The Closer You Get (25 page)

“I’m sorry I was rude to you earlier.”

“That’s okay. You’re enduring a hard time right now,” Mary
Paige said, trying to wrench her arm from his grip, growing uncomfortable with
his familiarity. “Living out on the streets makes a man defensive. I understand.
If you will let go of me, I will see that the cab driver pulls around so we can
find you a nearby shelter.”

The man ignored her. “What’s your name, my child?”

Mary Paige stared into his hypnotic blue eyes and responded
without thinking. “Mary Paige.”

“Well, Mary Paige, can I offer you a gift in return for the one
you have given me?”

She shook her head. Jeez. There was no telling what the bum
would give her. Visions of grimy bottle caps or shiny pieces of glass danced in
her head. What valuable object would soon be hers? “You owe me nothing. Now
let’s get—”

Her words died as the man released her hand and fished around
inside the pocket of his worn flannel shirt.
Dear Lord,
please don’t let it be his old socks. Or something dead.

She should get out of here. The old man could be nuts, rooting
around for something more sinister than a piece of old junk. He could have a
gun. Or a knife. Or…a piece of paper.

The man held a paper that had been folded several times and
smiled at her, his teeth remarkably straight and white. A gold crown winked at
her from the back of his mouth, sparkling as much as his blue eyes. “I needed to
know your name, my child, so I know what to write on this.”

He unfolded the paper and extended it to her. She took it as if
she were in a trance before finally glancing down.

It was a check.

She blinked.

It was a check for two million dollars.

Signed by Malcolm Henry, Jr.

The Malcolm Henry, Jr., of Henry Department Stores.

She blinked. “I don’t understand. Where did you get this?”

He grinned. “My child,
you
are the
Spirit of Christmas.”

A flash of light blinded her, forcing her to squinch her eyes
together. When she opened them, she found another man emerging from behind the
Dumpster. The light was so blinding and her feet were now so numbed by the cold,
she stumbled back, tilted and fell, landing hard on the icy pavement.

She tried to get up, but her legs failed to comply, so she sat
there feeling water seep through the seat of her newest skirt, no doubt ruining
the charcoal tweed and her favorite silk panties.

The elderly man stood and shrugged into a long cashmere coat
the cameraman handed him while shoving feet still clad in the garish Christmas
socks into a pair of lined hunting boots stored within one of the cardboard
boxes. Then he extended one hand to her. She took it, bobbing her glance
nervously toward the man filming the oddest thing that had ever happened to
her—and she’d had plenty of oddness in her life…she’d once been bitten by a
llama, for heaven’s sake. She still held the check, so she shoved it toward the
older man, who didn’t look so much like a bum anymore. His coat probably cost a
week’s salary. Maybe a month’s.

He waved the check away. “No, no. That’s all yours. I feared we
wouldn’t find a kind soul at all. Been doing this for four straight days.”

She didn’t say anything. Merely stood there. Shocked.

“By the way, I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Malcolm Henry,
and I must tell you I love these socks.”

ISBN: 9781460304198

Copyright © 2013 by Kristi Goldberg

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