Chasing Tinsel (Miranda Vaughn Mysteries) (2 page)

I looked back out and saw a sturdy young man in a mall security uniform standing near the Christmas tree, keeping a watchful eye on the large, clear plastic box that held the cash donations and gift cards that the mall’s stores were selling in a charitable drive for St. John’s Parish. He gave us a smile and a small wave. Breanna waved back enthusiastically. They were probably about the same age—early twenties or so.
 

“What’s going on with you and Officer Pete?” I asked.
 

She shrugged. “He’s not an officer. Not yet. He’s going to the police academy in the spring, though.”
 

The crowd was starting to thin out. Santa’s shift was supposed to end at eight o’clock, but he stayed late to see a few kids who were still in line. The elves moved a sign into place announcing that Santa was going home to the North Pole for the evening, and then the big guy stood and surveyed the Winter Wonderland set. He nodded, seeming satisfied that no more children waited for him, and then waved to the elves, who gave half-hearted nods in return.
 

As Santa walked toward me, a dark blur caught my eye. One of the teenagers bolted into the store, grabbed an item off a consumer electronics display, and ran back toward the mall.

“Hey!”

Without a thought, I raced after him. He lost valuable time trying to navigate around the slipper rack. But I had assembled that display and knew every inch of the cosmetics department, giving me an advantage.
 

“He’s going toward the garage!” Santa yelled, and I moved to intercept the kid.

He was three feet in front of me when I reached out and grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and yanked it back. He flew backward, knocking me to the ground, and we rolled across the fake snowdrifts, a decade’s worth of dust and glitter rising from the thick felt fabric. Above me I caught a flash of curious faces peering over the railing on the second floor and for an instant had an image of what I must look like grappling with the teenager in the middle of the holiday display.
 

Santa ran toward me, but the other two teens jumped in front of him. Santa reached out, one hand grabbing each of the hoodlums and then smashed them together, their heads knocking with a thump that I could hear from fifteen feet away.

“Ouch!” one of the kids yelled.

“Oof,” the other one said, then staggered and sat down on a fake brick chimney. It promptly collapsed under his weight.
 

A pair of hands reached down and grabbed the shoulders of the kid who was barely struggling with me now. Mall Cop Pete yanked the boy to his feet, leaving me to stand on my own. Once upright, I reached down and picked up the box that the kid had swiped.
 

A polite round of applause rang out from the remaining mall customers, and my face flushed hot. I looked down at the merchandise and then back to the teenage boy.
 

“You stole a bikini shaver? Why?”
 

“
Bikini
shaver? Oh, man.”

His shoulders slumped as Pete led him away. Another security guard joined Santa, and they steered the other two toward the mall’s security office, a jolly little perp walk through Prospect Point.
 

I headed back to the store and replaced the item on the display table, then tried to dust off the glitter clinging to my clothes. Breanna stood at the counter, her eyes wide. She nodded her head toward the lingerie department, and I saw Jeff, the assistant manager, stalking toward me.
 

“Miranda. You are not supposed to chase shoplifters. It says so right in the employee manual.”
 

His skinny tie flapped against his white dress shirt as he walked. As supervisors went, I’d had worse. But if Jeff was legally able to buy alcohol, I’d eat that ugly knit hat on the mannequin behind him.
 

“Oh, right. I didn’t think about that. Sorry, Jeff. Won’t happen again.”
 

He sighed. “It’s against store policy.”
 

“I’ve got it. Thanks for reminding me,” I said, backing toward the cosmetics counter.
 

“It’s okay, I’ll just give you a warning. This time,” he said.
 

Six days until I didn’t have to answer to this pip-squeak. Just six more days, and then I’d be done with my career in retail, hopefully for good.
 

I helped Breanna close up the bath and cosmetics department. After we counted the tills, we took the elevator down to the break-room in the basement, where employees had lockers to store their purses, coats, and phones. I pulled my purse from the hook in my locker, closed the door, and heard a familiar laugh behind me.
 

“You’ve got quite a good tackle, missy,” Santa said.
 

“You’re no slouch, yourself. How’d you know those kids were trouble?”
 

“When I was younger, I was trouble. Guess I can still spot it,” he said with a wink. His blue eyes crinkled at the corner, and I could imagine him as a kid and had no doubt he’d been a handful.
 

He was dressed in street clothes now, with a sweater vest over a button-down shirt. His slacks were pressed and his shoes shined. He didn’t look like our usual Santa.
 

“Where’d you learn that move?” I asked as we walked back toward the elevator.
 

“I was a bouncer at a club in my misspent youth. Haven’t had to knock heads in a long time, though,” he said.
 

“I’m Miranda.” I held my hand out, and he shook it.
 

“John Murphy, but everyone calls me Murph.”
 

“Nice meeting you, Murph.”
 

“Did that scrawny manager kid give you hell for chasing down that thief?”
 

I laughed. “Who? Jeff? He did, but it’s okay. I’m just here until Christmas Eve.”
 

“Me, too,” he said with another big belly laugh.
 

“Have you done this before? You’re really good at being Santa.”
 

“For a couple of years now,” he said, reaching up to stroke his beard. “Ever since this turned white.”
 

He reached out and pressed the elevator button, then allowed me to enter before him. As I passed, I saw the cuffs of his shirt were worn, slightly frayed. Surreptitiously, I glanced down and saw that his shoes were shiny, but also worn. His sweater vest had a small hole near the shoulder. Up close, I could see the clothes were of good quality, but slightly dated and just tired.
 

“Are you from around Sacramento?” I asked.
 

“No, from back east. I came out west when I retired,” he said. “What about you?”

“Born and raised here. Spent a lot of time at this mall growing up,” I said.
 

The doors opened, and I stepped out to the parking garage. Murph followed me, walking with me to my car, which sat a good fifty yards away in the empty concrete expanse. Murph stood a respectful distance away as I unlocked my door.
 

“Good night, Miranda. It was nice fighting crime with you,” he said.
 

I laughed and looked around the empty garage. “Where are you parked?”
 

“I take the bus,” he said. “Take care.”
 

“Oh, you didn’t have to walk me to my car, Murph,” I said.
 

“It’s no problem,” he said, giving me a wave and heading back to the elevator. “Have a good evening.”
 

I started my car and watched Murph step back into the elevator that would take him to the ground floor, near the bus stop.
 

“Huh,” I said out loud, my voice sounding exceedingly loud in the empty car.
 

I put the Golf Ball in gear and drove slowly toward the exit. As I passed a large concrete pillar, a shadow caught my eye, and I slowed, certain I’d just glimpsed the outline of a man, tall with broad shoulders.
 

My heart skipped a beat, but when I looked closer there was nothing there.
 

I exhaled. I was clearly losing my mind.
 

“Tonight make sure to remind everyone that they can save ten percent if they sign up for the credit card,” Jeff said, holding a clipboard as if it were a stone tablet of rules handed down from on high. “Here are the credit card applications.”
 

He set a stack by the cash register and I eyed it suspiciously. “Should we also tell everyone that they’ll pay twenty-six percent interest per year, wiping out their ten-percent savings within a very short period of time?”
 

Confusion flashed in Jeff’s pale blue eyes, then he glared at me. “You get five dollars for every successful application.”
 

The store would make that commission back in interest within a couple weeks, I figured.
 

“And you are required to ask every customer if they want to apply,” he said, his voice stern.

Fat chance of that. But I didn’t argue with my baby-faced boss any further. The title of assistant manager of first floor lingerie, cosmetics and bath products had gone to his little pinhead.
 

I waited for him to move on to lecture the lingerie department staff, then turned to Breanna. “Do you mind if I take my break now?”
 

She shook her head. “No, go ahead.”
 

I headed out the doors to the mall, passing the rotunda, where Murph was holding court among the five-year-olds. He waved a white-gloved hand in my direction and I smiled and returned the greeting. After our adventures in crime fighting, as he had called it, I had seen him every night I worked. The previous night, he had kept me company while I ate my hurriedly packed dinner of crackers and cheese, which I’d grabbed from Aunt Marie’s kitchen on my way out the door to my second job. Murph hadn’t eaten any dinner and had declined my offer to share, and the guilt was now eating me up. What if he wasn’t bringing dinner because he couldn’t afford it? The Santas weren’t paid much for their time.
 

I doubled back to the Santa display and motioned to one of the elves, whose tag said he was Kevin.
 

“Hey, what time is Murph taking his dinner break?” I asked.
 

“You mean
Santa
?” Kevin said, a sneer in his voice and on his face.
 

“Sure, whatever. What time?” Something about this elf rubbed me the wrong way.
 

“His break’s at 6:45. He gets twenty minutes,” he said.
 

“That’s not enough time to eat dinner,” I said.
 

Kevin shrugged and walked off. He had a lot of attitude for a kid wearing green tights. I looked at my watch. It was 5:30. I’d probably take my own dinner around the same time as Murph. But first, I had one more bit of Christmas shopping to do. I jogged off to the seasonal ornament store that opened as soon as the Halloween store closed each year.
 

The store was packed to the gills with Christmas ornaments and all manner of holiday decor. I was looking for something in particular, and I knew the store would have it.
 

I wove through the narrow path between the fake trees, all of which were decked out with ornaments for sale, and headed toward a display case in the back. This was where the delicate glass ornaments were kept, away from grabby little hands and swinging shopping bags.
 

My eyes skimmed over the shiny collection until I spotted one that made me smile. It was a tiny cake plate with a stack of petite decorated cakes under a clear glass dome. Each sweet was intricately painted and topped with a bow. Aunt Marie had been collecting the glass ornaments for most of my life, and each year since I'd gotten my first job I’d added to her collection. This one was perfect for her.
 

The clerk rang up my purchase, and I winced at the price but handed over my debit card. Aunt Marie had raised me since I was three years old. She was a wonderful and attentive mother to me and still managed to build the Sugar Plum Bakery into a successful business. She deserved this and so much more. Sarah was just going to have to hang on a little longer and pray that I didn’t have to make a hard left in the Golf Ball anytime soon.

My shiny gift-bag in hand, I moved quickly to the escalator to go up to the food court. As it ascended, I took in the view of the mall, all decked out in holiday trappings. From here, I could see the mall’s centerpiece, a large ornate carousel at the junction of the four halls, each as wide as a city street. The twinkling white lights reflected off its mirrors as it rotated slowly. The sight warmed my heart and rekindled fond memories of riding the painted horses for a few coins. Parents waved to their kids from the fence encircling the amusement ride, and I remembered Aunt Marie doing that with me.
 

The mall was packed with families doing their last-minute shopping, but the feeling was festive, not hectic. Prospect Point was a longtime local tradition that hit its stride in the 1980s. Even though it had lost some stores, it was still a destination for families who couldn’t afford valet parking for a visit to Santa. Sure, a lot of it looked a little worse for wear, but the shoppers were still happy and—

My defense of Prospect Point Mall was interrupted as the escalator ground to a slow, stuttering stop. In front of me, the shoppers started walking up the escalator steps to the food court as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I followed, not hearing anyone complain, at least not too loudly.
 

Five minutes later, I was taking the escalator back down to the store, now juggling my dinner as well as the gift. After storing the items in the break room, I hurried back to the cosmetics department before Jeff realized that I’d taken more than the ten minutes allotted for breaks. Breanna was leaning against the counter, peering into the mirror. As I got closer, I saw that she was putting false eyelashes on.