by Donna Ball
“I’m a cop, “he reminded me, rubbing Cisco’s ears. “Solving crimes is kind of what I do.”
Then he turned his smile on Melanie. “So, princess. We’ve got to see what we can do about getting you some kind of commendation. You not only saved Cisco’s life, but Ashleigh’s too. If you hadn’t distracted the bad guy while I snuck up on him, there’s no telling what he might have done. How did you know to do that, anyway?”
Melanie’s eyes were glowing and her cheeks were bright pink with pride, but she admitted, “Raine taught me. I didn’t mean to save anybody. I just didn’t want Cisco to run away. The last time we had to chase him, it was really hard.”
I was starting to like that kid. A lot.
Buck’s eyes crinkled with a grin. “Well, it was quick thinking, anyway. You were right about something else, too—using those baby Jesus figurines to transport drugs. The ones we found at Nick’s house just hadn’t been used yet.”
“Wow,” Melanie said, impressed with herself.
Buck added to me in a slightly lower tone, “Or Nick might have gotten the idea from her—we’re not too clear on that one yet. The photo you sent me this morning,” he went on. “It was Ashleigh in the background, all right—but she was standing by a Walt’s Christmas Tree Farm truck. They’re the ones who delivered the town tree that afternoon, and it turns out Dusty was driving. We had already figured him for Lewis’s partner in the burglary ring, and it just seemed like too much of a coincidence – he’s the last one to see Ashleigh’s father alive, then he’s right there with her, practically in the same picture. So we came up here to ask a few more questions. Turns out it was just a coincidence, but when I saw your car…well, our timing was pretty good, huh?”
I swallowed hard. “So—it was just an accident you were here? And if you hadn’t been…” I couldn’t think about what might have happened, or almost certainly would have happened, if he hadn’t been. I started to get shaky again. “We need to go,” I said. “Can we go now?”
Buck held up a detaining finger and turned to Melanie. “Princess Melanie,” he said soberly, “would you be good enough to look after this fine steed here while I have a word with Miss Raine?”
She giggled and took Cisco’s leash. “You’re funny.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “I try.”
Buck touched my arm and we walked a few steps away. I kept Melanie and Cisco in my peripheral vision. “Really, Buck,” I said. “I’m late. We haven’t even had lunch.”
He said, “It looks like Earl was killed when he found out about the meth lab and tried to horn in on Dusty’s profits. There are blood stains on the floor inside the trailer that I’m pretty sure we’ll find out belonged to Lewis. And Nick, the stupid kid, was just trying to do the right thing and take care of his girl. His friend, Dave, put him on to the drug operation, and Dusty promised him a thousand dollars to drive those figurines filled with crystal meth to Texas.”
I shook my head in disbelief, thinking about Nick dumping a box of puppies by my mailbox because he knew if he didn’t they would be drowned. Trying to do the right thing. “That’s crazy,” I said, “and sad, and infuriating.”
Buck nodded. “You’re talking about a drunk, two teenagers, and a guy who used more of his product than he sold. I guess the only surprise here is that no more than one person got killed.”
I was trying not to think about that. “What about Ashleigh?”
“She’ll be charged with child endangerment. What happens after that is up to the court.”
I looked toward the police car where Ashleigh was sitting and crying, and I was overwhelmed with sadness. “She’s only a few years older than Melanie.”
“You know how it is, Raine. All these kids want is to be loved, and they go looking for it in the wrong place. At least the baby’s okay.”
I sighed. “At least.” I turned to go back to Melanie. “We need to head back.”
He touched my arm, detaining me. He said, “I owe you an apology.”
I looked at him, and his expression was tight and uncomfortable, the way it always was when he knew he was wrong and didn’t like to admit it. My attention quickened.
“About the Christmas party,” he said quietly. He avoided my eyes. “I should have told you Wyn was coming. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Given my choice of every topic known to man, perhaps the only conversation I would have liked to have had less was the one in which I explained to Melanie’s father that I had just taken his daughter to a meth lab and exposed her to a killer. I started to walk away.
He said, “Do you know what happens to a man when he doesn’t have a wife around to tell him when he’s acting like a jackass?”
Reluctantly, I turned to look at him. “He acts like a jackass?”
“Right.”
We looked at each other for another long moment. I said, “So who told you that you had acted like a jackass this time?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Well, what had expected?
Like I said, I’ve always liked Wyn.
After a moment I said, “So. Are you having Christmas dinner at her house?”
He nodded, slowly. “Yeah.” And he held my gaze. There was no apology there.
In another moment I managed a smile. “Well. I guess I won’t see you before then, so Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Raine.”
I had walked a few steps away before he said, “Hey.”
I looked back.
“You’ll always be my family,” he said.
I walked back to Melanie, and took Cisco’s leash. My eyes were stinging, but I smiled as I put my arm around her shoulders. “Come on,” I said, and gave her a little squeeze. “Let’s get you home. We’ve got some explaining to do.”
____________
SEVENTEEN
Sometimes I think there really are such things as Christmas miracles. Not only was Miles not mad at me, he actually thanked me for keeping Melanie safe. And when she told him the story—with the inimitable drama to which she was prone—he made her feel every bit the hero that she insisted she was. I thought he had real potential as a father.
“He said Melanie seemed onboard with the idea of moving in with him,” I told Sonny a couple of days later. “I think she was afraid all along she would have to move to Brazil. Moving to Atlanta must seem like a pretty good trade.”
“Still,” Sonny said, “losing a mother can’t be easy.”
I thought about Ashleigh and the infant who, it now appeared, had a chance at a wonderful life because she had given her up. “It depends on the mother, I guess.”
Sonny had stopped by to leave a spare key to her house, and I had promised to catch her up on all the news before she left for the winter. We shared one of Aunt Mart’s coffee cakes and exchanged gifts for the dogs: I had a box of organic gingerbread dog cookies I had ordered online for Mystery and Hero, and she brought individually wrapped cheese-stuffed marrow bones for each of my dogs, which they munched on enthusiastically while we talked.
Sonny took another sip of her coffee, reading my mind. “So, I saw Mark James at a Christmas party last night.” Mark James was our county prosecutor. “He’s not going to try Nick as an adult.”
I released a breath of relief. “That’s good. I don’t think he’s a bad kid at heart. He just got caught up in a bad situation, and tried to do the best he could to make it right. Aunt Mart said social services was finally able to contact Ashleigh’s aunt in Ohio and they’re taking her in. They’ve even got her enrolled in school right after Christmas. The Holloways are at the top of the adoption list for baby Hope, and meanwhile they’re fostering her. Aunt Mart said they had painted the nursery like a scene out of a fairy tale, and the church has given them so many baby showers that they’ve started rewrapping the gifts and sending them to children’s homes for the holidays.”
“It kind of makes you believe in the magic of Christmas,” she said.
“Speaking of
Magic…” I told her the story of Magic, Mischief, and the mysterious Christmas decorating caper, and she laughed out loud with delight.
“So it was Magic all along,” she practically chortled. “Did I call it or not? Mischief said she was framed.”
I may have mentioned that Sonny is a world-class attorney. It did not, however, surprise me as much as you might think that she was more interested in the mystery of the dogs than in the major crime that had taken place in our small community in the past few days.
“Mischief,” I replied with a small frown, “still has a lot of explaining to do. And so does Magic. But what’s funny is that since we caught them on tape they’ve both been perfect angels. No more incidents.”
Sonny laughed. “I guess they got their point across—whatever it was, of course.”
“I guess. As for Cisco,” I added, and the culprit's eyes lifted from his stuffed marrow bone long enough to give me a baleful look, “that's the last time my life will ever flash before my eyes because he doesn't know the meaning of 'stay.' I think you were right," I admitted. "First I had Hero living here, then it was the puppies, and Cisco was always pushed to the background. So the first thing after Christmas we're starting a training program that will turn him into the star he already thinks he is. Before the year is out, there won't be a blue ribbon in the state that doesn't have his name on it."
Sonny grinned. "Cisco says every blue ribbon in the state already has his name on it. You just don't know it yet."
She finished her coffee and reached for the pronged cane that helped her keep her balance on bad days. “Well, I’ve got a long drive ahead. Thanks for being my back-up with the house.” She stopped and looked at me with sudden query, her expression filled with concern. “It just occurred to me. Are you going to be alone for Christmas?”
I gave her a casual, dismissing wave. “Don’t be silly. I’m going to have a great Christmas.” I was going to be alone for Christmas.
“Because with Maude in Florida and your aunt and uncle on the cruise….”
Cisco interrupted with a single woof and looked up from his bone with ears pricked and eyes pointed toward the window. A moment later I saw a glint of sunlight reflected on the highly waxed surface of a black town car as it pulled into the circular drive in front of my house. Mischief and Magic grabbed their bones and scurried toward the front door. Cisco barked again, decided he had done his duty and turned back to his bone with renewed enthusiasm.
When I opened the door, a neatly groomed man in a Burberry overcoat stood there with a briefcase, looking cold and uncomfortable, his collar turned up against the wind. I glanced over his shoulder at the expensive car parked in my driveway and then back at him. He was definitely a stranger.
“Miss Stockton?”
I nodded.
“My name is Jason Wells.” He handed me a card from his pocket. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for over a week. I left several messages and even stopped by a couple of times. It’s important that I speak with you. “
I glanced at the card and gradually made the connection with the multiple telephone messages he had left. “You are persistent,” I said, and offered the card back to him, “but I’m not interested. I have all the insurance I can afford.”
“This is not about insurance,” he assured me. A blast of wind made the Christmas wreath that was hung on the porch column swing, and he hunched his shoulders against it, glancing down at the two dogs by my side. “Do you think we could talk inside? It’s about Esther Kelp.”
I felt a sinking in my stomach, and I opened the door wider to admit him. “Oh, no. Is she dead?”
“She was fine the last time I spoke with her,” he said as he stepped inside. “She’s living with her grandson in California. She’s the one who gave me your name. If you prefer, of course, we can do this at your attorney’s office, but…” He smiled, “It’s almost Christmas, and I have children back in Boston, and the sooner we can get this wrapped up the happier I’ll be.”
I was more confused than ever and a little alarmed. “Am I in some kind of trouble?”
Sonny came up behind me. “Is everything okay, Raine?”
“He says I need an attorney.”
I could sense all of Sonny’s lawyerly instincts switch on, and she turned her gaze on the stranger. “I’m Miss Stockton’s attorney. What’s this all about?”
“Please,” said Mr. Wells, “I can explain everything if we can just sit down a minute.”
I glanced at Sonny, gave a small shrug, and led the way back into the living room, where there was a cheery fire. Cisco, sprawled out in front of the Christmas tree with his bone, glanced up and swished his tail in greeting, but could not be bothered further. Mischief and Magic flopped down beside him.
When we were settled, Mr. Wells got right to the point. “I represent the estate of John F. Kennedy,” he said without preamble, and my eyes widened. “I understand Mrs. Kelp gave you some items of historical significance that the family would very much like to have for their private collection. I’m prepared to offer you a significant sum for their return.”
I looked at Sonny, but she seemed as confused as I was. I looked back at Mr. Wells. “The shoes?” I said.
Now he looked confused. “What shoes?”
“The ones Miss Esther gave me. She said she had danced with Jack Kennedy in them.”
He frowned a little. “Miss Stockton, I’m not here about shoes. I understood you were in possession of a number of letters that were written to Mrs. Kelp by—well, as I said, they are of considerable historical significance. You do have them, don’t you?”
Sonny said, “Letters?” She looked at me. “You never said anything about letters.”
“There was an envelope of letters and old postcards in the bottom of the shoes box that Mischief—I mean Magic—kept dragging around. Magic is my dog,” I explained to Mr. Wells, and I thought his face actually lost a little color.
“You don’t mean—your dog didn’t–?”
“Oh no, they’re fine,” I assured him. “My dogs don’t destroy things. Most of the time. I was going to send the letters back to Miss Esther, but I haven’t had time to find her new address.”
He released a cautious breath. “May I see them?”
I went to the dining room, where I had stored the empty boxes of Christmas decorations, and found the shoe box tucked inside one of them. I brought the manila envelope back into the living room and watched in absolute astonishment as Jason Wells put on a pair of white gloves before removing the contents and then, very carefully, unfolding and scanning the letters that were inside. A smile spread over his face as he read. I never got to see what they said. Or who they were from.
The only sound was the munching of dog bones for the longest time. He refolded and replaced the letters in their original envelopes with the greatest of care and then placed the envelopes in a plastic bag that he took from his briefcase. From the same briefcase he took out a sheaf of legal-sized papers, on top of which was clipped a check. The check he passed to me. The papers he passed to Sonny. “This is what we are prepared to offer for the letters,” he said. To Sonny he added, “These are the conditions of the sale.”
I stared at the numbers on the check. The last time I had seen that many of them I had been in a bank, signing loan papers. I looked up at him. “Is this a joke?”
“I assure you, it is not.”
I looked at Sonny, who had her glasses on and was intently scrutinizing the document she had been handed. “Is this a joke?”
She murmured, without looking up, “Apparently not.”
I looked again at the check. It was enough to complete the renovations on my building, and make up for the business we had lost while being closed. It was more than enough.
Mr. Wells added, “You understand we are only interested in the letters. But as an estate appraiser, I have to tell you many of the postcards are quite collectible—some are worth thousands. They are yours to do with as you plea
se, of course.”
“Come on,” I said, starting to grin as I glanced down at the postcards spilling from the envelope. “Who put you up to this?”
Sonny flipped the last page of the contract and removed her glasses. “It looks authentic to me. There’s even a signed letter of transfer from Mrs. Kelp, giving you full ownership of everything that was in that envelope.”
Once again, I stared at her, my head reeling. “But—but if this stuff really is that valuable, she shouldn’t have given it to me. This belongs to her family, her grandson. I’m sure they could use it for her care.”
Mr. Wells chuckled. “Miss Stockton, do you know who her grandson is?”
I shook my head.
“Believe me, he doesn’t need the money. Here, ask her for yourself.” He took another paper from his briefcase upon which was written a telephone number with an unfamiliar area code. “Call her.”
Far away in California my telephone call was answered by a man who identified himself as Miss Esther’s grandson. When he told me his name, I almost dropped the phone. His last movie had grossed 82 million dollars on opening weekend.
Eventually I managed to gather my wits enough to ask, “Did you—um, did you happened to buy the rights to Miss Esther’s life story for a movie?”
He chuckled. “I’ve been trying to get Gran to let me make that movie for over ten years. We settled the deal the day after she got out here. It’s going to be huge. Huge.”
We chatted for a few more minutes—he was a really nice man—and he assured me he had copies of the letters and was more than happy to let the originals go to the estate. Then he transferred me to Esther’s cottage and she was delighted to hear from me. She told me about the orange tree that grew outside her window and having lunch at Spago and oh, yes, the movie her grandson was making of her life. I tried to thank her for the enormity of her gift but she was dismissive. “I knew you’d put it to good use,” she said. “Lord knows, it's been a curse and a blessing all my life, and I’m glad to know I'm only passing on the blessing.”
