Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [27]
Chapter 4
The Porsche sliced down the highway, weaving boldly between the other vehicles. Its black-andorange flame detailing turned a few heads, but Angela was driving too fast for anyone to get a good look at the car or her.
Angela shifted from fourth to third, then down to second with a speed that strained the transmission, finally careening around the bend that led into the Timberwoods Mall parking lot.
She was aware of her own agitation but unable to put the brakes to it or any of her tangled emotions. Her mind was revving faster than the sports car.
The question was, why did she feel compelled to come back here? By now she hated the place, had come to fear it. She ought to tell the people who gathered around her magical displays that the magic was about to shatter; warn them to run for their lives and take their kids with them. Who did that spit-and-polish Lassiter think he was fooling?
She shifted again to third and pressed her foot down on the accelerator. If there was one thing she didn’t do, it was lie to herself. Lassiter did seem to believe her vision that the mall was going to blow. Beyond that, there was no way he would commit himself, especially to her. And what good would it do to have Lassiter or Heather back her up? Pretty soon, if not right this minute, somebody was going to come right out and say that she was responsible for the bomb-threat letter Lassiter had told her about.
She raced the car up one aisle and down the other, looking for a parking space. A sleek BMW coupe backed out of a narrow slot. Angela maneuvered into the space and cut the engine. Her shoulders slumped as she pocketed the keys. The gray cloud of despair that had been hovering around her was rapidly growing and deepening to black. She shivered.
“I should be out looking for someplace to stay and instead I come to this place,” she muttered.
The tinny sound of “Jingle Bells” wafted through the parking lot as she made her way along the slippery frosting of snow to the mall entrance. She pulled open the door and walked aimlessly down a section of the mall called Holiday Alley. Ignoring the brilliant Christmas lights and decorations and the bustling crowds, she made her way to a railing that overlooked her display of trumpeting angels. There were more paper angels fluttering in the surrounding greenery than before, more heartfelt wishes from hundreds of unknown children.
A flash of red registered on her mind as she let her gaze travel beyond the crowds to the squared-off section that was Santa’s workshop. The man she’d met before, the one who said he helped Santa, was there.
Jamming her hands into her pockets, Angela continued her trek around the mall, always returning to the angels. The man was still there, across the way. His pants and shirts were nondescript, unlike Santa’s glowing velour outfit. It looked to her like the mall Santa, a nice old grandpa type, actually did enjoy chatting with the children who perched on his knee or stood shyly next to him. Some parents insisted on taking pictures, and the blindingly bright pops of digital flashes made her blink, even at this distance.
Angela sighed. The traditional scene was making her feel sentimental. She didn’t need her emotions getting in the way of her ability to think. As it was, the pills she’d swallowed were doing a job on her mind.
A little boy sitting on Santa’s lap became difficult and yanked at Santa’s white beard. Angela watched with interest as the man who helped at Santa’s workshop extricated the cottony fluff from the boy’s fingers and helped him get down and move along. Somewhat startled by his smooth removal, the boy whined loudly, demanding a candy cane as his mother whisked him out of sight.
Angela frowned and walked into a bath shop. She examined a bright array of bath towels trimmed in frosty lace, then grinned as she spotted a saleswoman watching her suspiciously. Did the woman really think she was going to stuff one of the towels into her hip pocket?
Evidently she did, because she was approaching with an uneasy