Yuletide Peril

by Irene Brand

  “That’s all right with me, but maybe you’d better check it out with Taylor and your sister.”

  “Taylor has talked about Brooke most of the time since she met her. She’ll be excited to have her along.” He gave Janice his phone number, saying, “Call if you need to, but if not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Janice replaced the phone and a warm tenderness caressed a place in her heart that had been cold for years. She was accustomed to standing on her own two feet, not relying on anyone else. She’d thought she preferred it that way, but she suddenly realized how much simpler a problem seemed when someone shared it with her.

  She bounded off the bed, saying, “You’re in for a fun day tomorrow, Brooke.”

  When she explained about the planned visit with the Mallorys, Brooke grinned widely. “It’s nice to have friends.”

  “Sure is,” Janice said, and she picked up a brush and started combing Brooke’s long silken brown hair, a bedtime ritual they’d started when Brooke was a toddler.

  Lance wasn’t coming until one o’clock, and Janice had anticipated a leisurely morning, but the telephone beside her bed rang before seven. She pushed aside the covers and swung her feet to the floor when the motel clerk answered her hello.

  “Miss Reid, something terrible happened last night. I just arrived for work, and when I walked across the parking lot, I noticed that the tires are flat on your car. Looks like they’ve been slashed. Since the damage occurred on our property, I’ve called the police.”

  Janice’s hand shook as she replaced the phone. Stunned for a moment, she fell backward on the bed. This had to be another deliberate effort to drive her away from Stanton. Was it worth all of this drama to move to this town? She was tempted to return to Willow Creek as soon as her tires were repaired. Rallying, she hurried out of bed.

  The ringing phone hadn’t awakened Brooke, but after Janice hurried into jeans and a T-shirt and strapped on a pair of sandals, she shook Brooke’s shoulder gently. When she thought her sister was awake, Janice said, “I’m going downstairs for a while. Stay in bed until I come back. I’ll bring breakfast.”

  A police cruiser was parked behind her blue car when Janice rushed through the double doors of the motel and ran across the parking lot. The tires had been new when she’d bought the vehicle, but long punctures, presumably made with a knife, had destroyed them. As she viewed the vandalism, a myriad of emotions coursed through Janice’s mind.

  At first she was incredulous that such a thing had happened. Disbelief faded into fury. Fear replaced anger when she considered the ramifications of what had happened to her car. Would her enemies attempt physical attacks on Brooke or her now that she had moved to Stanton?

  Janice became aware that the chief of police stood beside her and she transferred her gaze to him.

  He tipped the brim of his gray felt hat. “Bill Goodman at your service, ma’am. The hotel clerk says this is your car.”

  She nodded, without speaking. Her throat was numb, and she swallowed with effort.

  “Who are you, ma’am?”

  “Janice Reid,” she stammered.

  The chief of police’s brows shot up in surprise. “Any relation to the Reids in this county?”

  “John Reid was my uncle.”

  “Aha!” he said, and his brown eyes brightened with sudden comprehension. “So you’re the one who inherited his estate?”

  “Yes. My father is his youngest brother. Although,” Janice added in a contemptuous tone, “I don’t go around bragging about it.”

  “Do you know any of your relatives in these parts?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t remember ever being here until I came last week.”

  “Where’s your pa?”

  “In prison somewhere. I haven’t heard from him for years.”

  The officer fingered his mustache as he walked around her car. A few inches shorter than Janice, Chief Goodman was probably in his late fifties, and there was a slight stoop to his shoulders. His neat brown uniform failed to provide him with an impressive appearance.

  “I’ll have to inspect the car before you can have the tires replaced,” he said. “Do you need the car today?”

  “No. Can you recommend a garage to repair the damage?”

  “There’s a tire store in town that will give you a good price if you can wait until Monday. They’re closed on Saturday afternoons and Sunday.”

  “I can wait until then, I guess. I’ll be taking my little sister to school on Monday, but we can walk there.”

  “You’re planning to live in Stanton?”

  “Yes,” and motioning to her car, she added, “but it seems I’m being warned to leave.”

  The cop’s eyes twinkled with admiration. “You’re a sharp lady!”

  “What else can I think? I’ve looked around and no other cars in the lot have been touched. I don’t think it’s a random act of violence. This was deliberate and planned.”

  “I’m sorry it happened to you.”

  The chief got in the cruiser and drove away. Janice walked slowly into the motel and picked up some rolls and juice in the lobby. Unwilling to ruin Brooke’s pleasure in the day, she didn’t mention the vandalism.

  Lance Gordon lived in a two-story stone house in a subdivision located on a plateau north of Stanton, about five miles from the center of town. Driving from the motel to his home, he explained, “I’d just built this house five years ago when Linda got her divorce and she moved in with me. I turned over the running of the house to her. I wanted Linda and Brooke to be free to entertain their friends, but I like my privacy. I reserved two rooms for my bedroom and office, and except for meals, that’s where I spend my time.”

  Linda Mallory was a quiet, blond, sad-faced woman, but she was obviously pleased to look after Brooke for a few hours. Janice had no qualms about trusting Brooke to Linda’s care for the afternoon.

  “One of my major worries about moving to Stanton has lessened now that Brooke has found a friend,” Janice said as Lance drove away from his house. “She’s always made friends quicker than I have.”

  “Kids do seem to make friends easier than adults. For the most part, people in Stanton are easy to know. I believe both of you will find friends here.”

  He wanted to assure her that she’d already found one in him, but Lance was puzzled by the air of defeat Janice exhibited today. Her shoulders slumped, and her slender hands unconsciously twisted together in her lap as if her composure was hanging by a single thread.

  To avoid thinking about the new crisis, Janice focused on Lance. The other times she had seen him, he’d been dressed in a suit, dress shirt and tie. Today, he wore heavy leather boots, jeans and a casual long-sleeved shirt. A ball cap covered his light hair.

  Janice had dressed in jeans, too, and she wore a sweatshirt and lightweight boots with thick soles.

  After he parked by the entrance to Mountjoy, Lance took a machete and a large flashlight from the back of his van. He passed the flashlight to Janice.

  At the gate, he paused with his hand on the latch. “I’ve hesitated to tell you,” he said, “but yesterday, I decided to check out your property. I got in sight of the house, and if I was superstitious, I’d say your property is haunted.”

  Conscious of the sudden gray pallor that spread across her face and the apprehension in her eyes, he quickly explained what he’d heard the day before.

  “Judging from similar experiences others have had when they’ve trespassed on the property,” he concluded, “this must be an effort to scare intruders away. I don’t know if it’s safe for you to go any farther.”

  Lance’s words coming on the heels of the slashed tires alarmed Janice as nothing had ever done. She staggered against the gate, and Lance reached out a hand to steady her. She shook her head.

  “I’m all right,” she struggled to say. Through tight lips, she told him about the written message she’d received warning her to stay away from Stanton.

  “Maybe I should have heeded the
warning. I don’t mind risking my own life to claim what belongs to me, but if anything happened to me, Brooke would be all alone!” Swallowing with difficulty, she continued, “And last night, the tires on my car were slashed. Chief Goodman is investigating.”

  Lance frowned and his blue eyes darkened with anger.

  “Every time I decide I can make a home in Stanton,” Janice continued, “something else happens. I don’t know what to do.”

  “What do you want to do?” Lance asked.

  “Forget I’ve ever heard of this place, take Brooke and move so far away that no one has ever heard of my family.”

  A gleam of interest in his eyes, Lance persisted, “But what are you going to do?”

  Janice forced herself to remember the biblical promise, “God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power.” If anything happened to her, surely God would take care of Brooke.

  “Stay here, claim my property and find out who’s trying to drive me out of town.”

  Smiling, Lance opened the gate and stepped aside for her to enter. “Then be my guest,” he said. Swiftly, he stepped in front of her. “On second thought, perhaps I’ll not be a gentleman today. I’ll walk in front—you stay behind me.” He handed his car keys to Janice. “If anything happens to me, run as fast as you can and bring the chief of police.”

  Janice laid her hand on his arm. “This is my problem. I should take the risk, not you. Why are you going to all this trouble for me?”

  A look of bewilderment in his eyes, Lance shook his head slowly. “I really don’t know.”

  Chapter Four

  Janice’s face flushed. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m practically a stranger to you. I don’t know why you’d put your life on the line for me.”

  “I don’t understand it, either,” he said, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Let’s just say it’s because you need help, and it’s my Christian duty to help you.”

  “Except for the years I spent at VOH, I’ve taken care of myself and Brooke without any help. I’d like to think I can still do it, but I’m in over my head now. I can’t manage alone anymore.”

  “Then let’s check out your property and go from there. Be careful.”

  With the machete, Lance cleared a narrow path for them to follow until they came to the copse of evergreens. Dried needles matted the ground and walking was easier. Janice enjoyed a sense of pride to know that this property actually belonged to her. The grounds had been badly neglected and it was almost like walking through a wilderness, but she believed the lawn could be restored to its original splendor.

  It was hot and stuffy under the trees, and Lance stopped to wipe his face with a handkerchief. Some of the underbrush consisted of sturdy brier vines that were difficult to cut. Janice felt guilty when she noticed several scratches on his arms. He breathed deeply and took a swig of water from the bottle he carried. Looking around, he asked, “Who’s been responsible for looking after this property?”

  “Nobody, apparently. Mr. Santrock was administrator of Uncle John’s estate, but he said he hasn’t been here for years. Perhaps he thought the house was too far gone to need checking, and he may be right,” she added, when Lance hacked down a large multiflora rosebush and she had a sweeping view of the house.

  Paint had peeled from the structure, vines grew all over the front porch, and several windows on the second floor were shattered. Branches from a tall spruce tree lay on the porch roof.

  “We had a bad storm a week or so ago. Looks like the lightning struck that spruce tree. It will have to be cut down.”

  The overall effect was disheartening. Janice wanted to turn tail and run, and authorize Mr. Santrock to sell Mountjoy before she went any farther.

  Noting the dismay in her eyes, Lance said, “We’re here, so we might as well look inside. Don’t forget, I didn’t hear anything until I started up the steps. I’ll go first.”

  Lance tested his weight on the steps and the top one buckled under him. He leaped on the porch to keep from falling. The porch floor itself seemed sturdy enough, probably because it was protected from the elements by a rusty roof. He half expected a repetition of the raucous noise he’d heard the other time he’d visited this house, but all was silent except for a mockingbird singing from one of the bushes.

  He held out his hand to Janice. “Watch your step.”

  Janice expelled the breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and accepted Lance’s help. In spite of the fear clutching at her heart, as Janice stepped on the front porch of her ancestral home, she had the unfamiliar sense of belonging.

  Four windows fronting on the porch were placed symmetrically between a massive, oak door with an oval, leaded frosted-glass window. She put her face close to the cracked window panes, but they were too dirty for her to see the interior of the house. The sun shone brightly, but the towering spruce trees surrounding the house shut out the sunlight, and Janice shivered slightly. Lance tried the door but it was locked. He moved to a window, which lifted easily at his touch.

  Taking the flashlight from Janice, Lance stuck his head cautiously through the window and flashed the light around the room. No danger seemed to lurk in the dim interior, so he stepped into the room. He reached a hand to Janice and steadied her as she climbed over the window sill.

  Janice’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dark room.

  “The house is still furnished!” she said.

  Lance’s steps were loud as he walked around the room, the floorboards squeaking under his weight. He stopped beside a dark wooden divan upholstered in red velvet, noting two matching chairs.

  “I’ve always heard that this house was luxurious. This was elegant furniture at one time.”

  “Everything is dusty, and look at the floor—we didn’t make all of these tracks.”

  “I’d noticed that,” Lance said, wishing that Janice hadn’t. “The house hasn’t been as vacant as it looked. Stay close to me and we’ll look around.”

  The tracks had been made recently, Lance thought, and that there had been no effort to conceal them disturbed him.

  Janice took hold of Lance’s shirttail and, grinning, she said, “Try to get rid of me. I’ll stick to you like a burr.”

  They walked slowly through four large downstairs rooms, separated by a wide entrance hall that ran the length of the house. They’d entered the room to the right of the hallway. Behind it was a bedroom, and across the hall was a kitchen and a dining room. The rooms were of equal size except the bedroom, where part of the room had been partitioned into a bathroom accessed from the rear hall.

  Although the living room and the bedroom looked as they must have a hundred years ago, the kitchen held modern appliances. There were cabinets below and over the sink and Janice opened one of the doors.

  “There’s still some dishes and pans here,” she said, and stepped backward as a mouse jumped out of the cabinet. “Looks like I’ve inherited some livestock,” she said with a grimace.

  Lance grinned, surprised that she’d wasn’t scared. His sister shrieked and headed for higher ground when she saw a mouse.

  He turned one of the faucets on the sink. “No water, of course,” he said. “I suppose the plumbing was drained when John moved out of the house.”

  As Janice’s eyes acclimated to the dark interior, a sense of discouragement swept over her. The carpets on the hardwood floors were threadbare. The upholstered furniture in the living room had been gnawed by vermin. Several layers of tattered wallpaper drooped from the ceiling and fluttered around the walls. Ragged curtains hung over the windows. Stimulated by a strong breeze wafting through a broken window, long strings of cobwebs swayed rhythmically, reminding Janice of puppets on a string.

  Lance watched as Janice’s expressions changed from gloom to optimism as she passed from one room to another.

  “If this isn’t a sorry mess,” she said once.

  After they’d scanned the downstairs rooms, they paused beside a walnut garment tree in the front ce
nter hall.

  Forcing herself to overlook the bad and recognize the positive, Janice touched the hall tree and said, “I’ve heard of these,” she said. “The hooks were for gentleman to hang their hats, and the mirror helped ladies take a last look at their appearance before they left the house.” She lifted the lid of a narrow bench and a film of dust flew into her face. “This box was used to hold outdoors shoes. Except for dust, it seems in good condition.”

  “And it also served as a place to sit on while changing shoes,” Lance said.

  “The house itself seems sturdy enough and the furniture is beautiful. I’d like to live here.”

  “It will take a lot of hard work,” Lance said.

  “I know. But I think it’s worth fixing up. Do you?”

  Lance took his handkerchief and dusted a long deacon’s bench in the hallway. He motioned Janice to sit down and he sat beside her.

  “Most of this furniture has an antique value, and with time, money and hard work, the house could be turned into a showplace,” he said slowly.

  “I don’t know much about antiques, but I’m sure you’re right. When this house has been vacant and isolated for several years, why hasn’t someone stolen this stuff?”

  “I told you that a lot of people around here think the house is haunted.”

  Eyeing him to see if he was kidding her, she was surprised that he wore a serious expression. Since this was the first amusing thing she’d heard in days, she exploded into a deep, warm laugh. “That’s ridiculous! You don’t believe that, do you?”

  Laughter erased some of the tension from Janice’s face, and her green eyes glowed like sunlight shining on ocean waves. Lance was delighted to see her face alive with merriment.

  His lips twisted humorously. “If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I didn’t say I believed the house was haunted, but it has that reputation. That may have kept people from stealing everything.”