Wishes for Christmas

by Fern Michaels

  “So, any clue what’s going on?” he asked as he made a sharp left turn.

  “A jumble of different images hit me when I lit those candles. A man. A little girl, and . . . some kind of metal. Maybe a garbage can or something. I don’t know. At least that’s what I think I saw. . . . I’m working on putting the pieces together. Just get me there, Goebel, before it’s too late.”

  Chapter 6

  The “parlor” looked like something out of Architectural Digest. Though Toots hated to admit it, Blanche Harding and her team had transformed the room into a historical-holiday dream room to be envied. At the last minute, she’d begged Toots to allow her to add real candles to the trees, but Toots had remained adamant. No fires on her tree. Take it or leave it. Blanche had acted as though Toots was ignorant of certain “historically accurate thangs,” but not everyone could be expected to know as much as she did. Toots had wanted to smack her decorator, had wanted to tell her that the proper way to say “thangs” was “things,” but had decided it wasn’t the time for pettiness. Blanche had left after Toots refused to agree with her dangerous requests.

  Phil looked as handsome as ever. He wore a dark gray suit, and his silver tie matched her dress. She’d never been one of those women who wanted “her man” to match, but the tie was perfect. Just the right amount of elegance to let everyone see that they were a married couple who shared similar tastes in clothing. Frankly, she didn’t give a good rat’s ass what anyone thought. She was happy; her marriage to Dr. Phillip Becker was as good as she had thought it would be; and her daughter and son-in-law, who was also her stepson, along with her adorable grandchildren, were all thriving. Life didn’t get any better, she thought.

  “So?” Toots said to Phil. “Think we’ll have any crazies visiting our home tonight?”

  He laughed. “Toots, if we didn’t, the evening wouldn’t be a success. Of course we will. All those gossipmongers you have been telling me about the past two years are sure to be here any minute.” He looked at his watch. “And it’s time to open the doors.”

  Taking a deep breath, Toots unlocked the heavy wooden doors and pulled them aside. A large crowd had gathered on her front steps. She looked at the small table she’d set up at the entry, and the book she’d arranged on top for guests to sign. At the end of the tour, she had an area set up where donations were being accepted. She and Phil had hired a team of waitpersons to keep the desserts that Jamie had made flowing, and to make sure the pralines were in abundance.

  If all went according to plan during the month of December, Hope for Heroes would take in enough money to buy much-needed homes for the needy veterans. Since Bernice was such a coupon clipper these days, and Robert counted pennies as though his life depended on it, they’d volunteered to handle the donations. The finances of Toots’s latest charitable effort were in good hands tonight.

  The crowd formed a line. Some stopped to sign the guest book; others chose to race through the line to see the “parlor.”

  Toots heard bits of conversation as the fine folks of Charleston paraded through the room.

  “I would never leave this room if it were mine!” said a young woman.

  “Lovely!”

  “What’s that smell? It’s divine,” one woman remarked.

  “Look at the size of those trees!”

  “I bet this cost her a pretty penny,” said another.

  The group of Charleston’s wealthiest women finally arrived right before eight o’clock, the hour to close up shop for the evening, just as Toots had known they would. They’d never be so gauche as to arrive on time or during an event. Toots tucked a stray hair in place as she prepared to greet the old hags.

  “Mona Livingston, it’s been what? At least thirty years and then some. You are Mona Livingston?” Toots added the last question just for meanness, knowing full well it was she, but wanting to get in the first dig.

  Mona had not aged well. Too much time spent in her garden, tossing back vodka tonics, had taken a toll on her face, which was wrinkled as an old prune. If Toots were nice, she’d offer her some of Ida’s special cream and tell her what a difference it would make. But she wouldn’t, because she wanted the gossiping drunk to look as ugly on the outside as she was on the inside. Toots had heard that she was also mean to her gardener, and to his wife, who cleaned for her. Toots didn’t like mean, not one little bit. Ornery, yes. But pure meanness, not even a smidgen.

  “You know exactly who I am! I can see you’re still as . . . unsophisticated as you were the day you arrived in Charleston,” Mona huffed.

  Toots wanted to rub her hands together in anticipation of a good verbal brawl, but instead, she simply smiled. “Oh, Mona, I can’t believe you would even remember such an inconsequential day. I don’t.”

  Toots walked away from Mona before she had a chance to reply. Phil had been standing to the side and a bit behind Toots. He winked at her, letting his wife know he’d heard their conversation. She blew him a kiss and hoped like hell Mona was watching.

  Behind Mona came the self-appointed leader of what Toots thought of as the “old hags of Charleston,” Bethany Middleton-Spalling. Bethany could trace her ancestors back to the dinosaur age. Toots had had lunch with her once when she’d first moved to Charleston. All Mona had talked about were her family’s lineage and how sinful she thought it was to marry outside one’s station. She’d reminded Toots of a character in a Victoria Holt novel, minus the happy ending.

  “Beth, how nice of you to come. I just knew you and the girls”—she nodded to the two other women who were official members of the “old hags of Charleston”—“would show up. Nothing better to do, I’m guessing?” Toots smiled, her eyes alight with mischief.

  “In case you were unaware, I am currently the cochairwoman of Charleston’s historical society. I’m here to check for accuracy, nothing more.” Short and stocky, Beth, or Bethany, as she preferred, still wore the same short, blunt hairstyle she had sported when Toots had met her all those years ago and, for some reason, had tried to fit into all the right clubs. Fortunately, she’d learned very quickly that they weren’t her idea of fun, but their members had never really forgotten her. At least twice a year, she was invited to join some new ladies’ club, to attend some luncheon or other function, at which large donations were required. Toots donated to some of their causes but always anonymously. She had never needed or wanted their approval or their phony friendship.

  “I wasn’t aware of that. I would have thought by now you would’ve been made chairwoman, but I truly have been so busy traveling to and from California, I haven’t had time to keep up with every single detail. Regardless, I’m glad you stopped by. You have a Merry Christmas, dear,” Toots said, then walked away, not giving the cochairwoman a chance to make a riposte.

  Beth’s two puppets, who followed behind, didn’t bother to acknowledge the exchange they’d just witnessed. Toots figured the second the four made their final exit, their jaws would be flapping so fast, they’d stir up hurricane-force winds. She giggled at the image.

  Toots made her way to the main room, or rather the “parlor,” and saw a few people still lingering, admiring the trees. She made small talk with one young couple. As she spoke, she led them to the door. Three others followed, with only one couple remaining.

  Bernice pulled Toots aside before she had a chance to leave the room. “It’s after eight o’clock. Isn’t it time to shut down for the night? Robert’s dying for a cup of coffee, and I have to pee. And we both want to go home.”

  “Go on. I’ll see this couple to the door. And make a big pot of coffee. Phil and I will join you as soon as I lock the doors.”

  Twenty minutes later, Toots escorted the last couple out, then made sure that the front door was locked and the gates were closed for the night. Upstairs, in the room she shared with her husband, she traded her shimmery dress for a pair of jeans and a cherry-red T-shirt with a picture of a dachshund on the front.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, where the gang cong
regated, Toots expected to see Sophie and Goebel, maybe Chris or Abby, but was surprised when it was just Bernice, Robert, Phil, and Mavis.

  Rather than going upstairs to change, Phil had just removed his jacket and tie, tossing both over the back of his chair. He smiled when he saw her. “I love a redhead brave enough to wear red.” He nodded at her shirt.

  “It’s my favorite color, as you well know, dear husband. I wouldn’t dare to not wear red,” Toots said. She reached for the pot in the middle of the table, poured herself a cup, then added five heaping spoons of sugar. Half-and-half, too. She took a sip and sighed. “Ahhh. I needed this.”

  “The sugar or the cream?” Bernice asked. “You don’t have enough coffee in that mug for a pissant.”

  Toots flipped her off. “It’s all good, Bernice. You, of all people, should know by now how much I like my coffee loaded.”

  “Between the sugar and the cigarettes, you’re killing yourself,” her husband chimed in, as he always did when her bad habits were being discussed.

  She wanted to give him the finger, too, but decided not to, even though he’d watched her flip Bernice off. Another bad habit she was trying to work on. If Amy or Jonathan saw her do this, Abby would never forgive her.

  Before she could respond, her cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Sophie.

  But by the time she tried to answer, Sophie had hung up. Toots couldn’t wait to hear about her first night in the parade of homes and figured she would call again later.

  Chapter 7

  The temperature was dropping faster than reported, and Charlotte wished she hadn’t chosen tonight to buy their Christmas tree, but it was too late now. She shivered in her thin jacket as they walked, hunched close together, along the dark street. Streetlights loomed along their shadowy walk, minus the bright bulbs that would normally give one a sense of security. Along this stretch, someone had either shot the lights out with a gun or possibly thrown something heavy enough to break them. Whatever the reason for the missing bulbs, Charlotte hurried the kids along. Three more blocks to DiPalma’s, a local mom-and-pop grocery store, where she’d spied several Christmas trees this morning, on her commute to work.

  Roxanna held Riley’s hand, and Charlotte had his and Rhonda’s hands in a firm grip. Rhonda was at the age where she would up and disappear in seconds, and right now Charlotte didn’t dare let go of her mitten-covered little hand.

  “Momma, I need to go to the bathroom,” Riley said, then began to hop up and down.

  “We’re almost there, sweetie. Just hang on,” Charlotte said encouragingly. She shouldn’t even be out this late with her kids, walking in this cruddy part of town. She picked up her pace, practically dragging the kids behind her.

  “Mom!” Roxanna exclaimed. “We can’t keep up with you.”

  Charlotte forced herself to slow down. They were fine. No one had bothered them or even paid any attention to them. She was making a bad situation much worse. Riley needed to get to the bathroom. That was the only immediate problem she had.

  “Sorry, kids,” she said.

  “Momma, I can’t wait!” Riley yelled. “I have to go now!”

  “Roxanna, take your sister and follow me. Meet us in front of the store.”

  Without another word, she picked Riley up and ran the remaining block to DiPalma’s. She blew through the door. “Where’s the restroom?”

  The young girl at the register pointed to the back of the store. Charlotte didn’t waste another second getting Riley to the restroom. Inside, she helped him with his jeans and saw the relief on his little face. Poor Riley. He was at an age when having an accident was the worst thing he could imagine happening to him.

  “See, Momma? I am big!” He held his long arms high in the air.

  “Yes, you are. Now, wash up so we can pick out a tree.”

  Riley had to fiddle with the faucet to adjust the water temperature just right, and then he had to soap his hands more than necessary. Then he had to play with the automatic hand-towel dispenser.

  “Riley, come along this minute. I think your hands are clean enough.”

  “But they’re not dry,” he whined as she led him out the door.

  “Shhh,” Charlotte admonished. “They’re fine.”

  Hurrying now, as the girls were probably waiting, she stepped outside with Riley. A crowd had gathered in front of the store, where several people were shouting obscenities. Hoisting Riley on her hip, she forced her way through the group.

  “Roxanna! Rhonda!” She hollered loudly, her voice causing a few of those engaged in the verbal fight to stop for a brief second and look at her. Apparently, she didn’t warrant their attention, because their shouting match resumed.

  “Roxanna, Rhonda!” She pushed her way through a small group of teenagers. Cigarette smoke wafted in the cold night air. Riley coughed. Shouting her daughters’ names over the group of hoodlums, Charlotte almost collapsed with relief when she saw the girls huddled against the side of the building.

  “Momma, we were scared! Those boys called us a bad word,” Roxanna said, tears streaming down her face. For once, Rhonda remained completely quiet.

  Charlotte lowered Riley from her hip and grabbed her girls in a hug. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. You did the right thing by staying here. You’re safe now,” Charlotte said. Anger soared through her. Her heart rate increased, and even though it was cold outside, she felt a gush of perspiration under her arms. Sweat dotted her hairline, and her hands began to tremble. She had to get the kids inside before the thugs’ verbal warfare escalated into something worse.

  Gathering Roxanna and Riley closer to her, she scooped Rhonda into her arms and raced inside the store. The young girl behind the register—she couldn’t have been a day over eighteen—looked at the entrance and back at Charlotte as though she was asking her what to do.

  Not wasting a minute, Charlotte said, “Call nine-one-one.”

  Nodding, the teenager picked up the receiver to an old-style wall-mounted phone with push buttons and punched in the three numbers. “This is DiPalma’s Grocery. We . . . uh, we seem to have a gang out front. I’m afraid they might . . .” She looked to Charlotte.

  “Rob us,” Charlotte said, feeding her the words, knowing that if she told the emergency operator that a group of punks was having a shouting match, they wouldn’t consider this a true emergency. And who knew when they’d send an officer?

  “Rob the store,” the young girl said, nodding at Charlotte.

  “Momma, what’s wrong?” Roxanna said. “Those boys won’t move away from the Christmas trees. What are we gonna do?”

  It was times such as this that Charlotte hated Lamar for having joined the Marines. She needed him here to protect their children, not in some wild foreign country where politics and terrorist threats kept him from his family and where everything he was fighting for would go up in smoke the minute he and his fellow soldiers left.

  “We are going to be the tough soldiers Daddy would want us to be. I want all three of you to be very quiet. Stay right where you are.”

  Their eyes were the size of quarters, and each child nodded solemnly. The cashier nodded, too.

  Charlotte had a zillion and one thoughts running through her head. Lamar. Was he safe? Why hadn’t he called? The alternative . . . Well, she wouldn’t even go there. Servicemen and servicewomen experienced this all the time, she thought. Lamar had told her more than once that if she went a few weeks or months and didn’t hear from him, she should not worry. He’d explained that there would be times when his location had to be kept secret. She had accepted that but truly hadn’t expected it to be an issue. And now it was, and she was more than concerned. Just then, she wished for her mother. Her calm assurance was needed now more than ever. She gave up a prayer for both Lamar and her current situation.

  The thought had barely entered her mind when she heard the high-pitched wail of sirens in the background. Breathing a sigh of relief, she said, “Help is on the way.” This w
as more for the young girl than the kids. They were too young to realize the magnitude of what could happen. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind the register. It was after eight o’clock. If Lamar were to call, she’d have to race back to the apartment so as not to miss his call.

  The ruckus in front of the store broke up, the teens escaping before the police could arrive. Charlotte hoped this was the end of whatever they were arguing about.

  “I want you three to stay here. Don’t move until I tell you it’s okay,” Charlotte said.

  Again, the trio nodded, knowing now wasn’t the time to question her instructions. The cashier peered around the counter as Charlotte made her way to the store’s entrance. Thankful the doors weren’t automatic, she pushed the door open, then stepped out into the brisk night. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, footsteps could be heard pounding against the sidewalk, but she saw no sign of the former crowd of belligerent teenagers. As she was about to turn around and head inside, two police cars pulled alongside the curb.

  “Are you the person who called?” asked a powerfully built officer as he exited his patrol car.

  “No, but I told the girl inside to make the call,” Charlotte said, her voice filled with relief. The other three officers didn’t speak to her as they hurried inside.

  Following them, she rushed over to the kids. “It’s fine. The police are here, and those boys are gone.”

  Charlotte and the cashier were both questioned by one officer while his partner took notes, and the other two went outside to search the surrounding area, just to make sure there were no surprises. Apparently satisfied, they returned.

  “All clear,” one of them announced.

  They took Charlotte’s information and the cashier’s, and told them to call again if the belligerent teens returned.

  “Ma’am, I didn’t see a vehicle out front,” said the officer who had conducted the questioning.

  Charlotte was a bit embarrassed when she answered. “No, there isn’t one. We walked from Park River.” She had given them the name of her apartment complex so they would know she wasn’t that far away on a cold night like tonight, with three kids in tow.