The Kid Who Stole Christmas (3 page)

“He’s Lionman today, I believe,” Shannon said. She saw no problem with Leo’s inventiveness. Her own childhood had been full of vivid fantasy games. “That one can get a bit strange.”

“It’s not that, either.” Paul waved her comment aside impatiently, then leaned on the counter between them, speaking quietly. “It’s the spies. They’re back.”

Shannon arched her eyebrows. “Oh.”

“He says they’re watching him. I wish you’d talk to him.”

“I see.” She leaned on the counter now, as well, and used the same conspiratorial tone. “I already talked to Leo, Paul. He explained the whole thing. They’re after the plans.”

“Plans?” Paul was confused. “What plans?”

“To the secret underground bunkers.” Shannon looked around, making sure there was no one near. “That’s where we’re keeping the Arnie the Arachnid shipment.”

“Arnie the Arachnid!” the guard exclaimed.

“Shh!” Shannon looked around again, this time in genuine alarm. “What are you trying to do? Start a riot? I was just pulling your leg, for heaven’s sake!”

Arnie the Arachnid was the newest, hottest toy on the market—or more correctly, on television. To the best of anyone’s knowledge, none had been shipped yet. But the black, six-inch-long squiggly plastic spiders had most certainly been advertised, relentlessly, since the first of December.

Supposedly made of a new heat-sensitive, nontoxic material that reacted safely with human skin, Arnie the Arachnid would temporarily bond himself to any body part warm enough to cause the reaction—a temperature easily attained by the squealing, hyperactive children shown dashing around in the ads. Evidently, adults terrified of spiders would generate the same amount of heat, because they were shown in the ads, as well, at the mercy of those same hyperactive children. Once a person calmed down, causing his or her skin temperature to drop a degree or two, then Arnie would drop off, as well.

Every child in the nation wanted one. Almost every adult did, too. However, the toy developer would only provide them on its own terms; a limited number of select outlets would be supplied on a percentage-paid basis, with delivery just before Christmas. Even a small cut of Arnie would be a fortune, and Lyon’s was to be the only supplier in the Denver Metro area.

But so far, no store, anywhere, had received even one. The media was in a frenzy. Children were fixated. Parents were hounding merchandisers. There were outrageous offers being made in private newspaper ads, with nary an Arnie to be found—though police had arrested some counterfeiters.

It was a stroke of marketing genius. Such toys were typically flash-in-the-pan fads that disappeared as soon as the novelty wore off. A week after Christmas, remainder bins were full of them, with few takers. But this way, every Arnie was virtually sold already. Demand would stay high.

Provided that any were delivered. Which was why Shannon was so concerned that Paul Sanchez keep his voice down. “We’re waiting for Arnie just like everybody else. That’s probably why Leo concocted this story about spies,” she said quietly.

The guard straightened and cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I wish you’d tell him to stop. It makes me edgy.”

She smiled. “Why do you think he does it, Paul?”

Finally, Paul smiled, as well, and then chuckled. “Can I help it if the kid’s clever?”

“He is that. But it’s just another of his tall tales,” Shannon assured him. “There’s no one after him. Really.”

Chapter Two

A
lot of things had troubled Rick when he had been forced to adopt what he euphemistically termed a low-profile life-style. Relying mainly on public transportation was one. Drifting from job to job was another. But the part that had taken him the longest to get used to was the way most people treated him. As if they were scared. Or annoyed.

It just didn’t make any sense. He was clean, as were his clothes, though admittedly a bit shabby. His thick, brown hair was long around the edges, but that was mere carelessness, not a statement of any kind.

Granted, he was a big man, six foot, with a strong build, and had done a lot of physical work in the last few years, but there was little else about him that he considered threatening. Maybe he scowled a lot. But then, so did a good portion of the human race these days, especially members of the working class.

Perhaps that was the answer. A bumpy economy made people aware of how illusory their own security was. Anyone could fall from grace. Or perhaps there was something about an obviously well-bred, highly educated man living the life of a nomad that insulted their sense of order. At thirty-nine, he was supposed to look settled and steady, not like a rough-hewn rebel-without-a-cause. Little did they know.

Whatever it was, Charlie said it showed in his eyes. He was probably right, considering the way some people looked into them and then immediately looked away. Rick had to take his friend’s word for it; these days, he barely recognized the man he saw in the mirror each morning.

The security guard standing just inside the entrance to Lyon’s Department Store certainly gave him the once-over as Rick came through the door. He must have not liked what he saw, either, because he kept an eye on him all the way to the toy department. Rick was aware of this scrutiny. In a way, he supposed he couldn’t really blame the guy. He had his job to do, and so did Rick.

Though the Lyon’s building was old, architecturally the design had returned to favor so that it seemed quite modern. There was a large central area, open all the way to the fourth-floor ceiling with its ornate iron-braced skylight. More gold-and-green-colored ornate ironwork decorated the balustrades running around each descending level, over which customers could peer down onto the first floor. In the middle of this central space was the toy department, with its picturesque dollhouse and giant old-fashioned toys. And there, the centerpiece of the season, was the twinkling Christmas tree.

Looking down on all this from the second level, another man was watching Rick’s progress across the sales floor. He was pudgy and quite nearly bald. His companion, thinner, with a head of wild, curly blond hair, stood only a few feet away, covertly studying some lacy red lingerie displayed on a curvaceous mannequin.

“Hey, Irv,” the bald one called softly. “Come here.”

Irv sighed and stepped over to the railing. “What’s up, Joey? You spot him?”

“No, something else.” Joey indicated the direction with a motion of his head. “See that guy down there in jeans, just passing the perfume counter?”

“Yeah,” Irv said, barely sparing a glance. “So what?”

“Quit ogling the plaster ladies and take a good look.”

Irv glared first at his partner, then toward the man in question, who had been forced to take a detour around the line of children waiting to see Santa Claus.

He frowned. “I know that guy. Who is that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, mop-head,” Joey said disparagingly. He thought for a moment. “Got it! Put a few pounds on, roll back the mileage... It’s Rick Hastings!”

“Who?” Irv asked.

“Rick Hastings, Her Ladyship’s ex-husband.”

“Nah!” Irv dismissed that suggestion with a wave of his hand. “He’s dead. Drank himself to death back in Phoenix.”

Joey was shaking his head uncertainly. “No, he’s not the type to hit the skids. And if so, he’s risen from the ashes.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Joey told him. “But if it is Rick Hastings, I don’t like it. Let’s get this done. Get on up to the third floor, I’ll finish down here.”

* * *

A
ROUND ONE
in the afternoon, Shannon realized she wasn’t going to make it to lunch again today, or at least not until it was closer to the dinner hour. Luckily, she kept a stash of candy bars in the storeroom for just such occasions. She’d just stuffed about three quarters of one into her mouth, when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“I understand you’re looking for a Santa?”

“Mmmph!” Startled, Shannon spun around, eyes wide. She swallowed thickly. “What are you doing back here?” she demanded. They were in the corridor leading to the storeroom, a spot that was narrow, ill-lighted and not at all conducive to such chance encounters. “This is off limits!”

“Sorry.” Rick held up his hands and backed out the way he had come, through a curtain that covered the opening to the corridor. “But one of the clerks said it would be okay.”

Shannon followed him through the curtain, glaring at him. Now that they were back in the light and he could see her face more clearly, Rick smiled, then chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Shannon demanded.

He pointed to her mouth. “Domestic or imported?”

She looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. But then she touched her cheek and felt something sticky. A glance in a nearby mirror confirmed it. When he’d startled her, she had smeared chocolate from her mouth up toward one ear. She looked ridiculous.

“Oh, for the love of...” Shannon let her words trail off and pulled a tissue from the pocket of her slacks. As she cleaned up in front of the mirror, she glanced at the man who had caused all this. “What did you say your name was?”

“Rick. Rick Hastings. I’m here about the Santa job.”

“Oh.” Satisfied with her appearance, Shannon turned to face him. “Roy Rogers.”

“Pardon?”

Shannon chuckled. “Sorry, Rick.” She held out her hand. “Shannon O’Shaughnessy, toy department manager.”

They shook hands briefly. “Pleased to meet you,” he said.

“Madge told me your name was Roy or Roger. But she always was lousy with names. Good thing she gets them right on the paychecks.”

Rick didn’t have the slightest idea what this woman was going on about, but he needed this job badly, so he just smiled and nodded. Shannon smiled back.

Females had caused Rick a lot of pain in his life. In fact, it had been quite some time since he’d been even remotely interested in any woman. There had been purely physical urges, naturally, but no real feelings except negative ones.

His feelings at the moment were difficult to define, and had a healthy dose of the physical involved in them. They were, however, anything but negative.

Shannon O’Shaughnessy was quite a woman. Her hair, cut in a flattering, shoulder-length style, looked like finely spun copper wire. She had eyes the color of emeralds, and they flashed with intelligence and good humor—even though the joke had been on her. Rick judged her to be nearly as tall as he was, making it easy for her to meet his gaze, which she did with calm self-assurance. Age was always a deceiving factor for him. He was almost forty and he knew he looked older; to be a manager, Shannon would probably have to be in her mid-thirties but looked younger.

Whatever, she was old enough to know when she was being studied. “Didn’t I get it all?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Rick realized he’d been staring. “Oh. Yes. Sorry to interrupt your coffee break.”

“Actually, it was lunch,” Shannon admitted.

“It does look like they keep you hopping.”

“That’s in the morning. At this time of day, we’re doing good just to walk,” she said. “By closing, we crawl.”

“I can imagine.”

Rick looked around the bustling toy department. A little girl went running past, dragging a stuffed lion by the tail. He felt a pang of regret and looked away.

Shannon couldn’t help noticing. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he replied, a bit too quickly. He managed a smile and added, “I rushed over my lunch, too. Heartburn.”

Paul Sanchez strolled up nonchalantly. “Everything okay here, Shannon?” he asked politely.

Shannon wasn’t fooled. She could see from the way Paul was checking out the other man that he was suspicious of Rick. Rick was aware of it, too, she noticed, and yet seemed oddly accepting of it, as if it happened all the time.

“We’re fine, Paul. Rick is here to apply for the Santa job.”

“Oh.” This made all the difference in the world to Paul, who had been forced to fill in at that position a few times himself earlier this month and had no desire to repeat the performance. “Well, I’ll let you get on with it, then,” he said, hurrying off. “Good luck!”

“I take it the job is still open?” Rick asked, amused.

“Very open.” Shannon laughed, too. “It’s hard work and there are no benefits, but at least the pay is lousy. Still interested?”

He nodded. “Lousy pay is better than none.”

Shannon needed someone for this position so badly that she hadn’t even bothered to take a really good look at Rick Hastings until now. He was, as Madge had warned, an eccentric. Or at least dressed like one, considering he was here about a job.

But Shannon had never really been all that concerned with appearances. She had known, and even dated, a few of the snappy dressers who frequented Lyon’s. Most were more interested in themselves than in her. Others had been interested in her, all right, but what they had in mind was a clothes-optional activity.

Rick had given her a solid masculine appraisal, as well, she knew. What with the black woolen slacks, cream-colored blouse and black-and-red-check blazer she had on today, though, whatever conclusions he’d come to must have been based largely on his imagination. Still, some men were good at that.

There was something about him that Shannon couldn’t put her finger on. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. But it was another quality that had her wondering about him. Rick Hastings looked a bit lost. Strong, self-assured and maybe just a little dangerous, too, judging by the oddly cold undercurrents in his eyes. Perhaps therein lay his appeal. A lot of men were lost; this one seemed intent on staying that way, and that had aroused Shannon’s curiosity.

“You really don’t seem the Santa type, Rick,” she said.

Rick shrugged. “Like I said, I need the job.”

A straightforward answer. Shannon liked that. She was inclined to like the man, too. But would the kids?

“How are you with children?” she asked.

This was the part that worried him, and had caused a good part of Charlie’s concern for him, as well. “I used to be very good with kids. But it’s been some time since I was around any.” He looked at her, wondering if she would understand what he was about to say. “That’s one of the reasons I want this job.”