Two days before Christmas, the house was buzzing with activity and excitement. Crews of carpenters, plumbers, electricians, and decorators were racing in and out of every room trying to complete their jobs in anticipation of the big Christmas Eve celebration with the families.
Most of the apartments were fully decorated now with the designers adding their very last touches and flourishes to each of the rooms. Dad and his crew had finished the designer closet for the ballroom apartment and it looked fabulous. Everyone in the house had stopped by to check it out and express their jealousy. I couldn’t blame them. I was jealous, too. But I was thrilled for Sophie and Molly, our new tenants. They were going to love it here.
Jason from Holiday Homebuilders had come through with fresh Christmas trees for each of the apartments. When he realized that two of the new families were Jewish, he asked the designers to find some pretty blue and white decorations and a menorah and some candles for those apartments. That worked for us and I knew the tenants would appreciate it, too.
I had one more coat of varnish to apply to the butler’s-pantry cabinets and I would be finished. While the second coat dried, I walked around, checking on volunteers and crew. The painters were adding a new coat of paint to the grand-stairway balusters, so I decided to take a shortcut through apartment two’s kitchen, into the sunroom, and up the old servants’ stairs. The lovely old sunroom, with its art deco–style furniture and view of the woods, would be accessible to everyone once they all moved in. The stairs would be, too, although they were steep and narrow. A week ago, they had also been rickety with a few rotted-out boards, but now they’d been fortified with all new wood steps and balusters. They had received a new coat of light paint to brighten up the area, making the staircase strong and safe enough to hold any of the new tenants.
At the bottom of the stairs I glanced up—and jumped back a step. “What are you two doing here?”
Alyssa shrieked and Kailee elbowed her to be quiet. I guess I shocked them as badly as they shocked me.
“Hi, Shannon,” Kailee said, obviously trying to be cool.
“It’s so dark in here,” I said, glancing around. “What’s going on? Oh, are those Christmas decorations?”
“Yeah,” Kailee said, elbowing her friend again.
“Yeah,” Alyssa said quickly. “Christmas. That’s it.”
My two high school students were draping items over the banister. And they were lying through their teeth while they did it.
I walked up the steps to get a closer look at the decorations. But instead of finding garlands and silver bells, there were baby clothes, pajamas, and a blanket adorning the railing. I stared at the baby items, then up at the girls.
“You two?” I shook my head in shock and disbelief. “You’ve been leaving these things around the house?”
Alyssa hung her head but petite Kailee stood her ground, resembling an adorably defiant elf. “So what? There’s no law against it.”
I decided to go after the weak link. “Alyssa, do you know who the mother of the baby is?”
Her eyes widened and she exchanged a quick glance with Kailee.
“You won’t get into trouble,” I rushed to add. “I promise. But baby Angel is going to be given up for adoption. I really can’t keep her.”
“But you’re our first choice,” Alyssa cried.
“Thank you, sweetheart. I’m honored, I really am. But I’m just not able to take care of a tiny baby right now. So she’ll be put up for adoption and I think the mother would like to know where she’s going. I know I would. Wouldn’t Angel’s mom love to be a part of her life?”
“She would be, if you’re the mom,” Alyssa said, and got another elbow from Kailee, who shushed her.
“Stop hitting me,” Alyssa said, rubbing her arm. “We might as well tell her the truth.”
“Yes, you might as well,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “Come on, girls. You know you can trust me.”
Kailee huffed out a heavy sigh. “Fine. It’s Lauren.”
I was pretty sure my mouth was hanging open in astonishment. Lauren was one of my favorite students at the empowerment center. She was sweet and smart and pretty. A little overweight, maybe—or so I’d thought—but that hadn’t kept her from being a great worker, a good team player, and a role model.
Apparently all that extra girth was actually baby weight. She’d hidden it well, even telling me she was bloated from antibiotics the other day. And clearly her friends had conspired to help her cover up her condition.
“Lauren admires you,” Kailee said. “She didn’t want you to know it was her baby because she thought you’d think she was stupid for getting pregnant in the first place.”
“She was wrong,” I said, “but I understand her feelings.”
Alyssa said, “We thought that if we gave the baby to you, we could see her once in a while and keep up with her life.”
“And you would be a perfect mom,” Kailee added.
“Why do you think that?” I asked, genuinely interested.
“Because you’re the best teacher we’ve ever had,” Alyssa said. “You’re smart and patient and you don’t yell.”
“And you bring snacks,” Kailee added.
“Let’s go downstairs and talk about this.”
As we walked down the steps, Kailee explained that the three girls had decided to buy the baby clothes and supplies to help me out.
“Babies are expensive,” Kailee explained. “Lauren didn’t want you to go broke.”
“That was very thoughtful. But why did you put things all over the house.”
“Oh, that,” Alyssa said.
Kailee shrugged. “It made us laugh. When we told Lauren that we hung the bag from the chandelier, she cracked up. So we kept trying to come up with funny places to put things. She’s had a pretty hard time of it, so we wanted to brighten up her day with our stories, you know?”
“You’re lucky no one around here saw you.”
“We usually snuck in late in the afternoon and hid until everyone was gone.”
Hearing their strategy caused sudden chills to spring to life along my spine, then creep up my neck and across my shoulders. I hustled the girls out the kitchen door and into the side yard. I glanced in every direction to make sure we were alone. “I have to ask, were you girls here the night Mr. Potter died?”
Kailee looked horrified. “No way!”
“Ew, no,” Alyssa said. “That’s so gross.”
My entire system relaxed, knowing the girls weren’t in any danger from the killer. “Just checking.”
“We didn’t start bringing presents over until after we put the baby in your truck,” Kailee explained.
The baby arrived late afternoon of the second day of renovations, I thought. So the girls really were safe. “Okay, good to know. Now, when can I visit with Lauren? I want to make sure she’s happy.”
After another night of tossing and turning, I woke up on Christmas Eve morning knowing exactly what to do about the baby. I just hoped that Child Protective Services would agree, because I felt really good about the decision.
I rushed to get dressed, excited about the day’s festivities and anxious to get to the work site. The families would be moving into Forester House later this afternoon and the Christmas Festival and parade around the town square afterward promised to be a wonderful finale for the entire building project.
If only we had a murder suspect behind bars.
I stopped on the way to work to buy a treat for Patrice. I’d been thinking about doing something all week and this was the last day I’d be able to get her something. She had been so sweet to everyone and was such a hard worker. Everyone had managed to warm up to her after being so put off by her boss.
I parked in front of my friend Emily Rose’s tea shop and ran inside.
“Shannon!” she cried, coming out to give me a hug. “I haven’t seen you in days. Not since we first saw the baby at Lizzie’s house.”
“I know. The holiday project has taken up every minute of the day and I’ve barely had time to breathe.”
“’Tis the season,” she said jovially, her soft Scottish brogue coming through. “Now, what can I get you?”
I gave her my order and she slipped around the counter. Opening the glass case, she removed the most perfect cupcake and placed it in a pastel green bakery box.
Handing me the box, Emily said, “I’m so disappointed I couldn’t get over there to volunteer. We are busier than ever this year. The town is overrun with tourists and I haven’t been able to take an hour off since Thanksgiving.”
“It’s a good problem to have,” I said, smiling.
“Absolutely.” The tourists loved Emily’s tea shop, along with all the other beautiful stores on the town square. Many of the tourists also came for the Christmas Festival, too. And the beach, of course, and the pier and marina and the redwoods and everything else that Lighthouse Cove had to offer, including the lighthouse.
It was probably harsh to think so, but I was glad Mr. Potter was gone, so that none of our shopkeepers would have to live in fear of his wrath anymore.
“Will you be at the parade?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll look for you.”
“Okay.” Which reminded me: I would have to leave work early to get to the square and officially start the parade.
“Let’s get together next week with all the girls,” she said.
“Perfect. And I’ll give you all the gory details about finding Mr. Potter.”
“Yes, I want to hear everything. But ugh, you poor thing, finding the body.” She shuddered and rubbed her arms. “The police haven’t arrested anyone?”
“No.” I made a face. “I thought one of the volunteers was a good suspect, but Eric let her go.” And April hasn’t been seen since, I thought. What a weird woman.
“Someone I know?” she asked.
I shook my head. “A stranger.”
“A stranger volunteered for our annual town event? How odd.”
I nodded slowly. “I always thought the same thing.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I walked into Forester House and felt instantly comfortable with my surroundings. And why not, after ten days of concentrated work on the place? It was shiny and new now, and yet it retained the dignity and grandeur of its past. It had been alive and standing for nearly 150 years, through good times and bad, I thought. It had seen births and deaths, wars and floods, sadness and triumph, and still remained standing.
I greeted crew members and contractors on my way to apartment three. The ballroom. I was going to miss this place. Today I would do a final walk-through, inspecting each apartment with its contractor and crew so that if there were any last-minute changes or fixes, they could do them on the spot. After two o’clock, the new tenants would start moving in.
At three o’clock, the organizers had scheduled the official opening of the Forester House Apartments for the tenants, workers, and anyone in town who wanted to attend. In the foyer there would be a huge cake along with a champagne toast. Jason had assured me that apple juice would be available for the children and anyone else who didn’t want to start imbibing so early.
Then, at five o’clock, the Christmas parade would begin, culminating at six o’clock in the town square, where gift boutiques and food stalls and games were set up for everyone’s pleasure.
I couldn’t believe that Jane and I and our stalwart committee were about to pull off another grand event.
Of course, we hadn’t pulled it off just yet.
“Don’t count your chickens,” I muttered, then laughed at myself for ever doubting that the Christmas parade would go off without a hitch.
I stepped inside apartment three and marveled at the changes that had been made in the last two days. Thanks to the quick work of the decorators, it was furnished and looked like a home now, albeit with all the rooms contained inside this one large one. An old-fashioned modesty screen and a healthy ficus tree created a border between the bedroom and the living room area. A set of open bookshelves cleverly separated the mother’s space from her daughter’s. A sturdy wicker table and chairs indicated the dining room, along with a small hutch that held a few pretty vases and serving pieces. The decorator had set up the dining room adjacent to the door leading to the butler’s pantry and kitchenette, which had been installed in the closed-off hallway.
“It’s so pretty,” I said. A beautifully decorated Christmas tree had been positioned on the opposite side of the room from the elegant fireplace. Two side chairs bracketed the tree. A comfy couch and an easy chair had been arranged in the center of the large room, facing the fireplace, a perfect spot to relax and read a book. A small stack of wood in a brass basket had been placed on one side of the hearth.
We had converted the fireplace to gas and it would turn on with one switch near the mantel. My father, as the official head contractor for apartment three, would give Sophie and Molly their official tour of the space. Dad would also demonstrate to Sophie how to use the fireplace as well as the other features of the apartment.
Wondering if my father and his crew would be doing any actual work this morning, I set my backpack and the cupcake down on the wicker dining table. I imagined there were a few odds and ends to take care of, but for the most part, apartment three looked spiffed up and ready for its new residents.
I took the cupcake out of the box because I wanted Patrice to see how beautiful it was. Checking my phone for the time, I wondered when Dad would show up. I’d also told Mac where I would be working this morning. In the meantime, I headed for the butler’s pantry to make sure everything was in perfect order in there.
I happened to glance out the French doors and saw April rounding the corner of the house.
“Hey!” I started to cross to the doors, but I heard a loud bump come from the butler’s-pantry area. I jolted at the sound, then felt silly. But after so many surprises this week, who could blame me for jumping at every sound?
“Dad? Is that you?” Instead of chasing after April, I walked quickly over to the pantry door and opened it. “I was just wondering where you . . .”
But it wasn’t my father. It was Patrice, opening and shutting all the cupboards and drawers in the butler’s pantry.
“Patrice, are you looking for something? Can I help?”
“Nobody can help,” she muttered, and continued opening and closing drawers.
Had my father asked her to come in here and check on the drawers? She was so good about helping out, she’d probably gone around asking everyone if they had anything for her to do.
“They’re in pretty good working order,” I said, testing one of the drawers nearest me. “Thank you for checking, though.”
She didn’t say anything, just kept opening, then slamming drawers. I watched her working, still not sure why Dad had asked her to do this.
“Hey, Patrice,” I said. “Do you happen to know that woman April who was working here as a volunteer?”
She looked up and glared at me. “She’s Mr. Potter’s niece. They’re two of a kind.”
Potter’s niece? They were two of a kind? Did that mean that April was as despicable as her uncle? Could April have killed her uncle?
I started to leave the pantry to go after April, but Patrice was growing more and more upset as she continued opening and slamming drawers.
“Is something wrong?” I asked. “Did you lose something? Can I help you find it?”
She grumbled but didn’t answer.
“By the way,” I said gently, “I just refinished those drawers. If you could be a little more careful opening and closing them, I would appreciate it.”
Christmas was a difficult time for some people, I thought as I walked back into the ballroom. Seeing the cupcake, I wondered if something sweet would help calm her down. I picked up the big, sugary, frosted beauty and called to her. “I brought you a Christmas treat, Patrice. You’ve done so much for everyone, I thought you deserved a little something for yourself.”
Before the sentence was out of my mouth, Patrice screamed and came rushing out of the room.
“This might cheer you up,” I said, offering it to her. “It’s a Christmas cupcake.”
She stopped and shook, looking absolutely beside herself. With another jungle screech, she rushed toward me.
“What are you—?” I dropped the cupcake on the table and held up my hands to defend myself. Had she breathed in too much of the varnish in the pantry? “What’s wrong with you?”
“You!” She shrieked and started slapping my face and shoulders.
“Stop it!” I cried, holding her off by smacking her hands away before they could strike me. “What’re you doing?”
“Where is it?” she screamed. “What did you do with it?”
“Calm down, Patrice. What did you lose?”
She managed to break through my defenses and slammed her hand against my ear. She hit me so hard that my ear was literally ringing.
“I said stop it!” I grabbed her hands but couldn’t hold on to her.
It was like she was possessed.
I broke away and circled around to the other side of the dining table. She came after me and I moved farther around. We did a little dance as she tried to figure out which way I was going to run.
“You said you fixed the drawers,” she said.
“I did.”
“What did you do with it?” Her voice was no longer soft and southern but rough and demanding. I got a good look at her eyes, saw the deep-seated rage there, and realized she was angry enough to kill me if she got the chance.
“What did I do with what?” I shouted. Then it hit me. “Oh my God, you killed him. It wasn’t April. It was you.”
“April?” She looked confused for a second, then blinked, clearly too far gone to have a conversation about anything. But I pushed ahead anyway, if only to keep her from attacking me again.
“You killed Mr. Potter. Why?”
She bared her teeth at me and actually growled. The sweet southern belle had been transformed into a raging bull.
“Not that I blame you,” I added quickly. “In fact, some people would probably thank you, because he was despicable. But why are you trying to hurt me?”
She didn’t answer and I could see her eyes watching me, waiting for me to take off running.
Was she angry with me for interrupting her frantic search for . . . whatever she was looking for? Had she hidden something in the pantry after she killed Potter? But what could it be? Money? Tickets to Tahiti? What?
All I could do was try to distract her, continue asking questions. Anything to keep her away from me. “Why did you kill him, Patrice?”
“Shut up!” she cried.
“You’re right, it’s a dumb question. He was awful. I don’t know how you worked with him for so many years.” I continued moving my feet, ready to take off for the doors if she stopped paying attention.
I watched her eyes as she watched me. She was breathing heavily and I wondered if I could make it past her to the front door in time to escape. I was younger and stronger and probably faster than she was, but her berserk energy might level the field.
I wondered where my father was. And where was Mac? If I could hold her off for another few minutes, they might show up and grab her or at least distract her.
I saw her expression change and knew she was ready to charge me. I had to take a chance.
I took off running for the door and she was behind me in a second, grabbing my shirt and dragging me backward. I wriggled to break loose, but at the moment she had the advantage, especially because I had my back to her. It was awkward and dangerous. She was clearly capable of anything. I couldn’t see her, wouldn’t know if she was getting ready to strangle me or hit me over the head with whatever she might grab hold of. I had to get free.
I continued pulling and her grunts and groans grew louder from the exertion of fighting me. I hoped she was slowing down. I should have been able to tackle her easily, but she had rage and insanity-driven energy on her side.
As she stretched out her free arm to reach something near the fireplace, I was able to twist free. I turned and saw her lifting a fireplace tool and tried to slap it out of her hand. She’d grabbed the broom in her haste, thank goodness, and not the poker. The tool was too heavy and awkward and it fell on the marble hearth with a clang.
I ran to the other side of the room, hoping to escape through the French doors. I only made it as far as the dining table before she grabbed hold of my long hair and pulled.
I screamed and tried to maneuver around to shove her hand away. That’s when I saw the giant candy cane nutcracker in her other hand. It was something the decorator had placed on the bookshelf and Patrice must have yanked it off while I was running to this side of the room. The thing was big and heavy, and she wielded it like a weapon. I kept screaming, hoping someone would hear me, as she lifted the thing up to bludgeon me. The front door flew open and Mac, his face turned white with shock, ran into the room shouting.
Patrice whipped around and the momentary distraction allowed me to grab her arm and shake the nutcracker out of her hand. The thing crashed on the clean hardwood floor and I had the fleeting thought that I might have to repair the dent. If I lived that long.
Patrice went scrambling for the nutcracker.
“No!” Mac shouted again, already halfway across the room. I thought I heard my father’s voice yelling, too, but in that moment, all I could see was Patrice rushing at me to bash my head in with the nutcracker.
I needed my tool belt, my hammer, a wrench, anything. I looked around but remembered I’d left everything in my backpack. I couldn’t think, could only grab the one thing available to me on the table.
The cupcake.
Patrice came at me and I shoved the cupcake, frosting first, right into her face.
She shrieked and her arms thrashed around in her attempt to hit me with that stupid nutcracker, but she couldn’t see anything with frosting in her eyes. I clutched her arm and twisted. The nutcracker fell from her hand, and I shoved her away from me as hard as I could. She stumbled backward, her arms windmilling in an attempt to regain her balance. But she kept going, falling, almost in slow motion, and I watched in horror as she tumbled into the Christmas tree, toppling it over.
She was stunned for a long moment, then tried to move. But she was stuck on her back like an ungainly turtle, unable to right herself. She tried pushing up, tried turning over, all the while wiping green frosting off her face.
“Help me,” she cried.
“No,” I muttered, and fell into Mac’s arms.
* * *
“Eric’s on his way,” Dad said, standing watch at the French doors. “I told him to come around the back.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
While waiting for the police, Mac had pulled Patrice up from the fallen Christmas tree and led her to a side chair. He pulled the other chair over and sat down. After handing her his handkerchief to help her wipe off the frosting, he used his charm and skill to cajole her into confessing everything.
It turned out that Patrice and Potter had been having an affair for years while the bank executive was skimming money from the bank.
“He always promised that we would run away together,” she sobbed. “But last week I caught him with another woman. An older woman! She looks exactly like me—in ten years!”
“Was he with her at the Lobster Pot?” I asked, apropos of almost nothing, except that Lizzie had claimed to have seen the two of them together. I wanted to make sure my friend hadn’t gone bonkers.
Patrice looked almost frightened by my supernatural ability to know such a thing. “Yes! How did you know?”
I shrugged, thinking, There’s one point for Lizzie.
“I was so angry,” she said. “He was cheating on me, after all I did for him. And with an old bag. It made me sick.”
“Did you argue in here?” Dad asked.
She glanced around, slowly recognizing where she was. “Yes. He came in here to hide the bracelet in your tool chest.”
“How did he steal the bracelet from Heather?”
“That was April’s doing. She’s his niece and Potter hired her to do some dirty tricks around here. She was only here to cause mischief. Mr. Potter had a good laugh when she told him that she’d accused that Santa Claus person of assaulting her. And all along, she swore she would steal something from the garage, just for a kick.”
“But why?”
“Peter was furious with the bank’s board of directors for donating this property to that stupid charity. He had planned to sell it off in parcels and pocket the money.”
“Peter Potter was a slimeball,” I muttered.
She ignored me. “He considered sabotage his only recourse and brought April to town to help.”
“Because they’re two of a kind.”
“Yes.” She gazed at Dad and I thought she might have looked contrite for a moment. “He said it was icing on the cake to be able to ruin the project and damage Jack Hammer’s reputation at the same time.”
“What a sweetheart,” I said through my teeth, not missing the subtle irony of her face covered in icing.
“He was,” she sniffled, “to me.”
“For a few years anyway.”
“Twenty years,” she wailed. “The best years of my life.”
“There, there,” Mac said, patting her hand solicitously in order to get her to continue spilling her guts.
“So you were in here,” I prompted, “watching Potter hide the diamond charm bracelet in Dad’s tool chest. And then what happened?”
“What else could I do?” she asked, glancing at all of us. “I confronted him. I had put up with him for twenty years and now he thought he’d cut me out of the deal? Not likely!”
“And what did he say?” Mac asked.
“He laughed at me,” she snarled. “He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it at me. Taunting me. Assuring me I would never get my greedy little fingers on it.” She waved her hand toward the butler’s pantry. “And then he strutted away like the arrogant bully he’s always been.”
“But there’s no exit that way,” I reminded her.
She sniffed. “He didn’t know that and neither did I.”
“Were you angry?” Mac asked. He was in his element asking her probing questions as though he were interviewing an expert for one of his stories. It made me smile despite the miserable events that had just taken place.
As Mac spoke, I watched Eric slip into the room and figured he would put a stop to the conversation immediately. But to my surprise, he just stood by the door, watching and listening.
“I was beside myself with rage,” Patrice admitted. “I wanted to kill him.”
Mac sat close to the edge of his seat. “What did you do next?”
“I needed a weapon. I don’t know if I meant to kill him. I just wanted to get his attention. How dare he betray me after all these years?”
Patrice seemed to be enjoying Mac’s interest in her story. Maybe that’s why Eric was allowing him to continue questioning her.
“He was not a good person,” Mac said, encouraging her.
“No,” she agreed. “He’d pushed me to my limit. I looked around and saw that Jack’s tool chest was still open. I—I grabbed the first thing on top. It was some sort of ax. I tore the cover off and went running after him and I was surprised to find him just inside the hallway. I thought he would be long gone by then. But the hallway ended after a few feet. It must’ve concerned him that he found himself cornered.”
I thought about it. Potter probably didn’t want to face Patrice’s wrath, so he was trying to figure out the best way to leave the house. Maybe he opened the window.
Patrice sighed. “I didn’t even think about it, just thrust the ax as hard as I could into his back. I didn’t think it would do anything to him. He’s quite large, you know, and I’m not very strong. But it landed in his neck.”
“What happened then?”
“He . . . stumbled and fell. I was scared to death he would fall on top of me, so I scooted around and got out of his way. As he fell, he grabbed the door and it closed behind him. He just stared at me for a moment, then he fell forward, on his face. He squirmed a few times, then stopped. I still didn’t think he was dead. I thought maybe he had fainted or something. I took a chance and went through his pockets, looking for that piece of paper. But then I heard footsteps upstairs and knew I had to get out of there.”
Footsteps upstairs? Who else was in the house that night? One of the contractors, I supposed, but I would have to figure that out later, because Patrice was still talking.
“I couldn’t budge the door. His feet were in the way and I couldn’t move him.”
She took a deep breath. “I had to climb over him to reach the window. It was already open, so I pushed out the screen and jumped down. And ran.”
“You were afraid,” Mac said.
“Yes. Terrified. Mainly because I knew he would wake up and come after me.”
“What did you do when you found out he was dead?” I asked.
She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. “I was so relieved at first, but then I knew I had to be on guard.” She opened her eyes and looked at me. “I had to find a way to get information. I decided to try and ingratiate myself around here so that I could keep tabs on the investigation.”
“You certainly did ingratiate yourself,” I said, thinking of those dozens of pastries she’d brought every day. She had to know that construction workers were easily led around by their stomachs, but still. “I’ve got to ask, Patrice: why were you tearing into the butler’s pantry this morning?”
Her eyes seemed to glaze over, and for a moment she stared at nothing in particular. I wondered if she was drifting back to insanity land.
“Patrice?”
Finally she murmured, “I knew he must have hidden it in there somewhere.”
Mac leaned forward and touched her hand. “What did he hide, Patrice?”
She blinked and looked up at him. “The numbers. To the Swiss bank accounts.”
So Potter really had been stealing money from the bank. I met Eric’s gaze. He stood with his arms folded tightly across his chest and his jaw clenched. I could tell by that look that he knew he’d discovered the answers to more than one crime today.
“I had to find them,” she continued. “But then I couldn’t get into the pantry. It was sealed off for days and there was always someone around to make sure no one got in there.”
“And then I started working in there.”
She glared at me. “Every time I came around, you were there. But I had to keep trying because it was the only place he could’ve hidden the numbers. I finally got in there this morning. But I couldn’t find them.” She glanced up at me. “I know you have them.”
“I don’t.”
Her eyes narrowed in on me. I knew she would have come at me with fists flying if there weren’t a bunch of men watching her every move.
At that moment, I saw Tommy slide into the room and stand next to Eric. I figured Eric had texted him. Maybe they were ready to take her off to jail, but I had a few more questions first.
“Why did you try to kill Santa Claus?”
Mac’s eyes widened and he turned to Patrice. She was breathing more heavily, getting angry all over again. Mac leaned over and touched her arm calmly. “Tell me about Santa Claus, Patrice.”
She stared at him and smiled. She must have enjoyed his voice a lot more than mine, and that was okay. I understood and I didn’t care, as long as she answered the darned question.
“He was working late that night,” she murmured. “Said he was looking over his new apartment upstairs. He must’ve seen me sneaking out of the house, because when I started working here, he came around looking for me. He told me he saw me that night.”
So it was Slim’s footsteps that she heard. That answered that question. But I had more.
“Did he try to blackmail you?” I asked.
“No. He tried to convince me that I’d done the right thing. He hated Potter for driving him out of business. He told me that if I ever wanted to talk about it, he was a good listener. He said I could trust him to keep quiet, but I knew I couldn’t.”
So Potter had driven Slim out of business. Another mark against him.
“How did you know about the wine cellar?” I asked.
She waved her hand in the air blithely. “Oh, Peter used to go down there and steal a bottle every so often.”
“So you lured Santa downstairs?” Mac asked.
“No, of course not,” she said, smiling coyly. “I simply asked him to carry something up from the cellar for me.”
She’d tried to kill him, simply because he had tried to be a friend to her. “You know he’s in a coma and expected to recover.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” she said darkly. “I had planned to visit him in the hospital one of these nights.”
And do what? I wondered. Finish the job?
I shuddered and glanced at Eric, who looked as though he’d heard enough. He crossed the room and stood next to Patrice. “Would you stand up for me, please?”
She stood slowly, meeting each of our gazes directly. Eric took hold of her arm and started to lead her out of the room. I was glad she was going to jail, not for killing Potter, but for attacking me so viciously. All for a stupid piece of paper.
I gasped, realizing at that very moment what she’d been talking about. “Wait!”
I ran to my backpack, pulled out my tool belt, and found the crumpled piece of paper from the pantry drawer. I held it out for her to see. “Is this the paper you were looking for?”
Her eyes widened. She screamed and lunged at me. I let out a little shriek and scrambled backward, out of range of her fingernails.
“That’s enough,” Eric commanded. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back next to him. Tommy took her other arm and the two of them dragged her away.
When the door shut behind them, I slid into my chair and tried to catch my breath. It took a while for me to breathe a little easier. Mac sat on the arm of my chair and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
“Never a dull moment with you, Irish.”
I smiled. It was true, I suppose. Lizzie had said something similar a few nights ago, and she was right. I did lead the most interesting life. Right then, though, I would have been perfectly happy to have a touch more boredom.
* * *
My dad and his guys set the Christmas tree back upright, rehung the displaced ornaments, and swept the fallen pine needles off the floor. I spent an hour erasing all traces of Patrice from the ballroom. None of the pantry drawers were damaged, but I found bits of green frosting all over the dining area. The injury done to the wood floor from the nutcracker was minimal and wouldn’t be noticed by anyone but me. Nevertheless, when the time was right, I planned to get back in here to pump it full of wood filler, sand it, and refinish it, just to get rid of the bad Patrice vibe.
Everything in the room was back in order when the door to apartment three opened and a little girl peeked inside.
“Mommy, is this our new house?”
“Yes, honey. We can go inside.”
“Come on in,” Dad said. “Welcome to your new home.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said. She introduced herself and her daughter, Molly.
“Mommy, there’s a Christmas tree,” Molly whispered. “Can we pretend it’s ours?”
“It is yours, Molly,” I said. “Everything in here is yours, and I hope you love it as much as we’ve loved fixing it up for you.”
Molly was mesmerized by the sparkling ornaments while Sophie’s eyes teared up. She managed a shaky smile. “Thank you. Thank you all so much. You have no idea what this means.”
But of course we did.
Mac and Dad and I left Sophie and Molly to explore their new home. Wandering out to the foyer, we found Callie chatting with another new tenant. I could hear other new tenants walking around upstairs as the different contractors went from room to room, showing off the library and the laundry room and other common areas. There was some crying and a lot of laughing, and I’ll admit I might have shed a tear or two myself. I was determined to savor every joyful moment after experiencing the terror of Patrice only an hour before.
Slowly but surely everyone made their way to the foyer. Jason gave a heartfelt speech welcoming everyone and thanking the crew for the fantastic job we’d done. I couldn’t have agreed more.
I raised my glass and Mac clinked his to mine. Then we both touched Callie’s glass of apple juice.
“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” I said.
Callie grinned. “Merry Christmas, Shannon.”
I moved around the room clinking glasses with Lizzie and Hal and Marigold and Daisy. Jane was there, too, and every single one of my contractors and all the crew members. I tried to clink my glass with each one of theirs, thanking them for their help and wishing them Merry Christmas.
Jane found me in the corner by the fireplace talking to Zach about his wife’s new plan. “She wants to adopt.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said.
“But, wow, Shannon,” Zach said, “it’s going to cost us thousands of dollars.”
“Well, I suppose giving birth can be expensive.”
“Yeah, but most of the money will go to lawyers and intermediaries.” He shrugged, then grinned. “Still, it’s worth it. We really want to have a family.”
I gave him a quick hug. “I’m so happy you’ve made a decision.”
“Thanks. Julie’s really happy, too.”
Jane coughed lightly to interrupt the conversation. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got to be going. The parade starts soon.”
I turned to Zach. “Will you be there?”
“Sure,” he said easily. “I’m meeting Julie at the dog-shelter booth. That’s always our favorite place.”
“Mine, too,” I said, squeezing his hand. “And don’t miss our doggy Christmas fashion show. It promises to be the hit of the festival.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
* * *
The floats were lined up and ready to go. I did a last-minute check of the first float to make sure that Santa Claus was comfortable and warm and had enough candy to toss out to the crowd.
I checked the Paper Moon float and Santa gave me a jolly thumbs-up.
I moved to the next float, sponsored by Emily’s tea shop. Santa Claus sat at an oversized tea table with three little girls in frilly dresses, ready to partake of afternoon tea. Naturally, they wore long underwear underneath those pretty frocks. Santa assured me that he had everything he needed and was all set to go.
The float after that was from Hansen’s Hardware. The Santa Claus here had a big red tool chest by his feet, filled with chocolate Christmas trees and gummy stars to toss to the parade-goers.
I gazed down the line of colorful floats, each decorated to the max in Christmas lights and garland and oversized ornaments, and smiled. Yes, each float had its very own Santa Claus on board. It really was the best solution of all. After all, how could I possibly choose only one Santa Claus when they were all so special in their own way?
It promised to be the best parade ever.
Jane stood at the front of the line, blew her whistle three times, and shouted, “Start your engines! The parade is ready to begin.”
The float cars revved their engines and the parade began to move at glacial speed.
“We did it,” I said, bouncing up and down and hugging Jane.
“The night is still young,” she said, laughing. “But yes, we did it again.”
“And naturally, it’s the coldest freaking night ever,” I said, shivering as I zipped up my down jacket.
“I know,” Jane said. “I’m freezing.”
But I felt warm inside as I watched the Cozy Café float lead the way toward Main Street and the town square.
I walked along with the float and waved at the parade-goers lining the streets around the town square.
Without warning, something wet fell on my head. “Oh no,” I shouted to Jane. “I hope it’s not going to rain.” But I realized she couldn’t hear me over the roar of the crowd.
I patted my hair but didn’t feel any raindrops, so I ignored it, until something else fell on my head. That’s when I looked up and saw white bits falling from the sky. For the briefest of seconds, I wondered if some pillow stuffing had broken loose somewhere.
“It’s snowing!” someone shouted.
I laughed and looked around for Jane. She was walking next to the float behind me. She wore the biggest smile as she gazed up at the snow-filled sky.
For a brief moment, the crowd was silent as everyone took in the wonder of the rare snowfall.
“Can you believe it?” Jane said.
“No. I don’t remember it ever snowing before.”
“Once in 1957,” old Mr. Hansen said, his voice cracking in the night air. “Now that was a cold one.”
* * *
The doggy fashion show was a hit, as expected. More animals found forever homes and children walked around with snowflakes painted on their faces. It was another successful festival, and Jane and I couldn’t have been happier. The cold wasn’t even discussed, because it had brought a beautiful snowy night.
Callie and Mac found me at the side of the stage. Both of them were loaded down with bags of Christmas gifts from all the different booths. I hoped there was a box of fudge somewhere in one of those bags.
“Are you ready to go home?” Mac asked.
“I have one more thing to do. It’s special. Would you like to come with me?”
“Sure,” Callie said.
We strolled across the street to Lizzie’s store. The snow was still falling and it was a beautiful sight to see it scattered on the peaked roofs of the Victorian shops around the square. We walked into Paper Moon and saw everyone gathered around the front counter.
I moved closer and understood why. The baby was sitting in her bouncy seat, giggling and burbling with joy at all the happy faces gazing at her.
The store was warm and cozy and the scent of Christmas pines filled the air, accented by the wonderfully pulpy smell of books and handmade paper.
“Shannon!” someone called.
I glanced in that direction and cried, “Lauren!” I rushed over and gave her a hug. “I’m so glad you came. Did you see the baby?”
She nodded, sniffling, and I knew she had been crying. “She’s so beautiful.”
“Yes, she is.” I stroked her hair. “And so are you.”
“Thank you, Shannon. I knew you would know what to do.”
I just hoped I wouldn’t let her down.
Zach and Julie walked in, hand in hand, and I went to greet them.
“What’s going on, Shannon?” Zach asked. “Julie said you wanted us to meet you here.”
“I want to introduce you to someone.” I led them over to Lauren and her girlfriends and introduced everyone.
“Lauren just had a baby,” I explained.
“The baby’s right here,” Lauren said, grabbing Julie’s hand. “Come say hello.”
Julie flashed Zach a look of alarm, but then followed Lauren over to the counter. “Isn’t she pretty?”
Only then did Julie realize there was a baby on the counter. “Oh, she’s beautiful. You’re so lucky.”
“I know,” Lauren said. “I love her so much. Enough to know that the right thing to do is give her up for adoption. And I think I’ve found the perfect parents for her.”
Julie let loose a sob. “I’m so happy for you.”
Zach was by her side in an instant. “It’s okay, honey.” He glanced around, caught my eye. “We should go.”
“No, not yet,” Lauren said, wrapping her hand around his arm. “Stay. Please. I want you.”
Frowning at her words, Zach gave Julie a quick look, then said, “Okay.”
“Good,” Lauren said, looking from Zach to Julie. “You’re perfect.”
Zach looked thoroughly confused now. “I’m . . . we’re . . . what’re you talking about?”
“Don’t you know?” Lauren frowned. “But . . . aren’t you looking for a baby to adopt?”
Julie gasped, suddenly realizing what the teenager was trying to say. With a loud sob, she dissolved into tears. “Yes. Yes, we are.”
“Angel is a good little baby and she’s extremely healthy,” Lauren explained, sounding very official and grown-up. I couldn’t have been prouder of her. “She cries once in a while, but all children do that.”
And some shriek like demon kittens, I thought fondly, quickly brushing that memory away.
“Will you be Angel’s new mommy and daddy?” she asked. “And will you mind terribly if I can be her honorary aunt?”
Clearly in shock, Julie and Zach gazed around the room, looking at each one of us. “Is this for real?” Zach asked.
I was sobbing along with Lizzie and everyone else, but managed to say, “Yes, it’s for real if you want it to be.”
Lauren reached for the baby and pulled her out of her chair. “Don’t you want to hold her?”
Julie nodded warily, as if afraid to believe the baby wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Lauren handed Angel to her and she hugged her lightly against her chest, swaying slightly to the Christmas carol playing in the background.
Mac grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Callie came around and hugged me.
Zach touched Angel’s back as he gazed at Julie. “What do you want to do, honey?”
Julie looked down at the baby and back up at her husband. “I want Angel.”
He laughed joyfully. “So do I, sweetheart.” And then he wrapped the two of them gently in his arms.
Everyone cheered and laughed and cried, and Angel cooed adorably, kicking her feet in joy.
“Look, it’s still snowing,” Callie said, pointing at the window.
“It’s a Christmas miracle,” I whispered, and Mac hugged me a little tighter.
It was indeed a miracle for Angel and Julie and Zach. And for me and Mac and Callie and everyone in Lighthouse Cove. The best Christmas miracle ever.