25. THE THREAT

It was the last few shopping days before Christmas, and the mall was packed with stressed-looking last minute shoppers, searching for just the right gift for the people that had been forgotten. This shopping date had been in place for several weeks and although Charity was a bit pale from the traumatic events of the last few days, she was determined to put on a good front for her friend, who was happily traipsing from one store to the next with several bulging bags underneath her arm. Carissa seemed to enjoy the particular torment of dragging her friend through the mall, and gleefully turned to her with a mischievous look in her beautiful eyes. "Maybe you should buy Richard that," she giggled, and pointed at a particularly skimpy lace nightgown.

Charity rolled her eyes. "Honestly, it's like feminism never happened!" she complained, good-naturedly.

Christmas music was blasting over the speakers. The local radio stations seemed compelled to blast it twenty four hours a day starting immediately after Thanksgiving and continuing to New Year's. Carissa loved it, and was humming along as Charity attempted to ignore the obnoxious, repetitive jingle. She could feel her cell phone vibrating in her coat pocket. No doubt another associate calling to inquire if there was anything they could do. It would buzz for awhile then stop, then start up again and finally she dug it out of her long black coat and lifted it to look at the messages. Six calls, but no messages, all of them from Richard. Her brow furrowed with concern but she swiftly put the phone away before her friend could see it. They’d promised no business.

Finished looking through this shop, Carissa headed across the food court toward her favorite store. It was filled with old photographs and movie memorabilia, including a rather torturous display of classic film stars. Charity didn't have time to protest before she was whisked inside to see if Carissa's order had come in yet. Her friend went to the counter to inquire and Charity tilted her head to look at a glossy, framed photo of James Dean, mentally running through the thousand and one things she had to do that afternoon. She happened to glance out the front of the shop and see a figure speeding through the mall corridors, his hair slightly mussed from the wind. Carissa came up behind her, commenting, "It's not in yet. I'm starting to wonder if it will be here in time."

"It may not be here, but someone is," Charity replied, and indicated the harried-looking figure now brushing off the nail polish cart girl's attempts to convince him that what his wife needed most for Christmas was a manicure. She smiled as her friend went to investigate, for she found them well suited and adorable. She was too far away to hear what he initially said as he took Carissa's hands in his with relief, but as she came out of the shop her pocket began to buzz again. Garrett looked up at her as she fished her phone out of her pocket, flipped the top, and said, "You seem rather persistent today, husband."

"He has reason to be."

The voice stopped her, because it wasn't Richard. She had not looked at the number before picking up. Her amusement faded somewhat but she concealed it enough to turn away from her friends and walk a few paces. "Who is this?" she asked softly, her friends speaking in hushed voices behind her.

"Someone warning you to be cautious. Your husband is involved in some rather scurrilous investigations now that Marsdon is dead. I would hate for there to be any further collateral damage."

The music sounded distant but it was also coming through the phone. Charity could hear the faint echo of it, and knew she was being watched from somewhere nearby. Her head turned, attempting to discern which one of the numerous individuals on their cell was keeping an eye on her. Lifting her eyes to the second floor, she swept the area with her gaze without discerning the source of the threat. The voice in her ear said, "It's no use, Mrs. Davenport. You'll never know who it was," and hung up. She lowered the phone and held it tightly in her hand, half frightened but also angry. A hand came down on her arm and she jumped, but it was only Carissa. Charity shot a look at Garrett, and could tell by his expression that he knew something.

"I'm sorry, Carissa… something has come up and I need to go. I'll call you later, all right?" Charity gave her a swift hug and headed for the nearest exit, her dark hair fluttering around her features, the click of her high heels lost amid the general chaos of the mall.

Garrett took one look at his wife's confused, disconcerted expression and went after her.