by Susan Wiggs
“That’s like asking me to help Rembrandt paint,” Tess objected.
“She’s very gifted, isn’t she?” Ernestina fussed over the centerpiece.
“I wonder why she never pursued it as a career.”
“Maybe she will, one day.” Ernestina paused. “Maybe she’ll have to.” Tess’s expression must have betrayed her, because Ernestina added, “I know about the foreclosure. I know Bella Vista will have to be sold.”
Tess nodded, her chest tight with regrets. “There’s enough for wages through the end of the year, but after that...”
“After that we’ll need a miracle.”
“Right.”
“Go help your sister.”
Tess returned to the kitchen. She paused in the doorway, watching Isabel arranging the turkey in a roasting pan. She worked with unconscious grace, and whatever she was thinking made her luminous, her eyes soft, her mouth turned into a tiny smile. Or maybe she wasn’t thinking at all. When Isabel cooked, she did it with love.
“Ernestina made the prettiest centerpiece,” said Tess.
“She has a knack. She makes candles from local beeswax, too.”
“We should take a Thanksgiving dinner to Magnus in the hospital,” Tess said. “I mean, I know he can’t eat it, but...maybe it’s silly...”
“It’s a lovely thought. I say we do it.” Isabel motioned her over to the sideboard. “You’re going to make the dressing.”
“Oh, no. No way. You’re not saddling me with that. Dressing polarizes people. I am not going to be responsible for making the dressing everyone will remember as the worst in Thanksgiving history.”
“It’s going to be delicious. Get another cup of coffee, and then I’ll show you.”
They worked side by side, and Tess found it unexpectedly relaxing, all the chopping and mixing, chatting with her sister while she worked. Eventually, the talk drifted to speculation about their father. What had happened? What was Carlos Maldonado’s part in the drama? It was still a puzzle, the solution dangling just out of reach.
The day lightened, though the weather stayed damp and gloomy, the sky a dramatic iron-gray. The kitchen windows steamed up from the cooking, and the smells that filled the air nearly made Tess swoon.
At midmorning, Charlie clamored at the back door, and it swished open. In walked Dominic on a swirl of cold wind, the kids right behind him. He carried a wooden wine crate, and the kids had bunches of amber-colored mums.
The dizzying heart rush was by now a familiar sensation to Tess. She no longer even bothered to pretend she wasn’t crazy about him.
“Hey, you,” he said, coming up behind her and nuzzling her cheek.
“You’re indecently early,” she accused, practically melting against him. “We’re still in our bathrobes.” She felt the children watching them. “Hi, guys,” she said.
“Don’t worry, we know Dad likes you,” Antonio said.
“He does, does he?”
“He like likes you,” the little boy added.
Tess grinned. “Good to know.”
“Can we watch the Thanksgiving Day parade?” asked Trini.
“Sure,” said Isabel, washing her hands. “I’ll put the TV on in the family room.”
The kids followed her out of the kitchen. Tess nestled her cheek against Dominic’s shoulder, inhaling his scent. Then she turned in his arms, took his face between her hands and lifted up on tiptoe to kiss him.
“This feels like my lucky day,” he said. “What’s that for?”
She laughed. “Because I like you.”
He skimmed his knuckles along her jawline. “The feeling’s mutual.”
Rising up on tiptoe, she whispered, “I love you, Dominic Rossi. I never want to leave you.”
“Sorry, what? That’s my bad ear.”
“I...” Tess was appalled at herself. Had she really just said that? She was just so caught up in this tumult of emotion, she no longer trusted herself. She was afraid to say it again, afraid he might not welcome her declaration, afraid she might be fooling herself about this man. She gave him another kiss. “Tell you what. I’m going to take the kids some hot chocolate and watch the parade with them.”
“I heard that,” said Isabel, returning to the kitchen. “You still have to finish making the dressing.”
“I will, I promise,” Tess said. “After hot chocolate, okay?”
A few minutes later, she was hunkered down with Trini and Antonio, keeping a tally of the floats. “What’s the coolest one so far?” she asked.
“Godzilla, for sure,” said Antonio.
“Tintin’s my favorite,” said Trini. “I’m collecting all the books.”
“I like the giant wedge of cheese myself,” said Tess. “How’s the hot chocolate?”
“Good.” Antonio swirled his spoon in his mug. “Can I have another marshmallow?”
“In the kitchen.”
“So do you really like my dad?” Trini asked after he’d gone.
“Yes,” Tess said, unequivocally. It felt ridiculously good to say it. But...love? Did she? Could she?
“I can tell you like him. I can tell by the way you sometimes stare at his mouth.”
“You’re very observant.”
“Are you in love with him?”
Yes. “I might be, one of these days.”
“That’s nuts. Either you love somebody or you don’t.”
“It’s not always so simple. You have to like someone first, and sometimes it grows and turns into love.”
“How does that happen?”
“It’s...mysterious. You just like someone more and more, and eventually you realize you love him.”
“My dad, you mean.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Good lord, had she really just told Dominic’s child she was falling in love with him?
“How long does it take?”
“It’s different for different people. Love takes time.”
“I loved Iggy as soon as Dad brought him home. I didn’t know him, and then he walked through the door, and wham—I loved him.”
“Sometimes it works that way, too,” Tess said. “I bet when you were born, your dad took one look at you, and he felt the wham.”
“I don’t get why love stops.”
“That’s a hard one. Sometimes it’s just a mystery. It doesn’t always stop, though.”
“She’s right,” Dominic said quietly from the doorway.
“No fair eavesdropping,” Tess said, her cheeks burning even hotter. “We’re having girl talk.”
“I speak girl,” he said.
“Barely,” Trini muttered.
“Hey.” He took her mug and set it aside, then scooped her onto his lap.
Watching them, Tess finally put a name to the crazy ride of emotions that had taken her over. She was in love.
With Dominic Rossi.
But more than that, she loved his children, and his life in Archangel. She had come to savor the languid pace of the small town, the orchards and vineyards, the neighborly charm of farm stands and homemade goods, shared meals and living close to nature.
The life she thought she wanted had silently, stealthily fallen away as her heart opened up to something brand-new. Everything she used to think was important had changed. She was in love for the first time. It felt exhilarating and risky, like jumping off a cliff and discovering she could fly.
* * *
“You look different,” said her mother, adding vodka to the shaker of spiced cranberry cocktails. She wasn’t much of a cook, but she knew her bar drinks, and this was her contribution to the feast.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Tess. “I suppose I’ve gained weight, with all of the incredible food here.” Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed a hand down the front of her sweater.
“Taste.” Her mother strained a drink into a crystal highball glass. “Tell me if it needs anything.”
“Delicious,” she said.
A shout went up from the
adjacent family room, where everyone was watching the football game. “Go, go, go, go, score!” It turned out Father Tom, the Navarros and Dominic had some bets going, and the action was ramping up. The priest, once a quarterback for Gonzaga, was utterly cutthroat about winning.
“More cinnamon?” asked Shannon.
“No, I think the cinnamon stick in the glass is just right.”
“It’s not that you’ve gained weight,” Shannon mused. “It’s something else....”
“I needed a break from work. Jude claims I’m committing career suicide, though.”
“Are you?” her mother asked sharply.
Tess was actually able to laugh at that. “I’m good at what I do. If Sheffield lets me go, I’ll find something else. Something better.” The very thought of losing a job she loved used to send her in a panic. Now she felt a new kind of confidence. The foolish kind, probably.
Shannon put the finishing touches on the cranberry cocktails and handed one to Tess. “Not to toot my own horn, but these are going to do justice to Isabel’s appetizers. Cheers.”
“Cheers, Mom.” Tess took a small sip of her drink. “I’m glad you came back,” she added.
“You’re going to be even gladder when I tell you what I found out about Carlos Maldonado.”
“What?”
“You didn’t think I was simply going to walk away from you when you needed me, did you?” Shannon looked at her for a moment, then sighed. “You did think that. Tess, I went away because I wanted to help you. I didn’t make any promises, because I wasn’t sure I was going to find any information you don’t already have. One of my researchers used to be a forensics archivist for the state patrol, and he supplied some details of Erik’s accident. Oh, and I visited Beatrice, his widow.”
Tess was stunned. “What did you find out?”
“That there’s still hope of finding the egg. Carlos Maldonado was not the hero his father was. According to his widow, he had a bad gambling problem. He needed money, and he needed it fast.”
“The egg,” said Tess, her grip tightening on her glass. “He must have realized its value. It didn’t keep him from drowning, though, almost immediately after Erik—my father—was killed.”
“My friend in the highway department doesn’t think the drowning was an accident. It’s classified as a cold case—unsolved. But Beatrice gave me an interesting tip. She drove away from the Maldonado estate with nothing but the clothes on her back, her little girl and a trunk full of odds and ends.” Shannon polished off her drink and poured another. “Now you’ve got problems. You’re going to have to pay a visit to Dominic’s ex.”
Twenty-Seven
“I have a dilemma,” Tess said to Lourdes Maldonado. “I wonder if you’d be willing to discuss it with me.”
Without speaking, Lourdes held open the door to her house. It was a small place in town with a fenced yard littered with kids’ toys. Inside, there was a vaguely musty smell nearly masked by the scent of a bayberry candle and freshly cut pine. The entryway was cluttered with shoes, coats and unopened mail. A couple of laundry baskets crowded the hallway.
Lourdes looked exhausted, even though it was early evening. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, coming here. I told you, I’ve been trying to put us back together—”
“Like I said before, that’s between you and Dominic—”
“There can’t be anything between me and Dominic so long as you’re around.”
“Look, this has nothing to do with my personal situation. I’m trying to help my sister. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
Tess took a deep breath to compose herself. She hadn’t told either Dominic or Isabel about the theory she and her mother had come up with at Thanksgiving. She needed to check it out on her own first. Shannon had tracked down Carlos Maldonado’s widow in Placerville. A far cry from the heartbroken young mother Tess had imagined, Beatrice Maldonado—now Beatrice Perkins—did not harbor cherished memories of her first husband. He’d been a drinker and gambler, and he ran with a rough crowd. After the drowning, Beatrice had left Archangel and made a new life for herself. Carlos had died in debt and intestate; she’d ended up with a financial mess, and a small collection of keepsakes and personal items, which she’d subsequently passed on to her daughter, Lourdes.
“I’ve been trying to help her find something that was lost. It’s a Johansen family heirloom, something that’s really important to her and her grandfather.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about or why you’d come to me with this.”
“I’d love to explain it to you, if you have some time.”
Lourdes expelled a dramatic sigh. “Come on in. I have nothing against Isabel. I know it must be terrible for her, what happened to her grandfather.”
Tess stepped farther into the living room. This was the home Lourdes and Dominic had shared, which she’d kept in the divorce. No wonder Dominic was such a neatnik, his home sparsely decorated. The decor here was busy with painted furniture, brass lamps, embellished mirrors and framed school photos of the children.
“Your tree is lovely,” said Tess. It was a noble fir, at least ten feet tall, dripping with lights and ornaments of all sorts.
“The kids and I decorated. We always go over the top with the tree.”
For a moment, Tess felt a wave of nostalgia, sweeping her back to her childhood Christmases in Dublin with Nana. It was often just the two of them, with Shannon away at work, but they made it cozy with cream scones from the neighborhood bakery, spiced tea, carols playing on the stereo.
As an adult, Tess practiced rigorous Christmas avoidance. She attended a few parties, but prior to the holiday she took off for someplace like Thailand or Mumbai, where Christmas was just another day. Often her mother would meet her somewhere and the two of them would exchange gifts and go out to dinner, and that would be that. She told herself Christmas was overrated. Families got together, and there was awkwardness and squabbling. Invariably someone had too much to drink and someone else got her feelings hurt, a gift didn’t fit or failed to please. There was an overabundance of food, especially sweets, a feeling of uncomfortable excess. A family holiday was never really the warm and fuzzy time it was cracked up to be.
In the deepest part of herself, she didn’t believe any of that. But she had to tell herself so just to keep from wanting something she couldn’t have.
Maybe this year, things would be different. She had Isabel. She’d been told the party at Bella Vista was not to be missed. Everyone on the estate gathered for a Christmas Eve feast. Father Tom would stop by on his way to celebrate midnight mass to offer a blessing. Tess knew the traditions would have a deeper meaning this year, with everyone’s hearts yearning for Magnus to heal.
“I’ll get you a glass of wine.” Lourdes went to the kitchen. “I’ll get us both a glass.”
“I don’t...” Tess changed her mind. “On the other hand, I’d like that.”
Listening to the clinking of glass in the other room, she blinked and looked at the Christmas tree. Other people’s Christmas trees had always held a peculiar fascination for her. She and Nana used to keep it simple—a few choice bone china ornaments, glittery balls, fairy lights and a few treasures from Things Forgotten. Lourdes’s tree was far more elaborate, covered in gold ornaments, mostly flashy glass bulbs. On the lower, sturdier branches hung the heavier ornaments, some made of pottery or carved wood or resin. There were a few doughy-looking creations that had probably been crafted by children through the years.
A light sparkled over the burnished golden curve of a Christmas ball. Frowning, she bent down to inspect the flash that had caught her eye. The ornament was shaped like a large, shiny egg. She didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. Reaching through the branches of the tree, she unhooked the golden ball.
Instantly she knew—this was a glass bulb, painted gold from the inside. Pretty, but hardly the treasure she was looking for. Feeling foolish, she looked for a plac
e to rehang the bauble. She found a spot down low, amid the homespun carvings and school projects. She paused to look at one, a framed Polaroid photo showing a beautiful little girl with dark hair and large, dark eyes, a laughing mouth. She sat at the knee of a handsome man with a moustache; Tess recognized Carlos from her research. As she reached in toward the trunk of the tree, the needles of the fir tree brushed over her arm. The back of her hand brushed something heavy, hanging amid humble ornaments on the lowest branch of the tree, beside a thick clay imprint of a child’s hand and a moss-clad nativity scene.
It was weighty, its finish a dull yellow. As she lifted it toward her, she stopped breathing again. Working gingerly, she unhooked the object and freed it from the lighted branches. This time, there was no mistake.
The egg was slightly larger than she’d imagined it. And infinitely, immeasurably more elaborate. Clad in a basket of the most delicate gold filigree, its surface was tarnished by time and neglect.
Holy mother of God. She was holding the treasure in her hand. The golden surface felt warm and alive with stories. Simply cradling it between her palms transported her. She freed the delicate latch and opened it to find the interior filled with Christmas candy.
“I didn’t ask if you prefer red or white,” said Lourdes, coming into the room with two glasses of wine on a tray. “I’m guessing white for you.”
Tess composed herself and straightened up, dusting herself off. She kept her face completely impassive. “White’s fine,” she said. “Thank you.” She knew what she had to do. This was her job, separating people from their treasures. It was common to her experience to find artifacts where they didn’t belong. Her task was to put things right. But never had the stakes been higher.
She closed and latched the egg and held it by the slender wire attached to it, causing it to slowly turn. The sensation gave her the shivers. “Do you know where this came from?”
Lourdes took a gulp of wine. “It’s been around for decades. After my father died, my mother found it in a box of my father’s things, carnival prizes he’d won, lottery ticket stubs, other Christmas ornaments, toys he meant to give me but never did. It was probably with all his other things.” She handed Tess a glass of wine.
