Tempestuous (6 page)

“Success?” Ariel wondered when I returned to Hot-Dog Kabob, eyeing the white cellophane bag from Caleb. I shook my head dejectedly.

“No,” I said, hastily stashing her present near my purse under the counter. Ariel’s neck craned to where I’d hidden the gift behind a roll of paper towels and she looked at me suspiciously for a moment before her eyes registered a new thought.

“Oh. Oh! By the way, Riley and Brooke came by looking for you a few minutes ago.”

“Who?”

“Riley and Brooke. From the Dress Depot.”

“What did they want?”

“They’re feuding over what music to play in the store. Riley wants death metal, but Brooke insists on hip-hop. They want you to arbitrate. I told them you’d call over there when you got back. Do you want the number?”

“Let them figure it out on their own. Why does everyone insist on making their problems mine, anyway? I’m freaking sick of it!”

Ariel jumped as I slammed my palm down on the counter in frustration. I immediately regretted letting Caleb, Brian, Rachel, and the Itneys turn me into such a Debbie Downer, especially when Ariel’s surprise party was less than an hour away. I hoped Grady didn’t forget his promise to fetch her ice cream cake from Just Desserts later.

“Oh, hey, you haven’t seen Mike pass by here while I was gone, have you?” I asked Ariel, attempting to shift my mood to a more pleasant one. “Quinn says he’s MIA.”

“Yeah, she came by here and asked me, too. I haven’t seen him.”

“I bet he took off early.”

“But without locking down the store?” Ariel said with a frown. “That’s not like him.”

“Speaking of,” I changed the subject. “Let’s start packing up this joint. No way are we going to get any more customers before nine.”

“I’ll grab the mop,” Ariel said.

“You called Chad a LUG NUT?” Ariel stared at me, mouth agape as if I’d just picked a bar fight with the Dalai Lama.

“Not to his face!” I sighed, needlessly organizing the stack of red-and-white-checkered cardboard boats we served the corn dogs in.

“Do you even
know
what he scored on his SATs?”

“Like I’m supposed to know this?”

“Miranda, he’s a cerebral phenom. Marshall High made it to nationals in the Academic Decathlon last year thanks to him.”

“Are we talking about the same Chad Mathers? The guy whose neck is thicker than your waist?”

“Total brainiac.”

“But he’s a
football
player!”

“Slash brainiac.” Ariel was shaking her head now, like I had somehow failed to properly kneel before the pope. “Slash
dreamy
….” my coworker added in a near whisper.

For a girl who was homeschooled, Ariel certainly managed to know a lot about our fellow mall employees. If what she was saying about Chad was true, I couldn’t help but feel more than a little discomfited at having summarily dismissed him as having all brawn and no brain. It was making more sense now why he and Caleb seemed to be tight. They both went to the same school and perhaps weren’t at opposing ends of the mental spectrum after all, though they certainly didn’t look like they ran in the same circles. I wondered if it was too late to track Chad down and see if he’d attend my little soiree for Ariel, which would be the equivalent of inviting the latest babyfaced boy band to a preteen-packed bat mitzvah. Maybe he could just swing by on his way out after work. I needed an excuse to vamoose so that I could drop by the Cleat Locker and ask him. I only hoped he wouldn’t think I was asking him to come because I was interested in him!

“I think I’m going to go check on Riley and Brooke after all,” I told Ariel, throwing a disgusting gray washcloth back in the bucket of disgusting gray water. “You know, make sure they didn’t claw each other’s eyes out.” Ariel’s face registered skepticism and she crossed her arms decidedly.

“You’re up to something,” she said.

“Say what?”

“You’ve been acting weird all night.”

“Whatever.
Unicorn Fantasy
is affecting your brain.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Ever since those friends from your school—the ones with too much makeup and that pretty boy—came by here, you’ve been a little whack-a-doo.”

“They’re not my friends.”

I wish she hadn’t reminded me. The Cleat Locker was on the ground floor near the movie theaters, in the same direction I’d just seen my ex-boyfriend and his harem heading. I’d ditched my hot dog hat, but that didn’t make me feel any more confident about possibly running into my social detractors yet again tonight. Still, it would be worth it if I could convince Chad to come to Ariel’s birthday party. And who couldn’t I convince of almost anything, crotchety Caleb notwithstanding?

I continued to ruminate on the grumpy gamemaster’s rudeness as I ambled in the direction of Siberia, past the tchotchke-filled greeting card store and the Blissworks Body Shop, when slam!—rent-a-cop Grady came barreling around the corner by Rockin’ Tots children’s boutique completely out of breath and seemingly alarmed.

“Whoa, Five-O!” I grabbed him by the shoulders to steady myself since he’d nearly knocked me off my feet. “Where’s the fire?”

“Miranda, hey,” he said. “So sorry—can’t talk now.” He brushed past me, guns-a-blazing, metaphorically speaking. Can’t talk now? Since when did Grady
not
have time for
moi
?

“Don’t forget about the cake!” I called after him, wondering if there was any reason for his mad dash beyond his own propensity to act like a member of the vice squad. Feeling less-than-confident that Ariel’s birthday cake from the other side of the mall would make its way to the food court by nine, I hurried on to the Cleat Locker. “Mensa” Mathers was pulling down the metal grate in preparation for closing, but I scuttled underneath in a half-limbo maneuver.

“Not so fast … you’ve still got twenty minutes on the clock,” I said, trying to temper my charm to appear as platonic as possible. He blushed for the twelfth time tonight.

“Slow night,” he said, grinning sheepishly and leaving the grate halfway up. “If you’re looking for snow boots, by the way, you’ll have to try Celebrity Footwear. We only sell athletic shoes.”

“I’m not here to shop.” I followed him back to the cash register where he had a small TV behind the counter tuned to local news.

“They’re predicting four feet by morning,” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter to watch the footage. A live camera shot panned across a lamp-lit street that was abandoned except for a few stray cars which had skidded off the road. An on-scene reporter in a pink puffy jacket, Moscovian fur hat, and giant ski gloves looked as though this wasn’t her most plumb assignment to date. Her eyes were watery and her nose looked like a maraschino cherry, but to her credit, her freezing schnoz matched her lips, which were perfectly lipstick-lined.

“It’s really rough out there,” Chad said. “The mayor just issued a citywide curfew to keep drivers off the road.”

“What? How are we supposed to get home?”

“If you don’t have your own personal snow plow or a really good four-wheel drive, good luck.”

Like all football players, I assumed Chad was merely resorting to a manly sense of hyperbole, so I ignored him as well as my creeping doubts about trying to navigate my car home through what was shaping up to be a full-on blizzard. Surely it couldn’t have gotten
that
bad in the four hours since I’d arrived at work. I was about to launch into my invitation to Ariel’s birthday bash when we heard the screeching sound of a whistle. Seconds later, another referee-shirted beefcake swung his way under the half-open storefront grate. Chad’s coworker, I presumed. He dropped the whistle from between his lips.

“Dude, come quick,” he said, panting as he beckoned Chad into the mall’s thoroughfare. “Somebody just went all Butch Cassidy on the computer store! Shit is going DOWN out here!”

Chad hurried off with his coworker, leaving me to follow. Instead, I picked up the phone at the register to dial mall security, but the line was dead. Crap, the snow must have downed a phone line. A robbery?! Jeez, there were plenty of crimes of fashion around this joint, but in terms of real misconduct, minor graffiti and parking infractions were the worst offenses Grady ever had to deal with. No wonder he was burning rubber a few minutes ago when I literally ran into him. He must have just heard about the robbery … or was he chasing down the perps? In any case, my ice cream cake errand boy clearly had more pressing business. I’d have to hurry to the other side of the mall to pick it up before Just Desserts closed for the night. But first, I wanted to see what the commotion was all about. I stooped back under the gate of the Cleat Locker and turned left down the mall’s main drag. Two hundred yards away in front of PC Pro, a crowd of mall employees had already gathered.

“What happened?” I asked breathlessly once I’d woven my way over to Chad and his equally brawny (though shorter) coworker, whose nametag identified him as “Dex.” Standing head-and-shoulders above the crowd, Chad answered absentmindedly as his eyes scanned the surroundings, seemingly looking for someone or something.

“Someone ripped off the place. They got away with a couple of laptops, a bunch of tablets, and pretty much all the MP3 players. Smashed the display cases to get to them.”

My palm instinctively went to my mouth.

“Was anyone hurt?” I asked.

“No one was there,” Dex said. “Luckily the manager had locked up early and sent the employees home before the roads got impassable.”

“The gate was down, then.” I tried to piece together the details. “So whoever did it got in through the back corridor?”

“It would seem that way; no one else working down here saw anything amiss.”

I felt a tap on my shoulder and swiveled around to see Colin, still wearing his clown getup.

“Word travels fast,” he said, inching forward in the crowd of onlookers to try and get a better look. “Who do they think did it?”

“You got me,” I said, displaying my palms.

“Where’s that dweeby security guard, anyway? Didn’t anybody call the cops?”

“On a night like tonight, I’m sure the police force is spread pretty thin,” Dex said.

“And the landlines might be out,” I said. “I couldn’t get a dial tone on the phone just now.”

I craned my neck to see into the computer store. Display shelves were broken and scattered about the floor, apparently toppled by the criminal in his haste. It occurred to me that Grady had his work cut out for him—though he’d probably relish his moment playing in the security world’s equivalent of the “big leagues” for a change.

“Only a moron would try to make a break for it with the weather what it is right now,” said Chad’s coworker, “but whoever it was, it looks like he means business.”

“If we’re locked in, that means the thief is stuck here, too,” Colin pointed out.

“What do you mean ‘locked in?’” I asked.

“You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” Dex, Chad, and I asked simultaneously.

“The citywide curfew. We’re not allowed to leave. Grady stopped by Cheeze Monkey about an hour ago and told us the mall was in lockdown until morning. Direct orders from the bigwigs at corporate. They’re afraid they’ll get sued if someone runs their car off the road leaving work, so we’ve got to wait till the snowplows make their initial rounds.”

“But how long will that take?” Chad said, glancing at his watch in dismay.

“Sunrise, if we’re lucky. Dude,” Dex elbowed Chad, “so much for your big night. Looks like you just got upstaged by a snowstorm.”

“I’ve got to go call Caleb,” Chad said. “He’s going to blow a gasket.”

“But they can’t just keep us here against our will!” I turned back to Colin, starting to fume.

“True in theory. You could sweet-talk Grady into unlocking the doors for you, I suppose. But your car is buried past its tires in snow right now. You want to try walking home? Because that’s suicide by snowbank.”

“So we’re
literally
marooned here for the night? With some shoplifter on steroids?” I sighed. “I’d better get back and let Ariel and the gang know what’s up.” My tone may have suggested concern for my defenseless coworkers, but in reality, I was semi-thrilled at the opportunity to relate the dramatic turn of events to a captive audience. I took off for the food court.