Wishes for Christmas

by Fern Michaels

  “Did we do good or what?” Dennis said happily.

  “It doesn’t get any better than this, Dennis,” Harry said.

  His eye on the clock for the gang’s benefit, Pastor Tennyson gave the signal that Christmas dinner was now being served.

  Once everyone had been served and the blessing was over, Pastor Tennyson held up his glass of apple juice and said, “Merry Christmas, everyone!”

  The return greeting could be heard a block away as the flock and the gang shouted, “Merry Christmas to one and all!”

  “I hear the angels singing,” Harry whispered to Yoko.

  “I hear them, too, Harry, and Lily is singing the loudest! And you know what else? I just heard Cooper bark.”

  “You heard that?” Harry asked in awe.

  “I did, my husband. I did.”

  Naughty or Nice

  Prologue

  December 2015

  Teresa Amelia Loudenberry—known as “Toots” to friends and family and “Nana Tootsie” to her precious grandchildren, twins Jonathan and Amy—stood in the center of the formal living room of the home she shared with her adored and adoring husband, Dr. Phillip Becker, inspecting the Christmas decor in order to make sure it was historically accurate, looking just as it had more than two hundred years ago. She and Phil, along with Sophie, Goebel, Abby, and Chris, had spent months researching and locating antique Christmas ornaments exclusive to the late eighteenth century, since they were all participating in the annual holiday showcase of historic homes.

  Donations would be accepted but were not necessary. They had all agreed that whatever money was collected would be donated to the new organization Toots and Phil had recently started, Hope for Heroes. It was their hope to build as many homes as possible for those hundreds of war veterans returning from overseas. A new start, a small reward for their service. It was her latest endeavor, and she planned to make this as successful as her other charitable organizations. Maybe even more so, given the necessity. She focused her thoughts back on the present.

  Strangers would be traipsing in and out of their home, and Toots knew that a few of her snooty South Carolina so-called friends would also take advantage of the opportunity to get a bird’s-eye view of her Southern mansion. And knowing some of them, they wouldn’t bother dropping one red cent into her latest and, to her, most important project to date. Knowing her critics, meaning those “so-called friends,” who were really nothing more than a bunch of rich old women with nothing better to do, she realized that they would note every imperfection. Over the next four weeks, from six to eight in the evening, when her doors were open, Toots planned to disappoint them. She and Phil had hired a team of Charleston’s hottest holiday designers, Blanche Harding and Associates.

  Their charges were astronomical, but Toots didn’t care. Some would have squawked at such a large sum, but she knew she would get her money’s worth, and then some. Personally, she disliked Blanche intensely, but the woman’s decorating eye was spot on, and her specialty was Southern plantation homes. If asked, neither Toots nor Phil could say anything nice about her other than that. They had both observed the way she treated her underlings on more than one occasion since she had been hired, and they most definitely did not like what they had observed. After the holidays, Toots planned to give the snooty, pumped-up harridan a piece of her mind.

  She walked over to the fireplace and moved the exquisite crystal candleholders away from the edge. Now three years old, Jonathan and Amy were growing by leaps and bounds. She was sure that if either of them chose to, they could reach the delicate crystal and topple it over. Satisfied that the tapered red candles and holders wouldn’t cause harm to her grandchildren, Toots stepped back to admire the decorators’ work.

  The fragrant evergreens flanking the floor-to-ceiling windows filled the room with the sharp scent of pine. The sweet-smelling magnolia blooms, which she had personally picked from her trees, had been placed in exquisite vases throughout the main room. The hoity-toity Blanche had insisted that the main room was to be referred to as the “parlor.” To Toots, it was simply a beautiful formal living area that in no way was off-limits to anyone, especially not her grandchildren. However, for the month of December, she would allow the fine citizens of Charleston to parade through her “parlor.”

  The focal point of her “parlor” was the twelve-foot Fraser fir in the corner, beside two large windows. Velvet red and green ribbons tied in large bows, hundreds of miniature white lights, and the many antique ornaments Toots had collected made her tree unique, one of a kind. Blanche Harding thought the lights too modern, but there was no way Toots was going to have a tree as gorgeous as this without Christmas lights. She knew candles were used back in the day, and she also knew many a home had been destroyed by fire. No, she’d stick to store-bought lights. Let someone else take a chance with the candles.

  Christmas was her very favorite time of the year. The decorations, the sweet smell of baking, packages wrapped in bright, shiny colors, the added cheerfulness of store clerks, and most of all, the looks she was bound to see on Jonathan’s and Amy’s faces when they opened their present this year, or rather when they saw their present, as it was much too big to wrap. Last year they’d been excited, but as most toddlers did, when their presents were opened and tossed to the side, they had more fun playing with the ribbons and boxes. This year would be different. Both had a vocabulary that could rival that of a ten-year-old, and they knew all about Christmas. Abby and Chris had taught them the true meaning of the holiday, and every time Toots would ask the children what they wanted for Christmas, both would respond with, “We want to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to the baby Jesus first,” and then they would recite a litany of the latest board games they wanted.

  Toots was sure Abby was never this smart at such a young age, but she knew the times were much different. Jonathan and Amy each had their own iPad mini, and both were quite proficient as they navigated their way through the many apps that were for older children. Both knew how to write their name, they knew their address and phone number, and just in case that wasn’t enough, they knew they were to call 911 in an emergency. They were still having a bit of trouble distinguishing what a true emergency was, but Toots had faith in Abby’s and Chris’s parenting skills.

  She smiled when she thought of her daughter and how her life had changed. At one time, Abby had lived and breathed Hollywood gossip; she had spent several years working as a tabloid reporter. Of course, when Toots had learned that Abby might lose her job at The Informer, she had purchased the tabloid on the sly and had made Abby the editor in chief. This was all behind the scenes, but when Abby was kidnapped by the paper’s former owner/editor and held for ransom, Toots had had no choice. She’d revealed that it was she who’d purchased the struggling tabloid.

  Abby was appreciative, and never once had she accused Toots of trying to control her career. Abby thought it was a grand gesture to this very day, and even though Toots had given Abby the deed to The Informer on the day of her baby shower, and it now belonged exclusively to her, Abby had allowed Josh, a onetime cub reporter, to climb the ranks, and now the day-to-day duties were his alone. Abby had said she didn’t have a reporter’s instincts anymore, but Toots wasn’t so sure about that. Once a reporter, always a reporter.

  Abby’s reporting instincts had simply been transferred to the twins. She investigated every source of food that went into their mouths; every toy they owned was checked and rechecked for safety and recalls, just in case; and last but not least, Abby refused to use any product of any kind that wasn’t organic. Personally, Toots thought this was taking things a bit too far, but she kept those thoughts to herself. She respected Abby’s decisions and always did as she asked. Well, almost always.

  She remembered that just last week she’d brought home dozens of cookies from The Sweetest Things, the bakery she and Jamie owned in Charleston. She’d let both children have three cookies apiece. Abby was okay with one, because she knew the goodies at the bak
ery were made with top-quality ingredients, but sugar was sugar regardless. Sugar was something Toots would never give up, but she wouldn’t even think about getting the grandkids addicted to the stuff. Nor would she smoke around them. She was down to just a couple of cigarettes a day, thanks to the new vapor smokes she’d started using. Her and Sophie’s days as bona fide smokers were coming to an end. Maybe.

  She swept another glance over the room, making sure everything was in its place. Tonight was the first night of the parade of homes, and if there were any last-minute details she needed to attend to, now was the time. She walked the length of the room, stopped to fluff several red velvet pillows on her emerald-green sofa, which she thought just happened to be a perfect match to her Christmas tree. She refolded a soft golden fleece throw that the decorators had casually placed over the arm of one of her newly reupholstered cherry-red, Queen Anne–style chairs facing the fireplace. The room was a bit too overdone with antiques, but for now, it was what it was. After the holidays were over, she would put the antiques she’d had Phil and Goebel bring downstairs back in their rightful places in the upstairs guest bedrooms.

  Seeing that everything was in perfect order, at least by her standards, Toots whirled out of the room like a tornado. She had a long to-do list to get through before six o’clock tonight, when she would officially open her home up for all of Charleston to see.

  When Abby had approached her with the idea, she’d had doubts about opening her home to strangers, but Abby had convinced her to join in, and it’d been her idea to use this opportunity as a fund-raiser for Hope for Heroes. Abby and Chris had spent hours researching the Clay/Clayton Plantation, as their home was called in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Toots had become quite the expert on the old plantation’s history, which reminded her that she’d promised to bring Abby that old leather-bound book entitled The Book of Life and Death. She had found it in a box filled with Garland’s things and wanted to return it to its rightful owner, Chris, her stepson, her son-in-law, and Garland Clay’s son by his first marriage.

  Once they’d started planning, Toots and Phil had jumped right in feet first. Toots had convinced Sophie and Goebel to join in, too, since they’d just recently finished remodeling their new home.

  Ida had purchased a beautiful home on the Battery, where she and her husband, Daniel Townsend, were living, and Toots had invited them to join in, but Ida was adamant. She was not letting strangers in their house. Period. End of story. Instead, she and Daniel had donated a large sum to HFH, and for that, Toots was very appreciative.

  Mavis was staying with her while her husband of less than two years, Wade Powell, was away in connection with the funeral-parlor franchise operation they were setting up, and she’d been a godsend this past week. Toots was so lucky to have those she loved so close. Sophie, Ida, and Mavis, Abby’s godmothers, whom Toots had known since they were all teenagers, were located in Charleston now.

  Life was good and was about to get even better, when she revealed her secret surprise. Yes, this holiday promised to be one to go down in the record books—at least in her own.

  Chapter 1

  “No!” Abby shouted seconds before she caught the antique crystal vase that Amy was about to topple off the shelf. “This is not for little girls to play with. Remember what I said?”

  Amy, at three years old, was the spitting image of Abby. Abby thought that her daughter, with her big blue eyes, blond ringlets, and rosy red lips shaped in a perfect little Cupid’s bow, was quite exquisite. Ditto for Jonathan, though the feminine attributes looked anything but on Jonathan. He looked like a little man. Of the two, he was the more serious, just like his father. Amy, on the other hand—Abby was reluctant to voice these thoughts—was personality wise a miniature of her grandmother. Everything was funny to her. Only three, yet she could successfully tell jokes with a straight face, and most that she told were quite creative. Abby recalled last night’s joke.

  “Mommy,” Amy had said while Abby helped her into her pajamas.

  “Hmmm?”

  “What do you give a piggy when it’s sick?” Amy had asked.

  Abby had grinned, knowing this was another one of her daughter’s silly animal jokes. She’d been around Dogs Displaced by Disaster long enough to learn a few catchphrases.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

  Amy giggled, her little button nose scrunching up. “Oinkment!”

  Abby laughed loudly. “That’s very good, Amy! Did you make that up all by yourself?”

  She shook her head up and down. “Daddy said it was the best oink-oink joke in the world. Nana Tootsie said I was a true comeatdone.”

  “A what?” Abby asked.

  “A comeatdone.”

  “Ah, I think you mean a comedienne,” she said, correcting Amy.

  Her head bobbed up and down excitedly. “Yep, that’s what I am.”

  Abby kissed her plump cheeks and agreed. She moved the vase to a high shelf.

  Looking sheepish, Amy asked, “Am I in trouble?” Her blue eyes focused on the vase.

  Abby gave her a giant hug. “No, sweetie, not this time. But remember what we talked about? Pretty things are sometimes very old, and just touching them even a tiny bit can hurt them.”

  “And they can’t get fixed, either, right, Mommy?” Amy said, finishing for her.

  “Not always, but we were lucky this time. Let’s try to be very careful. Remember, we’re going to have a big Christmas house this year, and we want everything to look pretty.”

  “And sparkly, too, right?” Amy added. She reminded Abby of herself when she was little. Anything sparkly and shiny was always the best.

  “Lots and lots of sparkles. Now, I think it’s time for a break. What about you?” Abby asked as she scooped her daughter in her arms and twirled her around.

  Amy giggled. “Can we have apples with raisins and peanut butter?”

  “Absolutely,” said Abby as they entered the kitchen, where she found Chris busy slicing apples and filling little bowls with peanut butter and raisins. They really had this schedule thing down to an art.

  Jonathan was already seated at the table, waiting for his snack. Abby fluffed his blond curls, kissed his cheek, then placed Amy in the chair beside him.

  “You okay with them for a while? Charlotte is coming over so we can check for any last-minute decorating issues,” Abby said to Chris.

  “Absolutely. Nothing I’d rather be doing. Well, almost,” Chris said with a wink. “By the way, Sophie just called. Said she was stopping by to pick up whatever it was you ordered for her. She’s on her way over now.”

  “Good. I was hoping she’d stop over. You and I will talk later,” said Abby, returning the wink.

  Abby kissed the twins, who were busy dipping apple slices in peanut butter, then carefully sticking their raisins to the golden goo. “Be good for Daddy, okay?” she called out. She didn’t hear a response but wasn’t expecting one. Snack time was a very big deal in the Clay household.

  In the formal living room, she searched for the blown-glass candleholders she’d purchased for Sophie. Abby thought they would go perfectly with the silver theme Sophie had chosen this year. She found them tucked securely inside their box filled with protective bubble wrap, just as she’d left them when they were delivered. After discovering Amy’s little hands reaching for her own delicate candleholders, Abby had wanted to make sure her prying little fingers didn’t find their way inside this box. Amy was a very curious little girl. Just like I was at that age, Abby thought. Maybe she’ll be a reporter, a serious reporter. Reporting real news, not Hollywood fluff, like she had. Distracted by her thoughts, Abby jumped when she turned around to see Sophie framing the doorway. She placed a hand over her heart. “You scared the bejesus out of me!”

  “Sorry, Abs,” Sophie said. “You looked like you were deep in thought. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

  Abby gave her godmother the once-over. Dark jeans with a red silk blouse. With h
er chocolate-colored hair hanging loose, she could easily take ten years off her age and still be in her sixties. “You amaze me, but you know that,” she said.

  Sophie being Sophie, she rolled her eyes, but she grinned, showing her pearly whites. “Of course I know that. Remember, I’m psychic?”

  How could she not? Abby thought. Her abilities as an up-and-coming world-renowned psychic had changed all their lives. And mostly for the best. She hugged Sophie, then stepped back. “How could I forget? Those abilities saved my life, or did you forget?” Sophie’s skill as a psychic had led police to Abby’s location when she’d been kidnapped by that sick puppy she’d worked for at The Informer. Rag, aka Rodwell Archibald Godfrey. Idiot, she thought but tucked the memory away for another time.

  “My best work to date, if you want my opinion,” Sophie stated matter-of-factly.

  “Don’t forget those two missing kids. I think that’s your best work to date, if you want my opinion, and I know you don’t, but you’re getting it, anyway.”

  “You’re starting to sound exactly like your mother,” said Sophie.

  Abby laughed. “I’m taking that as a compliment. Mom is good people.”

  Sophie nodded. “Toots is the best, no doubt about that, but if you tell her I said so, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “I’m shaking in my shoes,” Abby countered.

  “I’m sure. Now, show me those candleholders before I have to cast an evil spell on you,” Sophie teased.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Abby shot back.

  “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t and can’t, so you’re safe,” Sophie said.

  Abby located the box and carefully removed the antique candleholders, then, with extra care, handed them to Sophie. “So, what are your thoughts?” she asked expectantly, an air of excitement in her voice. The candleholders were a big find.

  Handblown in the early eighteenth century, the glass was delicate and light. Most likely crafted in Europe. The days of glassblowers of this caliber were long gone.