The Christmas Thief

by Julie Carobini

  “Are we really starting that again?” Lorena threw a whoop into the air while hanging onto the edge of the house, her foot searching for the wooden railing. “Like I said, I got this!”

  Tasha gasped and rushed over, flailing her arms in the air. “Wait!”

  But the warning call went out too late. As Tasha lurched forward to steady her friend’s wayward hiking boot that struggled to settle on the slick deck railing, Lorena stumbled, then fell, wrist first, into a harsh puddle of rainwater.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dr. Whitney tapped a pen on the metal tray at his side. He pointed at Lorena. “What you have there is a badly sprained wrist. You’re lucky.” Lorena’s longtime physician pursed his lips and shook his head. “Climbing on a roof in the pouring rain. That, my friend, is the definition of living dangerously.”

  Lorena lifted her chin. “How else can you cover a leaky roof? We did a great job, didn’t we, Tasha?”

  Tasha wanted to crawl under that rolling metal tray. Instead, she changed the subject. “What kind of treatment do you recommend, doctor?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing too much you can do. Ice it for half-hour intervals until the swelling goes down, take pain relievers as needed, and keep it in a sling for at least two weeks.”

  “Two weeks!”

  Dr. Whitney peered squarely at Lorena through glasses resting low on his nose. “It’s a good thing I was on call tonight because I know how stubborn you can be. This is serious now. Two weeks!”

  Tasha caught the doctor’s hand before he left the room. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  Outside they skirted puddles of rainwater inconveniently arranged like a game of Whack-A-Mole. The dark night only further underscored the condemnation threatening to envelope Tasha. Lorena had gotten hurt because of her—because she had put her friend and boss in terrible danger.

  Tasha attempted to guide Lorena by hooking an arm through her free one. Lorena chuckled and extricated herself. “I’m not elderly!”

  Maybe if she hadn’t been so pigheaded ... so sure of herself ... Tasha turned and blurted, “I’m so sorry you got hurt, Lorena. Can you forgive me?”

  Lorena slowed. “Hun, there’s nothing to forgive. If I’d only made sure of my footing before putting all my weight on it, well, we wouldn’t be here.” She chuckled lightly. “This is how Lorena learns.”

  Tasha released a sigh. “Let’s get you home. You’re taking my room tonight—and I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

  “Oh, no—”

  Tasha raised both eyebrows. “There will be no more discussion.”

  “Well, then, yes, ma’am. Okay. Far be it from me ...” She gave Tasha’s elbow a squeeze. “Thanks.”

  They rode in contented and sporadic conversation, the wet pavement of PCH faintly lit by the reflection of the half moon. More than once Lorena dozed mid-sentence. She had to be exhausted. Tasha blinked away another onslaught of guilt.

  At the cabin, Tasha woke up Lorena and led the way along the flagstone path from the curb. She pulled out her key to unlock the door, when she stopped. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

  “You mean my snoring even though I’m standing up?”

  Tasha pressed her lips together, listening for two seconds longer. Nothing except the fierce crash of a wave at the base of the cliff. She slid a look at Lorena who stood by patiently. “Sorry. I’ll get you inside.” Tasha clicked open the lock and swung open the door, letting Lorena enter first. “Down the hall, first door on the right.”

  She shut the door behind her slowly, her gaze sweeping over the darkness, and turned the lock with a click.

  ~~~

  Rays of sunlight shimmered across Tasha’s eyelids, and she opened them to a view of that vast hill. She lay there for a few blessed moments, breathing in and out, taking in the wall of rich evergreen beyond her deck. She stretched her neck from side to side, working out the kinks after a night on her old lumpy couch, the one she had dragged back across the room in the middle of the night. Tasha tossed aside her cotton throw and padded over to the other side of the house—all thirty-some-odd feet of it—and peeked out the waterside window. The ocean churned and sputtered below as if still unnerved by the sudden storm from the night before.

  A shadow caught her eye, followed by a startling knock on the door.

  Frowning, Tasha smoothed down her hair. “Just a minute,” she called out. She grabbed her glass of water from the sink, swished the water around in her mouth, and spit it out. It would have to do.

  She opened the door to find Marc towering in her doorway. He wore charcoal tweed trousers, a white dress shirt, a smoky gray tie—and a frown.

  Tasha glanced down at her own hoodie, yoga pants, and fuzzy socks. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I’d have a visitor so early.” An image of Lorena and her damaged arm curled up under an old quilt appeared in her mind. She bit her lip. “I mean, other than the one who was here all night.”

  Marc’s brows rose.

  Tasha shook her head, her curls rustling against her ears. “Never mind. Would you like to come in?”

  He pressed his lips together and looked at her, then slowly turned toward the neighboring lot, the one he had so boldly begun to annihilate whether she liked it or not. As he turned back to face her, she caught a glimpse of where his gaze had taken him. “Oh no ...”

  “Did you see anything last night?” he said, his tone mildly un-neighborly.

  “Not at all.”

  “And you didn’t hear anything either?” The question sounded more like an accusation. He was still standing outside on her welcome mat when he glanced up at her roof and squinted into the morning sun. “Appears that someone was on your roof last night.”

  She took another look at the gouges, deep and wide, that peppered his water-saturated lot. Even she doubted that the brief but heavy rain could have caused quite that much destruction. But as sorry as she felt for the mess on his property, she didn’t care to fill him in on any of last night’s adventures. “Someone really did a number on your land,” she said and tilted a look at him. “I wish I’d heard or seen something, but honestly, I never did.”

  Marc let out a sigh of exasperation. He leaned one dress-shirt-covered arm onto the doorjamb and poked his head inside, his eyes snagging hers. His voice was low and controlled. “Be straight with me. I know you haven’t exactly welcomed my building plans with open arms. What’s it going to take to help you accept me?”

  She stepped back, aghast at his insinuation. She had every right to be annoyed with the sudden disruption to her peaceful life, but to suggest that she’s somehow behind the destruction of his property?

  A voice behind her sang out with much too much gusto. “Good morning!”

  Marc jostled to peer over Tasha’s shoulder. His eyes widened. And when he noticed the sling hanging from Lorena’s shoulder, he shot another look directly at Tasha.

  She wanted to dart underneath the dining table like a spooked cat.

  “You have got to be ...” Marc pushed past Tasha into her house, examining Lorena’s pampered arm.

  He swung a look from Tasha to Lorena and back again. “Tell me you two didn’t go up on that roof.”

  Lorena tugged his tie, and snapped the fingers of her good hand in front of his face. “Hey. Hello. I’m right he-re.”

  Tasha cut in. “Lorena, have a seat and I’ll make us some coffee. You want any, Marc?” She hoped he would decline.

  Marc jumped in front of Lorena and grabbed a chair. “Let me get that for you.” The scrape of the chair’s legs against the hard, bare floor jarred the already tension-filled air in the house.

  Lorena made herself comfortable, while Marc joined her at the table. Tasha bit back a sigh and took a third mug from the cabinet, setting it onto the counter with a harsh clunk. She braced herself for a tirade. You should have known better than this. What were you thinking—oh, that’s right—you weren’t thinking. And the one she looked forward to the most—why don’t you gi
ve up now before somebody gets hurt again—or worse!

  She sneaked a peek over her shoulder. Lorena was shrugging off Marc’s concerns while he examined her bruised wrist, his mouth fixed into a grim line.

  Coffee made, Tasha delivered the steaming mugs to the table, followed by sugar and two kinds of cream. She took a seat, the guilt of last night’s adventure clawing at her insides. Still, this was her home, and it was up to her to set the tone. No matter how much Marc Shepherd may want to chastise her, she would not allow it.

  She sank into her chair and took a sip, eyeing Marc. “You’re dressed up today.”

  “Yes. I have a lunch down the hill with the architects of a complex building project I’ll be heading up in the spring.”

  Hence the rush on his own property. Tasha put down her glass. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. Guess we should talk about the mess next door.” She shook her head. “I wish I knew what happened.”

  Lorena’s brow rose. “Something happened?”

  Marc held up a palm. “Before we get to that, I have something to say about ... about this.” He gestured to Lorena’s sprained wrist. “And about this.” He pointed toward the platter-sized spot on the living room ceiling.

  Here we go.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Oh?” Lorena said.

  “For?” Tasha said.

  Marc scowled and glanced away from them, as if formulating the right words to say. Tasha couldn’t imagine what he had to be sorry about, well, other than the fact that Lorena got hurt—they were all sorry that had happened. But it wasn’t as if he had anything to do with it.

  He swung a look back at Tasha, his dark eyes boring into hers, the effect causing her to suck in a breath and hold it there. “I knew the condition of this roof, and I should never have left you here with the threat of an incoming storm. Friends don’t do that to friends.”

  Is that what they were? Had they officially crossed over from polite-but-safely-detached neighbors to friends who chatted over mutual home repair projects? She took another sip of coffee, stalling a reply, his words throwing something unexpected into the mix of the morning.

  “Well,” Lorena said, “I, for one, don’t think you have anything to be sorry about, Marc.”

  Tasha shook off her confusion. “Lorena’s right. I should have had the roof checked before this. What can I say other than it’s been on my list?” She nodded toward the refrigerator where a legal-sized sheet of paper hung under a magnet.

  “Now that’s enough, I’m telling you,” Lorena scolded. “Not one more word of remorse from either of you—or else.”

  Marc’s mouth turned into a guilty smile, highlighting a dimple in his cheek. “I’ll do better next time.”

  “Hush,” Lorena said, glaring this time.

  Tasha cleared her throat. “We need to get back to figuring out what happened here last night. My guess is that someone with a heavy duty truck took last night’s soaking as an opportunity to carve up your land.” She sighed. “It must’ve happened when Lorena and I were at the hospital.”

  Marc visibly winced when she said the word “hospital.”

  Lorena made her way to the door. She peered through the window. “Oh my. That is the biggest mess I’ve ever seen.” She wicked a glance over her shoulder. “Was it like that when we got home?”

  Tasha shrugged. “You were practically sleep walking and it was so dark that I just don’t ... wait.” She darted a look at Lorena. “Do you remember me telling you I could hear something?”

  Lorena squinted, as if trying to remember back. “Maybe. Like you said, I was so tired that all I could think about was crawling into bed.”

  Tasha nodded. “That’s okay. I remember it. I had just put the key into the lock and stopped because I heard something. I asked you, but you weren’t sure. We stood outside for a few seconds longer, but came inside after I didn’t hear it anymore.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better, Tasha,” Marc said.

  “I’m just trying to pinpoint the time. I think we got back in around 2 a.m.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” He sighed and ran a hand through his dark waves then let his arm drop back down to the table. “If you are ever outside again in the middle of the night and hear something that concerns you, promise me you won’t go investigating!”

  Lorena chuckled.

  Tasha stared back at Marc with a defiant smile. “You worry too much.”

  Lorena snorted this time, then chuckled and pointed at Tasha. “Didn’t I just tell you the same thing yesterday?”

  Tasha shrugged. “Maybe. Really, it could’ve just been the rustling of a cat.”

  “I’m serious,” Marc said.

  “You two kids stay here and argue this out,” Lorena said, placing a goodbye pat on Marc’s shoulder. “If it’s all right with you, Tasha, I’d like to take a shower.”

  “Of course. I left a blue towel and washcloth on the bathroom counter for you.”

  When Lorena had ducked out, Tasha stood, rinsed out her mug, and set it in the sink. A hazy cloud had blown in from the sea, creating a filter over the sun that had woken her this morning. The effect was peaceful and calming. Nothing like the fear-driven tone of Marc’s voice.

  She turned and leaned against the sink, her arms folded in front of her. “Maybe we should call the police.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He assessed her. “I’d just ... rather not get anyone else involved.”

  She cocked her head to one side, assessing him back. “Protecting someone?”

  He stood up, mug in hand, shaking his head. “If I knew who the perpetrator was, I’d do something about it. But getting the police involved—especially in a small town like this—only opens up more ... problems.”

  She continued to lean against the sink, considering what Marc might have meant. “Well,” she finally said, “I am concerned about what happened next door last night, but I’m also aware that the wind and rain was much more powerful than I had given it credit for. It’s possible that some crazy kid may have decided on a shortcut only to find out that rain-saturated ground does not make for a nice landing.” She took a breath. “Anyway, I learned my lesson that Northern California storms are not what I’m used to. Next time I’ll be more prepared.”

  Marc walked over to the sink. He put his mug on the counter and eyed her. “You and Lorena climbed up to the roof last evening before dark, right?”

  “Yes. But it got dark while we were up there.”

  He swore under his breath. “I’m not even going to comment on that.”

  She laughed. “Good idea.”

  “But you went to the hospital right away, and you weren’t back until two. And you heard something suspicious.”

  A curl of unease slithered through her. “Yes.”

  Marc stood inches from her, his eyes zeroed in on her face. “Promise me you’ll be very careful, Tasha.”

  She licked her dry lips. “Why?”

  He flickered a glance out the window toward the treacherous sea below before bringing his gaze back to her. “Because I’m concerned that someone may be watching you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It had been a snap decision to move to Cottage Grove, a move that surprised her closest friends and family members. Yet Tasha had been far less surprised by her own spontaneity. She’d been to the rustic town twice before, once as a child, and on another occasion before she and Roger had become a couple. The fact that she started over in a place that had been hers, and hers alone, pleased her to the tips of her toes.

  When Roger ended their engagement so abruptly, what she thought of first were the trees. Rich green in varying shades as far as her eyes could see and touch. Oh, and the smells that filled her senses, like fresh air after stumbling out of a crowded, smoke-filled bar. That day, as she realized her life as she knew it was over, she had two choices: sink to the depths or figure out a way to struggle her way to the surface and breathe again. S
o she took a deep breath in—and remembered the scent of the trees.

  She thought about this while driving along the winding coast highway, Lorena on the seat beside her chattering about camp meals for the week. Tasha drove Lorena’s pickup and Marc followed behind after insisting that he could give her a ride back to the cabin on his way to his lunch meeting.

  Tasha kept one eye on the road and another on those trees, a sociable mix of fast-growing Monterey pines and robust redwoods reaching for the stars. On this stretch, sunlight made only dappled appearances, which alone was more than she expected so close to winter’s official start date. If she didn’t live so near to the ocean, and on the west coast, she might have expected snow. What might this coastal wilderness look like blanketed in white on the days leading up to Christmas? She continued on the twisting road, her window open partway, and breathed in the freshness of pine mixed with the headiness of mature redwood trees after a rain.

  A lone hiker along the side of the cliff whisked her from her daydream, and a slow dread took over the momentary joy she had just indulged in. Marc had said he thought someone was watching her. Even if that were true, weren’t they really just making sure that no one—including her—was around so they could commit their crimes? After all, it had been Marc’s property that had been attacked, not hers.

  “So as I was saying,” Lorena continued, “these kids need hearty foods. When they’re back at home, they can eat their mama’s quinoa and organic beets, but in my kitchen, they’re going to eat meat and pasta and lots of salad to have the energy they need for tromping around this mountain. Three squares, that’s what my own mama always fed me.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “So,” said Lorena, peering at her with inquisitive eyes, “enough about my menu. Want to let me in on the reason you and Marc had your heads so close together today? Or is that too personal?”

  “It certainly isn’t personal, if you’re getting at what I think you’re getting at.” She shrugged. “He scared me, though.”