Catch

By Michelle D. Argyle

**Catch is a novella. It will take most readers 1 or 2 hours to read.**

When eighteen-year-old Miranda chases a purse snatcher on the Las Vegas Strip, the last thing she expects is for the pursuit to turn into an extended game of hide-and-seek. All Miranda wants are the old black and white photographs buried at the bottom of her purse. They’re the only things she has left of the grandmother she never knew. But how much is she willing to put on the line to save them? And is it possible she’s falling in love with a thief?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle D. Argyle
• Release date: Sep 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301857067

Michelle D. Argyle

Michelle lives and writes in Utah, surrounded by the Rocky Mountains. She finds every excuse possible to go hiking and be outdoors. Michelle mainly writes contemporary fiction, but occasionally branches into other genres.

Book preview

Also By Michelle D. Argyle

The Breakaway

Pieces (The Breakaway #2)

Unbroken (The Breakaway #3)

Out of Tune

If I Forget You

Streets of Glass

Monarch

Bonded

True Colors & Other Short Stories

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Catch / Second Edition

Copyright © 2018 Michelle D. Argyle

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, printing, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Summary: Eighteen-year-old Miranda falls in love with a purse snatcher in Las Vegas while vacationing with her family.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Diane Dalton

Cover design and formatting by Melissa Williams Design

1.

Miranda’s parents had gone overboard in planning this last family vacation before she went off to college. The next five days were packed to the brim with activities organized around her father’s business convention. She should have been excited, but it all felt so inevitably predictable. Just like her life. As much as she sometimes wished for something unplanned and exciting to happen, she knew it was a reckless hunger. She had once told her fifteen-year-old sister, Julia, If you look for excitement, you’ll probably find trouble.

But maybe a little trouble would be worth it.

Okay, girls. Miranda’s mother, Gabriela, flung a suitcase onto one of the hotel beds and unzipped the top. I’ve brought something for you two to do while we’re here.

Like there’s not enough entertainment in Vegas already? Julia asked as she sank into a chair by the window and dropped her sunglasses on the table. She looked the most like their mother, with darker skin and full, curly black hair inherited from Gabriela’s Brazilian genes. Those genes had skipped Miranda entirely. She looked most like her father, with fair skin and straight, light brown hair. The most exotic things about her were her long, black eyelashes, full lips, and bushy eyebrows she had to pluck nearly every day.

Of course there’s enough entertainment, their mother replied with a small pout, but this is . . . this is different. She pulled a small white box from her bag and slid off the top. You two got to know Grandpa pretty well before he died, but he never talked much about your Grammy. I want you two to get to know her better.

Here we go, Julia groaned as she slowly fist-pumped the air. Another march into the Brazilian roots!

Miranda smirked and looked out the window at the city sprawling below. They were on the sixth floor of the Las Vegas Hilton, and she was only now beginning to cool off from the dry July heat outside as the air conditioner blasted cold air up her sweat-damp shirt.

These are the pictures we saved? Julia asked as she jumped onto the bed and peered into the white box. Miranda watched them over her shoulder, remembering how devastated their mother had been when that stupid flood destroyed the few boxes of memorabilia they had of Grandma and Grandpa Soares. They had managed to save one box with a few pictures and some knickknacks, but Miranda hadn’t paid much attention to them at the time. She was too busy mourning the loss of her baby scrapbook, which was now a water-warped mess.

Yes, these are from her first trip to Vegas. It was 1967—when Elvis married Priscilla at The Aladdin, and Howard Hughes started buying hotels, to give you some sense of the time period.

Who was Howard Hughes? Julia asked, snapping her watermelon gum.

Miranda laughed. Leonardo Dicaprio? she hinted. "That movie The Aviator? Howard Hughes was one of the richest men in the world, ever."

Julia shook her head. No clue who you’re talking about.

Well, it doesn’t matter, Gabriela sighed as she lifted old photographs from the box. What matters is that you two get to know your Grammy through these pictures.

Walking to the bed, Miranda picked up one of the pictures and studied it. Her Grandma Soares had the same dark coloring as Julia. In the black and white photograph, she was wearing an old-fashioned dress with big shiny buttons going all the way up the front. She leaned against a light-colored Chevy, her face half covered with a huge pair of white sunglasses. On her head was a floppy sunhat.

Miranda smiled. Looks like she walked straight out of Hollywood.

Well, we don’t live far from there, now do we? Gabriela laughed. Miranda’s parents had lived in Santa Ana forever, even before they’d met and married . . . and Miranda feared she would live there forever too. That was why she had been so desperate to go to college somewhere other than California. She’d always had an itch to travel and move around. She didn’t like the idea of being stuck in one place for the rest of her life. Being stuck meant even less excitement than she already had.

How old was she in these? Julia asked as she thumbed through a stack of photos.

Eighteen—your age, Miranda. She and her older sister, Veronica, came here to Vegas for the very first time.

Miranda picked up a few more pictures. Some of them were in color, but most of them were black and white. Gabriela sifted through the pictures until she found a neat stack held together with a rubber band. She pulled off the band and handed Miranda the photos. There were at least a dozen snapshots of the two sisters in front of buildings—The Flamingo Hotel, The Riviera, The Aladdin, Caesars Palace, and a bunch of others Miranda had never heard of. Half of them probably weren’t even around anymore. Her grandmother looked so happy and excited, and in every shot she had an arm wrapped around her sister’s waist, hugging her close. In a lot of ways, they looked similar to her and Julia.

I thought you two could go to each of those locations—if they still exist—and take a photo just like your grandmother and great aunt did. Create some memories, and then we can put them all together in an album. Gabriela’s eyes sparkled as she looked up at Miranda. It’ll be an adventure. She moved her attention to Julia. I know this trip wasn’t something you really wanted to do, but humor me for this? Please?

Miranda saw the desperation in her mother’s eyes, and it hit her in the gut. All those hours Gabriela spent learning Portuguese, all that time in the kitchen trying to learn Brazilian cooking, it all had to do with connecting to her mother in the only way she knew how. For the first time in her life, Miranda felt a small spark of motivation to help her find that connection.

Sure, Mom, she said, putting her hand on her mother’s. We’ll go out and take the pictures. She grabbed all the photos and stacked them into a nice, thick pile and stretched the rubber band around them.

Thanks, girls. I’ll be at your dad’s convention tomorrow. You can go first thing in the morning after breakfast. I know you’ll have fun.

Julia rolled her eyes and slid off the bed. Sounds like a blast, she sighed as Miranda dropped the photos in her handbag for later. Better than the convention, at least.

♠

Well, it doesn’t look anything like it did in 1967, Julia said as she and Miranda stood below the gaudy Flamingo Hotel and Casino sign. It hung over the sidewalk, bright pink and orange and in the shape of flamingo feathers. In Grammy’s picture, the sign wasn’t attached to the building but still had the same basic shape. Miranda couldn’t tell what the colors had been back then since the photo was in black and white. She wasn’t even sure the hotel had been in the same place. She squinted at the picture and then up at the sign above them. People bustled around them, sweating under the hot sun. Julia wiped her brow. Maybe we should go inside. I’m so tired I’m going to fall over.

Hang in there, Jules. We only have Caesar’s Palace and Planet Hollywood left, Miranda said, turning around. Caesar’s is, like, right across the street. She pointed in the direction of a white pedestrian bridge stretching across the busy road. See? Then we can take a break before we head down to Planet Hollywood.

That one’s not in any of the pictures, Julia complained.

It used to be The Aladdin, remember?

Oh, yeah.

Then after that we’ll go back to our hotel and sleep for the rest of the day if you want.

Julia heaved a sigh and started turning in circles to find someone who might be willing to take the picture for them. They had done this five times now, and Miranda’s feet hurt so badly she thought they might fall off. They had to finish this. They had to give her mom these pictures. She wasn’t sure why it was such a deep need for her now, but as she and Julia had trekked down the Strip and looked at the pictures of Grammy and her sister, trying to pose in the exact same positions for their own pictures, she had felt a strong connection to her grandmother. She had been a real person, just like her, in a city that must have been exciting and wild and fun. Had she fought with her