Twilight Christmas: A Carolina Coast Novella (Carolina Coast Novels Book 3)

by Normandie Fischer

  “Good people there. They own Clawson’s, too.”

  Eric grabbed a plate and the spatula. “Hen loves his job. I’m just here to help make sure it doesn’t get to be too much.”

  What, did Eric plan to look over his brother’s shoulders? Clay didn’t ask, but the comparison hit front and center. Prodding someone you loved into behavior you wanted—Eric’s compulsion to safeguard his brother and his own efforts to navigate the log-strewn waters of Annie Mac’s fears—felt very Don Quixote-ish. Except he didn’t delude himself with visions of righting wrongs (except in his job) or errant knighthood.

  If only. If only.

  Eric plated the fish and handed him one. “My brother’s been talking a lot about a waitress he met at Aqua. She’s called Agnes, except Hen said her real name is Agnese, from the Italian.”

  “The Italian version has a good ring to it.” And the name Agnes sounded familiar. He just had to remember why.

  “I wonder,” Eric said, “which she looks like, the hard-sounding Agnes or the softer sounding Agnese. She’s the first woman Hen has talked about since he’s been here. Says she’s different.” Eric rubbed his palm across his forehead. “Guess that’s what’s scaring me.”

  “You want to tell me why? Or is it just on principle?”

  “I’m Henry’s trustee. There’s money, a lot of it, in trust for him from our parents.”

  “And you think she may be after it?” Clay took a bite of salmon. He circled his fork in the air as he chewed, then said, “Delicious.”

  “Thanks. Can’t beat grilled.” Eric sipped and then set his glass down on the deck next to him. “Hen told me he’s learned his lesson and hasn’t said a word to her—or anyone—about the money. I hope that’s true. It’s not like he’s flaunting what income he’s allowed, not while living on that junker of his.”

  And then Clay remembered why he knew the name Agnes. “If I’m not mistaken, your brother’s friend just inherited the big Ware house, which is tied up in a legal dispute. She has a bi-racial daughter named Brisa.”

  Eric’s brows shot up. “I didn’t know she’d been married.”

  “As far as I know, she hasn’t.”

  The other man took a couple of bites, probably chewing on this new information as he ate. “Maybe that’s her attraction for Hen. Maybe he wants to rescue her.”

  “That like him?”

  “He got religion at his last recovery center. So, yeah, it’s like him now.”

  Clay didn’t say anything. From his perspective, finding God might help Henry stay off drugs.

  “It worries me,” Eric said. “Both the religion and the relationship. I don’t have anything against Christianity, but if it turns out to be a crutch that breaks, Hen could plummet right back into the mess of two years ago.”

  “I get that. Have you checked out the church he’s attending? The people he’s involved with there? Do they have a recovery program?”

  Eric shrugged. “I have, and they do.”

  “Maybe it’s a good fit for him.”

  “And maybe it isn’t.”

  9

  Clay

  Clay pushed papers around on his desk, typed notes into his computer, talked to a few people on the telephone. He didn’t have enough to do, which gave him way too much time to think. It irked him that he could solve Annie Mac’s housing issue in a flash if only she were willing.

  But maybe he was still working in rescue mode. After all, a policeman’s role wasn’t merely to catch the bad guys, was it? It was to serve and protect. So, he protected, and he served.

  Eric saw his brother as weak and in need of protecting. Well, sure, that was understandable. And he, Clay, was the one who’d been there for his brothers and sister and mother after his father’s death. He’d been the big brother, the one who worked to help his brothers through college, who moved east to be there for his mother.

  Maybe it was time for him to reevaluate the attraction Annie Mac held. He’d thought he loved her, but did he love her, or, in some convoluted way, did he need her because he saw how much she’d needed him? Past tense, of course.

  Yes, he loved her kids, but, again, they needed him.

  Maybe if he let go of this obsession he had with Annie Mac, he’d find someone else who could and would give him kids of his own. Who’d love him fully. Whom he could love fully.

  Maybe a new woman wouldn’t have her fall of red hair or her almost violet eyes or her lashes. But did that matter? Did it matter if he never found another woman he wanted with a hunger that had been new to him? A hunger he’d never before experienced, not in all his forty long years? And, heaven help him, he’d probably have forty more, unless lead hit him in the gut or the heart or his Jeep failed to protect him from a madman on the highway.

  Noises from the outer office, including Avery’s voice as he chatted with the office manager, filtered through the open door. Avery, a junior detective who shared Clay’s office, had been spending a lot of time wandering around town instead of sitting at his desk. Avery was bored.

  Clay figured something would come up that required detecting. It always did, which meant this was probably only the calm before the storm. Still, he could hope the calm lasted long enough for him to enjoy Christmas Day with his family.

  When his office phone rang, he picked it up, answered. “Dougherty.”

  “Clay? Sheriff Bright here. I’m hoping you can give us a little help. We’ve got a couple of kids we’ve been unable to trace from out near your church. Their mother’s dead.”

  “Out at Hinson’s Trailer Park? Heard something about that.”

  “She seems to have overdosed. Anyway, there’s some question about what happened to her boy and girl. Based on a note we found saying we didn’t need to worry—like that’s going to happen—we checked schools to see if children fitting their description had recently been enrolled in Pitt, Craven, or any neighboring county. Whoever they’re with could be waiting until after the holidays, but I’d like to have their whereabouts confirmed so we can rule out foul play.”

  “You check the handwriting on the note?”

  “Couldn’t find a single example of the mother’s to use as a comparison. She didn’t have a checking account. Didn’t seem to write things down. No journal. Nothing.”

  “Could it have been one of the kids who wrote it?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  “What about pictures of them?”

  “Only school photos. I’ll fax you copies.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get word out here. We’ll be on the lookout.”

  “Appreciate it. I’ve got a deputy asking around at the boy’s school. The girl has Down Syndrome and relatively severe retardation.”

  “How old?”

  “Ten and twelve. The boy’s the younger one.”

  Clay stopped doodling on his notepad. “Not likely to be runaways then. No ten-year-old boy’s going to want—or be able—to take care of an older disabled sister.”

  “That’s what we thought.” The sheriff’s voice had hardened. “Which is why we’re concerned. Neighbors didn’t have much to say except there’d been a man living with them about a year ago. Bobby Shafer. We’re looking for him now, but there’s not much to go on.”

  “Mind faxing me that info, too?”

  “Coming up. Appreciate your help, Clay.”

  Clay disconnected the call. He hated cases like this, missing kids, the possibility of kidnapping. Or worse.

  The fax came in a short while later. Cute kids, the boy with glasses a little too big for his face, the girl with that huge smile. Clay made copies of their photos and took one to Stella, the office manager who kept the station running.

  “Will you post these please? Make sure everyone sees them. We may have two runaways from up at Hinson’s. Or even an abduction.” He explained the circumstances.

  “Those poor children,” Stella said. “I’ll let everyone know.”

  Clay stuffed a second copy of their pictures in a fol
der to take with him. Christmas was a hard time of year for many people and for children in trouble? He hated imagining it.

  Perhaps Ty would recognize the boy. Tomorrow was Friday and the first pageant practice. Clay’d ask around. He might get further than an unknown deputy, armed and in uniform.

  After completing his reports in a two-fingered attack on the keyboard, Clay checked his watch and headed on home. The drive down east normally gave him time to unwind, but there was too much traffic today and too many thoughts hounding him.

  He was supposed to meet Eric at seven for dinner at Aqua. “My treat,” Eric had said when extending the invitation. “You can be my cover. Help me check on my brother without seeming to and on that Agnes woman.”

  Clay couldn’t remember his last meal at Aqua, but he liked the place. And keeping busy was a good thing. He’d gotten used to company at mealtimes. Then he’d gotten unused to it. Two nights in a row spent in conversation? A huge plus.

  He accomplished the mundane acts of arriving home, unlocking, turning off an alarm by rote. Until he entered the kitchen and pictured Ty where the boy had been, climbing on one of the stools, his hands pressed on the counter and his hair tousled, wanting to talk, man to man, saying how much he missed Harvey. “Every time I come here, it seems Harvey should be here too.”

  “He should,” Clay had agreed. Too bad Hannah’d taken her dog back, because a boy needed a dog.

  You took what you could get, didn’t you? And if it wasn’t what you wanted, well, too bad. Just too bad.

  He filled a glass with cold water and walked out to the deck. He’d have liked to stay there, maybe watch the full moon come up off to his left, its light a wide beam on the creek. What he didn’t want at that moment was to drive back into town for a dinner.

  The slight chill of the north wind was merely that, a chill that hadn’t had time to lower the ambient temperature by much. By the time he got to town, he wouldn’t even feel it. He’d duck with Eric into the small back-street restaurant and enjoy good food. Meeting one of the chefs would also be a perk.

  Perks were good.

  10

  Annie Mac

  Practice for the Christmas pageant started at five-thirty, which meant Annie Mac had to feed everyone and get them to the parish house a little early. Besides Jilly, there’d be Agnes’s daughter, Brisa, who’d begged to join them.

  She bustled her two into the car and picked up the other girls at Tadie’s house. “Thank you so much for doing this,” Tadie said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “We’ll have fun. I should have them back by eight-thirty at the latest.”

  “You all be good,” Tadie told the girls. “And buckle up.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Jilly said.

  Annie Mac hoped the organizers of this production knew what they were doing. At least the kids didn’t have speaking parts but only had to sing with everyone and come in at the right time. And the women in charge of costumes had patterns to go by, although this year someone had donated new fabric. There would be three sewing machines available, if she counted the one in the trunk of her car.

  Clay was the first to spot them as they entered the parish hall. He waved with a “Hey, all” and held out a hand to take her sewing machine. “Where do you want this?”

  She indicated one of the classrooms. Katie dashed toward her friends without even acknowledging Clay.

  “She’s excited,” he said, grinning after the child.

  “I think they all are. She can’t wait to don a pair of wings and a halo.”

  Clay laughed. “Can’t blame her.” And then he noticed Jilly and Brisa. “Hey, Jilly. Who’s this lovely young lady with you?”

  Jilly introduced them, still holding Brisa’s hand. “Her mama is working so we brought Brisa.”

  “I met your mother when I had dinner at Aqua last night,” Clay told the girl.

  Ty interrupted. “Come on, guys. Let’s get going.”

  “Hang on a minute, you three,” Clay said. He set the machine on the floor at his feet and dug a folded paper from his pocket. Opening it, he turned it so they could see the photos. “Any of you know these two children?”

  Ty got up close to it, stared from the boy to the girl. “That’s Louis. He goes to my school, a grade ahead.”

  “You sure? I don’t think he’s as old as you are.”

  “Yeah, he’s some kind of genius or something. He got put ahead.”

  “I’ve seen him around,” Jilly said. “But that’s all.”

  Brisa didn’t comment.

  “What about friends?” Clay asked. “Do you know who he hangs around with?”

  “Why?” Ty asked. “What’s he done?”

  “As far as I know, he hasn’t done anything. His mother died, and we’re trying to find out where he and his sister might have gone.”

  “Don’t know,” Ty said. “You want me to ask around on Monday?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Me, too,” Jilly said. “I can ask.”

  “Thank you both.”

  Annie Mac spoke to Ty. “You and Jilly remember to introduce Brisa to Miss Joy.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they called, dragging Brisa between them.

  “What do you think could have happened to those children?” Annie Mac asked.

  Clay hefted the sewing machine again. “I wish I knew. The sheriff said they don’t have a single lead.”

  “And it’s almost Christmas.”

  “A hard time for children in trouble. Let’s just pray they’re actually with friends.” Clay looked after the retreating three before heading into the costume room. “Interesting that Ty told me Brisa was more Jilly’s friend than his, but it seems he’s reconsidered.”

  “He’s a boy. He’s allowed to be fickle.”

  Clay set the machine down on the table she indicated and cocked a brow. “Not nice, Annie Mac.”

  She shrugged, but she could feel the heat rising even as she tried to hide a smile.

  Leaning closer, he whispered, “And not at all true.” Without another word, he left her to think about missing children and her own.

  During the next hours, she occasionally distinguished Clay’s laugh or his voice, and that little leap of something, like a spike in blood pressure, startled her. Trying to ignore the distraction, she cut and sewed and listened to the other women exchange ideas or tidbits of gossip.

  Only, she didn’t really hear them.

  Practice ended later than scheduled, and four exuberant and probably overtired children piled into the car. The drive home was full of their chatter. Katie’s class would all be angels. That was a given. And Ty already knew he’d be a shepherd. Jilly, with her bright red hair and her vivacious personality, had first wanted to play Mary and then had decided that she’d like to wear wings. “Angels get the best songs, too. And they don’t have to remember as much.”

  “You won’t believe what Brisa gets to do,” Ty said. “Miss Joy took one look at her and—”

  “And then,” Jilly interrupted. “She asked if Brisa wanted to play Mary!”

  Brisa’s lilting voice spoke so softly, Annie Mac had to strain to hear her. “But I didn’t know which Mary she meant. What she wanted me to do.”

  Annie Mac squinted at the road ahead. Goodness, the child didn’t know about Mary? Hadn’t she ever heard the Christmas story? “I’m sure,” she said diplomatically, “Miss Joy told you, didn’t she?”

  “No,” Ty said. “Miss Joy was too busy with everyone else. She told me and Jilly to sit down with Brisa and tell her.”

  “So we did,” Jilly said. “And then Brisa thought she’d like to be Mary.”

  “It was so sad,” Brisa said. “Her being forced to have her baby in a stable.”

  All Annie Mac could do was shoot up a little prayer for this child who didn’t know what Christmas meant. Even if Brisa and her mother didn’t believe, that knowledge should be part of her education. What kind of school had she attended in New Jersey?

&nb
sp; Experiencing the pageant would be good for Brisa. She’d learn the songs, hear the story, and participate in all the fun and the magic of the season. If nothing else, by Christmas Day Brisa would know whose story they told and what Mary’s role had been in it.

  11

  Louis

  It was getting colder again, more like winter was supposed to be. Louis wished it would stay warm like last week, because now they had to huddle, sleeping in their knitted caps and their coats and gloves. There’d been frost on the ground outside the old barn that morning, and the grass had crunched under his feet.

  But the cold didn’t explain why today had been different for Linney, why she hadn’t been okay with hugging her lion and waiting under the blankets when he’d trekked off to the dollar store for supplies. They’d needed diapers, wipes, and garbage bags, plus toilet paper, and he’d made sure she was warm enough.

  Sure, the first week or so had been hard on her. She’d asked again and again and again for Mama, but she’d still done what he told her. She was a real good girl and mostly happy. Sometimes she did get stubborn, but hardly ever. When he told her to do something, she almost always did it.

  Maybe he should have expected this. Sooner or later a day was bound to go bad.

  Today hadn’t started out bad. They’d eaten some lunch, and she’d seemed fine. He’d left her tucked in and playing with her lion, and he’d promised to come right back. “You just stay there and keep warm.”

  She’d nodded, but she hadn’t said anything.

  He’d hurried, like he always did, not taking chances. Then he’d returned to his sister so scared, she’d wet through everything, even their blankets. Now she was cold and shaking.

  Good thing she wasn’t a loud crier or a screamer. A very good thing. There’d been lots of cars at the church last night, and you never knew if someone was hanging around who could hear a kid scream. So he was real glad she only made little noises.