Richard Phillips grimaced upon seeing the Salvation Army bell ringer surrounded by Christmas carolers in front of his office building. As quickly as that emotion flitted across his face, he replaced it with a smile.
When the singers burst into “We Wish You A Merry Christmas,” he reached into his coat for his wallet and dropped a ten-dollar bill into the bell ringer’s kettle.
“Bless you, Sir.”
Richard nodded and headed through the revolving door of the skyscraper. The lobby was resplendent with a two-story poinsettia-decorated tree, silver bows, and sparkling-white twinkle lights. Faux gift-wrapped presents were piled underneath, and holiday tunes played on a continuous loop to celebrate the season.
He took the elevator to Phillips & Associates and used his card key to enter his office. It had a view overlooking Monument Circle, the heart of the city. For the past few weeks, Sailors and Soldiers Monument had been transformed into the world’s tallest Christmas tree, and shoppers, laden with holiday shopping bags, dotted the sidewalks.
Growing up, Scrooge had been Richard’s idol. Still was. He didn’t understand why everyone made themselves crazy buying presents they couldn’t afford for people who probably didn’t even appreciate them—all in the name of an oversized, mythical old man in a ridiculous red suit. A man who kept company with elves and reindeer at the North Pole, no less!
No, he didn’t like Christmas one bit. But his behavior would never betray that fact. He’d learned from Scrooge’s mistakes. No one would ever accuse him of being like the Dickens character. But he resented the price it took to pay tribute to the dratted holiday. An interior designer lavishly decorated his house and grounds. His personal shopper bought Christmas gifts for his staff, friends, and family. It all added up. Still, he kept his inner Scrooge in check and pulled no punches when it came to appearing like a benevolent uncle to his three nephews. If he’d learned anything it was that perception was everything. And he knew how to play the game with the best of them. He had one up on Scrooge when it came to that!
It was 5:10 p.m. on a Friday and most people had already escaped from Phillips & Associates. Nan Findley carefully shifted a stack of folders to one arm as she tapped lightly on Richard’s door with her free hand. Please don’t let him be on the phone—the Pope could deliver his Christmas message quicker.
“Come in,” Richard said.
Nan opened the door and walked over to Richard’s desk.
“Here are the reports you requested, Mr. Phillips.” She placed them on his desk more forcefully than she’d anticipated and several pages he’d been working on flew off his desk.
Nan’s cheeks turned bright red and she scurried to pick them up. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Phillips. Let me get those for you.”
“Don’t worry about it, Nan.” Richard said. His conciliatory words didn’t match the scowl on his face. Nan collected the strays and dropped them on his huge mahogany desk, trying to stack them in some semblance of order.
“Will there be anything else, Mr. Phillips?” Please say no. Please say no. Her heart practically stopped beating while she awaited his verdict. As a single mother with two young children, Nan rarely had any time to herself. But her children’s paternal grandparents had offered to take them both for these first two weeks of December. And, miracle of miracles, she had a date for the evening.
It had happened just like a Hallmark romance. With the kids gone, Nan had decided to take in White Christmas on the big screen. She’d slipped and literally collided with Harry, showering him with her popcorn. They’d ended up sitting together and sharing his popcorn. Then one thing led to another. She was looking forward to tonight.
“No, I don’t think so. Not tonight. But I’ll need a summary of this report first thing Monday morning.” He handed her a large stack of papers. “Have a nice weekend.”
“You, too, Mr. Phillips.” Nan didn’t waste any time. She shut the door behind her and ran for her desk.
“Hey, Nan,” Dylan said, glancing at the clock. “The boss is letting you off early tonight, I see. Best get out now before he changes his mind. Have a good one.”
Nan flashed him a smile. Dylan was one of Mr. Phillips’ three nephews. They worked at the firm during summers and school breaks. She’d gotten to know them well during the last year and was quite fond of them. “Don’t worry,” Nan said, grabbing her coat and purse and stuffing the papers in her oversized tote bag. “I will!”
Richard leaned back in his office chair, propped his feet up on his desk, and clasped his hands behind his head. He’d have to let Nan go soon. She was becoming far too cozy with the boys. And they, with her. Too bad. She fulfilled both of his requirements for the accounting position. First, candidates had to have responsibilities that discouraged after-hour socializing with coworkers. Single mothers with young children had proven to work out quite nicely.
Second, candidates had to be efficient enough to manage the demands of the job—but not so sharp that they started asking questions. It wouldn’t do for anyone to find out his dirty little secret. That’s why this position was a revolving-door job. He avoided lawsuits and scenes by labeling it as a “temporary” job and paying top dollar. And if the candidate happened to be attractive like Nan, well, a little eye candy was an added bonus. Not that he’d ever indulge with an employee.
Richard didn’t feel any undue remorse about what this would mean to Nan and her family, rationalizing that she knew what she was getting in to when she signed the employment agreement. In the unlikely event he did feel something akin to that emotion, he’d absolve his sins by contributing to one of his charities. No clergyman required. The large number of framed accolades hanging on his wall were a testament to his ruthless nature rather than his generosity.
Richard sat back up and glanced at his Rolex. He had to leave early to meet with the triplets and the caterers regarding the holiday party they planned to throw next Friday. He hadn’t been able to persuade them to rent a public venue like The Children’s Museum or one of those barns that seem to be so popular. No. They were adamant about having it at the house. While he wasn’t wild about the idea, he pounced on the opportunity to piggyback off their event and invite some business acquaintances and people from work. If he didn’t want them served pizza and hot dogs, he’d need to be present to ensure there were adult food choices.
One way or another the triplets would be gone next year. He couldn’t wait. He glanced at the latest photo of Ryan, Bryan, and Dylan displayed on his desk. For the past ten years he’d served as their guardian—ever since their mother and father, his brother Jonathon, had died in a car crash. At least that was the story he’d told the boys. Actually, their parents had died when their car exploded as they were leaving a downtown restaurant.
Jonathan, you should have stayed with the family business. If you hadn’t joined the CIA, you and Kathy would still be alive and I wouldn’t have guardianship of the boys.
It wasn’t totally bad, of course. The boys were the reason he’d dialed down his animosity for the holiday season. As it turned out, that was a smart career move. And the triplets were an ace up his sleeve when it came to attracting the opposite sex. Evidently no one could refuse the charm of the cherubic trio. No one but him, that is. To him they weren’t so adorable. They were a liability.
Nan entered St. Elmo Steakhouse on South Illinois at the stroke of eight. She hoped that didn’t make her look too eager, but punctuality was her watchword. She wasn’t the type that routinely allowed herself to get wined and dined by handsome strangers from Colorado. But Harry Zane, a medical device salesman, was handsome, funny, and charming—the kind of man she’d like her ex to see her with. He was just the tonic she needed after a grueling workweek. She checked her coat and gave Harry’s name to the hostess who promptly escorted her to their table.
“Nan, thank you for recommending this restaurant,” Harry said as he rose from his chair. “All the sizzling steaks have my taste buds standing at attention!”
“Well, they’ll have to wait for the steak. You must try the world-famous shrimp cocktail. Just be careful with the sauce or your taste buds will be fried!”
The waiter stood patiently by the table. “We’ll take two,” Harry told him.
“If you would care for some wine with your shrimp cocktail, I recommend the 2011 Loosen Bros. Riesling by the glass.”
“Great,” Harry said. “And according to my date, you’d better bring a pitcher of water, too!”
Nan glowed. It had been a long time since someone had called her his date. “So how did your meeting go?” Nan asked after the waiter left.
“Promising. Thanks for asking. It helps that I have a knack for getting people to open up. So, how was your day?”
Nan hesitated before responding. “It was okay. Not as demanding as usual. It’s just that...” Nan frowned and the lines between her eyes deepened. “It’s nothing.” She traced the rim of her glass with the index finger of her right hand.
“That doesn’t sound like nothing.” Harry placed her hand between both of his and looked her in the eye. His expression was sincere, his brown eyes filled with compassion. “Pretend I’m a Christmas angel and tell me what’s bothering you. You’ll feel better. Promise.”
Something in Nan melted, and she felt an overwhelming urge to confide her fears to Harry. She couldn’t spill her guts to anyone at work and her friends wouldn’t understand. Besides, it wasn’t as though Harry was from her world. She’d never see him again after this week. Most of all, though, it just felt right.
“From all appearances, Mr. Phillips is an outstanding citizen—a successful businessman raising his three nephews and supporting the community. But there’s something not quite right about him.” Nan took a big gulp of wine, then set her glass on the table.
She did a quick assessment of the nearby diners to ensure she didn’t recognize anyone. Then she turned back to Harry. “I’m an accountant for the firm, but I also get stuck handling some personal things for Mr. Phillips. He has custody of his three nephews—their parents were killed in a car crash when the boys were quite young—and since this is a family-owned business, there’s overlap between personal and business. The boys have a trust, based on their father’s share of the business, that Mr. Phillips manages. I was working on that today, and decided to go over the files from the very beginning…”
Nan’s voice dropped even lower. “I could be wrong, but I think Mr. Phillips has been skimming money from their trust. Every month for nearly ten years, the trust has paid E. S. Associates $10,000 or more. I can’t find a website or any information about the company, which is strange. But get this. I’ve deposited several checks from that company directly into Mr. Phillips’ personal banking account. Don’t you think that’s damning?”
“So, what are you going to do about it? You’ll have to be very sure about this before you ask him about it or mention it to anyone.”
“There’s more,” Nan said. “Nothing I can prove. Call me crazy, but he’s so greedy I worry about him harming the boys. I’ve seen the way he looks at them when he thinks no one’s around.” Nan took a deep breath. “Do you have children, Harry? If so, you can understand my concern.”
Harry turned his attention to his hands. Nan wished she’d never mentioned the last bit. She could kick herself. This was becoming less of a date and more of a therapy session with each passing minute.
“I had a family once,” Harry said when he looked up. “I know what it’s like to do anything you can to protect your children. How does he treat the boys?”
“If you go by appearances, he’s the perfect, dutiful uncle. But if you pay attention to the undercurrents when all four of them are together, the tension in the room says otherwise. Of course, everyone knows how difficult teens can be. However, given the choice, I wouldn’t want Richard as my guardian. I don’t think the boys do either.”
Harry looked off into the distance. “How much money do you think he’s stolen from their trust so far?”
“Hard to tell the extent of it. But just this one monthly transaction has netted him more than $2 million over the years. Plus, he’s being paid a nice salary for managing their trust.”
The waiter arrived with their shrimp cocktails and Harry ordered another round of wine by the glass, their entrees, and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.
“There’s something else. Now you’ll really think I’m a nutcase. But I once overheard him telling someone on the phone that the boys will soon be gone. Maybe I’m reading too much into that after discovering his theft, but I’m not convinced he’s talking about college.” Nan’s face was flushed. “And I love those boys, Harry. I’d be sick if anything happened to them. What do you think I should do? Should I tell someone what I fear based only on my intuition?”
Harry picked up his shrimp fork in anticipation of sinking it into the fiery concoction. “I wouldn’t say anything to anyone for the time-being. I have a few friends who might be able to advise you. Let me ask around. For now, let’s just enjoy the evening and this wonderful meal.” He held up his glass, and Nan responded by clinking her glass against his.
“So, do you go to the movies often?” Harry asked.
“Yes. I love going to the movies. When I was young I used to park myself in the theater on Saturdays, going from one movie to another until I’d had so much popcorn and soda I waddled out.”
Just then a waiter passed by carrying a tray of used dishes stacked so high one of the glasses hit a gold bell hung from the archway. A beautiful tinkling sound was the result.
“Another angel got its wings,” Harry said.
“It’s a Wonderful Life is my favorite Christmas movie.”
“Isn’t it everyone’s?” Harry smiled as the waiter delivered their main course.
They finished their steaks over a lively discussion about movies that encompassed everything from To Kill a Mockingbird to Cleopatra and Christmas classics. Then they opted for dessert.
Nan hadn’t had this much fun in years. The ambience was all she could ask for. The restaurant was tastefully decorated with a tree adorned with white lights, red bows, and gold bells. And the meal and the company were perfection. “Okay, here’s one for you,” she said, loading her spoon with a bite of their shared slice of White Chocolate Blueberry Bread Pudding. “What movie began with: He was the most extraordinary man I ever knew?”
“Lawrence of Arabia! Wasn’t that a wonderful movie? Peter O’Toole was fantastic. Here, you can have the last bite.” Harry pushed the plate toward her.
“I shouldn’t, but it’s so good. Harry, since you’re going to be in town Friday night, would you like to attend a party at Mr. Phillips’ place with me? That is, if you don’t have other plans. It’s a combined party with the boys and their friends. It could be interesting.”
Harry didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to! Give me your iPhone and I’ll plug in my number. It would be nice if I had your home number as well so we can confirm the details later.”
After leaving St. Elmo’s, Harry and Nan walked around the Circle for a close-up look at the “World’s Largest Christmas Tree.” Snow was falling as they watched the skaters and the colorful, horse-drawn carriages make their rounds.
“Want to go on a carriage ride, Nan?” Harry asked. “That Cinderella carriage has your name written all over it.”
It was a nice treat, and the perfect way to end the night. Harry walked her to her car and kissed her lightly on the lips. His kiss tasted of red wine and white chocolate. Absolute heaven. Nan noticed it was the stroke of midnight when she pulled away from the curb. She felt every bit like a fairy princess.
It was late when Harry got back to his hotel room, but he had a report to make. Despite the cold, he opened the sliding glass door and stood on the balcony.
“Hi, Chief. Just wanted to give you an update. It’s exactly as I thought. Richard is ripping the boys off—and perhaps something more sinister.” Harry kicked at the balcony wall, his face contorted in pain.
“I don’t believe he’s hurt them physically—not yet. But money is everything to him. If an opportunity presented itself to get rid of the boys without getting his hands dirty, I think he’d jump on it. Nan asked me to a party at Richard’s residence Friday night. That will provide me with the perfect opportunity to have a little chat with him.”
After signing off, Harry stood still in thought. What great luck. Nan had unwittingly handed him the means to see the boys and confront Richard face-to-face. In the meantime, he’d resist the urge to interfere. He took a leisurely look around the city. It had really grown since he had last lived here. The dinner at St. Elmo’s was as good as always. Some things never change. Maybe he’d check out Acapulco Joe’s and the Chatterbox tomorrow. On second thought, he’d try one of the newer restaurants. After all, you have to keep up with the times.
As Harry came inside, he paused in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. He didn’t look anything like he had the last time he’d been in Indy. His hair was darker and longer than he’d ever worn it. His face was thinner, with a few added wrinkles. It wasn’t what he was used to, but the new look wasn’t bad. Not bad at all.
Richard opened a pricy bottle of Sauterne he’d purchased at an auction. It was a rare and welcome find. Sauternes had been out of vogue for years, but he loved them all the same. He didn’t think twice about dropping $300 for a half-bottle of Chateau d’Yquem. He poured a glass and held it up to the light before taking the first sip. This half-bottle cost more than he was spending for his guests at Friday’s party. He’d opted to serve a red wine Wassail. It was, after all, traditional Christmas fare. Better yet, he’d told the caterers he’d supply the wine. It was a great way to get rid of the bottles of gifted wine he’d received that didn’t meet his standards.
The boys had surprised Richard with a sophisticated menu selection. They selected mini roast beef sandwiches with horseradish sauce, shrimp cocktails, an assortment of sushi and a variety of other edibles. Plus, they were going to have pizza delivered to the basement game room where most of their festivities would take place. Ah, well. It’s their money. Richard had volunteered to provide the alcohol for his guests while the boys paid for the food. He’d spend next to nothing and still entertain his guests in style.
That appealed to the Scrooge in him.
Nan checked herself in the mirror. She’d gone all out for the party. Instead of a practical little black dress, hers was bright Christmas red, with a neckline that was suggestive rather than revealing. It was the perfect foil for the one piece of decent jewelry she owned—a diamond solitaire necklace repurposed from her engagement ring.
She gathered her coat and purse and waited for Harry to arrive. They had enjoyed a wonderful meal at Tinker Street earlier in the week. It was even more fun than the St. Elmo’s outing. Too bad Harry was headed back to Colorado on Saturday. He’d done a great job of spoiling her. Thanks to him she had enough fond memories to last her for a long time. More than that. Being with Harry had given her the confidence and the desire to start dating again—kids or no kids.
A knock on her door brought her back to the present. She couldn’t wait to show up at the party with a handsome man at her side.
The intricately paneled mahogany door was open so visitors could walk in. Richard stood in the doorway between the dining room and the entry. From this vantage point he could greet guests and keep an eye on the buffet and the Wassail bowl. He’d warned the servers not to allow the kids to have any Wassail, but he didn’t trust they’d be as vigilant as he was. After all, he had a reputation to protect.
The door opened and Nan walked in with a date. Richard did a double-take. Nan didn’t look like the same person who sat hunched over her desk all day. And her date didn’t look like someone he would have thought she’d associate with socially. His attire was impeccable—and expensive. And that sexy dress must have set Nan back a pretty penny. He was obviously paying her too much. Oh, well. He’d soon be rid of her.
“Nan. So nice you could make it,” Richard said.
“Thank you for the invitation. This is my guest, Harry Zane. Harry, this is my boss, Richard Phillips.”
Richard and Harry shook hands. Richard felt a slight shock, a tingling that set the hair on the back of his neck on edge. He quickly withdrew his hand. “Welcome, Mr. Zane. We have food and drink available in the dining room.”
“Where are the boys?” Nan asked. “I’d like to see them before mingling with the adults.”
Richard looked toward the dining room. “I don’t see them at the buffet so they’re probably in the game room on the lower level. The stairs are just through the dining room before you get to the kitchen.”
Nan talked to a few people while Harry got them some Wassail. “Let’s go see the boys. You don’t mind meeting them, do you?”
“Not at all. Can you give me a heads up about them? Are they into sports? Academics? What’s the scoop?”
Nan laughed. “My, but you’re playing the perfect guest tonight. Most men would balk at having to spend time with three teens they’d never met before. At least you’ve got something to drink. How is it?”
“Not bad, actually, although I sure could use a glass of scotch right now.”
Nan grabbed his arm and steered him though the dining room. “To answer some of your questions, the triplets—Ryan, Bryan, and Dylan—participate in sports. Not the usual ones like basketball or football. One’s a runner, one plays tennis, and the third one’s into hockey. They all hit the books and make good grades. Engineering attracts Ryan, Bryan has his heart set on becoming an architect, and Dylan’s dream is to be a broadcast journalist. At least that’s what I heard last week.”
The boys were at the bottom of the stairs good-naturedly squabbling over what channel the TV should be on. “Boys, I have someone I want you to meet,” Nan said. “This is a friend of mine from out of town, Harry Zane.”
“Wow, look at you! What a Babe! Totally hot, Nan!” the boys collectively voiced their approval as they each, in turn, gave Nan a big hug. That was followed by “nice-to-meet-yous” and handshakes for Harry.
“So, guys, did you go to the Super Bowl when it was here back in 2012?” Harry asked. From then on they talked about football and other sports until their friends began to arrive. At that point Nan and Harry went back upstairs.
“You’re a natural with teens,” Nan said. “These kids are wonderful, but I’ve seen them turn into holy terrors when they thought they could get away with it.” She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was nearby. “I think it’s because they have to be so proper when Mr. Phillips is around. It can’t be much fun for them.”
Harry smiled, but he had a pained look in his eyes. “Would you like some more Wassail?”
“Sure. But I think I’d better have some food along with it.”
“Come along with me, then, and we’ll fill our plates, grab some drinks, and find a secluded nook to continue our conversation.”
They talked and laughed about everything and nothing. Then Nan saw an old friend. “Harry, if you’ll excuse me, I really want to catch up with Bonnie. I haven’t seen her in forever, so it could take more than a couple minutes. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I’ll clean up here and take a self-guided tour of the house. Take your time.”
Harry saw Richard leave the group he was talking to and head into the study. Harry followed, shutting the door behind him.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Richard asked as he stepped toward Harry.
In response, Harry’s features altered until he looked like his true self.
Richard gasped, his face white as the Christmas snow. “Jonathan? What is this? A sick joke?”
“No joke, Richard. It’s me. Jonathan. Your dear, departed brother. Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“But that can’t be,” Richard sputtered. “You’re dead! You died ten years ago. You were blown to bits.”
“That’s true,” Jonathan said.
Richard backed up, never taking his eyes off Jonathan. “We both know that isn’t possible. I don’t know how you did the morphing bit, but you can’t be my brother. You’re just some scam artist trying to get my money. Well, we’ll see about that.” He started to pick up the phone.
“Okay, you want some proof, little brother? When we were kids you used to pinch Dad’s Playboys and hide in the attic behind that old monstrosity of a mirror that belonged to Great Aunt Harriet. When Mom found your cache, you told her they were mine. I was grounded for a month.”
“So, is this like Dickens’ Christmas Carol? Are you a Christmas spirit sent to warn me? Is this an intervention?”
“Not even close,” Jonathan said. “What would I have to warn you about, little brother? Maybe the fact you’re cheating my sons out of their inheritance? Maybe even trying to get rid of them before they can claim what’s left of it? You’d like to be the sole heir, wouldn’t you?”
“Anyone would like to be the sole heir to a fortune. That’s just natural. That doesn’t mean I’d do anything to harm the boys. Why would you even say that?”
“The dead have their ways of knowing things. To answer your previous question, no, I’m not the Spirit of Christmas Past, Present, or Yet to Come. I’m an angel—an Avenging Angel. Ironic, isn’t it? Who knew I’d be able to use the skills I learned in the CIA in the afterlife.”
Richard backed up even more. He placed a trembling hand on his chest. “Okay, so I dipped into the boys’ funds when I shouldn’t have. I can fix that. I’ll put it all back—with interest. Other than that slight indiscretion I’ve taken excellent care of them. Even you would have to admit that. I took them to Disneyland and on vacation every summer. Saw that they were clothed and fed. I sent them to the best schools…”
“But did you really care for them? Love them like they were yours? Or did you just do your duty?”
“I, I did my best,” Richard said.
“Well, you fell short. Unlike your idol Scrooge, you never changed. And you had every opportunity.”
“That’s not true. Scrooge was visited by three spirits. No one’s visited me!”
“Remember when you had the dream about Uncle Harold? Christmas Past.”
“How do you know about that? That was just an aberration brought on by indigestion. It doesn’t mean anything,” Richard scoffed.
“How about last month when you overheard Mrs. Hubert talk about how stingy you are? That the only thing you care more about than money is your time? Christmas Present.”
“That old biddie! She’s just jealous because she treated her money like an infinite resource and now it’s dwindled down to nothing.”
Jonathan shook his head. “Christmas Yet to Come was that little kid who pleaded with you to contribute money toward a playground for disadvantaged kids like himself. That didn’t get a reaction from you either.”
“Hey, that little snot-nosed kid got dirt on my Giorgio Armani wool suit!”
Jonathan continued as though he hadn’t heard Richard. “So, you see, you had your warnings. Unlike Scrooge, you didn’t recognize the error of your ways and change. That’s when avenging angels, like me, step in. Now it’s time for you to pay the price.”
Jonathan stepped forward and put his hand on Richard’s clammy forehead. Richard jerked, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell, hitting his head on the corner of the desk. Blood flowed over Richard’s Persian carpet.
“Merry Christmas, little brother. Rest in peace.”
3 cups apple cider
½ cup honey
2 quarts inexpensive (but not cheap!) red wine, preferably a Cabernet Sauvignon
1 orange—the zest and juice
2 cinnamon sticks 24 whole cloves
Garnish
Orange slices
In a crockpot combine the apple juice, honey, orange juice, and orange zest. Slowly stir in red wine.
Take a large piece of cheesecloth and place the cinnamon sticks and cloves on it. With string, tie it up to make a small bundle and drop it into the red wine mixture.
Heat on high in the crockpot for about three hours. Do not let it boil.
Discard the spice bag and pour the heated Wassail into a large punch bowl (or crock pot on low heat). Then add the orange slices. Your home will smell lovely!
Makes 12 to 16 servings