The Thief Who Stole Midnight

By Christiana Miller

You can take the girl away from the family, but you'll never get the family away from the girl.

Mike and Maddie, a young couple with a new baby, are rushing home to host their first New Year's Eve party for their family and friends. When they arrive, however, they're shocked to find their apartment has been burgled. Even worse, the burglar is still there—passed out on their bed!

 

But New Year's Eve in Chicago means they're on a wait list for the cops. With Maddie's anti-city, pro-suburb Greek family due to arrive at any minute, they decide to take matters into their own hands. Which means this night is about to go from wacky to worse.

This farcical New Year's Eve romp is told in alternating first person, between Maddie and her best friend, Rio

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christiana Miller
• Release date: Oct 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386914808

Christiana Miller

CHRISTIANA MILLER is a novelist, screenwriter and mom who's led an unusual life. In addition to writing for General Hospital: Night Shift and General Hospital, she's had her DNA shot into space (where she's currently cohabiting in a drawer with Stephen Colbert and Stephen Hawking), she's been serenaded by Klingons, and she's been the voices of all the female warriors in Mortal Kombat II and III. If her life was a TV show, it would be a wacky dramedy filled with Dobies and eccentric characters who get themselves into bizarre situations! The best way to make sure you're notified of future releases, giveaways and sales, is by joining her e-mail list at:  Christiana's Newsletter To learn more about the author, you can visit her website: http://www.christianamiller.com. You can also chat with the author on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ChristianaMiller.author You can follow her on Twitter at @writechristiana

Book preview

1

RIO

It was New Year’s Eve, Chicago-style. Which meant loud, raucous and cold. Forget New York, Chicago is the city that never sleeps. Mainly because if it ever did, everyone would freeze to death. The wind chills coming off Lake Michigan can be brutal.

Don’t get me wrong—I love Chicago. It’s a city where the bizarre is normal, the dead lead active political (and social) lives, and crime is inventive. But the weather’s gotta be some kind of karmic payback.

But this story isn’t about me. It’s about my friends Mike and Maddie, and the New Year’s Eve that almost destroyed their marriage.

Mike and Maddie had one of those marriages that could make your blood sugar spike. He adored her, she adored him, and after their big, traditional, Greek wedding, they were blessed by a baby girl. So, who could blame them for thinking that a white picket fence, happily ever after life was going to come next?

Of course, as any parent knows, what actually does come next are sleepless nights, financial struggles, sex as a distant memory, and the inevitable invasion of the in-laws.

On this particular New Year’s Eve, Maddie’s parents had descended earlier in the day to baby-nap Sophie. Also known as spending quality bonding time. Since Mike and Maddie needed to get ready for the New Year’s Eve party they were hosting, it should have been a win-win, all around.

Except…the dynamic duo snuck out for a romantic date night together instead. But cut them some slack, it was their first since Sophie had been born. Who could blame them for wanting their own quality bonding time?

I mean, if it was me, my first taste of freedom, I would have been high-tailing it to a spa for some quality ‘me’ time. But then, I’ve never been as stupidly in love as Mike and Maddie.

Honestly, with the way those two are always so kissy-face with each other, I’m kinda shocked they didn’t just go straight into the bedroom for hours of wild monkey sex. Going anywhere with them was an exercise in embarrassment. Seriously. Parties, dinners, movies, shopping, no matter where we’d go, they were locked at the lips. I never knew where to look.

But what Maddie missed most wasn’t the sex—make of that what you will—it was the ooey-gooey, double-thick, deep-dish pizza at Zeke’s Tavern.

So, that’s where they went. To enjoy a night of pizza, a pitcher of sangria, and a game of pool. It was while they were on their way home that their evening started going off the rails.

2

MADDIE

While we were at dinner, Wrigleyville had transformed into a beautiful (if icily treacherous) winter wonderland.

You think I’d be used to Chicago winters by now, being born here and all, but each year seems to be colder and snowier than the year before.

When Mike and I stepped off the L train, I hurried over to the heat lamp to zip up my parka and cram my frozen fingers into gloves, before we started down the stairs.

Maybe we should take your mom up on her offer to spend winters in California, I said, holding onto the hand rail on one side, and Mike’s arm on the other. A coating of ice under the snow was making everything slippery and tricky to maneuver.

Mike snorted. No way. No can do. I’ll miss the pizza here too much.

I’m sure Los Angeles has Chicago-style deep dish pizza. How hard is it to copy a recipe?

He laughed. Spoken like someone who’s never been outside of Chicago. L.A.’s too health conscious. They try, but they just can’t bring themselves to do it right. If it’s not an ooey-gooey, saucy, cheesy heart attack on a cornmeal crust, it’s not Chicago-style deep dish pizza.

I glanced over at him. The entire time I had been focused on not falling on my butt, Mike had been looking at me with a goofy grin on his face.

What are you smiling at? Do I have pizza sauce on my nose? I asked, poking at my face with my gloved hands. Do my cheeks look frostbitten to you?

"You look fine. I’m just thinking how lucky I am to have landed someone like you. Beautiful and smart. You’re wearing winter boots. How awesome is that?"

I looked down at my feet. The boots weren’t exactly sexy, but they weren’t hideous either. Most importantly, they kept my toes warm and dry. And during a Chicago winter, that was mandatory.

And you’d be getting at what, exactly, with this ode to my boots?

I have a theory that when people jump into the dating pool they lose twenty IQ points.

Still not following.

Okay, well, when I was dating…

Back in college?

Of course, he said, giving me a you silly girl look.

It could have been in high school.

It was college. Before you.

I smiled. You mean, your life didn’t begin the moment you met me?

It may as well have, because everything else pales in comparison.

Oh, good answer.

Anyway, I would date these women who, even if there was a foot of snow on the ground, would show up in these ridiculous, spiked heels. I’d spend the entire date worried they were either going to break an ankle or lose their toes to frostbite.

I laughed. You know my policy. Heels are for horizontal excursions only.

He grinned. And that’s one of the many reasons why I love you.

As we cleared the last step and emerged onto the sidewalk, Mike yanked a pair of gloves out of his pocket, and a wadded up bunch of brochures fell onto the snow-covered curb.

He bent over and picked them up. Your mom, on the other hand… I’m not loving her so much.

I groaned. What did she do now?

She’s been sending me every brochure ever printed about the suburbs. Northbrook, Oak Brook, Oak Park, Downer’s Grove, Wilmette, Skokie, Arlington Heights, Libertyville, Park Ridge, Rolling Meadows. A new one shows up every day. I don’t know if she wants us to move or open a travel agency.

I sighed. I knew how pushy my mom could be when she got her mind set on something. She’s just worried about her granddaughter.

Why? Chicago’s a great place to raise a kid. We have everything—museums, theater, art, culture, the Cubs.

I agree. But the news freaks her out. And she’s been on a twenty-four hour news cycle ever since that idiot at ABC cancelled her soaps. She refuses to watch anything else until they bring her stories back.

That was years ago.

I shrugged. "She learned how to speak English from watching All My Children. As far as my mom’s concerned, it’s Erica Kane or bust."

He shook his head. Your mom is…

Intense? Relentless? Grudge-holding?

A trip.

I snorted. "At least she’s not emailing you weekly updates on Chicago’s homicide stats. My dad tells her it’s bad for her blood pressure, but I swear it’s become an addiction."

Mike looked around at the well-lit, snow-covered, quiet street, one eyebrow raised. But we live in Wrigleyville, for cripe’s sake, not a crack den in Uptown. It doesn’t get much safer than this.

Doesn’t matter. It’s still Chicago, I said, swiping at my nose.

Have you tried telling your mom the news is driven by ratings? They use paranoia to get more people to tune in. There’s a reason it’s called infotainment.

She doesn’t believe me. In her head, she’s still living in a time when the news is all about hard-hitting journalism. You think she’s bad now, wait until ratings sweeps.

Mike shuddered and dropped the brochures in a trash bin. "Maybe we should think about planning a vacation to California."

3

MADDIE

We turned onto Clark Street, and a massively overweight, drunken Baby New Year—wearing a giant diaper, bonnet, socks and a pair of dress shoes—ran out of one of the bars. He was carrying a wallet and hustling as fast as he could on the icy, snow-covered sidewalk.

I shrieked and grabbed Mike’s arm.

Mike started laughing. I can’t believe they make diapers that big. I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks. He whipped out his cell phone and started recording. This is priceless.

Wallet, I said, pointing and tugging his arm.

Knock it off, you’re jiggling the video.

He’s clutching a wallet, I repeated.

Mike shrugged. It’s probably his. It’s not like diapers have pockets.

"Then why is he running."

It’s colder than hell’s freezer out here and he’s practically naked. I’d be running too. Stop trying to make sense out of things you don’t understand. Just enjoy the moment.

You’re an ass, I said, punching his arm in frustration.

Ow, stop that! he rubbed his arm, frowned at me, but kept recording.

Baby New Year slid on a patch of ice, his arms windmilling.

For a second, it looked like he was going down.

But he got his feet back underneath him and started running again.

A lanky, old man came out of the same bar, waving his cane in the air every few steps. Stop, thief! That fat baby stole my wallet!

Who you calling fat?! Baby New Year yelled at the old man.

I pointed at the old man. Ha! Do you see that? Diaper guy’s a thief!

The old man was half-running, half-hopping, trying to catch up to Baby New Year.

Baby New Year shimmied, indulging in a little victory dance.

Don’t you shake your butt at me, you pathetic excuse for a parade float. When I catch up with you, I’m gonna teach you to respect your elders.

What’s wrong with you? Put the phone away and go help the old guy.

No way. This is Chicago. Interfering in ongoing criminal activity could get a person shot.

I stared at him, flabbergasted. "I thought you said Wrigleyville was safe."

"Safe is a relative term. Besides, the cops can use my footage to ID diaper guy. And bonus, if anything exciting happens, we can sell it to the evening news and prove your mom right…all the way to the bank."

My mouth fell so open, I almost got frostbite on my tonsils.

What? Mike asked, giving me an innocent look.

When did you become such an opportunist?

Since we had a baby and our bills doubled. Although I prefer to think of it as being gently mercenary.

Mike’s phone went dark.

Crap. My battery’s dead. I can’t believe I’m not going to get footage of this. Do you have your phone?

The man was shaking his cane at Baby New Year, and hobbling as fast as he could, but he was getting winded.

No, I lied, irritated. Go and get involved.

We have a baby and you don’t carry your cell phone? Since when?

What does it matter? It doesn’t take video.

Mike made a face. You should have upgraded that dinosaur four years ago.

I don’t want a smarter-than-me phone. You annoy me enough with yours.

You have a camera, don’t you? Even old flip phones take photos.

I stared at him. My storage is maxed out. Go help.

Mike’s mouth opened, shut and opened again. "How do you live?"

Baby New Year lost his footing, trying to avoid one of the city’s cat-sized super rats, but this time, he went down and the wallet went flying.

He got up, scrambled after it, and slipped on another patch of ice.

Meanwhile, the old man was closing the gap. I could almost hear him chuckling between wheezes, as he plotted his revenge.

Are you really going to let that frail old man get flattened by a clumsy, half-naked mugger? What is our daughter going to think when she grows up?

Mike sighed. Fine. But if anything happens to me, it’s going to be your fault.

He’s wearing a diaper. What’s he going to do, fling poop at you?

He could be carrying concealed.

I rolled my eyes. The only thing he’s got concealed is shriveled up and useless.

I’d better get points for playing hero. Mike muttered, as he stepped off the curb and jogged across the street.

But the old man got to Baby New Year first.

Just because I can’t walk without a cane, doesn’t mean I can’t stand without a cane, you sweaty piece of crap, he said, as he started whacking Baby New Year with his cane.

One hard smack across the shins, and the big guy went down again. Another smack on the hand, Baby New Year yelped and dropped the wallet.

The old man snatched it up with a cackle of triumph, quickly checking through his cash and credit cards.

Baby New Year got on his feet and in an impressive, hopping-limping-running motion, managed to jump on a Clark Street bus as it pulled away.

You’d better run, you turkey, the old man hollered, shaking his fist. Next time you pick on an old person, you’re gonna get a walker shoved where the sun don’t shine.

See? You worry too much. It all worked out, Mike said, walking back to me as the old guy hobbled back to the bar. "Good thing for Diaper