Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [15]
“Ladies and gentlemen, happy holidays to all of you. I understand we seem to have some sort of problem. Another one of those nuisance letters that Baumgarten keeps getting.” He sighed wearily, as if the weight of the entire mall rested on his shoulders. “I’ve come to the conclusion that these pesky letters are aimed directly at the security chief himself. I think, Harold, that someplace in this complex you have an enemy. No one would dare to blow up Timberwoods—I won’t allow it. You men and women were hired to see that things like this don’t happen, so go out there and find whoever this is who has it in for our security chief. When you find him, bring him to my office.”
Richards singled out Eric Summers and stared at the detective from beneath quirked brows. His wide smile froze into a stiff line. “Understand this, Summers—I don’t want the state police crawling all over the place.”
Baumgarten reddened and mumbled, “The authorities have already been notified.”
Richards bristled, then visibly brought himself under control. He threw his hands in the air, breathing a sigh of resignation. “All right, all right. If you think there’s someone out there, go and find him. This is the season to be jolly, a time for goodwill and happiness. People don’t plant bombs at Christmastime.” He offered his audience a congenial smile and wrapped it up, ignoring the disgusted silence that followed his lame reassurance.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for giving me your time. Go out there and do your job—and don’t be surprised if you don’t find anything.” With a jaunty wave of his hand, he was off the platform and striding through the doorway.
The chief of security’s face looked pained as he, too, waved a hand to show his own dismissal. “Quarter-hour reports,” he shouted after the retreating staff.
“Amen,” snarled Summers.
Angela awoke to the gray light penetrating the filmy drapes at her window. She yawned and blinked her eyes, then glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock. She had slept nearly fifteen hours. Again.
After her unpleasant encounter with the guy from the mall who’d said he was Santa’s helper, she had come home, taken a few pills that were supposed to relax her, and crashed. Since then, her sleep cycle had gone out of whack for almost two days. Now, in the half fog of awakening, her fears returned. Pulling her football jersey down over her underpants, she padded across the soft carpeting and out the door. Her first stop was her mother’s bedroom. Empty. She traced a path through the house and discovered she was alone.
Frightened, she fled the emptiness and ran back to her bedroom. The same dirty jeans she had worn for a couple of days were in a heap near the bed. Hastily she pulled them on, then reached for her favorite old boots. Ignoring the tears streaming down her cheeks, she dug in her purse and withdrew a wad of crumpled bills. Forty, sixty, eighty—she smoothed them out and counted more carefully. One hundred and forty dollars, total.
She should leave home. But she couldn’t get far on that. Angela willed her gasping breaths to slow down.
Wait. Her father had said there was money in his dresser, five hundred dollars, told her to take what she wanted. That brought the total to six hundred and forty dollars. She could sell the Porsche, take off for Hawaii on a cheap excursion flight—she had a friend from college on the Big Island, living for nothing on a pineapple plantation as a caretaker. He’d put her up.
She desperately wanted out. She had to leave here, get away from the coldness, emotional and physical. Angela suddenly craved the sun and the ocean. Maybe, just maybe, she could escape her bizarre visions if she went halfway around the globe and found herself an island.
She’d reached out, tried to explain, and ended up trapped in a nightmare. No one wanted to listen, she’d convinced herself of that. Why would anyone believe someone else’s dreams?
Angela reached for the phone to book a ticket, not wanting to go online—she needed to hear a human voice. Seconds later, a pleasant airline associate wished