Stealing Christmas Read online

  Table of Contents

  Stealing Christmas

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Stealing Christmas

  by

  W. Lynn Chantale

  Red Christmas

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Stealing Christmas

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by W. Lynn Chantale

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-541-6

  Part of the Red Christmas Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  A HUGE thank you goes to my family

  for being there when I need you the most.

  I love you and thanks.

  A special thank you to my editor,

  for all your hard work and patience.

  As always I thank God

  for blessing me with this talent.

  Chapter One

  She stopped short. Of all the vehicles parked behind the bakery, hers was the only one with a sheet of paper fluttering beneath the wiper blade. Fear danced along Sara Henderson’s nerve endings, shooting her pulse into overdrive as she trudged toward her blue 300C. Would this be another threat? And did these mysterious notes have anything to do with why Jerry died?

  Seven weeks had passed since her boss, Jerry Benson, was murdered—apparently he interrupted a robbery attempt at the bakery. Sadness stole through her. Upon his passing, he left Sara fifty percent interest in the business, and the other half went to his grandson Jake. The police, as of yet, had no leads and everyone at the bakery was on edge.

  A crisp, wintry wind buffeted her face and she tugged the collar of her coat a little tighter in the somber morning light. Please let it be a flyer. Footsteps echoed from behind her. She whirled and scanned the shadows, straining to glimpse any movement. A soft ho-ho-ho murmured on the wind. The knot in her stomach coiled tighter.

  She should return to the bakery. Forget about her purse in the car and the paper on her windshield. Dark ink zigzagged across the glass, leaving an ominous stain on the thick layer of ice. She cast a nervous look around. This was just like the last time, right after Jerry’s funeral. Some crazy person dressed like an elf had mugged her.

  Another wary glance around the area reminded her of her vulnerability. She blew out a breath. Get the purse get the note. Actually she could ignore the paper, if a brisk breeze didn’t flap the page with noisy persistence. Squaring her shoulders, she unlocked the trunk.

  Sara grabbed her purse from the back of the trunk and slammed the lid. The constant flutter was a reminder that she still had to read this one, regardless of her apprehension. She stalked to the front of the car and snatched the flyer from the windshield. With trembling fingers, she smoothed the page. Footsteps echoed loudly in the alley. She held her breath and glanced over her shoulder.

  Nothing. A shaky breath misted from between her lips in the frigid air. Time to get inside. She turned and screamed.

  “Sorry, Sara. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Seth Driscoll, one of her employees, chuckled.

  Sara placed a hand over her galloping heart and gulped several deep breaths. Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she glanced around. Was someone watching her even now?

  “Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you.” She retrieved her purse from the ground, shaking her head over how she released the strap. Silly. Glancing at her watch, she stood. The paper pricked her palm as she clutched it in her fist. “You’re early.”

  He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “I switched with Tori. Gotta watch Becca later.”

  Sara edged toward the front of her car, smiling at the mention of Seth’s little girl. She flicked a glance at the note. What did this one say? “How is Becca?”

  Seth smiled, his dimple flashing, but it quickly faded as concern shadowed his brow. “Fine. Did you want me to wait for you?”

  She studied him a moment. He shuffled his feet, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders so high and tight they almost greeted his ears. She frowned. “Hey? Are you all right?”

  He turned away, his footsteps crunching across the salt and ice. “Yeah. I better get inside. Jake hates when I’m late.”

  Sara chuckled at the mention of her new partner. The man had a great business mind, but he kept damaging the cakes she decorated. She pivoted, her mirth lapsing when she stared at the note. Even from thirty feet away the metal door to the bakery scraped and slammed. She jumped, shaking her head. Maybe she should’ve asked Seth to wait for her. “And things that go bump in the night,” she muttered. Might as well see what this one said. She sucked in a breath and smoothed out the wrinkled page.

  Heavy black lettering scrawled across the page, just like all the others. “You know what I want. Tomorrow. Eight pm. I’m watching you.”

  She shivered. Who was doing this? The hair on the nape of her neck rose to attention and she scanned the near vacant lot a second time. A hooded figure stepped back into the shadows. She sucked in a ragged breath. Note clutched in hand, she hurried to the door, yanked the knob, and slipped into the welcoming warmth of the bakery.

  Sagging, she let the tension ebb from her shoulders. This had been going on too long. She had to tell somebody. She couldn’t even walk outside without constantly looking over her shoulder. She slid her gaze around the prep area. Several stainless steel work tables dotted the open kitchen. A bank of ovens hissed on her left, adding warmth to the otherwise chilly room.

  A three-foot high cake, a replica of Santa, waited for delivery. Sara stepped forward and stifled a groan. Several layers of frosting were missing from the back of his coat. She looked toward the open office door. In all her years as a decorator at the bakery, Jake was the only one who managed to dent her cakes. She drew in a steadying breath, the sweet scent of cinnamon and gingerbread soothing her overwrought nerves. First things first, she needed to tell Jake about the note, but didn’t want to add to his burdens.

  Sara stashed her purse in the small supply closet behind the office door. She locked the closet and moved through the tiny office, past the scarred white-topped desk and ancient computer monitor. An unruly stack of invoices teetered precariously when she breezed by.

  Through the large plate glass window, cakes of all shapes and sizes cooled on rolling wire racks. The fragrant scents of chocolate, lemon, and strawberry wafted through the open door, and she made a mental note to whip up a batch of frosting in one of the two big commercial mixers.

  “I’m being stalked,” Sara said, shrugging out of her winter coat.

  Jake spun away from the computer, brows raised eyes wide. “What? By who?”

  She hesitated, unsure how he might react when she answered. He was st
ill shaken from his grandfather’s death. The last thing he needed to hear was she was being threatened. Prolonging the inevitable, she hung her coat on a hook, before bringing her gaze back to Jake. “Santa Claus.”

  “Santa Claus?” He rubbed his eyes. “Be serious.”

  “I am.” She offered the latest note, shuddering as she swept a wary eye over the bold, slashing letters, wet and weeping across the page. “He says he’ll see me tomorrow. That’s Christmas Eve.”

  Jake plucked the paper from her fingers. “Have you told anyone else?”

  “Just you.”

  “Why didn’t you say something earlier? I heard a similar report on the news. Maybe you should go to the police.”

  She suppressed a groan. A faceless, nameless, dude dressed up like the jolly old elf was leaving sinister messages on her windshield, and the best Jake had to offer was “call the police”? Didn’t he think she’d done that? All she got for her trouble was a complaint number and a thank you. Who could blame the authorities when they had more crime than cops?

  She combed trembling fingers through her hair. She’d rather leave the police out of the equation, but maybe if she showed them the letters they would take her seriously this time. Either way she wanted the harassment to stop.

  She sighed. “Wha-what did you hear on the news?”

  “They’re called ‘Santa Muggings.’ Several individuals have been robbed by Santa, mostly at the mall though. The police can’t really help without a better description.”

  “Did they receive threats, too? Did you read that note, Jake? This guy is very specific.” Apprehension flickered through her stomach, twisting her in knots. She paced the small office. “What am I gonna do? Do you know how many Santas are running around this time of year?”

  He grinned. “Can you imagine how this has hurt sales at the mall?”

  She tossed him a frosty glance. “You’re making jokes, and I’m serious.”

  Jake captured her hand. His warm, rough palm calmed her agitated nerves. She met his stare, and surprised delight flickered under his concern. Had he also noticed the tiny jolt arcing between them?

  She rested her gaze on his lean, boyish features. His smooth toffee skin held a smattering of day-old stubble and seemed to be the only thing she could think of some days. Well, that and his mouth. She longed to lean across the desk, to taste his full, sexy lips and never stop. She blinked. Now was not the time.

  “I’m here for you, honey.” He drew lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

  She loved the contrast of their skin tones, his a rich caramel and hers a warm chocolate. Butterflies whispered through her veins until Sara had a hard time concentrating on anything but him. “I think these notes may have something to do with your grandfather’s death.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  With reluctance, she withdrew her hand. “Every year Jerry would open twelve of the deposit boxes downstairs. If he found something valuable, he would split the contents with the rest of the staff, as kind of a year-end bonus.”

  For more than fifty years, the bakery had serviced the Genesee County area, but in the early to mid-1900’s the building had been occupied by a private company specializing in lock boxes. Somehow the deposits boxes remained.

  Jake sat up straight. “You really think this has something to do with the safety deposit boxes?”

  “I didn’t start receiving the letters until after the funeral.”

  He stared at her, concern flickered in his eyes. “You mean this isn’t the first one?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t want to bother you, especially since I thought they were a joke at first. But the wording is becoming more aggressive.” She sighed. “Why else would someone send threatening letters right before we’re planning to open the boxes?”

  She turned to leave, but Jake recaptured her hand. Heat sizzled up her arm, down through her body and pulsed low.

  “You’re not in this alone, Sara. All you have to do is call me.”

  She closed her eyes, unease forming an icy knot in the pit of her stomach. “I thought someone was following me the other day.” She shuddered. “And just now. Outside.” She gazed into Jake’s compassionate gray eyes. “I don’t like being afraid.”

  He stood, bringing his other hand to her waist.

  The heat of his palm soothed the cold fear twisting in her belly, and his touch sparked a tiny fissure in the wall she’d built around her heart.

  “You really should call the police, and no more coming in by yourself,” he said.

  “Are you volunteering to be my hero?”

  He smiled. “Hmmm...I think I can handle that.”

  “I can take care of myself, you know.” And she could too, Jerry made sure she was well-versed in self-defense.

  He laughed. “Granddad told me. He was worried about you.”

  “We should’ve been worried about him.”

  Jake brushed a tendril of hair away from her face, and a tingle slid down her spine.

  “He wouldn’t have wanted that and you know it,” he said.

  “You’re right.” The front door chimed, and faint pleasantries were exchanged between Seth and a customer. “I better get to work. Those cakes won’t decorate themselves.”

  He swept his fingers down the curve of her cheek, sending tiny jolts of pleasure through her stomach. “Hey. I really am here for you.”

  She nodded, tears blurring her vision. “Thanks.” When his hand lingered, she pressed her cheek into his warm palm, and savored his strength. “That means a lot to me.” She slipped from his arms and hurried to start her day.

  ****

  Sara hefted a fifty-pound bag of powdered sugar, balanced it on her shoulder and moved toward the stairs. Metal scratched against metal and she paused. Lowering the bag to the floor, she followed the noise to the vault.

  “Hello?” she called. “Anyone there?”

  She jumped back when a tall, stocky man stepped from the room.

  “Yeah,” he said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  A shiver whispered down her spine and she backed up a step. “Marty, what are you doing down here?” She flicked a glance at her watch. “You’re way too early for your shift.”

  “I lost my phone last night, and wanted to make sure I didn’t do something stupid like leave it down here when I stocked the inventory.” He strolled toward the bag of powdered sugar. “Were you bringing this up? I’m surprised Jake would let you carry something so heavy.”

  “I’ve carried cakes that weigh twice that,” she scoffed, keeping a wary eye on Marty as he hefted the sugar under his arm. She waited until he mounted the stairs. “Did you find your phone?”

  Juggling the bag of sugar, he reached in his pocket and held up his cell. “It fell behind one of the racks. When I tried to get it, the dang thing slid into the vault. My girlfriend thought I was ignoring her. You guys should really look into getting the door fixed.”

  “Yeah.” She stared at his back. Something wasn’t right.

  He paused halfway up the stairs and looked at her over his shoulder. “You coming?”

  “I need to grab a box of shortening.”

  Marty nodded and continued up the stairs. She waited until he rounded the corner before stepping into the vault. A quick glance along the rows and rows of boxes assured her all was in order. She hurried out, grabbed a box of shortening from the shelf and lugged it up the stairs. Maybe she should mention Marty’s interest to Jake.

  She set the box down; the heavy thud reverberated over the whirl of the commercial mixer in the corner. Marty had placed the bag of sugar on a metal hand cart near the table. Voices filtered in from the front of the shop, Jake’s warm baritone was among the happy chatter. But another voice, this one low almost in a hoarse whisper drew her attention.

  “I can’t get to them,” Seth said, his voice tight with stress. “They’re here and customers are in the store.” He sighed, gripping the phone. “No, no. I just.
.. I’ll figure something out and bring them to you when I do deliveries.” He listened longer. “I don’t know! She and Jake have the keys.”

  Sara paused, her heart hammering an unsteady beat. Who was he talking to? She peeked around the corner to see Seth leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

  “Look. I can’t...Please. They already suspect something.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Okay. I’ll bring them, but this is the last. The absolute last!”

  He closed the phone with a snap, drew a deep breath and pushed off the wall. His eyes widened and he came to an abrupt stop.

  “Sara!”

  She looked him over. Sweat glistened on his forehead and he shuffled from side to side. “Are you all right? You look a little spooked.”

  He dragged shaky fingers through his dark curly hair. “I, uh, yeah.”

  Crossing to a double-door cabinet, she twisted the handle and jerked open the door. “As soon as I pack the cake in a box, you can drop it off.”

  He nodded and hurried past her. She stared after him. What in the world was going on?

  Chapter Two

  On the corner, across the street, Santa Claus stood in his bright red suit and shiny black boots. A curly white beard warmed his face as he rang the brass bell. He stared at the bakery. A malicious sneer twisted his lip, and he glared at the dark-haired woman waiting on customers. She looked up. He lifted a white, gloved hand and waved. His merry “ho-ho-ho” drifted through the air, lost in a cacophony of traffic.

  He didn’t want her, but needed what she had. She knew where the keys were hidden.

  ****

  Sara laid several frosted sugar cookies into a bakery box and secured it with bright red string. The iced confections were a holiday favorite and she slid the box to the waiting customer. The pleasant smile she wore faltered when the Santa waved. She made change and hurried the customer through the front door. Sara twisted the lock and rushed to the back room.

  “He’s outside!”

  Jake looked up from kneading dough. “Who’s outside?”

  “Santa! He’s watching the store.” She read the skepticism on his face. “I’m serious!”