Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [1]
“Nice,” Bryan said in a bored way. “I’d rather watch hockey myself. But at least she paid her debt to society.”
Heather knew he was referring to Angela’s arrest for shoplifting a few years ago, and she wasn’t going to go into it. As far as she was concerned, Angela had redeemed herself for that single misdemeanor offense. Besides, the mall’s case, such as it was, had been on the shaky side.
Bryan placed the reports on her desk. “Here you go. Have yourself a merry little meltdown.”
“Thanks.” Heather took another sip of coffee and swiveled to glance at the monitors again. Angela had drifted on to another one of the displays she’d designed, an even more popular one than the skating mice. Surrounded by a low hedge of artificial greenery, huge silver and gold angels lifted glass trumpets to their lips and silently proclaimed the season of hope and joy. The greenery was decorated with tiny paper angels, handcrafted by children and put there during a sponsored project with the local schools. Each kid had added a wish for peace on earth or something like that, printed in crayon, on the wings of the angels.
Heather couldn’t read the wishes on her monitor, but she knew generally what they were—she’d supervised the paper-angel installation and helped herd the kids in and out of the mall. Good community relations, or so said Felex Lassiter, head of publicity. The teachers and the moms and dads who’d volunteered for the day had been happy to have the kids think about something else besides getting presents.
Angela seemed to be studying the paper angels. Maybe she was finding inspiration for next year’s displays, Heather thought idly. She picked up a page on top of the stack without reading it. She looked up at Bryan. “Hey, when are you taking that skiing vacation? I forgot to note it down.”
“My flight to Colorado leaves tomorrow morning and I’m not coming back until after New Year’s. You and the team are going to have to hold the fort without me.”
“I don’t know how we’ll manage,” she said dryly, then sighed. “Have a good time. Don’t break a leg.”
He gave her a broad grin and closed the door after himself with a soft click.
Heather riffled through the security reports, not seeing anything that required immediate action. For the briefest of seconds, she turned her attention back to the monitors, noticing absently that Angela Steinhart had disappeared from view, before she began to study the paperwork in front of her.
Continuing on her way through the mall, Angela stayed close to the walls so as to avoid the holiday shoppers thronging near the shop windows and filling the corridors. Wide-wheeled strollers and carry-carts added to the confusion of people struggling to manage bulky purchases and swinging bags, but the overall mood was cheerful, almost oblivious.
A faint shiver ran up Angela’s spine, even though the indoor air was warm. She forced herself to keep on going, rising through the multileveled mall on a series of escalators framed in glass and steel.
Looking over the heads of the shoppers, she picked out her other displays and gave one last look back at the silver and gold angels, as if reassuring herself that they were still there, larger than life.
Everything seemed to be all right, but . . . she wasn’t. That was why she was here. Angela had to connect with someone who might understand. She had an idea who she was going to talk to but not what she would say.
Telling herself she’d worry about that when she got there, Angela glanced down at herself. Maybe she should have changed her clothes. Looking the way she did, carelessly dressed to work in her studio, she might not be taken seriously. Oh well. Either they’d listen or they wouldn’t. It was as simple as that.
Angela decided she would ask to speak to the young woman in security—well, not really so young. Twenty-eight or twenty-nine would be her guess. Heather something. Angela remembered her from the day she’d been mistaken for a shoplifter and brought