The Kid Who Stole Christmas (2 page)

Leo really was a good little boy, most of the time. He practically ran the whole store, of course, charmer that he was, with his head of very blond hair, cute button nose and impish blue eyes. And Shannon genuinely respected his opinion when choosing which toys to buy for her department.

But all children went a bit crazy at Christmas. Leo just happened to have an entire department store to do it in—which could be a dangerous combination. With only half an hour until opening time, it was imperative that Shannon find Leo and disarm him, lest he stir up an insurrection among the hundreds of other boys and girls that would be pouring into this department.

Shannon shivered at the thought, then took off down the stuffed-toy aisle, heading for the life-size dollhouse display at the far end. Leo often hid there.

The whole store was done up for Christmas, with tinsel and pine boughs and glittering colored lights. But Shannon’s department was particularly nice, decorated in her preference for the old-fashioned. At the end of each aisle were huge reproductions of childhood favorites, teddy bears and baby dolls, spinning tops and brightly-patterned balls. A big fir tree took center stage, covered with shiny gold ornaments, silver garlands and candy canes. At the top sat a gleaming crystal star. As if guarding the presents beneath the tree, a unit of giant wooden soldiers was stationed nearby.

The enormous dollhouse, which was a year-round fixture in Lyon’s, took on a magical glow at Christmas, thanks to the hundreds of candle-shaped lights that outlined every window and door. Shannon thought it looked like a fairyland castle.

To an eight-year-old boy, it became whatever he needed it to be most. At the moment, it was a hideout for his alter ego, Lionman, complete with glowing force-field windows to protect him from the redheaded Amazon on his trail.

Huddled just inside the front door, watching Shannon’s cautious approach, Leo kept up a running commentary on the action, a sort of superhero’s play-by-play announcer.

“Lionman checked the ammunition in his ion blaster and steeled his nerve,” he said to himself in a soft, dramatically deep voice. “The Amazon was tricky. She would try to bewitch him before moving in for the kill.”

Shannon stopped in front of the dollhouse. “Leo? Are you in there?” she asked, wary of an ambush.

“Lionman’s hopes soared!” Leo exclaimed quietly. “His presence had not yet been detected.”

“Come on, honey. We’ll play later. I promised your grandfather I’d get some breakfast into you this morning.”

“Cruel temptress! She knew Lionman had been without food or water for days. But she would pay. He raised his blaster. Soon he would have his revenge....”

“Who are you talking to, Leo?” Shannon called, frowning. “It’s not Bob, is it? Don’t you dare encourage him, Bob!”

Leo feigned anguish and slumped against the dollhouse wall. “The mention of his trusted companion’s name cut Lionman like a knife,” he said, continuing his monologue. “Sir Bob had been defeated in battle just the day before. The Amazon was playing dirty.”

Shannon looked around. The store was starting to come to life now. Christmas carols were playing softly over the public address system. A couple of other department heads were huddled near the perfume counter, conferring with one of the sales reps, who was touting this season’s must-wear scent. She was relieved to see that Bob Jenkins, maintenance man and occasional accomplice to Leo’s schemes, was up on a ladder preparing to change a bad fluorescent tube. He looked down at Shannon and waved. She waved back, distracted for a moment.

Once Bob was done with the light, he would go unlock the doors. There was already a line of shoppers outside, waiting impatiently in the cold morning air.

“Leo!” she exclaimed, taking a few hesitant steps toward the dollhouse. “Come on now. I’m not kidding.”

“Lionman steadied his blaster. The Amazon was in range.”

Shannon sighed. Luckily, there was still a threat that worked for each and every Christmas-crazed child—up to a certain age, anyway.

“All right for you, young man,” she called out. “Don’t blame me if all you get for Christmas is a lump of coal!”

Leo’s eyes widened, and he clasped his chest, dropping his squirt gun. It clattered out the dollhouse door, and then he staggered out, as well, reeling as if struck by a fatal blow.

“Lionman is hit!” he cried. “The Amazon has unleashed the terrible power of her secret weapon. All is lost.”

He fell to the floor, tongue lolling. Shannon bent over him, laughing. “All that’s lost is most of your marbles, kiddo. Now, get up and dust yourself off. I have things to do.”

“Can I help?” Leo asked, opening one eye.

“That would depend on your knowledge of magic words.”

Leo got to his feet, looking contrite. “I’m sorry,” he told Shannon, using his best hangdog expression.

“As well you should be. Haven’t I told you not to shoot those things in the store, let alone at me?”

He colored slightly, but that was an easy feat for a boy with such a pale complexion. “Yes, ma’am. I was just playing.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“You won’t tell Santa?”

“I don’t have to tattle on you, Leo,” she explained, trying to keep a straight face. “He knows when you’ve been bad or good.”

Leo was getting over his initial regret, as evidenced by the mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. “Yeah, right. Do you have any idea how big a data base he’d need?”

Shannon looked skyward. “Why me?”

“Hey,” Leo objected mildly as he came to stand beside her. “Don’t blame me for being a computer-literate kid.”

She took his hand. “Come on, Lionman. Let’s hit the cafeteria. I need a cup of coffee.”

Leo holstered his weapon and nodded. “I know what you mean,” he agreed sagely. “Some chocolate milk would go down pretty good right now. It’s going to be a long day.”

“How so?”

“They’re
all
long days before Christmas.”

“You’ve got a point there.”

Although Shannon loved the season, it did increase her work load. In addition to doing the decorations, and making sure they had enough stock on all the right toys, she was also in charge of hiring and watching over the department store Santas.

There was one main jolly old elf who had worked for the Lyon family for years, so that was never a bother—or hadn’t been until recently. He was getting on in years and needed a lot more breaks, a tall order since it was a Lyon’s tradition to have a Santa on duty from open to close the entire month of December. There was a time when Shannon had had to turn away Santa applicants. But they had thinned out over the past few years, and this year she had been having trouble finding anyone at all.

Or at least anyone she felt was worthy of representing such a venerable old department store as Lyon’s.

For over fifty years, there had been a Lyon’s in downtown Denver. Opened in the late forties by Johann “Pop” Lyon, a German craftsman, Lyon’s began as a toy emporium. All the toys were made by Pop’s own hand, the mainstay being his whimsical stuffed animals. His bestseller was a scraggly king of the jungle he dubbed Leopold, or Leo the Lion, a name he liked so much, he gave it to his firstborn son, who later passed it on to his own son.

Over the years, Lyon’s gradually expanded, first adding a line of fine chocolates, then children’s fancy-dress clothing and eventually other related sundries, until it became a full-fledged department store. There had been many changes and problems, but Lyon’s held its own by maintaining a dedication to value and service. Today, it was a fixture in the downtown area, taking up one whole corner of a city block in a building four stories high. There was still a fine toy department, and even a lion or two, although they were now made by others.

In this, the age of the megamall and computer shopping, Lyon’s had of course been forced to evolve. Pop no longer did much hands-on management, preferring to delegate authority to the heads of each individual department. Eventually, if he were so inclined, Leo might take the helm. Until then, the store would operate like the family unit it nearly was. Pop made the major decisions, those with seniority made the lesser ones as a group and everyone else simply did their own jobs.

Shannon was proud to be a part of it all, and proud of her department. To make her Santa Claus team, a man had to be kind, jovial, warmhearted and genuinely fond of children. Unfortunately, he had to be all that for a bargain-basement wage, since her budget was minimal after paying the main Santa’s salary.

Each year, the pickings had gotten slimmer. Santa school graduates asked for too much money, as did employment agency clients. While city labor pools were fine for part-time help in the shipping department, the average day laborer didn’t quite have what it took to hold a steady stream of fidgety children in his lap one after the other, seven days a week.

For the last couple of years, Shannon had been forced to rely on the friends, relatives and acquaintances of employees, and on occasion the employees themselves, scouting their ranks for any able-bodied male who happened to have some free time, a kind heart and the need of a little extra cash.

But this year, just this past week, in fact, even a couple of those last resorts had canceled out. So Shannon was now quite desperate. And everyone knew it. When she came into the cafeteria with Leo in tow, any man with even the hint of a twinkle in his eye finished his cornflakes and was off like a startled reindeer. The more portly among them were already long gone, having formed an early-warning network.

Which was why she nearly fell on her knees and kissed Madge Hensen’s suede boots when the accountant came up to her and said she’d found a candidate. Or as she put it, a lamb to the slaughter.

“He’s a bit eccentric, though,” Madge added.

Shannon’s eyes narrowed. “
How
eccentric?”

“Oh, you know,” the other woman said vaguely. “The usual. He’s an artist or a musician or something bohemian like that.”

“Just how well do you know this person?”

“He’s my sister’s cousin’s nephew. I think.”

“Oh, jeez.” Shannon groaned. “In other words, it could be Jack the Ripper, for all you know.”

Madge started to walk away. “Fine. I did try...”

“Wait!” Shannon motioned the woman back. “Okay. I’ll give the guy an interview at least. What’s his name?”

“Um, I’m not sure. Roy or Roger, something like that. He’s taking me to lunch. I’ll send him down to see you after.”

Leo, who thought this entire conversation was much more fascinating than his nearly empty bowl of sugar-frosted cereal, decided it was time he joined in.

“Is he bringing Trigger?” he asked.

“Who?”

“Roy Rogers,” Leo returned.

Madge smiled at him. “Isn’t that a little before your time, sweetie?”

“I’m into the classics,” the boy informed her sagely.

Madge walked away, shaking her head. Shannon was doing her best to keep a straight face. “Good one, Leo,” she said.

He grinned. “Thanks.” After a long pull on his box of chocolate milk, he asked, “Can I help you interview Santas?”

Each year, Shannon had feared Leo would figure the whole thing out. Undoubtedly, it wouldn’t be much longer. But so far, his innocence was intact. He had come to grips with the duplicate department store versions of Santa a few seasons ago by considering them to be emissaries of a sort, servants to the big man himself. To his mind, they were men who received the calling, like priests. This helped explain why some of them were better than others and why still others didn’t make the grade at all. Many were chosen, few could answer.

But all of them had an inside track to the big guy himself, and were to be treated with deference until proven incompetent, at which time they were fair game.

“Actually, Leo, I don’t think there’ll be much of an interview. It’s only six more days to Christmas, so he’ll probably do just fine.”

“Unless he’s a raving maniac,” Leo interjected.

“Right. Or really does ride in on a horse. Too messy.”

Leo giggled. “Gross!”

When Leo was in the store, it wasn’t unusual for him to follow Shannon around as she went about the daily business of running her department. And if he wasn’t with her, he could usually be found “helping” someone else. All the employees were accustomed to having him around. He rarely got underfoot. In some cases, he actually was of help. Though the boy didn’t press the issue, most of them got the feeling he considered himself an executive-in-training. Pop said he had retail in his blood.

Whatever his function, he was most certainly the center of attention wherever he went. And Leo thrived on it. It was small compensation for the loss of both his mother and father, but it must have helped, because he did seem to be a fairly normal boy in most respects. A bit advanced for his age, perhaps, especially his speech, but that was the result of his spending so much of his free time around adults.

In fact, the only aspect of his personality that caused anyone much concern was his habit of concocting wild, highly detailed fantasies. His alter ego, Lionman, was only one of several multilayered melodramas he’d developed to give vent to his imagination. But even these were harmless. Usually.

* * *

“H
E’S AT IT AGAIN
,” Paul Sanchez said.

Shannon looked up from the inventory printout she was studying. Paul was one of the store security guards. She liked the burly, dedicated older man.

“Leo, you mean?” she asked.

“Who else?”

After breakfast, she and Leo had returned to the toy department, where Shannon went about her business while Leo compared Christmas lists with some of the children there to see Santa Claus. His extensive knowledge of Lyon’s stock on hand was of great interest to them, if a source of consternation to their parents. Shannon had assumed he was still at it.

She looked around the busy department, not seeing the boy. “Where is he?”

“Sneaking around on the second floor somewhere,” Paul returned with a vague gesture of one big hand. “But it’s not what he’s doing. It’s what he’s saying.” He shook his head. “Kid’ll drive me loony, I swear.”