for you. Can I get you anything else right now?”
Mary Lou dumped sugar into her mug. She looked up and forced a smile. “I’m good. I need comfort food.”
“Sure. I understand. I’m stranded, too. I’m just grateful that I work in a hotel restaurant. It could be much worse.”
Mary Lou bristled at her cheerfulness. “Well, I want to go home, and I’m mad at God because He spoiled the holidays for me.”
The woman grinned. “Mad at God, eh? That might be a bit extreme.”
Mary Lou sipped her coffee. “He controls the weather, doesn’t He? Given that fact, I think I have the right to be mad at Him right now.” She leaned back in the booth and folded her arms.
The woman turned back toward the kitchen. “I’m not even going to go there.”
Chapter Three
Friday, December 28
Denver, Colorado
Bobby Porter shouted to the dispatcher, “For crying out loud, Christmas is over!”
She replied, “You’re too old to believe in Santa. It’s not the real Santa who hijacked the car with a kid in it. There’s an Amber Alert. The Red SUV is headed toward I-76, and you need to save that kid. Be aware that the Channel 9 News helicopter is already in the air.”
“I see the copter.” Bobby scanned the road below the copter to see the red SUV swerving through morning rush hour traffic. “I see the perp.” He whispered a quick prayer: “Lord, help us save that kid.”
The red SUV with Santa at the wheel roared past Bobby. Bobby took up the chase, hitting the sirens and lights as he accelerated to a speed in excess of ninety miles per hour. The SUV kept going.
Bobby reported, “He’s weaving through traffic. Santa is not stopping for anyone. I’m at just over a hundred miles per hour, trying to keep up with him. Permission to pursue?”
“Back off and see if he slows down.”
Disappointed, Bobby lifted his foot from the accelerator. He shook his head as he watched the SUV disappear into the traffic.
The dispatcher reported, “It’s working. The copter reports that the perp is slowing down. We have pictures from the copter. He’s out of the car. He’s flagging down another car. Whoa—he just pulled the driver out and threw her on the ground. He’s now in a—a 2008 silver BMW with Wyoming plates. Permission granted for full pursuit.”
Bobby grinned and tromped on the accelerator. Thank You, Lord. I pray that kid is okay. Help us stop this guy.
He watched the BMW roar onto Interstate Highway 76. “I’m closing in on him.”
“Back off a little. We’ve set up a roadblock at the next exit. Slow down to make the capture.”
Bobby took his foot off the accelerator. “What’s the word on the kid?”
“Just got a report that the four-year-old boy is fine. The father is here, and the mother is on her way. Officer Bailey is bringing him in.”
Bobby saw flashing lights ahead of the BMW. “It’s working. He’s slowing—wait. Oh, no. He just crossed the median and is heading into oncoming traffic. Santa must be high.”
The dispatch officer announced, “Here’s Sergeant Wood.”
Sergeant Wood’s voice came over the speaker. “Will follow protocol and clear lanes. Continue pursuit.”
Bobby Porter crossed the median, sirens and lights still blazing.
State Patrol cars had blocked entrances to the highway, and soon there was no other traffic, so Bobby floored the accelerator and caught up to the BMW. The BMW swerved through the ramp, hitting two patrol cars. Bobby followed him through the roadblock to a strip mall. The BMW hit the curb and crashed into McDonald’s. Bobby pulled up behind him and jumped out of his car.
Patrons screamed and jumped and out of their seats, crowding toward the kitchen. Bobby pulled Santa out of the vehicle, pushed the man to the floor, straddled him, and pulled his arms back to cuff him.
A little girl pointed at the scene. “Mommy!” she screamed. “The policeman is hurting Santi Claus!”
Bobby pulled the perp to his feet and turned toward the little girl. “This isn’t the real Santa.” He shoved the man toward the patrol car.
The little girl’s mother picked her up. “That’s not the real Santa. He’s a bad man pretending to be Santa. The real Santa is back at home at the North Pole.”
The little girl’s eyes widened as three more patrol cars approached the restaurant, sirens and lights blazing.
Bobby motioned to the officers. “I got this.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Those people need to be interviewed.” He shoved the perp into the backseat.
Saturday, December 29
Arvada, Colorado
After picking up two newspapers from the porch, Eileen Stots used the key to open the front door of Mary Lou’s home. She dropped the papers on the couch and turned on the kitchen lights. She peeked into the master bedroom. Mary Lou obviously packed in a rush. Clothes were strewn about the room, and the bed lay unmade.
Eileen made the bed and started hanging up blouses and pants that had been rejected for the trip. She hummed a Christmas carol as she worked. Poor Mary Lou. I sure hope you get home soon. After tidying up the house and watering the hanging spider plant, she sat on the couch and called Mary Lou’s cell.
“Hullo.” Mary Lou sounded drained.
“Hey, girl. I’m over here cleaning your house—after all, cleanliness is next to godliness. I thought I’d better check it out, since you didn’t get to come home when you expected.”
Mary Lou groaned.
Eileen put her feet up on Mary Lou’s beat-up coffee table. “Hey, it’s going to be all right. Do you have any news about when you can leave?”
“Nothing. I may be here until spring. But I am so glad you called. It’s good to hear a familiar voice. Bobby hasn’t even called.”
“Bobby’s been busy. He’s the local hero, you know.”
“What happened?” Mary Lou asked, voice perking up.
“He caught some guy dressed up as Santa in a high-speed chase. They guy had hijacked a car with a little boy in it, ditched that car, stole another one, and crashed into a McDonald’s out by Denver International Airport.”
“Santa? Christmas is over. Was he high?”
“Don’t know—haven’t got the details. Anyway, Bobby will call when he can. You could call him.”
“I will not do that. I’m not playing the desperate woman. He can call me. I already had to break our date on Christmas Eve. I hope he’s not mad. You know sometimes men can be so sulky.”
Eileen focused on the Monet print on the wall across the room. “Yeah, well, I’ve never seen Bobby Porter sulk. What is your problem?”
“I want to hang up now.”
Eileen shouted into the phone, “Mary Lou, don’t you dare hang up! That’s what you always do when the conversation isn’t going your way. What is the matter with you?”
“Stop yelling! I can hear you. I’m going crazy, that’s what! I am so depressed. This is torture, and nobody cares. Walt got his contract, so he’s happy. He offered to let me use vacation time for the time I’m stranded here. I hate Walt.”
Eileen held the