Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [65]
“I wish to hell I knew. We’ll have to find some way to close the mall, that’s all there is to it. If anyone’s got any suggestions, I’d like to hear them,” Eric said, propping his feet on the coffee table and stretching his hands behind his head.
“Not me,” Lex mumbled. Noel was scribbling in his notebook and didn’t bother to answer. Harold fidgeted in his chair, his round eyes pools of concern.
“Our hands are tied. They’re not going to let us close the mall, and you know it. If this plane crashes—and one will, I can feel it in my bones—the girl was right. We can only hope she was wrong about Timberwoods.” Lex’s voice was dry and tight. He heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes.
“Can we declare martial law to shut it down?” Harold asked.
“We’re police, not army,” Eric said.
“We could always throw Dolph Richards in the clink,” Harold muttered.
“Where he would be safe, unfortunately,” Eric pointed out. “And don’t forget the three hundred and forty-one shop owners who’d go with him,” he added. “All we can do is sit and wait.”
It was 12:21 in the morning when the phone rang. Eric answered it. “Yes, I’m Detective Summers of the Woodridge Police. I inquired about the plane.”
He swore softly at the information he was getting from the other end of the line. Another minute and he hung up the receiver.
“A Piper Cub crashed into the Apex Theatre on North Washington at thirteen minutes after twelve. The pilot complained of chest pains at eleven fifty-nine. Let’s go.”
While the others were putting their coats on, Eric went into the kitchen. “Angela,” he said softly, “a plane crashed into a movie theater. Last show had just let out. The place was empty.”
She recoiled in silent horror. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Amy will take care of you.” He looked to his wife.
“Of course I’m going to take care of her. What kind of mother do you think I would be if I couldn’t take care of this child? Do whatever you have to do and don’t worry about us.”
“In my gut I thought the kid was making all this up,” Eric mumbled on the way out. “It didn’t seem possible. I still don’t believe it. I won’t believe it till I see the little girl and the numbers on the plane. Maybe Angela once flew with the pilot or something—hell, who knows? But nothing about her surprises me by now. What I don’t get is how nonchalant she can be. When I walked into the kitchen she was asking my wife to explain how you grow herbs, as though she really wanted to know.”
“She probably did want to know. That’s why people ask questions,” Noel said shortly as he reached his station wagon out of the dark driveway. “I wish I had some answers for you.”
Both cars careened down the road, heading north to the outskirts of Woodridge. The silent passengers stayed that way until Noel pointed through the windshield. “Fire trucks.” Even as they watched, the black wintry sky grew bright with red flames.
Minutes later they maneuvered through the melee. Their passengers scrambled out when they parked and all the men ran over to the perimeter of the crowd of firemen and police. Eric flashed his badge at one of the firemen. “How’d you get here so fast?” he asked. “We only got the call minutes ago.”
“Fire station’s just down the road. We were having our annual Christmas party, so most of the guys were already on hand. Helluva way to end it.”
Eric nodded. “Looks like you’re getting things under control.”
The plane had lost a wing and its engines were ablaze. A rescue team, assisted by a rush of water from the hoses, was trying to make its way to the cockpit and survivors. The firemen worked with precision, carrying stretchers and hosing down the parking lot. Though the area was garishly lit by the flames, and by spotlights on the hook and ladder truck, Eric couldn’t see the numbers on the side of the plane.
Moments later two stretchers were hurried to the waiting ambulances, both bodies covered. They were dead.
“Did you get the baby out?” Eric demanded of one of the rescue workers.