Christmas At Timberwoods Read online

  “That’s hard to believe. Everyone has a skeleton or two in the closet. You do, too. You just don’t want to tell me,” Angela pressed, to Charlie’s obvious embarrassment. Fleetingly, she sensed that she had crossed a line, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Her sense of what was right and what was wrong was dissolving somehow.

  He had to be careful; she was clever. She almost acted like she knew something. What could she know? “Well, you’re wrong. My life’s an open book.”

  “Actually,” Angela said, searching her memory for some kind of compliment to pay him, “you have a nice, open kind of face. Very readable, if you know what I mean.”

  Holy crap, did that mean he was giving away his—what was the word everyone used now—oh yeah. Inappropriate. He definitely had an inappropriate interest in her. Charlie told himself that he had to get out of here, and he had to do it now.

  “Look, I have to get back to the mall. I still have part of my shift to finish, and then I have to clean up the area.”

  “Do you want me to help?” Angela offered, not wanting to see him leave. “Say, where do you live?”

  Charlie debated a second. Then, what the hell, he thought. “I live on West End Avenue, second house from the end.” Without another word he got up and left the restaurant.

  Angela stared after him, struggling to figure out why she had wanted to even talk to an oddball like him. Her sixth sense was tingling faintly. But he couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the terrifying threat to Timberwoods Shopping Mall.

  She crumpled her coffee cup in her hand and threw it in the garbage on her way out.

  Chapter 5

  Eric Summers opened his front door and invited in Harold and Lex. He took their coats and introduced them to his very pregnant wife, Amy.

  Lex looked into her soft, doe-like eyes and grinned. “The big day is soon, right?”

  Amy ran her long, tapered fingers through her short-clipped natural hair. Her tea-colored skin glowed with vitality as she laughed happily. “Christmas Day, what do you think of that? What better Christmas present could I give Eric?”

  Eric’s gaze was clear and direct as he explained to Harold Baumgarten, “This is the closest we’ve come in six years. Amy has had two miscarriages and the doctors told us we couldn’t have children. Someone up there must like us,” he said, smiling.

  Harold blinked. “I didn’t know . . . what I mean is . . . I’m sorry.” Suddenly he reached out and grasped Amy’s slender hand in his. “Congratulations. I wish you both the very best,” he said sincerely.

  Eric looked across at Lex. “How about a drink?” he asked, rubbing his square jaw, his fingers making a rasping sound against his fiveo’clock stubble.

  “Scotch for me. What about you, Harold?”

  “I’ll have the same. I’ve never had scotch before. Is it any good, Lassiter?”

  “In answer to your question, Baumgarten, it grows on you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t drink,” Eric apologized.

  “Don’t be sorry. I just took up the habit. A double scotch,” Harold said firmly.

  “Honey, why don’t you . . .” Eric turned toward his wife.

  Amy laughed, a bright tinkling sound that fell softly on Harold’s ears. How long since he’d heard a woman’s warm laugh? “I’m going, I’m going. I think I’ll make some brownies. Do you like brownies, Mr. Baumgarten?”

  “I love ’em.” Harold beamed. “With lots of nuts.”

  “One pan of brownies with lots of nuts coming up.”

  “Amy,” Eric said anxiously, “don’t overdo it, okay?”

  “Honestly. If I need you to slide the pan into the oven, I’ll call you,” she complained as she waddled toward the kitchen.

  Eric sighed. “I just don’t want anything to go wrong at this stage of the game,” he said defensively. He filled the glasses and settled down to await the arrival of Dr. Noel Dayton.

  A few minutes later, the doorbell sounded. “I’ll get it, honey,” Summers called through to the kitchen.

  He opened the door and admitted a slightly built man whose overcoat was pulled up over his chin. He wore a knitted hat low over his ears.

  “Hello, Dayton.”

  Shivering, Dayton lifted his face. His ingenuous smile and electric blue eyes met Lex’s and Harold’s. “How do. Pleased to meet you both.”

  “Gentlemen, this is Dr. Noel Dayton. Noel—Felex Lassiter and Harold Baumgarten. Here, give me your coat.”

  “Where’s Amy?” the doctor asked, a slight New England twang in his voice.

  “The kitchen. How about a little something to take the nip out? Still drinking bourbon?”

  Dayton headed for the sofa. “Yep. Thanks. So what’s going on? Eric here tells me we have a problem.”

  Lex wondered if Dayton used the collective we as a leftover from medical school and hospital training. But he took the initiative and broke the ice, telling Dayton about the bomb threat and Angela Steinhart.

  “Is the kid on drugs? Is that it?” Noel asked.

  “Apparently she’d taken some tranquilizers to calm her down, or so she said. I don’t know how many. But I don’t think she’s an addict,” Lex explained.

  “Did she send the threat?”

  “She says she didn’t,” Lex replied. “And frankly, I believe her.”

  “Where’s Angela now?”

  Dayton’s questions were fired off efficiently. Harold sat back, relaxing for the first time since Summers had come to report Angela’s visit to Heather the day before. It was evident that Dayton had a very good grasp of the situation, and he wasn’t panicking.

  “I have no idea where she is,” Lex answered. “Heather and I were the last to see her at her home. She wanted to avoid her mother, so she ran out on us. But she can’t get away from this. It’s with her all the time, I could tell. She’s scared. She’ll turn up—I know it in my gut.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Summers demanded.

  “Jesus, I don’t know. You were top at the police academy. You tell me, Eric.”

  “They didn’t teach us about stuff like this. You were right behind me in class, Lex. If you hadn’t copped out at the eleventh hour, you’d be my boss by now.”

  “Police work wasn’t for me. Just like publicity isn’t for you.”

  “You could have made a damn good cop. I bleed whenever I think about it.”

  “Gentlemen,” Dayton interrupted, “this isn’t getting us anywhere. We have to decide on a course of action. Since you want me to get involved, it’s imperative that I talk to Angela Steinhart. Not that I’m giving credence to her statements about being precognitive. As I see it, she may actually know something about the bomb threat. If she didn’t send it herself, she might know who did. You say this is the third such threat? Did the papers report on the others?”

  Eric squirmed. “Yeah, we had a leak somewhere.”

  “Then it’s just possible that the whole business is a coincidence. Angela, having read about the previous bomb threats, could just be angling to get noticed, not realizing that this latest missive would back her up.”

  “Seems like more than one psychiatrist told her mother the same thing—that she was making a bid for attention,” Eric said. “Maybe she is. I don’t know. But that’s why we want you to talk to her.”

  “Well, where is she?” Dayton’s smooth tone and slightly raised eyebrows challenged him.

  “What’s your opinion, Harold?” Summers looked at the chief of security, who was sinking lower and lower into the sofa, his empty glass clutched in his hand.

  “I don’t know about Angela. I haven’t met her or heard what she has to say. But as far as the mall goes, I don’t think we have much choice. We can’t afford to guess, so it should be closed. Lassiter agrees. Any risk is too big a risk as far as I’m concerned.”

  “That’s why Richards fired you, because you told him to close the mall.” Eric laughed. “He fired you for the most sensible thing you’ve ever said.�
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  “I’m no fool,” Harold continued, “but what if this is some kind of prank? What if the kid is inventing wild stories to get noticed? If we do close the mall, do you have any idea what it would mean to sales? In Christmas week! Damn it, I need a refill. How about you guys?”

  He hefted himself up from the sofa and headed toward the bar, where he splashed more scotch into his glass. “Right now we need to find the girl,” he continued. “And I don’t need to remind you, Lex, that she hasn’t been charged with anything and we can’t just haul her in here without an arrest warrant. And you don’t think we’re going to get that, do you?”

  “No. Although I think her own mother would turn her in,” Lex added. “Mrs. Steinhart is one of the reasons that I don’t believe all this stuff with Angela is a coincidence. The woman is scared, scared because she knows something is going on with her daughter, that she’s somehow connected to all of this. And that’s reason enough for me.” He turned to Dayton. “You’d have to meet her,” he said, “but it seems to me that Angela is an embarrassment to her. She was absolutely livid because she knew Angela had caused the flooding throughout the house. The whole place is ruined—ceilings, floors, the works.”

  “She flooded the house?” Harold asked, incredulous. “Why?”

  “How the hell should I know? Maybe she thought she was getting back at her mother. Mrs. Steinhart started out by saying she’d had an argument with Angela, then changed the word to discussion.”

  Dayton listened with interest. He turned to Eric. “Maybe you could have her brought in for questioning. You’ve got enough to go on. How much does the department know?”

  “Only about the threatening letters,” Summers said sheepishly. “So much has happened and so fast.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way for the time being,” Dayton suggested. “Give the department one good lead and they forget everything else. If it turns out to be a blind alley, too much time will have been wasted. We need to find out what the Steinhart girl can tell us. In the meantime, let the police attack the problem from the other end—the letter.”

  Eric reached behind the sofa and pulled out a shiny black phone. He dialed a number and motioned for the other men to be quiet. “John Wharton, extension 232.” He waited, tapping strong square fingers. “John, old buddy. How’s it going? . . . Not bad. Listen, you owe me one and I need to collect. I want you to pick up a young woman named Angela Steinhart . . . No, there’s no file on her, at least none that I know of. Go ahead and check it out. When do I need her? Yeah, yesterday . . . You can reach me here, at my house. Or at Timberwoods Mall. Not downtown. If you can’t get me, try Felex Lassiter at Timberwoods . . . Yeah, he’ll know where to reach me.”

  As soon as Eric replaced the receiver, Noel stood and checked his watch. “Look, Eric, I’m not sorry I came over. I’m only a half hour away and I’ll come running when you need me. Okay?”

  “Fine, Noel, but you’re not running out yet. You haven’t seen Amy. She’s as big as a house!” Eric laughed affectionately.

  “But beautiful—and she’s bringing out a pan of brownies.” Harold beamed. “With lots of nuts.”

  The persistent wind beat against the north side of the Summerses’ house. Within its brick walls Eric and Amy nestled beneath the bed covers, warm, and content to be in each other’s arms.

  “Amy?” Eric ventured.

  “Hmmm?”

  “You’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

  “A little, but it’ll be over soon enough and it’ll all be worth it. Imagine, a child of our own, Eric. Our own baby.”

  Eric put his lips against the warm, scented skin at the back of Amy’s neck. He loved her like this, warm and loving and looking forward to the future. Sexual desire had little to do with the feelings right now; this was more basic. It was the deep, abiding love a man felt for his wife.

  “I love you, Amy,” he said.

  “Both of us?” Amy smiled, snuggling closer to Eric’s strong body.

  “Both of you.”

  The sound of the bedside phone was a rude intrusion into the dark room. Amy reached for the receiver, but Eric stopped her. “Go to sleep, honey. I’ll take it in the living room.”

  Eric padded out to the living room and picked up the jangling phone. “Yes?” he asked wearily.

  “Detective Summers? Pete Hathaway here. My chief told me to report to you. You’re looking for Angela Steinhart?”

  “Right.”

  “Wharton told us to keep an eye out for her. I spotted her out on the highway and pulled her over, but she got smart with me and—well, things got interesting. I hate to admit it, but she kicked me and got away. She asked me something funny, though—she wanted to know who was paying me, her mother or Timberwoods Mall. Say, ain’t that where you’re assigned for the next couple of weeks?”

  “Yeah. Go on.”

  The officer’s tone became belligerent in the face of Summers’s coldness. “Look, Wharton warned me this ain’t police business and I got no reason to stick my nose in. But I was told to report to you. Consider it done.”

  “Okay, okay. Get back to your beat. Remember, I want that kid.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and I want to go home,” Hathaway muttered as he hung up the phone.

  Chapter 6

  Heather Andrews was suffering the afternoon blahs. She walked on lagging feet to her office and forced herself to make a pot of coffee. She glanced at her distorted reflection on the side of the coffeemaker. The dark circles under her eyes gave her a waiflike appearance. Bring on the brew, she thought crossly.

  When Lex came into her office, he was shocked at her appearance. “Heather,” he said, walking up to her, his dark blue eyes troubled. “This is going to turn out all right. Please don’t let the situation get to you like this. If you want to go home, we’ll understand. You don’t look well.”

  He ushered her to a chair and handed her a cup of steaming coffee.

  “I’m fine, Lex, really I am,” Heather said as she gratefully accepted the cup. “I know I look half-dead, but that’s only because I didn’t sleep well last night. Besides, I have a job to do like the rest of you. You can count on me to do my share. Don’t worry, I’ll be all right once I’ve finished this coffee.”

  Lex hunkered down beside her chair. “I wanted to call you last night, but it was too late by the time we finished.”

  “I figured as much,” she said.

  “How about we go out together. Like tonight? We’ll have a nice, quiet dinner. And we won’t discuss work.”

  She was about to accept when Harold ambled into the office, fifteen minutes late. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked decidedly rumpled. Nevertheless he smiled and greeted them both heartily. He poured himself a cup of coffee and rolled his eyes in Lex’s direction. The tall man grinned.

  “Is Summers here yet?” Harold asked, cupping the heavy mug in both hands.

  “His car is in the lot, so I guess he’s around somewhere.”

  “I think you should fill Heather in—unless you already did. I’ll just sit down and enjoy this. May I say, Heather, this is the best coffee I’ve had in a long time.”

  Heather looked puzzled at Harold’s tone. She glanced at Lex—what was the joke? The man seemed almost human this morning.

  “This is the new Harold,” Lex explained.

  Heather’s face was still blank. She really didn’t care if this was a new Harold, an old Harold, or a recycled Harold. All she wanted was to lose herself in avoid somewhere and never wake up.

  “I want a head count at four o’clock,” Harold said over the rim of his coffee cup. “The seventy-two hours will be up on Friday.”

  “You’re forgetting that Friday is the parade and the start of Skyer’s half-price sale,” said Lex. “There’ll be a massacre in this mall if the doors don’t open on time. Do you have any idea how much those cash registers can ring up in two hours? Our fearless leader, Dolph Richards, will never buy opening late. Neither will Skyer’s.”

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sp; “It’s the only way,” Harold said, getting up and pouring himself another cup of coffee. “The bomb squad and the dogs will have all night and Friday morning to go over this mall. If it works out, the shopping center will be clean when it opens. We just have to keep it that way, and that’s the reason for the bag check at the doors.”

  “Good move. And by the way, don’t forget they’re predicting a heavy snowfall for the weekend.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Harold groaned. “When did you hear that?”

  “This morning on the way to work.”

  “Just what we need right now,” Harold grumbled. “People will be trying to beat the storm and shop early. Sales or not, they’ll be here in droves. You’ll have to alert the maintenance department for the second shift tomorrow. Hell, I can see it now . . .”

  The members of the bomb squad, along with officers from the Woodridge Police Department, were waiting patiently in Eric Summers’s office for Dolph Richards to arrive. He stormed into the office ten minutes late, his face a mask of fury.

  “What right did you have to call the police, Summers? You didn’t even give me the courtesy of clearing it with me. We do have rules around here!” he shouted angrily.

  “You seem to forget, Richards, I am the police. And the department’s been in on this from the beginning because of the bomb threat.” Not precisely true but it would have to do. “The safety of this mall is in my hands, not yours,” Eric said coldly. “My first concern is for the people who work and shop here.”

  “Your first concern is the mall corporation and the shop owners. And then me. I’m your superior—you have to check with me before you do anything!” Richards stamped his foot in childish fury. “That bomb threat is nothing more than a prank, and you know it.”