Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [86]
Lex turned and looked into the man’s face. “Christ, you do look sick as hell. What are you doing here? Report to the clinic before you go on duty. If you have a fever, then go home. Never mind what I said. Max can do the honors for you.”
Charlie groaned inwardly. “I’m all right,” he managed to say. “I sound a lot worse than I feel.”
“Maybe so, but all I need is one complaint that a mall Santa is spreading germs and that’s it. I don’t have to tell you what overprotective parents are like. You go to the clinic right now, and I’ll check in later to see how you are.”
Double damn, now what was he going to do? He couldn’t go home, he just couldn’t. He had to get up on the roof—how could he do that if he was sent home? He would report to the nurse, get a couple of aspirin, and tell her a lie that would get him off the hook. Old Jessie was a sucker for a good sob story. She’d cover for him, Charlie was sure of it. He’d stay out of Lassiter’s way at least until after lunch. And if worse came to worse and he was sent home, he could always come back as a shopper. They couldn’t throw him out for shopping.
Just hang in there till after lunch, he told himself, and it will be okay. Just two and a half hours.
He paused when he saw a familiar figure walking by. Holy Christ, what was he doing here?
“Hey, Malinowski,” Charlie croaked hoarsely, “where are you going?”
Dan Malinowski turned around at the sound of his name. “Oh, it’s you, Roman. I’m here to see the big man. I don’t want to hear any of that crap about not delivering four propane tanks. I delivered them and I got a signed receipt. What’s Miguel think he’s pulling? Richards runs a tight ship—he’ll ream out Miguel but good.”
“Wait a minute,” Charlie said hoarsely. “If you do that, Richards is likely to fire Miguel on the spot. C’mon, Dan—you know what a bastard the big boss can be. Miguel has a big family to support. Can’t you wait till after Christmas? Miguel’s an honest guy.” Charlie pressed home his point. “Don’t be mean, Dan. Give him a break. The damn tank is probably on the other side of the roof, covered with snow. I’ll check it out for you myself and call you this afternoon. Don’t get Miguel into trouble.”
“Ah, that Santa suit must’ve gone to your head,” Dan Malinowski said with a grin. “Okay, but if you don’t find that tank, you let me know. And if I were you, I’d go home and go to bed. You sound like you’ve got pneumonia.”
Charlie forced a smile. “I sound a whole lot worse than I feel, believe me. Actually I’m much better today. Can’t disappoint the kids—you know how it is. One Santa is never enough.”
“Yeah,” Dan laughed. “Plus you get overtime and free cookies, right? You better call me by three o’clock or I’m gonna get mighty upset. In the end it’s me that’s got to account for that tank. Okay, Charlie?”
“You’ve got my word,” Charlie muttered. “Look, I’ve got to check in at the clinic and get some aspirin. Just cut Miguel some slack, okay?”
“I said I would. I’m no Scrooge.” As soon as Dan had walked away, Charlie leaned against the cold terrazzo wall. He felt faint, his head was reeling, and it was all he could do to get his breath. That had been so close.
Now, go to the clinic, he told himself. In the suit. Jessie would be more receptive to the Santa suit.
A light snow was falling as Heather drove her car into her reserved parking space. In spite of the cold, she felt all warm and fuzzy inside. She and Lex had spent a second night together—a wonderful night. Funny, she thought, that it had taken a bomb scare to bring them together.
She wondered what Dolph Richards would say if he knew that two of his employees were sleeping together. Actually she knew what he would say, and it wouldn’t be congratulations.
She and Lex had talked long into the night about Timberwoods and their jobs there. Neither one of them was overly happy with their positions. If Richards decided to make them an example of what would