The Great Reindeer Caper Heather Graham #2
Angela was already behind the counter. The ankle and foot were attached to a man who was flat on the ground, eyes closed. She quickly checked for a pulse and discovered that he was still alive. His breathing was even enough, and a small trickle of blood oozed from his forehead.
“I must call to get help for him!” Angela told the ghost.
“You must not—I will shoot you!”
Swinging around, Angela saw a young man with unkempt brown hair had come out from a small hallway that led into a second section of the shop.
He did have a gun, and it was aimed at her.
“You didn’t mean to hurt him, and if we just get him some help quickly—” Angela began.
She didn’t need to go any further. The ghost swirled over at the man, striking him with her ethereal arms. Of course, she didn’t really have the strength to disarm him, but apparently, he felt something because he frowned and spun . . .
In the wrong direction.
Because Jackson emerged from the hallway just behind him, with sharp precision, Jackson’s hand struck his hand holding the gun with a blow guaranteed to send the gun flying.
It slid across the floor, so close to her, she just had to pick it up.
He cried out and spun again; but now, Jackson had his Glock lowered at the man.
And another came running out from the hallway.
“Terence, what are you doing? This was never supposed to be—oh, God! The disaster that it is!” the man moaned, sinking to the floor, shaking his head in dismay.
This man was young, too, sandy haired, slim in form, with a handsome face, blond hair with a fly-away section on his forehead. His distress was real.
Angela knew already, of course, that the ghost who had encountered her was the young man’s mother. And now, the ghost knelt on the floor beside him, trying to hold him, trying to soothe him.
She looked at Jackson and begged, “Don’t shoot him, please don’t shoot him!”
“I’m not going to shoot anyone—unless Terence over there gives me no choice,” Jackson said.
“Calling 911,” Angela said.
“He wouldn’t give it to me! Mr. Austin .
. . the shopkeeper there, wouldn’t let me have it!
He says it’s rare, only a few have survived from the Middle Ages.
And he wouldn’t listen to me . . . that horrible man used it years ago and stabbed my parents to death with it!
He has it in that next room, in a glass case .
. . and I just wanted him to leave the store long enough for me to get it!
Because . . . it kills! And they can prove Rupert Chesney killed my parents with it and then . . . it needs to be destroyed!”
Angela had quickly dialed 911 as the young man had spoken. It was the same story his mother had told, and yet confusing.
She had read a year or so ago that the man he was referring to, Rupert Chesney, had been sentenced to a term of twenty years to life for the murder of a band leader. There was an appeal in place . . .
Because the murder weapon had never been discovered. And though he had been stopped leaving the scene, Chesney claimed the man had been dead when he’d arrived; and he was heading out to call the police himself.
“Please, please, I’ll go to prison. I won’t fight!
” Benedict begged, his hands now in his face.
“But please . . . he killed my parents after he killed the musician. He killed that band leader just because he was married to a woman he’d once loved.
Then he killed my parents because my father suspected what had happened.
and my dad had seen him by the man’s house the night of the murder.
I tried to tell the old geezer there, but he wouldn’t listen to me!
I need that ivory flute! You hit the right button, and it shoots out a blade.
There must be something on it that can prove the truth! ”
“The old guy isn’t going to die, and I was never going to shoot anybody!
” Terence cried. “I . . . just gave him a knock on the head. He wasn’t supposed to be in here, but he didn’t wind up staring at the stupid reindeer like everyone else.
He walked out, but then he walked right back in!
Yeah, I was stupid, and I’ll go down for assault.
But please! Benedict is telling the truth.
My . . . well, for Christmas I was just trying to help him! ”
The man on the floor groaned softly, and Angela realized he was looking at her.
“Who are you guys?” he asked in confusion, and he was referring to her and Jackson.
“Feds,” she told him. “I’m afraid that—wait!” she cried. He was trying to sit up; Terence was right. Apparently, he hadn’t been hit that hard.
“Sir, you need to lie down. EMTs are on the way—” she began.
“Through this—the reindeer blockade?” he inquired, amused.
“This whole thing has been my fault. If I had just listened to the kid. He didn’t want to steal anything; he wanted evidence.
And I . . . I just kept thinking that I had to keep that kind of a prize!
If you guys are feds, please know that I’m not going to press charges. ”
“You’re not?” Terence demanded, stunned. “But you were hurt—and it was my fault!”
“Hey, I just tripped, you know?” the shopkeeper said, sitting up carefully.
“Okay, okay!” he said as Angela, still concerned, trying to help him.
“I’ll go to the hospital. But I won’t be filing any charges.
” He smiled suddenly. “Benedict, I’m sorry I was a jerk.
And I don’t know why it took this for me to realize you were telling me the truth .
. . but, it’s Christmas! Have the happiest Christmas that you can.
You faced things in this world that were horrible and now .
. . a little late, I want you to know that there’s goodness in the world, too. ”
“There may be no charges from you on assault or attempted robbery,” Jackson said, wincing. “And I wish we had the authority to help. But this will be handled by the local police, I’m afraid. And even if we all claim that nothing happened here, there’s the fiasco with the reindeer!”
“But . . . but we didn’t do the reindeer!” Benedict said, and Angela believed him; he was far too emotional a wreck to be a decent liar.
“I swear to you, we had nothing to do with the reindeer!” Terence told them.
“But, Terence, you said Mr. Austin just went out but came back in—”
“Wait! We had nothing to do with the reindeer, I swear it!” Benedict cried. The door opened.
They were expecting the EMTs or even possibly the police.
It was neither.
A man in his forties, a ski-mask in place, had entered. He was waving a gun at them.
“I need it; I need it now. Buddy,” he said, referring to Jackson, “lower your weapon and toss it over this instant!”
“Why? I’m probably a better shot than you,” Jackson told him.
“Then I’ll shoot the kid while you shoot me. Will that do?” the man demanded.
Angela was still on the ground, apparently looking as if she’d been hurt, possibly thrown down, as well.
And what the newcomer didn’t know was that she had a Glock as well. But . . .
Was this guy serious? Ready to die—as long as he killed and took someone with him?
“Don’t let him shoot Benedict . . . or his stupid friend, either,” the ghost begged. “Please, please, let my son live!”
“You’ve come for the ivory piece, right?” Angela asked.
“I want it; I want it now,” the masked man told them.
“Mr. Austin will need to help us. And that means I need to help him up, and then we’ll go back for that wretched thing,” Angela said.
Still on the floor, Benedict let out a sob.
“Shut up, kid, or I will shoot you!” the masked man warned. “I’m not going anywhere; get the piece while I keep my gun trained right on him.”
“And I’ll be keeping my gun trained right on you!” Jackson promised.
Angela knew Jackson was ready to shoot the gun right out of the man’s hand, but he glanced at her and he knew.
They couldn’t risk the man getting a shot off.
Angela gave a little nod to Mr. Austin, helping him to his feet. “It’s in the back, in a case that needs to be opened,” the man told her as he came to his feet, leaning on her.
“Steady!” she said gently.
He nodded to her, apparently very aware of the danger of their situation.
“We’ll bring it; we’ll bring it to you. But you . . . what . . .” he said with dismay, then looking to the masked man at the door and continuing with, “What if someone comes in?” he asked, fear and anxiety in his voice.
The man at the door started to laugh. “No, old man. No one is coming here. They’re all caught up in my action, the great, the brilliant reindeer caper!”
Well, Benedict and Terrance hadn’t caused the pile-up; they’d only made use of it!
Still, Angela knew that EMTs were on the way—even if they were being held up by his “great reindeer caper.”
“We will move quicky!” she said. They needed to get the man out of the shop.
Then she and Jackson could go after him, and they would catch him!
She kept Mr. Austin’s arm around her and led him toward the back hall.
The man was talking worriedly as they went, saying, “I didn’t believe the kid, I just didn’t believe him!
That kind of a gold-inlaid ivory flute is rare, so rare .
. . I just wanted it for my collection. I never imagined .
. . I know the kid needs it now for a court case, but the man at the door . . . what the hell does he want it for?”
“It can only be one thing,” Angela said quietly.
“And that’s—”
“He’s working for the killer,” Angela told him. “An appeal won’t make it through the courts if he can be assured that the murder weapon will never make its way there as evidence.”
“But how . . . oh, never mind! Right now, keeping everyone out there alive seems to be the greatest importance!”
They reached the case where the offending object was to be found. And to look at the thing . . . it was beautiful. It appeared to be an intricately carved ivory flute, complete with swirls of gold inlays.
“How did anyone murder anyone with this thing?” Austin wondered as he keyed in the code to open the case in which it was displayed.