Christmas Stalkings (18 page)

Burns got a short course in shoplifting from a bored young woman who’d seen it all: the false-bottomed-package gambit, the “I-was-wearing-that-watch-when-I-came-in-here” gambit, the one-garment-over-the-limit-in-the-changing-room gambit, the oversized-handbag gambit, the shove-it-in-the-pants-and/or-coat gambit, and several more.

Then the owner himself, Jay Cameron, briefed Burns in the Santa routine. “My father used to play Santa himself, every year,” Cameron said. “He seemed to enjoy it.” He shook his head. “Not me, thank you.”

He was dressed in an expensive suit that Burns suspected was not bought off his own racks, highly polished leather shoes, a blindingly white shirt, and an earth-tone tie that had probably cost about what Burns made in a week. Maybe the store was doing better than Napier thought

“You’ve got to know the names of all the reindeer,” Cameron said. “And don’t forget Rudolph.”

“I won’t,” Burns said. It wasn’t Rudolph that worried him. It was the other six. Or was it seven? Eight?

“You can make up elf names,” Cameron said. “But I don’t think anybody’11 ask.”

Burns said that he was relieved to know it.

“Lots of kids are scared of Santa,” Cameron said. “If they start screaming, just let ‘
em
scream. Calming
them’s
not your job. That’s for the parents.”

Burns didn’t like hearing that. He hadn’t thought about screaming.

“The suit’s waterproof,” Cameron said. “So that’s one less worry.”

“Waterproof?”

“Yeah. In case some kid gets excited and wets his pants.”

Great,
Burns thought.

“And don’t forget to be jolly,” Cameron said, dismissing him.

Burns was thinking about being jolly while kids wet their pants and screamed at the same time when the first one climbed in his lap and started explaining why he had to have a complete set of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures. He didn’t even ask about the reindeer.

By the time the third kid had finished, Burns had more or less relaxed. By the time the fifth had demanded a home computer—”IBM compatible, with a VGA monitor”—Burns was beginning to watch the goings-on around the store, paying special attention to the jewelry counter, but not neglecting the electronics section. He was positioned so that he had a good view of both, those being the areas from which a great deal of merchandise seemed to be vanishing.

Over the course of the next few hours, Burns didn’t notice a thing out of the ordinary. He assured any number of bright-eyed boys and girls that they would be receiving all the outrageously priced gifts they asked for, explained at least seven times how he was able to cover the whole world in a single night (“Those reindeer are
really
fast. Trust me.”), and explained to one very upset little girl that the Grinch was purely a literary conceit, whereas Santa was perfectly real, as the evidence of her own eyes should convince her. He wasn’t quite sure she got the idea of the conceit, but he thought she got the point. At least she seemed happier when she got down, but that may have been because he had promised her three Madame Alexander dolls under her tree.

During that time, Burns had seen Jay Cameron visit the jewelry department three times, his eagle eyes

seeming to X-ray every handbag and purse. The owner also toured Electronics and stared down several grungy teenagers who looked as if their only purpose in life was to steal personal CD players for their girlfriends. But as far as Burns could tell, none of them took a thing.

The best part of the day for Burns was when Elaine Tanner came in and asked if she could sit on Santa’s lap. It really pained Burns to have to turn her down.

Napier turned up later in the afternoon, but Burns had nothing to report.

“Keep watching,” Napier said. “We know they’re here.”

“What about the employees?” Burns said. “I think I read somewhere that employees do most of the shoplifting.”

“Not here,” Napier said. “Cameron practically undresses them before they leave.”

Burns was allowed an hour’s break for lunch and dinner. He needed the time. After several hours of balancing chubby kids on his knees, he could hardly stand, much less walk. He ate alone in the storeroom in the back of the store, surrounded by cartons and boxes. He didn’t mind. The quiet was a relief.

It was after his dinner break, just past eight o’clock, that he spotted his first shoplifter. He was sure of her almost from the minute he saw her. She had a shifty look when she walked by him, tugging her little boy by the hand, and she didn’t let the kid talk to Santa. He didn’t even ask to do so. Very suspicious.

She spent quite a long time at the jewelry counter, looking at watches, and the clerk had to turn away several times to help other customers. Again, very suspicious.

Then she left without buying a thing.

Burns was convinced that she had taken something, though he hadn’t seen what Now she had to leave the store with it That was what Napier had told him, anyhow. “Let ‘
em
get out of the store. That constitutes theft. Just notify the security officer, and he’ll do the rest.”

Of course the security officer was nowhere to be seen. He was probably somewhere with a doughnut and cup of coffee.

When the woman started for the front door, Burns shoved a tow-headed boy off his lap and stood up.

“But, Santa,” the boy said. “I haven’t finished yet”

“Don’t worry, Son,” Burns said, trying to be jolly. “You’ll get everything you want. Trust me.”

“But how do you
know
what I want? I didn’t have time—”

“Write me a letter,” Burns said, jostling past the other kids in the line. The woman was already out the door, and he was afraid she would be in her car and gone before he got there.

She was only half in the car, however, with one foot still planted on the ground, when Burns tapped her on the shoulder.

“Ma’am?” he said. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He had no idea what to say next What did you say to a shoplifter?

“It’s Santa, Mom!” the little boy on the other side of her screamed. “It’s Santa!”

The woman looked at Burns. “
Whatcha
want?” she said.

She was big, Burns realized, almost as big as he was, and he was wearing padding.

“I, ah, I think you might have taken something in there.”

The woman stared at Burns, then got slowly out of the car. The boy followed her out. He was very excited to see Santa. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said, “but Mom said we didn’t have time. I want a pony for Christmas.”

“Be quiet, Larry,” the woman said. She stared at Burns. “
Whaddya
mean about me taking something?”

“I, ah, well, if you’d just let me look in your purse, I’m sure we could clear this up,” Burns said. He’d decided that she’d slipped whatever she’d taken into her oversized purse. It had to be there.

“You some
kinda
creep?” the woman said.

The little boy was, shocked. “Don’t say that, Mom! It’s Santa!”

“Santa’s ass,” the woman said. “It’s some
kinda
creep.” She hugged her purse to her ample bosom as if it contained something precious. “He’s one o’ them creeps that steals a woman’s purse from her at Christmastime.”

“No, no,” Burns said. “You’ve got the wrong idea. It’s just that I’ve been—”

“Help!” the woman screamed. “Police! Fire! Rape!”

Burns hadn’t noticed until then that there were other people in the parking lot. Now it seemed as if the entire population of Pecan City had arrived at just that moment to do a bit of shopping. Curious faces turned to see what was going on, and two people started walking rapidly in Burns’s direction. Burns started to sweat, though the temperature couldn’t have been much above freezing.

The little boy didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like it. He looked as if he might cry at any second.

“Help!” the woman screamed. “Police!”

Burns looked around, wishing that he had never seen Napier or Elaine Tanner. It was their fault that he was in this mess, though he knew he had been stupid to follow the woman out of the store. He had no idea how to handle the situation, and he should simply have allowed her to leave.

He turned back to the woman, intending to apologize and forget the whole incident.

She swung her purse and hit him in the side of the head. The purse was so heavy Burns thought it might have a compact car inside it.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and the little boy kicked him in the shin. “You leave my mom alone!” he yelled.

Burns bent to look at his shin, and the woman hit him with her purse again, in the back of the head this time. The fur-rimmed cap protected him to some extent, but Burns went down to his knees on the parking lot.

He heard the horrified voice of a little girl. “That woman’s killing Santa!”

The voice did not deter the woman. She hit Burns again.

“What’s going on here?” Boss Napier said.

Burns had never thought the Chiefs voice could sound so good. He stood up, his right hand pushing the cap out of his eyes.

“This creep was trying to take my purse,” the woman said.

“He’s a bad Santa,” her boy said.

“I was just trying to do what you told me,” Burns said.

“I didn’t tell you to go picking on solid citizens like Mrs.
Branton
,” Napier said. He looked around at the crowd of curious onlookers. “Everything’s all right here now, folks. Just a little Christmas misunderstanding.

“That woman tried to kill Santa,” the horrified little girl said.

“Santa’s fine. Isn’t that right, Santa?”

Burns rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah,” he said. He didn’t even try to be jolly. “Santa’s just fine.”

As the crowd drifted on into the store, many of them pausing to look back over their shoulders, Burns said to Napier, “You know Mrs.
Branton
?”

“Right. Mrs. Roy
Branton
and her fine son Larry.” He smiled at the boy, who was watching Burns suspiciously. “This has all been a big misunderstanding, Larry. Santa wasn’t trying to take your mother’s purse.”

“Yes he was,” Mrs.
Branton
said.

“No, no,” Napier said, must jollier than Burns had ever seen him. “He’s working for me. It was just a mistake. Really. It won’t happen again.”

Mrs.
Branton
didn’t look convinced. “He looks like a creep to me.”

Napier got even jollier. “Well, he’s not. You can take my word for it. Right, Santa?”

“Right,” Burns said, grinding his teeth.

As Napier explained to Bums later in the storeroom while Burns was getting out of the Santa suit, Mrs.
Branton
was the ex-wife of one of Napier’s best officers. She had quite a reputation around town for her fierce temper and for one other thing—her honesty.

“She’s the kind of woman who wouldn’t tell a lie even when it would be better than the truth,” Napier said. “The kid, Larry, found a ten-dollar bill on the street one day, and she made him give it to
Harve
—

Harve’s
her ex—so
Harve
could turn it in at the station. We kept it for three weeks, and when no one claimed it, she let Larry have it She wouldn’t steal anything, Burns. She wouldn’t even let the kid keep the ten dollars, not at first.”

Burns stripped off the itchy beard. “I don’t see how you can be so sure about her. I’ve read that shoplifting is like a disease. You never know who might have it. And since we’re doing A
Christmas Carol,
I’ve been thinking about Dickens. She’s probably a Fagin.”

“What’s a Fagin?’

“Who. Who’s a Fagin. He’s a character in
Oliver Twist.
He has a bunch of kids who do his thieving for him.”

“You think
Larry
is doing the lifting?”

Burns shook his head. “Not really. To be honest, she’s the only one I saw today who even looked the least bit suspicious. There’s just no way anyone could be stealing stuff from this store.”

“Sure there is,” Napier said. “You just haven’t given it enough time.”