19th Christmas (Women's Murder Club #19) - James Patterson Page 0,49
Stacking Stones.
The cameras would show that the man in the garish Christmas sweater took a deep breath of ionized air and continued his self-guided tour. He moved at an unhurried pace, checking out exits, escalators, bathrooms, rental-car booths, the left-luggage section, appearing to be just another traveler killing time.
Eventually he headed toward the shops, most of them with their lights on to capture desperate last-minute shoppers, Christmas music still pouring from the open doors, tinsel and glass ornaments arranged invitingly around merchandise in the plate-glass windows.
Loman checked the time and pulled what appeared to be a boarding pass from a side pouch of his bag. He peered at it, then looked up at the arrival/departure board as if double-checking the time and the gate number.
He still had some time.
Loman scoped out the row of retail stores—the bookstore, the souvenir shop, the candy store, the art gallery, the high-priced toiletries boutique, and Tech4U, an electronic gadgets wonderland.
That was the one.
Tech4U was narrow and deep and lined with shrink-wrapped camera, phone, and computer accessories. The blond, tattooed young woman behind the counter was bored enough to listen as he told her about his nephews and asked her advice on what to get them.
Together they picked out some device chargers and games, and Loman waited as the girl gift-wrapped them. She seemed to enjoy making the square corners, tucking them in, taping them down.
“Will there be anything else?”
“Nope, I’m good,” said Loman.
He paid for the gifts in cash, thanked the girl, and headed to the men’s room. Inside a stall, Loman opened his overnight bag and removed a pair of gray slacks, a plain navy-blue cotton pullover, a black ball cap, and a pair of glasses with red frames.
He stripped off the fake facial hair, changed his clothes, packed up the ones he’d worn to the airport, and slipped the small gifts inside the bag. Then he left the men’s room and exited the terminal, going through the revolving doors and out to the passenger-drop-off lanes.
A Salvation Army Santa was right outside on the sidewalk, ringing his bell. Loman took his wallet out of his bag, peeled off a single, and dropped it into the kettle. Santa thanked him, and Loman touched the brim of his cap, then crossed the road to the median strip.
A seven-year-old gray Prius pulled up and Loman got into the passenger seat.
“Everything okay, Willy?” Russell asked.
“Perfect. I’ve got it all in here,” Loman said, tapping the side of his head. “I think Santa is going to be very good to us. In fact, I know he will.”
Part Five
* * *
DECEMBER 25
CHAPTER 61
THE CHRISTMAS TREE looked beautiful.
It was only seven in the morning, but I’d gotten eight solid hours of sleep in my husband’s arms. We were both scrubbed and dressed, tree-side with mugs of hot cocoa in hand, when Julie came out of her room, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
“Was Santa here?”
“Of course he was,” Joe said.
I was so relieved that our daughter still believed in the kindly gent from the North Pole. We didn’t have to have that talk this morning.
Julie climbed onto a chair to check the plate of cookies we’d left for Mr. Claus. She didn’t have to know that Joe and I had scarfed them down only minutes ago.
Joe winked at me. I grinned back at him, then I scooped Julie up and brought her back to the tree. Joe had done a pretty good job of last-minute shopping. He’d filled a photo album for Julie with photos of everyone in our circle of family and friends, including Joe’s family in New York and my sister, Julie’s aunt Cat, and her girls, who lived up the coast in Half Moon Bay.
Martha got a new bowl with her name on it from Julie, and Joe got a cappuccino machine from me. He and I exchanged small treats and new pj’s from Santa. Santa had brought toys and outfits for Julie—thank you, internet shopping—and I had a special gift for her.
She opened the small, heavy box, peeled back the tissue, and took out the little globe that my mother had given to me many years ago.
Julie said, “For me?”
“It belonged to Grandma Boxer, then me, and it’s yours now, honey. See, this is how it works.”
It was a West Coast version of a snow globe and featured a beautiful starfish surrounded by drifts of glittering sand and tiny shells.
I said, “I used to keep this by my bed, and every morning when I woke up, I’d tip