about the eyes. Yet. She was keeping tabs on the technology.

  “Yes, Momma?” Chelsea asked politely.

  “Your daddy and I have some business to discuss. Would you like to go down and see the new line of scarves I had Mrs. Terret order in?”

  Chelsea frowned. “I’d rather go look at the toys.”

  “Very well, if you must.” Angela tapped her finger on the bridge of Chelsea’s nose. “And don’t scowl, dear. We don’t want to wrinkle, do we?”

  “For pity’s sake, Angela,” Nathan exclaimed. “Eleven-year-old skin doesn’t wrinkle. Let the girl be.”

  Angela whipped her head around to pin Nathan with her snakelike gaze. “It’s a bad habit that I don’t want her to continue. Just like your bad habit of telling me how to raise her,” she said caustically. And then, quick as a wink, her voice returned to its f
ormer soft lilt as she addressed her daughter. “Go on now, honey. I’ll be down in a little while and we’ll go to lunch.”

  “Yes, Momma.”

  When Chelsea was gone, Angela’s entire demeanor changed yet again. She came to stand in front of Nathan’s desk, arms folded over her breasts, a very deep wrinkle of her own in evidence between her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

  “Don’t you ever interrupt me again when I’m correcting my child, Nathan. Todd is your concern, but Chelsea is all mine. I mean it.”

  Nathan had no doubt about that. And normally he wouldn’t pursue the matter further. But he was in a lousy mood this morning. Right off the bat, the newspaper had all but accused him of kidnapping. He had an appointment with his lawyers for that afternoon to discuss a libel suit. The mountain phone lines were back in operation, but Joey still hadn’t called. Worse, he wasn’t even answering the phone at the lodge. It all had Nathan so ticked off, he didn’t care who he tied into.

  “Chelsea is my child now, too,” he reminded her. “She carries the Bayer name. And if I have something to say about her behavior or yours, I’ll say it.”

  “You know perfectly well why I had her name changed, and it had nothing to do with needing your parenting help.”

  “Yes, Angela, I do know why you did it,” Nathan agreed quietly. “Sheer, unmitigated venom.”

  In fact, after what she had done—and eventually forced him to do—to that poor sap Hastings, it was amazing Nathan had the guts to stand up to her like this. If she were to decide to come after him with a divorce lawyer, he’d probably shoot himself just to get it over with quickly.

  Angela had started tapping her foot. It scarcely made any noise on the thick carpeting, but it was something she knew annoyed Nathan, so she did it, anyway.

  “So, Mr. Big Shot. Woke up cranky today, did you? We’ll see how you are tomorrow morning after waking up alone!”

  Nathan sighed. “Angela, just sit down and shut up, will you? I have a headache.”

  “So will I.” Angela smirked. She sat down and crossed her legs, the whisper of nylon audible in the quiet office. “A bad one. Might even last the rest of the year.”