A child’s scream tore through the house, and a shot of adrenaline rushed through Mac’s veins.
“Nooooo!” Megan yelled.
Jillian ran to the living room, with Mac on her heels.
The front door was open, and both children stood on the porch, frozen droplets of hail bouncing on the steps and the sidewalk.
“Tommy opened the door, and Princess Leia ran outside,” the girl explained. “We gotta get her back.”
“I think she went over to Mr. Iverson’s house,” Tommy said.
Jillian slid a glance at Mac. “Hopefully, she’ll realize that she’s better off inside and come back home.”
“I’ll go and get her.” Tommy started for the steps, and Mac stopped him.
“Hold off a minute or two,” he told the boy. “Maybe she went outside to relieve herself.”
“What does that mean?” Megan asked.
Mac shot a glance at Jillian, who explained, “Princess Leia probably had to go potty and didn’t want to make a mess on our floor.”
“That’s a good thing,” Tommy said. “Right? And so she’ll come right back.”
Before either Jillian or Mac could respond, the fire detector screeched out an ear-piercing alarm.
“Oh, my gosh.” Jillian dashed back toward the kitchen, taking time to look over her shoulder. “I forgot to take the skillet off the flame!”
Chapter Seven
Mac jogged after Jillian, hoping she hadn’t caught the house on fire and kicking himself for not being more alert when they’d dashed into the living room to see what all the fuss was about.
When he reached the smoke-filled kitchen, Jillian had already removed the burning pan from the flame. He opened the window, and she grabbed a dishtowel and began fanning the smoke out of the house. Still, the alarm continued to screech like a banshee.
“Where’s the smoke detector?” he asked. “I’ll remove the batteries.”
She nodded toward the doorway, her towel flapping in the air. “It’s at the top of the stairway.”
He turned to leave the kitchen, and she reached for his arm, stopping him. Again, her touch reached something deep inside of him.
“I’m really sorry about this.” A blush on her cheeks revealed sincerity, as well as embarrassment.
He lifted his free hand and skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. “Don’t be sorry.”
Her lips parted, and her breath caught. Yet she didn’t step back, didn’t turn away.
If he had any doubt about the strength of the attraction he still felt for her, he didn’t anymore. But he figured a relationship with her now would be just as doomed as it had been fifteen years ago. So he decided it was best to laugh it off. “I could be eating take-out all by myself, and this beats watching television.”
A slow grin stretched across her lips, and she released his arm. “It’s not always this hectic around here.”
He wasn’t sure he believed that, but he returned her smile before heading toward the stairway to turn off the annoying alarm. Thirty minutes later, the house was quiet, the batteries had been put back into the smoke detector, and the smell of burned oil and corn tortilla was just a whisper in the air.
To appease the kids, Mac had braved the hail-turned-rain with an umbrella Jillian provided and had gone out to look for Princess Leia. He’d found her on Charlie’s front porch. Fortunately, the old man’s television had been blaring too loudly for him to hear her yappy barks. So Mac had scooped her up and carried her home.
“This is your house now,” he’d muttered to the little dog. “And if you want to stay on everyone’s good side, you’ll figure that out before you head outside again.”
Now, while Princess Leia lay snoozing near the fire in the hearth, the adults and children sat in the dining room, where an oval, dark-wood table was laden with bowls of taco fixings: spicy beef, golden-brown tortilla shells, shredded lettuce and cheese, chopped tomatoes, salsa and sour cream. Two casserole dishes, one filled with Spanish rice and the other with refried beans, rounded out the meal.
This, Mac decided, had to be an example of family style eating at its best.
As he reached for the rice and scooped out a second helping, he glanced at the table, the varnish darkened by age. It matched the hutch against the wall.
“I like this antique furniture,” he said. “It really suits the house.”
“Thank you.” Jillian placed her hand on the dark, polished oak, her agreement and appreciation apparent. “It used to be my mother’s. My dad sold a lot of her favorite pieces, but I kept this set in storage while we lived in Roseville. Jared liked a more modern style, and this didn’t fit.”
Mac wondered if having her mother’s things and being in this house made Jillian feel closer to her mom, or whether it made her feel worse. A little of both, he suspected. Just as being in Ray’s house, surrounded by Ray’s things, made him feel good, yet sad.
Jillian, who’d skipped the tortilla shells and had made a taco salad for herself—light on the meat and cheese—asked, “How long will you be staying in the neighborhood?”
“About a week. I need to go back to work before Christmas.”
“Where’s home?” she asked.
“Downtown San Diego.” He took a sip of the iced tea she’d poured for him. “I’m afraid a loft apartment in the Gaslamp District suits me and my lifestyle a lot better than an old Victorian in the suburbs.”
“It’s too bad that you’ll be leaving.” Jillian lifted her napkin and blotted her lips. “I liked the idea of knowing a police officer lived close by.”
Tommy, who’d been drinking milk, set the glass back on the table with a thunk and a wobble. He used both hands to prevent a mishap, then brightened. “You’re a cop?”
“Yes. Actually, I’m a detective now.”
“Cool,” Tommy said. “Do you arrest guys and put them in jail?”
“If they’re guilty, I do.”
“And do you shoot guys, too?”
Mac glanced at Jillian. He wasn’t sure how honest she wanted him to be. “I don’t like drawing my gun, but if I have to protect myself, my partner, a victim, or an innocent bystander, I do what I have to do.”
“Wow.” The boy’s eyes lit up. “Did you ever catch any bank robbers?”
“I’m in homicide, so I don’t usually get called out on those kinds of cases. But yes, I’ve caught my share of thieves and burglars, too.”
“How many bad guys have you locked up?” Tommy asked, clearly enjoying the grittier aspects of Mac’s job.
As much as he hated to admit it, Mac kind of liked being the subject of hero worship, especially in the eyes of Jillian’s son. “I’ve arrested plenty of them.”
Tommy turned to his sister and gave her a nudge. “Did you hear that? We have a real live policeman living on our street.”
Megan didn’t appear anywhere near as impressed as her brother was.
The phone, which sat on a small table in the hall, rang, and Jillian excused herself to pick it up. “Hello?”
Mac didn’t pay much attention, but when he glanced through the open doorway and saw her stiffen, his curiosity was piqued and he found himself listening to one side of a conversation.
“They’re fine.” Jillian looked at the kids. Tommy was chomping on a taco, and Megan was studying her plate with an intensity that had erased the smile she’d been wearing earlier.
When Jillian and Mac made eye contact, she shrugged and tried to hide a grimace.
“Just a minute,” she said, covering the mouthpiece with her fingers. “Tommy, your father’s on the phone.”
The boy scooted his chair away from the table, then entered the hall and took the receiver from his mom. “Hey, Dad. Are you home yet?”
His expression fell. “Oh.”
Apparently, the man was calling from the cruise ship.
“Yeah. Me and Meggie are doing okay. We’re eating dinner.”
Mac lifted his glass and took a swig of tea, but it didn’t taste
nearly as cool and refreshing as the last sip had.
“We’re having tacos tonight. And guess what? Mac’s here. He’s Mom’s really good friend. He’s a policeman, and he’s been telling me all about the bad guys he caught.”
Mac slid another glance at Jillian, noted her rosy cheeks. Did she care if her ex-husband knew she was entertaining a man? Not that this was remotely datelike. But the boy’s explanation made it sound that way, and if Mac had been her ex-husband, he would have at least been uneasy about it.
“Meggie,” Tommy said, “Dad wants to talk to you.”
The little girl slid out of her chair and hurried to the phone. When she grabbed the receiver, her voice cracked and her tone turned weepy and whiny. “I miss you, Daddy. Come and get us and take us home.”
Mac stole a glance at Jillian, saw her standing ramrod straight, saw a slight roll of her eyes. He didn’t think the kids had noticed, but he had.
Was she sorry that Mac was privy to all of this?
“Why not?” Megan pleaded. “Why can’t you?”
Mac suddenly wished he was anywhere but here. The poor kid. Tommy, who’d apparently been the one harboring anger and resentment, seemed to take it in stride right now. Talk about kids being resilient. But Megan, who’d seemed fine earlier, was certainly showing her grief.
“A week is way too long,” Megan countered. “I don’t want to wait to see you. Please, Daddy!”
The man must have started sweet-talking the kid because her small shoulders hunched. “Okay, but hurry. I don’t like it here.”
Jillian stepped closer to her daughter. “Megan, don’t hang up. I need to talk to your father, but I’m going to pick up the phone in the other room.”
When Jillian had walked away and Megan returned to the table, Tommy continued quizzing Mac about the bad guys he’d caught, and Mac did his best to answer the onslaught of questions. Yet the little girl seemed to completely shy away from the conversation.
She hadn’t seemed all that bashful or sad in the car or at the park. But what did Mac know about little girls?
Not much. Yet that didn’t make him feel any more comfortable about being here, about observing the child’s disappointment and Jillian’s discomfort. Maybe he ought to call it a night and head home.
Jillian didn’t return right away, so he focused his attention on Tommy. And on completing the task he’d originally set out to do this morning.
“Do you like sports?” he asked the boy.
“Yeah, especially baseball and football.”
“Football, huh?” Mac sat back in his seat. “After dinner, maybe your mom will let me take you to my friend’s house. He was an NFL ref, and he has all kinds of photographs and autographed balls. I think you’d really enjoy it.”
“Cool.” The boy sat up straight. “Does your friend live very far away?”
“Actually, he lives right next door.”
Tommy furrowed his brow. “Which house?”
Mac nodded in the direction of Charlie’s.
“You mean Mr. Iverson?”
“Yep.”
“No way. He hates me.”
“Mr. Iverson—Charlie—isn’t so bad when you get to know him. When he finds out you like football, I’ll bet he warms right up to you. He loves talking sports with guys like us.”
Tommy nibbled on his bottom lip and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know…”
“What could happen?”
“He could turn the sprinkler on me or something. He did that once before. Or he could shoot me full of buckshot, like he said property owners used to do to trespassers when he was a kid.”
Mac blew out a sigh. What was he going to do with Charlie? Apparently Tommy had been right. Charlie had been “messing” with him.
“I think you need to know something about Mr. Iverson so you can understand him better. His wife died earlier this year, and his good friend and neighbor died shortly after that. He’s crippled up with arthritis, and the cold, wet weather has been making it worse, so he hurts all over. I think what he really needs, even if it doesn’t seem like he deserves it, is kindness and friendship. What do you say?”
Tommy thought about it for a moment. “Do you have your gun?”
Not with him. “Why?”
“In case he flips out or something.”
“If he does, just leave it to me.”
“Okay.”
When Jillian returned, Mac told her what he wanted to do. “I came over here this morning to try and help the problem you’ve been having with Charlie. And I think taking Tommy to visit him this evening might do the trick.”
“Are you sure?”
No, he wasn’t. But he had a hunch it would help. “It can’t hurt.”
“All right. I’m willing to give it a try.”
Minutes later, Mac and Tommy stood on Charlie’s porch, the wet umbrella collapsed at their side. The television still blared inside, so Mac opted to ring the bell rather than knock.
As they waited for Charlie to answer, Tommy scanned the lighted yard. His gaze seemed to skip the animated snowmen and zero in on the lit nativity scene. Was he checking out the missing angel?
Charlie swung open the door, wearing a green plaid robe and a pair of brown slippers. He’d finally removed the Santa hat, but he still held his cane. He offered Mac a ready grin, but when his gaze drifted down to Tommy, he stiffened. “What’s this all about?”
“I’m not sure if anyone formally introduced you to our new neighbor, but this is Tommy, and he’s a big sports fan.” Mac put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, felt the small muscles tense. “I told him about your collection of football memorabilia and wondered if you’d let him look at the photographs and the autographed balls you have displayed on your living room wall.”
Charlie seemed to give it some thought, shot Mac an are-you-sure-about-this? grimace, then stepped aside and let them into his house.
Mac wiped his feet on the mat, glad to see that Tommy was following his lead.
Charlie turned off the television, then led them to the built-in, cherrywood bookshelf near the fireplace that displayed the finest and most impressive pieces in Charlie’s collection. As the old man proudly pointed out pictures of himself standing next to such football greats as Johnny Unitas, Bart Starr, and Joe Namath, the boy stood transfixed.
Before long, it appeared that a temporary truce had been reached, just as Mac had hoped.
“Wow,” Tommy said for the umpteenth time in just a matter of minutes. “It’s super cool that you know those guys, Mr. Iverson. And I’m lucky to live next door to you.”
Charlie, who’d finally begun to let down his guard around the kid, puffed up like a peacock.
As they turned away from the shelves, Mac said, “While we’re here, Charlie, we want to ask you about that missing angel. Tommy and I’d like to help you find it. So can you describe it for us?”
The old man stretched his hand about three feet from the floor. “It was about this high, and it had long gold hair, a white flowing robe, and wings. It was hand painted, although a few places on the face had cracked. After Christmas, I planned to take all the figurines to an antique shop and see if they could refurbish them for me.”
“I’m sorry about your angel,” Tommy said. “But at least you still have that cool snowman that moves his head. No one else on the street has one of those.”
Charlie snorted. “Those snowmen are a dime a dozen, but that angel is priceless. My wife’s parents gave us that set the first Christmas after we were married, and every year we’d put it up. The angel was her favorite piece.”
Charlie shuffled toward the mantel over the fireplace, where several photographs were on display. He picked up a gold frame and gazed at the picture fondly, his eyes welling with tears as he passed it to Tommy. “This is Grace. If she would have been alive, she would have baked her famous, seven-layer coconut cake and taken it to your house the first day you and your mother moved in.”
Tommy, who was studying the pho
tograph, brightened. “Hey, that’s a cool dog she’s holding.”
Mac took a peek over the boy’s shoulder, noting a longhaired, cream-colored poodle/terrier mix that sat on Grace’s lap. It wore a pink collar adorned with faux jewels.
“That’s Bobbie Sue,” Charlie said.
Tommy handed the photograph back. “She looks a lot like our new dog.”
“Just in size.” Charlie was obviously thinking about the mangy creature that had leaped up and put its dirty, rain-soaked paws on his pants.
A dog that seemed compelled to run to Charlie’s house every chance it got.
Mac’s gut knotted. “I didn’t know you and Grace had a pet.”
“Yep. I bought that dog and gave it to her the Christmas before last. It was her pride and joy.” Charlie’s thoughts seemed to drift. “We had a lot of people in and out that last week before Grace passed on, and little Bobbie Sue was acting skittish. I don’t know if she sensed what was happening or not, but she spent a lot of time either on Grace’s bed or underneath it.”
“What happened to the dog?” Mac asked.
“Someone left the front door open, and from what I can piece together, she must have dashed outside. While the fellow from the mortuary was loading Grace into the hearse, Bobbie Sue jumped in back. Either way, when he got back to Crandall’s Funeral Home, he opened the door and found her. When he tried to pick her up, she got away and ran off. I checked the pound each day for a month, but no one turned her in. And since she was an indoor dog, she didn’t have any street smarts. I suspect she may have been hit by a car. Who knows?”
The knot in Mac’s gut swelled, then twisted with a vengeance. He couldn’t be sure, but it was certainly possible that Princess Leia was Bobbie Sue. And if so?
It was only right to return her to Charlie, yet how could he ask those kids to give up the dog they’d just adopted?
Mac didn’t have a clue how to handle the latest development.
Not if he wanted to keep the neighborhood peace.
Chapter Eight
Jillian sat in an overstuffed easy chair in the living room, listening to the rain splatter the window and waiting for Mac and Tommy to return from Mr. Iverson’s house. She sure hoped Mac knew what he was doing, but she’d never had any trouble with her neighbors before and didn’t want any now.
Silver Bells Page 33
