by Debbie Mason
“GG, say hello to your great-grandson. Maybe make one of the books fall off the shelf to let us know you’re here.”
“I’m sorry, lass. I’m not up to doing any parlor tricks today,” Colleen said from where she lay on the bed. Yet when she saw Caine glance around the room, she was afraid it might hurt his feelings if she didn’t acknowledge him in some way, so she stretched out a hand to the nightstand and, focusing all her energy into the tips of her fingers, she knocked over a glass of water.
“Interesting. But I’m still having the manor inspected for mold,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen. “Since you’ve already figured out that Jasper’s my mole at the manor, perhaps you’d like to figure out who is working for my grandmother in Harmony Harbor.”
Theia looked from his phone to his face. “Emily heard about Evangeline’s protest last night?”
“Oh, it’s even better than that. She’s heard about my bet with Ms. Christmas.”
Theia’s phone pinged, and she glanced at her screen. “Okay, so your grandmother might have found out about that the old-fashioned way. The story has been picked up on the wire.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Sorry. I wish I were, for your sake at least. It’ll be great publicity for Evie. They’re playing it up as a feel-good story leading into the holiday season. A Christmas Angel takes on Scrooge. Poppy says the Gazette has nine-to-one odds in the angel’s favor.”
“Trust me, Evangeline Christmas is no angel. The woman played me like a Stradivarius,” Caine said as he turned to walk away.
“Where are you going?” Theia called after him.
He popped his head out of the closet. “To prove to an angel that the devil always wins. You might want to let Jasper know to expect the mold-inspection team before noon.”
“He always has to get the last word in,” Theia said, staring at the now-empty closet. Then she turned toward the bed. “Don’t worry, GG. Jasper’s still on our side. When I confronted him last summer, he asked if I’d heard the phrase Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
Praise the Lord and the Holy Ghost, Colleen thought from where she lay, still recovering from her shock.
“But I have to be honest. It’s hard to think of Caine as the enemy,” Theia continued, coming to sit beside Colleen. “He’s my best friend, and I love him. I know, with what Wicklow Developments has gotten up to in the past, that it might be difficult for you to see, but he’s a good man. One of the best men I’ve ever known. You have to help me figure out what to do, GG. I won’t let him hurt the family or take the manor, but I can’t lose him either.”
Colleen sat up, putting her hand on Theia’s back. “We won’t. He’s mine as much as he is yours, Theia. We don’t turn our back on family no matter what. But right now there’s something more pressing we need to do. We have to get my book back. Clio, lass. Clio has my book,” she shouted the last in Theia’s ear, crossing her fingers as she did.
“Okay. I’ve got it. Clio has the book.” She groaned. “Oh no, Clio has the book. If she’s anything like her father, we’re in trouble.”
Chapter Eight
Evie hung Caine’s angel on the artificial Christmas tree. She’d gotten a little carried away with the glitter. She couldn’t help herself. As her sparkling red sweater could attest, she had a thing for glitter. At first she’d thought the extra sparkle on the angel’s wings would catch his eye, but now she was afraid he’d reject it on account it was a little girlie.
“We’d best batten down the hatches, lass. We have a nor’easter by the name of Caine coming this way,” Seamus said from where he sat on the stool behind the sales counter, staring at his cell phone with a worried expression on his face.
“He heard about the story in the Gazette, didn’t he?” Evie knew Poppy had been trying to help, and to sell a few newspapers, of course, but Evie imagined a man of Caine’s stature wouldn’t appreciate being cast as Scrooge in the local news. Then again, it might have been the part in the article about the odds being against him that he objected to. He seemed the competitive sort.
“I doubt he’d have a problem with the story if it were just in the Gazette. But it’s gone a little farther afield than that, I’m afraid. The Wicked Witch of Wicklow County has heard about it.”
That wasn’t good, Evie thought as she moved the angel a little higher to ensure it would be directly in Caine’s line of sight. She’d heard more than she’d wanted to about his grandmother this morning. Seamus had shared his thoughts on Emily Green Elliot while helping Evie to come up with the perfect angel assignment for Caine.
An assignment that would put the CEO of Wicklow Developments in touch with his Christmas past. A past that had sounded difficult and painful. Perhaps even more painful than Seamus had told her. She had a feeling he’d held something back about Caine’s past. In the end, she and Seamus had settled on the Murphy family.
Thirteen-year-old Jamie Murphy had lost the father he’d adored eight months before and was struggling with his grief. It didn’t help that they were also struggling financially. But his mother, who was working three jobs, thought only of her son. She believed he needed a male role model. Evie believed they needed a Christmas miracle, and Seamus thought his nephew was it.
Evie hoped he was right. She used to be good at reading people. It was part of her training. She didn’t end up with a PhD in psychology without learning a thing or two about what made people tick. But these days she had a harder time trusting her instincts. It was because of her ex, Aaron Peters. He’d hidden his dark side from her as easily as a chameleon changed its color.
Her fingers trembled as she moved Caine’s angel an inch to the right, and she lowered her hand, hating that the mere thought of Aaron still had the power to upset her. It had been more than a year since she’d left him and New York.
Her phone vibrated on the sales counter, the theme song from The Grinch jarring and shrill in comparison to the playlist of classical Christmas music she’d downloaded earlier this morning. She’d been trying to think of ways to put Caine at ease (before she sent him off to deal with the ghosts of his past) when she remembered Seamus commenting on his nephew’s love of fine wine and the classics.
She went with the music since offering him a glass of wine at ten in the morning would no doubt be frowned upon. Though she’d probably want a drink after talking to her mother. Because if the Wicked Witch of Wicklow County had heard the news, there was little doubt the New York Grinch had too.
“Are you planning on taking the call, lass? I’ll turn it off if you’re not.”
“My mother doesn’t give up easily, and it’s only a five-hour drive—although she’d make it in under four, so yes, I think I’d better get it.”
“Here”—he smiled and got up to pat the stool—“we’ll trade places.”
He cocked his head, no doubt at the sound Evie also heard coming from the kitchen. Max was at it again, snuffling and scratching as if his favorite squeaky toy were on the other side of the basement door.
“Sounds like Max is up to no good,” Seamus said. “I’ll go take a look.”
“Would you mind taking a look in the basement?”
“Aye, I’ll check what he’s about.”
“Thanks, Seamus,” she said as she picked up her phone, not surprised her mother had yet to disconnect. Lenore was nothing if not stubborn. “Hey, Mom. Isn’t your spin class on Tuesday mornings? Is everything okay?” It had never occurred to her to worry about her mom before now. But her mother’s days were carefully scheduled, every minute accounted for and color-coded in her planner. Nothing kept Lenore from her morning exercise classes. Even an audit.
“No. Everything is not okay. I was at my spin class, and instead of biking in the Andes, Alundra made us watch the guest spot he taped for Coffee with Claire. Imagine my surprise when, on the morning news, I see a photo of my daughter chained to a bulldozer to protest her Christmas store being made into a parking lot!”
“Mom, I can—” She was almost glad her mother interrupted her because Evie didn’t want to admit she was ultimately to blame for the council’s decision.
“And instead of calling her mother to discuss how much her compensation should be, she makes a ridiculous bet with the CEO of Wicklow Developments rather than take his more-than-generous offer. An offer that was at least five times the compensation she would have received from the town council!”
Instead of asking how on earth the press had learned of the offer, Evie said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Apologies will not heal my broken hand, Evangeline.”
“You broke your hand?”
“Yes. I was so shocked I forgot that I was strapped into my pedals and fell off the bike. I’m at the hospital waiting for an X-ray.”
“Mom, I really am sorry. Is it, um, your left hand or your right?” Please be her left. Please be her left.
“My right. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll go insane if I can’t—”
“Dictation,” Evie blurted. “You can get one of those voice-activated programs. I’m sure you’ll love it.” She’d hate it.
“I’ve contacted Dean and Dan,” she said, referring to her partners at the accounting firm. “They told me—”
“To use your left hand? That would be great for you, Mom. Great for your brain. There’s all kinds of studies—”
“To take time off to heal.”
Nooooo! “Oh my gosh, Mom, that’s nuts. You’ll be bored out of your mind. Are you sure there isn’t something else going on? They’re not trying to push you out of the company, are they? Ageism is an issue, you know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Evangeline. I am the company. But I think Alundra is right. This was preordained. I broke my hand so that I could take the time off to get you out of this mess. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“No. It’s fine, Mom. I’ve got everything under—” She stared at her phone. Her mother had hung up. Evie hit Redial and got kicked to voice mail. After the fifth time it happened, she decided to text instead of calling.
Mom, I don’t think you’ve thought this through. It’s really important that you get in a good healing place—I’m sure Alundra can help with that—and rest. You need lots of rest. Because while I don’t want to bring up the age thing again (just FYI, as much as I love Uncle Dean and Uncle Dan, you did officially become a senior citizen last month so the probability they’re trying to oust you is HIGH) but as you we get older you we don’t heal as fast…
The bubble appeared on the screen, and before Evie could complete her text, she received one from her mom.
Hello. I am Alundra. Lenore asks that you pick her up at South Station in Boston at 5 p.m. tomorrow and DON’T BE LATE. She also says to remove EVERYTHING from her bedroom as the witch costume you have stored in the closet nearly gave her a heart attack last time and she can’t afford to fall and break anything else as you have already caused her to BREAK HER HAND.
Evie stared at the text. Her mother coming to Harmony Harbor wasn’t preordained; it was foredoomed. How was she supposed to deal with Caine Elliot and her mother?
The bubble appeared again.
Please, please let Alundra have misunderstood Lenore, Evie prayed.
Sorry for the caps. She made me do it. I think it is the pain.
Then you don’t know her very well, Evie wanted to write. But instead she typed:
You know, she really likes you, Alundra, and I think she’d heal faster if she was in familiar surroundings, like her apartment. So if you could maybe check on her once a day and pick up what she needs, I’ll pay you. An hour a day should be good. For maybe a week.
She thought about her nearly empty bank account and maxed-out credit cards.
Actually, three days should be fine.
Crossing her fingers, she hit Send.
“No, no, no,” she cried when one of those audio things appeared. She fake-sobbed when she stood up the phone and Lenore’s voice came through loud and clear. “Stop trying to pawn your mother off on someone else.”
Followed by a second audio message. “You can’t afford Alundra. He makes more in a day than you do in a year.”
And George Bailey thought he had it tough when Mr. Potter tried to send him up the river. As though mocking her, Santa ho, ho, ho-ed, her door opening and closing. It kept opening and closing. And while it did, Evie was reminded of the verse on the needlepoint pillow on her bed.
It’s always darkest before the dawn.
All these lovely customers were her light. Her gift for having to put up with Lenore for who knew how long. She’d need a lot more customers than the ten who’d crowded into her store and were headed her way to shine through the dark cloud that was her mother.
At the determined strides and equally determined expressions on the faces of the women walking her way, Evie glanced at their hands as she came to her feet. Other than their purses, none of them appeared to be returning anything. She sagged with relief against the sales counter.
“Hi, ladies. What can I do for you today?” She didn’t recognize any of them, which was a little surprising since she knew so many people in town.
“I’m here to put a wish on the angel tree,” one woman said. Hands went up. “Me too. Same.”
The rest of the women were drowned out by Santa ho, ho, ho-ing as the door opened and closed and kept opening and closing as more women flocked to the angel tree in hopes that Caine Elliot would make their dreams come true.
Evie wondered how much darker her life had to become before she got some light.
* * *
“All right, Gran. Let’s try this one more time. Do you or do you not want me to secure Greystone Manor for you by the end of the year?” Caine rested the back of his head against the tan leather driver’s seat where he was parked outside O’Malley’s Hardware on Main Street. He’d received an urgent text from his uncle for rat traps while he’d been on FaceTime with Emily. Caine had hoped to finish up his conversation with his grandmother by now.
“Of course I do, but I don’t see what that has to do with your ridiculous wager with that Christmas woman. A foolish name for a foolish woman,” she muttered before continuing. “You should have freed her from the chains and then immediately bulldozed her silly shop to the ground.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest I leave her chained while bulldozing her silly shop to the ground, Gran. You’ve gone soft in your old age.”
“There were witnesses. If there weren’t, it would have been a different story.”
He hid his smile at her dry sense of humor. As strained as their relationship had become, he still felt a familiar twinge of affection for the older woman on the screen—affection and concern. She’d swiped her favorite peach lipstick on her thin lips, a color she’d been wearing for as long as Caine could remember.
Even now, despite her being unwell, it complemented her pale complexion. But he knew the lipstick and brown eyeshadow and the effort she’d made to tame her thick white hair were an attempt to hide the ravages of her illness from him.
Still, he couldn’t let his sympathy for her distract him. Her amusement didn’t fool him. He had to spin this in such a way that she’d leave Evangeline alone and back off the manor until he figured out what to do. The last thing he wanted was Emily sitting in her mausoleum concocting schemes of her own. He didn’t put it past his cousin Alec McCleary to lend her a helping hand.
A distant cousin on the Green side of the family, Alec was the head of Wicklow Developments’ legal department. Before Emily’s health had begun to deteriorate, the man had been a mild irritant at best. That was no longer the case.
“Ms. Christmas has a month to vacate the property, and as you know, the woman is adept at stirring up trouble in a short amount of time. So this seemed a good way to keep her busy and focused on something other than bringing us down in a more direct way,” Caine said.
Sort of what he was trying to do with his grandmoth
er. He made a mental note to consider a wager that would intrigue Emily. A wager that did not involve Wicklow Developments as the prize. He’d gamble anything but his stake in the company.
“And while I’m being painted in the media as a modern-day Scrooge, everyone in the business world sees this for what it is—an act of kindness. Charity, if you will.” He smiled when his grandmother unconsciously nodded. There were benefits to talking to her on FaceTime.
“As to what the wager has to do with the manor?” he continued. “We’ve wasted too much time and money using intermediaries in the past. As you and I both know, to get things done right, you have to do them yourself. Which will be easier for me to do now that I’m operating in the open. From what I’ve learned about the angel wishes so far, there’s little doubt I’ll be spending time with the locals. And what better way to manage things to our advantage?”
“All right. We’ll play it your way for now. You have a week—”
“Give me two, Gran. Remember, I’m not only trying to win the bet with Ms. Christmas.”
“Trying is unacceptable, my boy. You will win the bet and give me the manor, or you will no longer be CEO of Wicklow Developments.” As she tapped the phone, she turned her head. “Did you get that, Alec?”
“Gran, it’s not—” She’d disconnected. He wished he could pretend that she’d had a memory blip and mixed him up with his cousin, but he knew better. She was as shrewd and conniving as ever. But the question was: Had she really been talking to his cousin, or had she been playing Caine? Either way, the stakes had been raised.
He got out of the car and slammed the door.
“Are you having a bad day, my friend?” asked an elderly man who was holding open the door to the hardware store for two older women. The man wore a Santa hat and a flashing red bow tie that matched his suspenders. With tufts of white hair at his ears and his diminutive stature, he looked more like an elf than Santa Claus. Though he had the ho, ho, ho down and seemed the jolly sort with a twinkle in his eyes and a wide smile.
