Ginger Snapped to Death Page 2

  "What the heck are you doing?" I shrieked.

  "Get out of the car, lady," the first Santa said again, "or I'm going to blow your freaking head off."

  "Okay, okay." Somehow I managed to place the vehicle in park. The light had turned green, but there was no one behind me. It was just my luck. My phone was in my purse only inches away, but if I tried to go for it, he might shoot me. I had to think of my baby first.

  Slowly I raised my hands in the air. "Please don't hurt me. I'm pregnant."

  "Get. Out. Of. The. Car." He enunciated each word slowly, as if speaking to a child. "We ain't gonna hurt you or the kid as long as you cooperate."

  Having no choice, I slowly opened the door. Santa Number One was clearly lacking patience as he reached in and grabbed me by the hair. I screamed in pain and struggled, but the gun pressed against my head forced me into immobility. "Let me have my purse, please."

  Santa Number Two got behind the wheel while the first one put a choke hold around my neck. "Forget it, lady. Seems like you ran out of luck."

  His voice was young, and he talked like a street kid. I wondered if they might be part of a gang. although I'd never heard of any in Colwestern. "Please! Let me have the purse. You can keep the money."

  The gun was resting mere inches from my head. Santa Number One's face was olive skinned underneath the fake beard, and he smelled of peppermints. How appropriate. I also noticed that his beard was a cream color, not the usual snow white, making me think it was a second-hand suit. He glanced over at my purse and spotted my phone sitting on top. "Right, so you can call the cops? Forget it, fatso," said Santa Number One.

  He gave me a shove, and I lost my balance and fell into the snow. I groaned and spit the fine white powder out of my mouth as the engine of my car came to life. Tires squealed and smoked as the two Santas and my Kia roared out of sight.

  "I'm not fat. I'm pregnant!" I screamed into the frigid night air, but there was no one to hear me. I was lying on my back in the snow, struggling from side to side to raise myself. I felt like Randy in the movie A Christmas Story. "I can't get up! Somebody help me! I can't get up!"

  A man came running from the direction of the dry cleaners. "Are you all right, miss?" He bent over me in the snow and extended his hand as I mutely stared up at him. He was about my father's age—mid to late sixties, with a head full of shocking snow-white hair and matching whiskers that surrounded his mouth.

  I let out a small whimper. Oh God. What was with all the Santa look-alikes today?

  "Please help me," I cried. "Someone stole my car. I'm nine months pregnant, and I can't get up."

  "Okay, ma'am. You stay calm, and I'll get you out of this mess in a jiffy." He reached down and pulled on both of my arms. He must have been part superhero, because within seconds I was back on my feet. A bit wobbly and shaken, but at least I was standing.

  "Thank you." My breath came out in short painful gasps, and I wondered if I was having a panic attack. It hadn't totally registered for me what had happened. Despite my heavy down coat and gloves, I was freezing and afraid I might be going into shock. Petrified, I ran my hands over my belly. The baby gave a sharp kick in response, as if to assure me that he or she was fine. Relief spread through my body. "Thank you so much, Mr.…uh…"

  "The name is Nick, ma'am." He massaged his white whiskers thoughtfully. "What happened?"

  "I got carjacked by a couple of guys dressed like Santa Claus."

  His bright blue eyes went wide with horror. "Oh, my goodness. I hate it when people paint the old fellow in such a poor light. You should probably go to the hospital to get checked out. I took the liberty of calling 9-1-1 when I heard the shot, but should I take you to the hospital myself?"

  A flash of bright lights and a siren from behind forced me to turn around. A police car stopped at the curb, where my own car had been parked minutes ago. To my relief it was not your average police car. "I know this officer," I said to Nick over my shoulder. As I started to take a couple of steps toward the cruiser, I realized how badly my entire body was shaking. The driver's door opened, and the officer rushed over to me. Oh yes, I knew this police officer very well.

  Brian Jenkins was more than just another Colwestern police officer. He was a good and trusted friend who had come to my aid many times in the past. I'd first met him over three years ago when I'd come back to Colwestern after divorcing my miserable, cheating ex-husband. Brian had investigated a homicide on my bakery's porch and quickly made it known that he was interested in more than the bakery's chocolate chip cookies. Although he was handsome and a great guy, he'd never had a chance when Mike and I rekindled our relationship from high school.

  Brian put a hand on my shoulder. "Sally, what are you doing here? Where's the man who called the incident in? Where's your car?"

  Too many questions to answer in my current frame of mind. Tears welled in my eyes. "I got carjacked by a couple of Santa Clauses."

  His green eyes shimmered with astonishment and reflected off the lights on the top of his squad car. "Oh my God. No offense, but you're a regular magnet for disaster." He glanced down at my stomach. "You and the baby are both okay?"

  "I think so. Can you take me to the hospital? And I need to call Mike. My purse and phone were in the car."

  He muttered a four-letter expletive under his breath. "What a couple of scumbags, assaulting a pregnant woman. Of course I'll take you." He gently placed a hand under my elbow and escorted me toward the passenger side of his vehicle. "Easy now. Careful you don't slip."

  "Oh! I almost forgot. I need to thank Nick for his help."

  Brian looked at me with a confused expression. "Nick who?"

  "He's right over there." I turned around and pointed to where Nick has been standing next to the fire hydrant. But Nick was nowhere in sight. I stared at the snow where he'd found me and saw only my footprints. The street in front of me started to spin. This made no sense. "Where did he go?"

  Brian laid a hand on my arm. "Sally, you probably just imagined him. Sometimes people suffer hallucinations after a traumatic event."

  "No. He was here." The blood started to roar in my ears. I hadn't imagined him. In desperation, I scanned the area again. As I turned around, dizziness overwhelmed me, and my vision grew fuzzy. Brian was wrong. I'd held a conversation with the man. He hadn't just disappeared into thin air. The baby kicked as I breathed in the cold air and tried to fight off the feeling of claustrophobia that suddenly assailed me. Was I in labor or hallucinating like Brian said?

  "Sally?" Brian gave my arm a little shake. "Stay with me, okay? You're looking a bit green. Are you going to pass out?"

  "No," I mumbled as the darkness closed in around me. "I just need…air." I reached out to Brian, and his strong arms caught me before I could hit the pavement.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Princess, this doesn't make sense," Mike said. "Santa Claus stole your car and then he helped you out of a snowbank?"

  I struggled to get comfortable in the hospital bed, but it was no use. The belt around my stomach monitoring the baby was extremely uncomfortable. "I know it sounds crazy, but yes. The guy who saved me looked like Santa Claus, and his name was Nick."

  Mike was visibly tired. Lines of worry creased his handsome, rugged face, and his curly black hair was disheveled from running his hand through it so many times. He'd arrived at the hospital in a panic, even though I'd assured him on the phone that the baby and I were both fine. I'd had no contractions, but since I was past due, the hospital had prepared me for a delivery room in case. The baby had kicked a few times in Brian's squad car, but the fetal heart monitor had indicated everything was normal. The ultrasound had shown no issues either. Part of me wished to have the baby now so that I could be home with my little family in time for us to enjoy Christmas. But he or she clearly wasn't ready to make an appearance yet.

  Mike placed a hand gently on my stomach, his fingers brushing against the belt. "You're sure you're not in labor?"

  "I don't think so.
Everything seems to be okay." My voice quavered slightly. "What am I going to do? Those jerks took my car!"

  Mike's midnight blue eyes blazed into my mine, and he pursed his lips together. "I don't give a damn about the car. I'm just grateful that you and the baby are okay. When I find those sons of—"

  The blue curtain was pushed aside, and the nurse, whose name tag said Hannah, peered in at us. "How are we doing here?" she asked cheerfully and examined the monitoring machine next to my bed, pressed a few buttons, and then checked the readout without comment. "Mrs. Donovan, you have some visitors in the waiting room. Would you like them to wait until you're settled into a room upstairs?"

  "Visitors?"

  She nodded. "Several. The waiting room is full."

  Mike rubbed a hand over his eyes wearily, and I stifled a groan. I had been scheduled tonight to have a last-minute fitting of my matron-of-honor dress for Gianna's wedding. I'd texted her from Brian's phone on the way over and told her what had happened, assuring her I was fine. We were cutting it close since she was getting married on Christmas Eve, but I couldn't help that my body kept expanding every day. Gianna must have told the rest of our family what had happened. I appreciated the concern, but only wanted to go home.

  "They can come in," I told Hannah, "but I don't want to stay here tonight. The nurse who was in earlier said everything looked fine. Can't I go home?"

  "Well…" She hesitated and gave me a small smile. "Let's see what the doctor says first, okay? It's his call, not mine. Now, I'll send some of your visitors back. Two at a time is the maximum, plus your husband."

  I leaned back against the pillow as Mike stroked my hair. "Can I get you anything, princess? Something to drink?"

  "No, I'm—" Before I could even finish the sentence, the curtain moved and Gianna rushed in, followed by Grandma Rosa.

  "Sal!" Gianna whispered, her long chestnut-colored hair brushing against the side of my face as she hugged me around the neck. "Thank God you and the baby are okay. We were so worried."

  Grandma Rosa shook her head in dismay. "It is a sad world when a pregnant woman is mugged by Santa Claus."

  Boy, was that the truth. It also gave new meaning to having the Christmas spirit.

  Gianna smoothed the hair back from my forehead. "Are you in any pain?"

  I shrugged. "My hand is a little sore from the fall, but otherwise I feel fine. I wish they'd let me go home. And I'm sorry about the fitting."

  Her enormous chocolate brown eyes widened in amazement. "Sal, who cares about that? I'm just glad you're okay. Besides," her voice was barely above a whisper, "the so-called wedding is turning into a three-ring circus."

  Gianna and her fiancé, Johnny Gavelli, had been excited about the idea of a Christmas wedding. As bride attendants, Libby—a college friend of Gianna's—Josie, and myself were all going to wear red silk dresses. The church was to be decorated with poinsettias, colorful Christmas wreaths, and alternating red and white bows on the pews. Gianna's son, Alex, was only nine months old, but had a little black tuxedo for the occasion and was to serve as ring bearer. Okay, he couldn't walk yet, but that was the general idea.

  Our mother, Maria Muccio, had been a "momzilla" of the bride during the planning of my wedding to Mike, but she seemed to have learned her lesson this time. She'd backed off from harassing Gianna. The honor of "zilla" now belonged to Nicoletta Gavelli, Johnny's grandmother. Nicoletta had lived next door to my parents for over thirty years. She and I had had a love-hate relationship ever since she'd found Johnny and me playing doctor in her garage when I was only six years old. Of course, I had no idea what was going on at the time, but she'd instantly branded me a hussy and kept that mindset for the next 25 years.

  Nicoletta had a love-hate relationship with most people, so her attitude toward me wasn't unusual. My grandmother was the only person who was never afraid to set her straight. But this time even Grandma Rosa was having trouble getting Nicoletta to behave. She seemed to think that the Gavelli/Muccio wedding was the red-carpet event of the year and should also be something straight out of The Godfather. All Italian food would be served—no exceptions—and topped off with a rum-filled wedding cake for dessert. There would only be Italian music played, and none of that shameful sinner garbage that deranged young people liked to listen to.

  Gianna had humored her in the beginning, but lately they'd had some terrible arguments. Nicoletta was old fashioned and didn't even believe that the baby should be present since he'd been born before the wedding. We'd suspected that she'd be difficult, but Nicoletta had taken the cake, so to speak. My sister was one step away from jumping off a cliff.

  "It will be fine," Grandma Rosa assured her. "I will talk to Nicoletta again."

  Gianna gritted her teeth in annoyance. "Please don't even say her name, Grandma. It's like scraping fingernails on a chalkboard." She reached over to touch my belly. "And my nephew—or niece—is fine? Can they give you something to induce you?"

  The idea of being induced didn't hold much appeal. "I'm not sure I want to go through that if I don't have to." Of course I was dying to meet my baby, but the process sounded extremely painful. I'd heard some unpleasant tales about inducing from my bakery customers, many of whom were always eager to share their horror stories of pregnancy.

  "Your mother and father are waiting to come in," Grandma Rosa announced. "Gianna and I will leave so that they can see you. Try not to worry, cara mia. Cars can be replaced. You and the baby cannot."

  She gave me a peck on the cheek, and Mike kissed her as well. When they pulled back the curtain to leave, Dr. Chandler was standing on the other side. He had delivered both Gianna and me and, to my delight, had no intentions of retiring yet. His amber-colored eyes smiled encouragingly at me under a thick head of white hair. Dr. Chandler stepped aside for Gianna and Grandma Rosa to exit. Gianna looked back at me and mouthed, Let me know what he says.

  "So, how's our patient—whoops. I mean, how are our patients—feeling?"

  "Restless," Mike said, as he kissed my hand.

  I sat up straight in the bed and smiled wide. "And both want to go home."

  "Hmm." He checked the printout in front of him, perhaps the same one Hannah had removed from the machine earlier, and then looked at my chart. "There's no indication that you're in labor, even though it is your due date. The baby might not come for another week or two. Then again, you could get home and contractions might start immediately."

  "We only live five minutes away from here," Mike said helpfully.

  Dr. Chandler scratched his head. "Well, we can give it a try. Be sure to call me right away if you experience any pain or if something seems off. When's your next checkup scheduled for?"

  "Friday."

  "Oh yes, that's right," he mused, still looking down at the chart. "If everything still looks good with the baby then, we'll probably let you go a few more days before inducing. But if contractions begin before the appointment, call the hospital immediately. Remember, we're always here." He gave a low chuckle, his obvious attempt at a joke.

  Mike looked at me wide-eyed. "Inducing doesn't sound like much fun."

  "They strip the membranes," I said. "It forces your water to break."

  He looked at me in horror. I should have spared him the graphic details. I wished my customers hadn't shared that tidbit with me either.

  Dr. Chandler gave me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Let's not worry about that yet, okay? Make sure you take it easy. And avoid all stress." He looked at me questioningly. "You're not still working at the bakery, are you?"

  Mike's mouth formed a thin, hard line. "She was fired today."

  "Hold on," I objected. "I promise not to overdo, but I do have a business to run."

  "Josie is perfectly capable of handling everything," Mike said, "along with that new woman you hired."

  His comment made me wince. Dodie Albert was an elderly woman who had started work at my bakery last week and should never be mentioned in the same breath as Josie. In short, Dodi
e was a walking disaster. She was an excellent baker and decorator, and always tried hard to please, but she was ten times clumsier than me at nine months pregnant.

  On her first day, she'd knocked a container with five pounds of flour onto the floor when the phone rang, claiming it had startled her. Then there was the tray of eggs that somehow slipped out of her hands. While brewing coffee for a customer, she'd forgotten to place a cup under the Keurig lever, and the liquid had spilled all over the floor. To make matters worse, Josie had then walked in from the back room with a tray of cookies for the display case. The cookies and Josie had both hit the floor in record time.

  Except for Mickey, our driver, we'd never had good luck at hiring people. Mickey was a freckle-faced college kid who'd also been our most reliable employee. Over the years we'd succeeded in hiring deranged killers and even one person who'd been an unfortunate victim. Mickey was a brave soul to want to work for us. It looked like my maternity leave might be shorter lived than I'd planned.

  "What if I only went in for an hour or two each day?" I pleaded to both the doctor and my husband. "That would be okay, right?"

  Dr. Chandler glanced from me to Mike, sensing that a war might break out soon. "It all depends on how you're feeling," he said wisely. "If you're in any pain, then no. But if you feel fine, I don't believe an hour or two would be a problem. Try to sit down while working, if possible, and don't overdo it. Okay, be careful on the drive home, and I'll see you soon." He winked at me, shook hands with Mike, and then left the room.

  Mike brought my hand to his lips. "Princess, why are you fighting me on this? Why don't you sit home for a few days with your feet up and watch soap operas until the baby gets here?"

  "Because it's our busiest time of year," I protested. "We need to pull in as much money as we can."