Chasing Tinsel (Miranda Vaughn Mysteries) (6 page)

The Santa near the store’s entrance yelled to the others and they abruptly stopped their looting and left the store, the three of them running back toward the center of the mall.
 

“Murph!” I yelled. “They’re getting away.”
 

Sprinting as fast as my low-heeled boots would allow me, I raced across the tile floor toward the retreating red suits that wove through the shoppers who scrambled to get out of their way. I had a pretty good idea where they were running to. The only clear path to an exit would be the side door by the carousel that led to the parking garage—the door I’d gone through last night.
 

The Muzak broke into a high-energy version of “Must Be Santa” and filtered past the alarm and into my consciousness as I reached out and grabbed a fistful of red velvet and hung on. The Santa I grabbed stumbled, and I ran into his back, our legs tangling. We went down hard on the tile floor, and rolled to a stop by the ear piercing kiosk. I blocked a fist with my forearm and grabbed the first thing I could get my hand on—a good handful of fake white beard. I pulled and tried to get some leverage to get off the floor, but the elastic snapped, revealing a familiar face—the young woman who had been browsing engagement rings at the jewelry store.
 

“Stop! Police!”
 

I heard the shouts and tried to look around to see if Pete and his colleagues had caught the other two Santas, but a small closed fist caught me in the chin. The blow stunned me. I fell backward, my head hitting the floor with a smack that jarred my brain. Little flickering lights filled my vision, and I wrapped my arms around the soft red suit and held on as tight as I could, an anchor to keep me from drifting off to unconsciousness.
 

“Must be Santa…”
 

Bob Dylan’s nasal voice echoed in my skull, providing a surreal soundtrack to the scene. The woman slapped at me, wiggled, and tried to get away, but I held fast.
 

“Must be Santa…”
 

My vision cleared, and I gritted my teeth against the fierce pain in my head. I threw an elbow and heard a corresponding grunt as I connected with something hard.
 

“Must be Santa, Santa Claus.”
 

The thrashing paused, and the figure on top of me went limp and pinned me to the floor. I lifted my head from the floor, blinking to clear the stars that lingered in my field of vision and then felt the weight on top of me lighten. I looked up and saw the blurry figure of a man in a familiar dark blue windbreaker lifting the unconscious woman in a red suit from me. He grinned.

“Nice work,” he said. “I got it from here.”
 

I sat up and looked past him at the swarm of police that were wrestling three other Santas to the ground. I rubbed my eyes and then felt the back of my head where I’d smacked the floor.
 

“Don’t get up.”
 

I squinted at the officer who crouched over the unconscious woman on the floor and snapped handcuffs on her. With his back to me, my eyes focused on the large “FBI” on his jacket.
 

“Jake,” I whispered, the name slipping past my lips on a breath, almost silent.
 

“What’s your name?” the agent asked, turning back to me. His eyes were concerned, and they were a pale blue, not the warm, dark brown eyes I’d been hoping to see.
 

“Miranda Vaughn,” I said.
 

He nodded and waved at another blue-jacketed agent, then helped me to my feet. “Miss Vaughn, we’ll need you to get a statement from you. Are you okay?”
 

I nodded, then groaned at the pain in my head.
 

“Hey!” The agent’s shout hurt my head. He helped me to a bench and then waved toward another man and yelled out to him. “Hey, we’ve got an injury here.”
 

The man gave a curt nod, turned, and ran in the opposite direction.
 

“No, I’m fine.” I blinked to clear my vision and tried to find Murph in the melee. “How did you all get here so fast?”

The man grinned again. “It helped that we were already here.”
 

I took in the scene and saw other FBI agents helping three men to their feet, their hands cuffed behind their backs—and one of them was Murph. I jumped to my feet.
 

“Oh, no! Not that Santa!”
 

The ground swayed beneath my feet, and the agent guided me back down to the bench. “You. Stay put,” he said firmly. “We’ll get everything sorted out downtown. Just stay here until the paramedics arrive.”
 

“But you’ve cuffed Murph! He’s one of the good guys!”
 

The agent’s puzzled expression was the last thing I saw as my vision dimmed at the edges, then went completely dark.
 

I pressed the ice pack to the back of my head and squinted through the one-way mirror at the lineup of men wearing red suits. The three men standing behind me filled the room, which was no bigger than a walk-in closet.
 

“Miss Vaughn, do you recognize any of these, uh, Santas?” FBI Special Agent Barker asked.
 

The five men stood in a line, all wearing red Santa coats. I looked at each face in turn, wondering the whole time where the police department had found two extra Santa uniforms for the line-up.
 

“Santa Number One is the guy who was hanging out in front of the jewelry store a lot in December. He was there with the woman. They looked like they were shopping for engagement rings. I thought he must have worked at Prospect Point because they were there so often.”
 

“Why not her?” one of the men asked.
 

“Pardon?”
 

“Why did you think he worked there, but not her?”
 

“Oh, I guess because I saw him in the parking garage last night, getting into a white van. It was driven by Santa Number Five,” I said.
 

Agent Barker sat in the chair next to me, took out a notepad and jotted a few notes.
 

“You’re sure about Number Five?” he asked.
 

I nodded. “I got a good look at him in the parking garage. That nose is distinct.”
 

“That it is,” Agent Barker said. “Did you see him at the jewelry store today?”

I frowned. “No. I mean, I didn’t get a good look at his face during the robbery.”
 

“Do you see anyone else in the line-up involved in the theft?”
 

“No, I told you already. Santa Number Three is Murph, uh, John Murphy. He’s just one of the mall Santas. He wasn’t involved. He was trying to help because Pete was chasing the elves.”
 

There was a long silence in the room and Agent Barker gave me a long stare. “What did you say his name was?”
 

“John Murphy.”
 

“Uh huh,” Agent Barker said, scratching more notes in his pad.
 

“You’re going to let Murph go now, right?”
 

“No.”
 

My head pounded, and I took a deep breath. “Okay, let me explain again. Murph works for the mall—”

Agent Barker shook his head. “His name’s not Murph or John Murphy, any more than it’s Santa Claus or Saint Nick.”
 

“What?”
 

I turned and looked behind me at the local police detective and the other man, who had introduced himself as Deputy U.S. Marshal Frank Smith. The detective looked down, a small smile on his lips.

The marshal frowned. “Miss Vaughn, that’s Gianni Soldano.”
 

I tilted my head. “Who?”

Deputy Smith and Agent Barker exchanged another look and Barker cleared his throat before answering. “Gianni ‘Irish John’ Soldano. He’s the former head of the Soldano crime family.”

I shook my head. “No, he’s just Murph. He’s a good guy…”
 

My voice dropped off as Agent Barker shook his head. “No, that he’s not. He’s a criminal. He’s wanted on multiple federal racketeering charges in New Jersey.”

“Oh.” I studied Murph through the glass and tried to make sense of the news. He still looked like the same jolly, white-bearded, friendly Murph I’d invited to Christmas dinner. “Are you sure?”
 

“I’m very sure. I’ve been tracking Soldano for nearly a decade, ever since he got tipped off that he was named in an indictment and disappeared before we could arrest him,” the marshal said. “We got a tip from someone who recognized him from a most-wanted poster, and we’d been staking out the mall to confirm it. We were just about to take him when the Santas made their move on the jewelry store.”

“Oh,” I said again. “What happened to the donation box? Did someone catch Kevin and Jaden?”
 

Agent Barker gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, they didn’t get out of the parking lot. Looks like they were working with the Santas. You know, setting up a diversion so security wouldn’t be able to respond immediately to the jewelry store.”
 

“But you recovered the donation box?” I asked.
 

He nodded. “The donations will get to the families.”
 

“Is Murph—I mean, Mr. Soldano, is he dangerous?” I asked.
 

Deputy Smith walked up to the window and stared straight ahead, studying Murph much as I had done. He shrugged. “He’s seventy-three years old now. Cut off from his power and his source of money. I think he ran out of funds a while ago. I doubt he thought he’d be on the run for ten years. But he was dangerous. He was very dangerous, at one time.”
 

A drop of cold water from the ice pack rolled down the middle of my back, and I shivered, not just from the chilly trail it traced across my skin.
 

“We’ll get an officer to drive you back to your car, Miss Vaughn,” Agent Barker said. “Thanks for your time. I hope you’re feeling better and can enjoy your holiday.”
 

The federal agents left and the police detective helped me into my coat and walked me out. I followed him down the hall, but we only got about thirty feet when a door opened and Agent Barker stepped out, holding up a hand to stop us. The marshal followed, leading Murph who had his hands cuffed behind him.
 

“Wait,” I said and Agent Barker paused. “Please, can I talk to him? Just for a moment?”
 

Deputy Smith shrugged. “I’m not letting him out of my sight, so if you want to talk, you’re going to have an audience.”
 

I nodded and stepped toward Murph, who gave me a warm smile. It was the same smile, and my brain was having a hard time reconciling his true identity with the man I’d come to know.
 

“Is it true, Murph?”
 

He met my eyes and his blue eyes twinkled, despite his sad smile. “Yeah, it’s true.”

I felt my eyes grow moist and couldn’t figure out why. It sort of felt like learning Murph was dead. Or that he had never even existed.
 

“Oh, Miranda, sweetie,” Murph said. “Don’t worry. It’s all going to be okay. To tell the truth, this is a relief. It’s a lot of work to be on the run. I miss my kids. At least now I can see my family.”
 

I blinked back the tears and gave him a smile. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m just going to think of you as John Murphy.”
 

“I’d prefer that,” he said. “You have a Merry Christmas.”

The marshal started to lead him away, but Murph turned his head back. “Oh, Miranda. I got something for you. It’s in my locker in the break room.”

The federal agents turned to me in unison, eyes narrowing.

“Why don’t I drive you back to the mall?” Agent Barker said, giving me a suspicious look as Murph was led off by the marshal.
 

“I have no idea what he got for me.” I hoped it wasn’t a horse head or something equally as mobster-ific.
 

The FBI agent looked doubtful. He continued giving me the side-eye the entire trip back to Prospect Point. The mall was nearly deserted except for a few TV news vans parked near the main entrance to the shopping center. Two police cars idled near the door to Drake’s, and Agent Barker parked next to them.
 

A police officer opened the door to the mall after Agent Barker knocked and flashed his identification, then Jeff lifted the security gate, let us into the store, and followed us down to the employee break room in the basement. While the agent watched, Jeff unlocked Murph’s locker and opened it for us. I peered in and saw his jacket folded neatly, and on top of it was a red box with a bright white bow. My name was written on the tag.
 

Agent Barker took the box out and gave it a quick shake. “Do you mind if I open it?”
 

“Go ahead,” I said.
 

He pulled off the bow and opened it gingerly, and the smell of almonds wafted out.
 

I looked at the name of the Italian bakery on the box and smiled. “He said almond cookies reminded him of his family Christmas traditions.”
 

Agent Barker smiled and handed me the box. “I guess these are for you,” he said. He gathered the rest of Murph’s belongings and put them in a paper evidence bag. “I may be in touch if we have additional questions.”
 

I nodded. “Thanks for driving me back.”
 

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask about Jake Barnes, but I didn’t dare. There was a thin line between being curious and being desperate. And that line was far in my rearview mirror. Better not to advertise that fact.
 

Agent Barker left, and I got my purse and coat from my own locker while Jeff lurked uncomfortably near me.
 

“Uh, Miranda, I’m really sorry to have to do this, but I have to let you go,” he finally said, staring at the ground near my feet.