The Santa Sleuth Page 3

  Christmas was like a giant balloon that kept getting inflated. Eventually it had to pop.

  It had popped for Amanda the year she was twenty-two--the final Christmas of her marriage.

  Even now, nine Christmases later, the thought of it was enough to make her cover her face with her hands.

  Stupid. Naive. Pigheaded. Young. I'm old enough to make my own mistakes. Amanda winced at the echo of her youthful declaration. At the mistakes--whoppers, all. And afterward her parents saying, "We're not going to say we told you so." And then they did.

  She just hadn't listened. She’d been in love. No one had ever been in love like this before. Her husband even had a lovely name: Trenton Whitfield Barrington III. And she'd been Amanda Barrington, the name of a dowager something or other.

  She lowered her hands from her face. Christmas hadn't gone away and neither had her memories.

  It was hard to avoid them here at the mall. No matter where she looked, there was a jewelry store running a special on gold chains. Just how many gold chains did the world need, anyway?

  Sighing, she checked the west entrance, the Santa house and her watch. Nothing had changed but the watch, which had advanced another twelve minutes, making Mr. McEnery and his daughter now thirty-three minutes late.

  Her watch was very precise. It had been a gift from herself. A reminder of her wasted years.

  Traffic had picked up in the mall. There was little aimless window-shopping. Most people strode from store to store with a sense of purpose, mentally reviewing their shopping lists. Or maybe searching for that one perfect present, just as she had done that long-ago Christmas.

  Money had been tight during her brief, youthful marriage. Once the flowers had withered from the too-expensive wedding, once her college friends had returned to school and Amanda had moved into the small apartment with the rented furniture, reality set in.

  Marriage was nothing like the romantic dream she'd thought it would be. She'd moved clear across the country from her family and friends. Her file-clerk job barely paid for food and rent, and she soon learned the value of a dollar earned.

  Her husband did not. Trenton Whitfield Barrington III was not used to practicing economy. Frankly, neither was Amanda, and their wedding money was quickly and foolishly spent.

  After that, Trenton cut back on his college course load and got a part-time job. After one semester of that, Amanda realized his schooling would stretch on for years. If he could carry extra classes, the struggle would be over sooner. Telling herself she was investing in their future, she took on an additional part-time job so Trenton could take more classes.

  Stupid, Amanda thought now, and stood up from the bench. She'd been so very stupid.

  Slowly, circling the poinsettia mountain, she gazed unseeingly at the shoppers. Houston hadn't had a cold snap yet this season, and the stores were forced to mark down winter clothes to encourage business. Displays featuring sweater-clad mannequins surrounded by fake snow sought to boost the Christmas spirit.

  It'd been different the last Christmas of her marriage. The snow had been real. Everything else had been fake.

  Amanda paced faster around the poinsettias. She hadn't spent this much time in a holiday-decked mall since that hideous time, and it was making her nervous. Usually the first glint of tinsel sent her into hiding with a big batch of catalogs.

  She muttered under her breath. What could have happened to Virginia and her father? They were almost an hour late.

  If she looked at her watch, she'd know precisely how late they were, but Amanda didn't want to look at her watch. She didn't want to be reminded of that Christmas.

  She looked at her watch. Drat. They were fifty-three minutes late. Amanda took a wry pleasure in knowing, even though it triggered memories. But hadn't she been engaged in a melancholy pity party for herself most of the afternoon?

  If only the memories weren't as precise as her watch. But she didn't even have to close her eyes to see the crumpled charge receipt she'd found in Trenton's pant's pocket as she prepared to do the laundry. The startling amount on the receipt was burned into her mind. She'd thought she'd found the receipt for her Christmas present.

  Of course, they'd promised not to spend a lot on each other--they'd always promised that. But Amanda had thought this was Trenton's way of thanking her for the three years of working and scrimping that would end with his graduation in the spring.

  She'd bought him a shirt. She couldn't give him just a shirt for Christmas--not when he'd bought her a beautiful watch.

  Only the watch hadn't been for her.

  But she refused to think of that betrayal here and now. With a last glance at the west entrance to the mall, Amanda strode toward Santa's house.

  Ron sat on a wooden bench, guarding his camera. The lighting/audio tech leaned against a wall. Neither was pleased.

  "It's already after four," Ron said. "You're into overtime in another hour."

  And thus over budget before they started. Amanda began to fume. "Why don't you take some more background footage of Santa?"

  Ron pointed to Santa's house. A sign had been planted next to the empty throne. It read, "Santa's busy feeding his reindeer. "He'll be back at ... " A clock face with hands indicating four-twenty completed the message.

  "What?" Amanda looked around at the line snaking through the giant candy canes. "How can he take a break during the busiest time of day?"

  Ron shrugged. The tech looked bored.

  "Wait here," Amanda instructed. "I'm going to call the McEnery agency."

  She headed for the public telephones, thinking she should have called Kirk long ago. If she hadn't been so busy wallowing in self-pity, she would have. It wasn't like her to waste time.

  "Mr. McEnery isn't in the office, may I leave a message?"

  Amanda thought of several unsuitable but highly satisfying messages she could leave. "This is Amanda Donnelly. We had an appointment for three o'clock at Woodbrook mall and he hasn't arrived."

  "One moment."

  The receptionist was probably checking Kirk's calendar. Amanda had said Woodbrook, hadn't she?

  "Ms. Donnelly?" The receptionist's voice sounded in Amanda's ear. "He does have a note about meeting you. However, I see that he was to show a house at two-thirty."

  Mentally reviewing yesterday's conversation with Kirk, Amanda thought she remembered him saying he was free after two o'clock. "Would you please tell him I called?"

  Next she contacted her office. No messages from Kirk.

  The muted babble of the mall enveloped her after she hung up the telephone. Incessant holiday music assaulted her ears. Lights twinkled, decorations glittered and Amanda steamed.

  She'd actually been a little worried. Something might have happened to Kirk and Virginia on the way to the mall, but as soon as the receptionist said he'd planned to show a house at two-thirty, Amanda knew he was out with clients.

  What she didn't know was if he'd forgotten or just ignored her.

  And what about Virginia? Poor little kid. Waiting, just like Amanda was.

  "Ho ho ho!"

  Santa back from feeding the reindeer, no doubt. Her watch said four-twenty-five. Even he was late.

  Amanda couldn't stand it anymore. "Ron?" She caught her camera man's attention.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "Let's go." She jerked her head toward the poinsettia mountain.

  With each step she took, Amanda's anger grew.

  Men. You could never depend on them.

  Or rather, you could depend on them to be undependable.

  They piled into the Hello Houston van and drove back to the studio in silence.

  When she reached her desk, Amanda listened to her voice mail, and then thumbed through the message slips, searching for one from Kirk. Nothing. She glared at the telephone before snatching it up and calling his agency one more time.

  "Mr. McEnery did check in, Ms. Donnelly. He's had a very busy afternoon."

  Amanda waited for an explanation
. After cooling her heels at the mall for an hour and a half, she felt she was entitled, but the receptionist didn't elaborate.

  The silence stretched as Amanda tried to compose a suitable message. Then, in the background on the other end of the telephone, she heard a familiar male voice, "I don't have time to deal with her now."

  The receptionist instantly muffled the receiver, but Amanda was already openmouthed with indignation.

  "Mr. McEnery is unavailable at the moment," the woman announced seconds later. "Would you care--"

  A furious Amanda didn't listen to the rest. She grabbed her purse and car keys. So Kirk McEnery thought he didn't have time for her, did he?

  CHAPTER THREE

  No apology? No message? No explanation?

  Kirk McEnery's real-estate business must be doing very well if he could afford to alienate a member of the media.

  And Amanda was extremely alienated.

  She allowed herself to fume all the way out to the parking lot. Even snarled a bit as she gunned the engine of her car. But that was all. She needed to think, and rage clouded her thinking.

  Besides, one should not drive on Houston freeways in a state of rage. Simply driving on Houston freeways was enough rage for anyone.

  Diffusing her anger was much more difficult than she'd anticipated. She'd been stood up before, suffered disappointments before and worked on stories she didn't like before.

  What was different about this one?

  Why didn't she just pick another child and let Kirk explain to his daughter how his skewed priorities had cost her the chance to be on TV?

  Amanda was wasting her time. No wonder Kirk McEnery thought he could waste her time, too.

  Standing her up was just ... just ... just such a typical male thing to do. So why should Virginia lose out on some fun because of her father's thoughtlessness? Besides, Amanda hadn't heard Kirk's explanation yet. Maybe it was a good one.

  The stormy sky matched Amanda's mood as she arrived at the McEnery agency. The winds of an incoming cool front blew brown pine needles across the asphalt parking lot. Amanda hoped it wouldn't rain. Nothing worse than lugging camera equipment around in the rain.

  She pushed open the front door, already preparing to walk blithely past the receptionist.

  Kirk and two couples stood near the waiting area. He was in the process of shaking hands with them.

  Amanda stopped short. Were they coming or going?

  Kirk's gaze flicked her way, and then returned to the small group without giving Amanda a clue that he recognized her.

  "May I help you?" the receptionist asked in dulcet, but pointed, tones.

  Amanda stared at Kirk, but he still didn’t acknowledge her. "I had a three o'clock appointment with Kirk McEnery," she said, using a loud, clear voice to sound out each syllable of his name. She expected a reaction, but he didn't even flinch. "He's so conscientious that when he failed to arrive--or even send word--I was afraid he'd been in an accident."

  There was silence as her words registered with everyone in the area. The receptionist looked toward the small group.

  "I'm awfully relieved to see that he's all right," Amanda said and beamed at Kirk.

  He barely turned his head, but his eyes swiveled her way as he held her gaze without blinking.

  Still staring at her, Kirk murmured something Amanda couldn't hear as the receptionist stood up from the desk. "Oh, dear," she cooed, as if she hadn't spoken to Amanda already that afternoon. "Would you like a cup of coffee while we straighten out this mix-up?"

  Amanda lost her staring contest with Kirk to respond to the receptionist. "No, thank you."

  "Mr. McEnery will be with you in a moment, then."

  And suddenly Amanda wasn't looking forward to the confrontation with Mr. McEnery.

  She, who prided herself on professionalism under fire, had behaved unprofessionally. Furthermore, she'd probably blown her chances to tape Virginia, as well as to interview Kirk for the child-safety story.

  After ushering the couples out the door, a decidedly cool Mr. McEnery approached Amanda. With a quick glance at his watch, he lifted an eyebrow at the receptionist. "Rosalie, could I impose ...?"

  "Certainly," Rosalie answered, grabbing her purse and scooting out the door.

  Only after she left did Amanda realize how quiet the office was and how alone she and Kirk were.

  She had come storming over here feeling she was owed an apology, and now she felt less than pleased with her behavior. Still, she'd been wronged. The best defense was a good offense and all that. She tilted her chin and fanned the embers of her anger.

  Kirk regarded her unsmilingly, his eyes silently chastising her.

  She hadn't remembered that they were so very dark. How could he have fathered a blue-eyed child? Surely, this man's genes would dominate.

  "Our ... appointment slipped my mind," he said at last. "I’m sorry." He didn't sound sorry.

  She'd sat in the mall for all that time, and he wasn't even offering an explanation. Amanda felt she deserved an explanation. "We waited for an hour and a half," she pointed out. "I had a camera crew with me. An expensive camera crew."

  "Your patience is commendable." And misplaced, she imagined him adding.

  "I'm trying to do a story. I wish you'd called or left word for me here."

  "Rosalie knew I was out with clients."

  "Was I supposed to interpret that to mean you weren't coming or were just going to be late?"

  "Naturally my clients come first. I assumed you’d realize that." He regarded her unsmilingly. "I apologize again for the misunderstanding."

  "There was no misunderstanding! We were to meet at the mall at three o'clock. You didn't show up and cost me two hours of my time." More, if she factored in the preparation time.

  His lips compressed. "And why are you here now? Are you in the market for a house?"

  Amanda glared. The man was insufferable! "No." She was in the market for a real good explanation and some penance on his part.

  "I'm in the house-selling business." Indicating the front door, he said, "The couples who just left signed a contract this afternoon. The buyers wanted to see the house one more time."

  Amanda knew she should drop the subject. But ... "This was more than a casual trip to the mall with your daughter. She was counting on you." I was counting on you.

  "The commission will be several thousand dollars," he disclosed. "While Virginia doesn't understand the importance of that now, she will benefit from the sale."

  Amanda felt her lip curl. Money. He'd inconvenienced them and disappointed his daughter all for the sake of money.

  Kirk's gaze caught her sneer. His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell me, Ms. Donnelly. If you were on your way to film your Santa Claus story this afternoon and came upon, let's say, a wreck--a wreck with a tanker truck leaking chemicals--would you stop and investigate?"

  She knew where he was going with this but answered honestly, anyway. "Yes."

  "But Virginia and I are waiting at the mall. What about us?"

  "I would have sent word," she protested.

  "When?" he shot back.

  "Sometime before an hour and a half had passed. Or when I radioed in the story, I would have left word with the studio receptionist to call you."

  "At the mall?"

  Amanda was silent. Getting a message to someone waiting at the mall would have been difficult, but not impossible. However, arguing was pointless. She'd accomplished nothing by coming here. She wanted groveling. But no matter what she said, he wasn't going to grovel because he wasn't the type.

  She should leave. At once, while she still had an outside chance of making a graceful exit.

  "That's all right," he said, holding both palms outward. "I understand how these unexpected events can crop up."

  Listen to him! He was forgiving her, and she hadn't even apologized and didn't want to apologize. And she didn't like feeling as though she ought to, either. It was a made-up scena
rio, anyway.

  "Seriously, my schedule is so erratic; I'd advise you to find another child to feature in your story." As he spoke, Kirk ushered her to the front door.

  "Fine! I'll do just that," Amanda snapped. No, this hadn't gone at all well.

  At that moment, the door opened, and Virginia and Rosalie entered.

  "Daddy!" Virginia, dressed in a green sweat suit, and a red bow in her hair, bounded over to him. "Is it time to go to the mall and see Santa?"

  Kirk stared down at his daughter. Ah. How was Mr. I-had-more-important-things-to-do going to get out of this?

  "I waited and waited. I thought we were going right after school. I gave Mrs. Hull my note and so I didn't get on the day-care bus. Was that okay, Daddy?"

  "Uh, yes." The man who had verbally outmaneuvered Amanda was gone. In his place was one guilty-looking father.

  "Mrs. Hull had to call Mrs. Rodriguez at day care. She was mad."

  Amanda wondered who was mad and decided both women probably were. After all, she was. It appeared Kirk had a talent for making women mad.

  After exchanging a look with Rosalie, who nodded to confirm Virginia's story, Kirk closed his eyes briefly.

  "Are we going to go now? Huh?" Virginia slipped her hand into his and included Amanda in her question.

  Over Virginia's head, a wary Kirk faced Amanda. She smiled serenely. Bet you wish you'd groveled a bit now.

  "I can hardly wait!" Virginia gave a little hop. "I'm going to be on TV!"

  That's right, Virginia, back him into that corner.

  Amanda's smugness vanished as a stricken expression crossed Kirk's features. She hardened her heart. He forgot. He stood her up. He didn't want to cooperate. He had told her to find another child. Let him explain, the cad. This ought to be good.

  His lips parted. "Uh ... " was all the eloquent Kirk McEnery could manage.

  Virginia's hand touched Amanda's clenched fingers. Surprised, she automatically loosened them, and Virginia tucked her hand inside. "Let's go," she urged with a tug.

  Amanda stared into those big blue eyes. The eyes of a motherless child. A motherless child who wanted to see Santa.

  Amanda's heart softened. Of course, she'd known it would. She was human. "We can't go now," she said as gently as possible.