Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [30]
“I only ask so I can call my wife. The decision to hold dinner is up to you folks.” Richards flashed his too-white teeth.
“Tell her not to hold dinner. This may take a while,” Summers advised, sipping his brandy.
Richards played with the buttons on the phone. “Honeybunch, don’t wait dinner for me. I’m in a meeting and I don’t know how long I’ll be. I’ll catch a bite here.”
“Is she blond or brunette?” The strident voice carried into the room.
“Neither,” Richards said, pressing the receiver closer to his ear in an attempt to muffle the sound.
“Oh, a redhead. One of these days, Dolph, I’m going to catch you in the act and then I’m going to cut off your—”
Richards blanched and interrupted her, pleasantly enough. “See you in a little while. Love you.”
“You bastard, you don’t know the meaning of the word. Sit on it, Dolph!”
“Wives! Sometimes they don’t understand,” he said, laughing, hoping her voice hadn’t been overheard.
Harold felt his stomach heave; he wanted to smash that handsome, lying face. If there were any justice in the world, someone would make a eunuch out of Richards and present the leftovers to his wife for Christmas. He forced his mind back to the matter at hand as Eric Summers spoke.
“Heather Andrews came to me with a rather interesting story. I think she should tell you herself, and then I’ll pick up from where she leaves off.”
Heather moistened her lips and spoke quietly. “Angela Steinhart came to see me yesterday. She just wanted to talk to me. You do know who she is, don’t you?”
Richards sighed. “Yes, I know her. And I know the family rather well. We get together once in a while for a game of bridge. Strange girl. Willful. Spoiled. You know how some of those poor little rich kids are.”
Heather nodded. “She told me a story that made my blood run cold. She said that for years she’s had visions, premonitions of things that are going to happen.”
“Maybe she can help out during the football pool,” Richards joked.
Heather shook her head slightly. “Please listen. She told me she saw Timberwoods Mall collapsing at the height of the Christmas season.”
“No way. The place is built like a giant brick—never mind. Anyway, our maintenance people get the snow off the roof before it drifts,” Richards pointed out obstinately.
“Not from snow. Explosions. A series of explosions. Strong enough to demolish the whole shopping center.”
“Boom, boom. It’s so great to be crazy. Isn’t that how the song goes?”
No one answered him.
“I don’t happen to think Angela is crazy,” Heather said slowly. “In fact, I believed her then and I believe her now.”
“Heather, surely you’re joking,” Richards said indulgently. He could forgive this idiotic waste of his time. She did have the best legs in the center. “Angela was playing a joke on you. I’d say it was in poor taste, but it had to have been a joke.”
“It’s no joke,” Lex said curtly. “Heather and I went over to her house and talked to her. She described the vision and added precise details about the mall that only an insider would know.”
“Like what?” Richards looked bored.
“I’ll fill you in on it as soon as I can write it all down. But my instincts tell me that the kid isn’t lying. Lives could be at stake here. Timberwoods could blow. Worse things have happened in this crazy world.”
Heather nodded without adding her two cents.
Lex went on. “We have to do something. Angela insists that what she sees, happens. The safest thing to do is shut down and sweep the place from basement to roof for explosives or incendiary devices.”
“And what does a public relations man know about either?” the other man asked rudely.
Lex shrugged. “Not much. So call in experts. And close the mall.”
“You’re out of your mind!” Richards was horrified. “The loss of revenue and failure to renew leases—it would be catastrophic! Harold, what do you have to say?”
The chief of security had developed a grayish pallor. “Hell, I don’t know what to do. First the bomb threat this morning and now this,” he said hoarsely. “I knew there