An Angel for Christmas

by Heather Graham

  The screen suddenly turned back to snow; no words issued through the speakers, only a fizzing sound that went with the snow.

  “Lost it again!” Mac said, walking back from the kitchen area into the bar. “It’s been like that all day, on one minute, and gone the next. Little Miss MacDougal, I will have your turkey out in just a matter of minutes.”

  “Turkey,” Mike echoed, staring at the snow-covered television screen, and then lowering his head as he shook it.

  “Can you believe the TV went out right when it did?” Bobby asked rhetorically.

  “Yes, I can,” Gabe said. His eyes were downcast. He was talking to himself, really, Morwenna thought, and he sounded a little bitter, and somewhat resigned.

  “Bobby, dear baby brother, let me out,” Morwenna said. “I’m going to go and help Mac with the dinner plates. He’s all alone here, and nine of us just plopped into his bar. He definitely needs a hand.”

  “Sure. I can help, too,” Bobby said.

  “No, no—two can handle it. You stay here—and keep an eye on him,” she said, looking at Gabe.

  His eyes met hers. Still that clear green, and so seemingly without guile.

  He didn’t smile; he didn’t say a word. He just looked at her, and when she turned to walk away, she knew that his eyes were following her.

  He may not be the con, she thought. But there was something odd going on. It was as if he knew far more about them and their situations than they did.

  She turned and stared at Luke DeFeo. He was looking back at her. “We’d love turkey, too, you know. Please,” he said politely.

  She nodded. “We don’t intend to starve anyone.”

  He smiled.

  And it was strange; she thought that he, too, knew something that she didn’t.

  A chilling thought struck her: What if they were both cons, just playing a game with the family? And what if…?

  What if they were both just depending on the decency of the family, waiting for a chance to rob them all blind or—or worse?

  She squared her shoulders. There was nothing she could do that they weren’t already doing.

  Waiting.

  Hoping.

  Praying.

  Shayne finally left his position at the bar and walked over to the booths; Bobby was across from Gabe, keeping an eye on him.

  He slid in across from Luke DeFeo.

  “You would have seen it. You would have seen that he was the homicidal escaped con if the television hadn’t gone out.”

  “Maybe,” Shayne said, reminding himself to maintain a poker face, no matter what the man had to say to him. “And maybe we would have seen that you’re a lying scumbag.”

  DeFeo took a swallow of his beer. His handcuffs clinked together as he did so.

  Despite the hindrance, he seemed to really enjoy the beer.

  He lifted his glass. “I’m grateful…grateful to your family. At least, you’re not treating us like animals. At least, not too much so.”

  “You’re not animals. And, frankly, around my family, animals are treated like people. My mother is a sucker for any lost puppy or kitten that comes her way.”

  “And what about you—and yours?” DeFeo asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot—you’re divorced. I guess it would be the wife who wanted to take in every stray.”

  Shayne blinked, not speaking for a minute. Yes, of course, over the years, they’d had many a visitor. When a dog or cat made it into their yard without a tag, they kept it, and Cindy spent endless hours walking the streets, putting up flyers and heading to every animal shelter in the area to see that a flyer went up. She raged against those who didn’t neuter or spay their pets; she cried over the fate of ill-treated creatures. And, to her credit, any time Cindy hadn’t found the rightful owner, she had found someone in need of a stray.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to cause you any pain. I know what it can be like. I’ve gone the route,” DeFeo said.

  “We’re all doing all right,” Shayne said.

  “Sure, sure, of course.”

  “Turkey!”

  Shayne heard the excited cry come from the bar; it was Genevieve, of course. Mac had decided to bring the first plates out to Shayne’s mom and daughter.

  But Genevieve squirmed off her grandmother’s lap and reached for the plate. “I think they’re hungry,” she told Stacy, inclining her head toward the booths. “They looked like they were fighting before. Maybe ’cause they were hungry. Daddy told me that people do bad things sometimes ’cause they don’t have anything, and they’re hungry. So I’ll give that man my plate, and maybe he won’t look like he’s snarling all the time.”

  Shayne smiled, and he reminded himself that whatever agony and loss he felt over his marriage, Cindy was a good person, and a good mother, and between them, they’d created a couple of really good children.

  Genevieve, the plate wobbling a little precariously in her hands, walked over and set it in front of Luke DeFeo.

  He studied her for a long moment.

  “Thanks, kid,” he said.

  The television screen flashed back into working order; local news was on.

  “We expect snow at this time of year,” a weatherman was saying, “but the intensity of the drifts that reached the mountains was higher than predicted. Plows are busy, and police and rescue agencies are out on the roads searching for those who started out for homes in the Blue Ridge area and didn’t quite make it home for Christmas.”

  A cameraman was focused on a car that had slid into an embankment, precariously near the guard-rail. From that area, if a car had gone over…

  Shayne leaned forward, feeling as if his heart were caught in his throat.

  It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be Cindy’s Subaru! Cindy was on her way to Paris; she’d started seeing a travel agent when the divorce had been final and he’d been offered a freebie at a chalet in France. She’d been due to leave on Christmas Eve.

  Of course, it couldn’t be Cindy’s car. There were thousands of Subaru Foresters in the area. They were good cars for harsh winters.

  It was a moss-green Forester, just like his wife’s car.

  Ex-wife’s car! he reminded himself.

  Shayne glanced around quickly, wondering if the children were watching the screen; they weren’t. Genevieve was still staring at Luke DeFeo, smiling, as if she admired him a great deal, and Connor was involved in his game.

  He stared back at the television screen.

  If there was a cameraman there, the driver and passengers, assuming there were any, had to be all right.

  “It’s an overhead shot,” DeFeo said.

  “What?”

  “Look, it’s an overhead shot. Must be a helicopter… Look how the shot shakes, zooming in and out.”

  He was right.

  Shayne felt every muscle in his body tighten; he studied everything he could for the seconds that the waving shot remained on the screen. He searched for a sign of some kind that would tell him exactly where in the mountains the car was stranded.

  He found it, right before the screen switched to a traffic pileup in Charlottesburg.

  Dead Man’s Curve.

  It wasn’t an official designation, and he wasn’t sure just what mile marker it was in the Blue Ridge. It was about five miles down from them. He knew it from the overlook at the apron of the curve and the flat-face rock just to the side of it.

  He stood, heedless of DeFeo. He walked over to the bar. Mac had paused to exchange a few words with his father.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t know why, but I think that Cindy is stranded on the mountain, maybe freezing to death. Dad, I’m going down there.”

  Chapter 9

  There would be no arguing with Shayne; Morwenna knew that.

  Stacy, of course, was upset. Shayne might be a working physician in his mid-thirties and a father himself; he was still her child. Stacy was disturbed already—of course they all were—and now this new danger to
her family seemed to be making her even more anxious. “But, Shayne, really—Cindy is supposed to be in Europe by now,” Stacy said.

  “There’s no way you could know that you saw Cindy’s car,” Mike said.

  “Look, I know exactly where the car was stuck,” Shayne said. “You don’t understand. I have a feeling. A gut feeling. And I know Cindy, and I know that she never knew these mountains like we do. She’s probably in that car—maybe even injured. I have to go. I have to.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Morwenna said.

  Both her parents gasped.

  “No, Morwenna, let me go with Shayne,” Bobby said.

  She turned to look at her brother. “Look, Wenna, I’m not saying you’re out of shape or anything. You’re in great shape. But I do way more in the snow than you do. I’m a far better skier, I am much better with a snowboard and I’m even a better hiker.”

  “You can’t take skis out there,” Stacy said. “The snow is covering too many ruts…you won’t always see the ledges—with the sun out, the snow can be blinding.”

  “And if you walked again, it could take forever,” Mike said.

  “I’ve got a snowmobile out back,” Mac said. “She’s not the newest model, but she’s a work horse. If you follow close to the road, you’ll be safe enough in it.”

  “You have any survival kits?” Shayne asked him. “Bobby, don’t make Mom and Dad worry for two. If Mac can lend me the snowmobile, I’ll be there and back in no time.”

  “Hell, no,” Bobby said. “I know the roads better than any of you. I’m the one who still spends the most time here.”

  “Kid!” Luke DeFeo called from the booth. “Your brother doesn’t know that his wife is in any car stuck anywhere. She’s in Europe. That car could belong to anyone. I understand how you feel, but you need to be sensible.”

  Morwenna looked at him. Could the man really be worried about her family?

  Genevieve had been standing there, looking from adult to adult. She suddenly cried out and ran to her father. “Daddy, is Mommy out in the snow?”

  Shayne shot Luke DeFeo a murderous stare. “No, darling, probably not. I’m just kind of a worry wart, you know that. I saw a car stuck that looks kind of like Mommy’s.”

  Morwenna hadn’t even seen Connor come over to stand behind his grandfather.

  “It could be Mommy,” he said. “She was crying before you came to get us yesterday morning, Dad. She wanted us to be with you, but she didn’t want to be away from us.”

  Morwenna felt something behind her back and she turned around, startled. Gabe Lange had left his booth, and stood just behind her.

  They were getting too lax! They needed to be watching him.

  “Connor, I don’t think that you have to worry. Your dad is a doctor, and I think he would have thought about getting to that car whether it’s actually your mom in it or not. Whoever is stranded probably needs help,” he said.

  “I have to go,” Shayne said quietly.

  Stacy looked at her son for a long moment. “Yes, of course you do,” she said.

  “You realize,” Luke DeFeo called from his booth. “Gabe wants two of the able-bodied men out of here because he’s planning something. This could be a fool’s errand; that car could have been stranded since last night, and whoever is in it is probably dead.”

  Genevieve started to sob. Stacy picked her up. “Honey, it could be someone else’s car, and your mommy may be safe in a nice warm chalet somewhere,” she said.

  “And there are two able-bodied men and a few strong boys here as well,” Mac protested in a growl. “Shayne, there’s a rescue kit on the back wall of the kitchen—take that. The snowmobile keys are right by it. You and Bobby get going. You’ll be back here in no time, and you’re going to want to be back before dark.”

  “We’ll be here—Mac and my family and I,” Brian Williamson said firmly. “Everything will be status quo.”

  “We’ll be fine, won’t we, Mom?” Morwenna said, setting an arm around her mother’s shoulders.

  “At least grab a piece of turkey before you leave,” Stacy said, forcing a smile.

  “All right, we’re going,” Shayne said. Genevieve came running over to hug his legs; Shayne picked her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t you worry, munchkin. And Connor, you watch out for your sister for me, right?”

  Connor nodded gravely.

  The two grabbed their coats and headed around the bar to go out through the kitchen. Mike was staring worriedly after his sons; he held the shotgun in a lax position.

  Morwenna turned to Gabe. “You! Back to the table,” she told him.

  “This worries me sick!” DeFeo said from his position in his booth. “They’re on a fool’s errand. The snow is blanketing all kinds of hazards. And,” he said, looking directly at Morwenna, “your brother hates his ex-wife.” Genevieve gasped.

  “You shut up, and shut up right now,” Morwenna said, approaching the table. “One more word, and you may be the ghost of J. Edgar Hoover, but I’ll knock you out flat with my rifle butt and not feel a twitch of guilt as I do it!” she warned.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  And they all heard the motor of the snow mobile start up and rev.

  Morwenna looked from DeFeo to Gabe Lange, who had taken his seat again. He was watching her. He smiled when their eyes met. “They’re going to be fine,” he told her with assurance.

  “Maybe,” DeFeo said, sounding weary. He groaned. “I really wish you could see what’s happening here. This man is being as nice as he can be. He’s trying to make you all like him. He’s pretending to be good and kind, and worried about you rather than himself. That’s his act. He’s seducing you all with his gentle personality. And then he’ll strike.”

  They were all silent for a minute.

  “Eat your turkey!” Stacy told him. “Before we lock you in the outhouse!”

  DeFeo smiled. “There’s an outhouse?”

  “We can arrange for one,” Mike assured him.

  “I wish you’d let me help you,” DeFeo said. “You’re good people. I wish I could make you see what you’re doing, and that you’re being used, which puts you into a greater realm of danger.”

  Bobby was glad that Mac Scott was a real mountain man; his survival kit contained rope, carabiners, pulleys, water, bandages, water and medical supplies. His snowmobile had three compartments, and one held a heavy windbreaker and blanket, while another held flashlights and emergency flares.

  He convinced his brother to sit behind him and let him do the steering; Shayne was feeling desperate, he knew, but his brother was never stupid. Bobby did know the mountain best.

  Still, it was rough going. The snow was deep, and all discernible lines between the road itself, the embankment on the right and the guardrails on the left had all but disappeared.

  Bobby kept the speed in check. At the best of times, in a car with the world’s finest tires, mountain roads could be treacherous. No one in their right mind would have been on the roads late yesterday; only those who really knew the mountain could have foreseen just how bad it was going to be.

  Were they crazy? Was Cindy in Europe? Were they really on a fool’s errand, whose only possible end would be to come across a corpse frozen in place behind the wheel?

  And yet it was true; Shayne had panicked because of his ex-wife. But, if he had realized that he could reach the car and that it might be occupied, he would have come out anyway. No physician had ever taken his oath more seriously.

  He was jarred from his thoughts as the snow-mobile suddenly bounced high and slammed back down—he’d hit a rock or obstruction on the road. He heard Shayne swear, and felt his brother’s arms tighten around him. When they landed, he cut his speed, slowing almost to a stop and shouting back at Shayne, “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, slow her down more, I guess,” Shayne said.

  “Can’t save anyone if we’re dead or broken,” Bobby agreed.

  He’d almost come to a stop;
he revved the motor again, making sure to keep it alive as well. The snowy air hit his face with a fierce blast—stinging. He hugged the mountain as closely as he dared. They were on a road, damn it, but they might as well have been on a field of snow. Only the towering heights of the pines and evergreens on the mountainside gave him any sense of direction.

  He should have grabbed a ski mask. He felt as if his nose was so cold, it was burning off.

  He rounded bend after bend, and slowed as the slope became greater.

  He blinked hard as his eyes watered at the cold air. He didn’t dare look too far to the left; they could see the towns in the valley below, so far down that they looked like little houses in a Christmas display.

  He focused on driving, and again, they curved down another bend.

  And there they saw the moss-green Subaru, slammed against the overhead, and the embankment, and far too close to the ledge.

  If Morwenna had been feeling fraught with tension before, it was nothing compared to the way she was feeling now. Shayne and Bobby were gone, and from the time they left, she discovered that she was looking up at the big, carved bear-framed clock over the bar.

  Seconds ticked by so slowly.

  Brian and Mary Williamson and their boys had been a godsend; Brian had gotten it into his head to teach the boys how to play pool, and so he and Mary—an excellent player herself—were distracting them to the best of their ability. Stacy was keeping Genevieve as busy as possible, having her help out, putting down and picking up plates and refilling beverage glasses.

  Mac and Morwenna had gotten the rest of the turkey dinners out, only everyone had seemed to have lost their appetite. The boys ate a few bites between shots; Morwenna played with her fork, herself, pushing her food around on her plate.

  Only their two prisoners seemed to clean up their turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and cranberry sauce.

  They, too, seemed to be watching the clock.

  It had seemed like forever before the day had begun—it was only four in the afternoon. Morwenna prayed that her brothers would return before the sun fell in earnest.