Xander's Folly

by Belinda M Gordon

  "I'm willing to move here if you want to go to the Guesthouse instead," Matt said, pulling a plastic container of potato chips from the bag and sprinkling a handful onto both plates. He had made the same offer several times since we decided to move.

  "That's kind of you, Mattie, but I'll have to live in the main house sooner or later. It might as well be now," I sighed. I wasn't looking forward to the change. Matt studied my face, unconvinced.

  "Okay. If you're absolutely sure," he said at last. "I'm moving 'Security Central' to a bedroom in the Guesthouse. That should help with the buzzing noise."

  "I hope that doesn't mean you'll be staring at those screens all the time."

  "No, the system is rigged to beep if a sensor is tripped. It works out well for me—I have my stone cutting equipment set up in the next room. I've been doing some freelance work, since Xander hasn't been rock hunting lately." He took a bite of his sandwich. "Mmm, how does she do it? Everything that woman makes is delicious!" He wiped a drop of sauce from his mouth with his napkin.

  The sandwiches tasted divine. Real turkey breast—not the deli meat—with roasted peppers, spinach, and provolone cheese with Jenny's special sauce on homemade bread. I agreed—Jenny was a culinary angel.

  "What about fun?" I asked between bites. "A young guy like you should be enjoying yourself more."

  "Now you sound like my mother!" He laughed again, but then his demeanor changed. He glanced at me sheepishly as if embarrassed. "Well, as a matter of fact, I've been dating someone."

  "Oh, let me guess. Allison?"

  "How did you know?"

  "I could see she was sweet on you."

  A car pulled into the shared driveway between the farmhouse and guesthouse. I heard Alexander's laugh and car doors closing. "Xander's home," I said as I went to the cupboard to get more plates.

  Sophia came clamoring through the door first.

  "Yay, lunch!" she sang as she climbed onto the stool next to Matt. I put half of my sandwich onto her plate.

  "Steve, you've got to take me home. Alexander will be looking for lunch soon." John's troubled voice drifted in through the open door.

  "No need to worry, John. He called and said he's eating with the Nelsons," Alexander said, quite convincingly.

  We had learned, through research and practical experience, that correcting his father made John upset and agitated, which in turn made everything harder. Redirecting him with comments like this kept his anxiety to a minimum.

  Both men came into the kitchen carrying bags from their trip to town and setting them on the counter. John waved off lunch, saying he wasn't hungry yet. He excused himself and went to the living room to watch a basketball game on the television.

  Alexander joined the rest of us at the island. I filled his plate with a sandwich and chips before going back to eating my lunch.

  "We have the pictures they made from the plastic strips!" Sophia said. "Can we see them now?"

  "Let's wait until we finish lunch so we don't get them dirty," Alexander said.

  Sophia puckered her lips into a pout as she usually did when she didn't get her way. She cocked her head to the side and managed to appear as though her heart would break.

  "Please, Daddy? I promise I won't touch them with my dirty fingers."

  Alexander hesitated. He rarely fell for her whining, no matter how adorable, but he was eager to see the photos himself. He retrieved an envelope from one of the bags and started sorting through the pictures.

  "Daddy, I want to see them."

  "I'm looking for the ones we haven't seen before," he explained. Then, to appease her, he handed her the duplicates and kept the others to the side.

  When we had finished lunch and cleared away the dishes, we joined John in the living room. Alexander spread the missing photos over the coffee table. He and I sat on the edge of the sofa with Sophia between us. Matt stood behind us, peering over our shoulders.

  John had taken the dozen or so photographs on that same day in the park. Alexander picked one up, holding it out where everyone could see.

  "I put them in chronological order. This is the first one in the series," Alexander said.

  It was another shot of him with his friend, Eddie. Alexander's mother was in this picture, but she wasn't looking at the camera. The photograph caught her profile as she watched something off to the left. The next shot was a blur. Obviously John had moved when he pressed the shutter. Alexander discarded it and went on.

  Eddie's parents were in the next photograph, meant to be a group shot of both families. However, no one was facing the camera. John stood further away from his subject, and the camera had caught other people in the background. Everyone had their heads turned in the same direction, as though something to the left of the frame had caught their attention.

  "What's this? Is that what they're looking at?" Matt asked as he pointed his finger at a dark spot in the left-hand corner of the photograph. We took turns examining it closer.

  "I think it's a woman with a baby carriage." I looked at the next photograph in line. "Aye, here she is," I said as I picked up the photo.

  It showed a group of people surrounding a tall woman with a surprisingly wide baby carriage. John had moved his camera closer to the woman, and the next shot showed that the carriage carried three babies.

  "Triplets!" Matt said. "I guess that's what's getting everyone's attention. You don't come across that very often."

  The remaining photos were pictures of the newborn triplets.

  "My mother is acting odd," Alexander said, separating three photographs that included her. "She's the only one not surrounding the carriage. In fact, she's pointedly looking away. It's strange—she loved babies."

  "It looks like the babies' Mama is hiding her face from the camera," Matt said. "That's weird too."

  I looked over the photographs carefully, trying to decipher what might have been happening.

  "I wonder if this woman was a Sidhe," I said, slowly collecting my thoughts. "It's impossible to tell from the photograph, but she's tall, and the Sidhe often have multiples. Twins and triplets aren't uncommon."

  "If she's a Sidhe, wouldn't they have been friends? This looks like they're trying to avoid each other."

  "It was so tragic, what happened to those babies."

  John's voice startled me. I had been so focused on the pictures that I didn't hear him get up from his chair. He picked up a photo that had a good shot of the infants' faces. A second of stunned silence passed before any of us spoke.

  "What happened to them, Dad?" Alexander asked.

  "It was a big deal at the time. You were a kid, but you must remember. They disappeared a couple of days after I took this picture. The mother claimed it was a home invasion. She was hysterical, convinced the kidnappers intended to kill the babies, but the authorities disagreed. I mean, babies are usually taken to be sold off or something, aren't they? They searched for them for weeks."

  "I thought that it was twins who were drowned in the bay," Alexander said.

  "That's what they said. A couple picnicking saw two babies in the water. They ran to get help, but when they returned the bodies had disappeared. They only saw two, but I expect the sea swept away all three."

  Alexander and I exchanged a glance. If the babies were Sidhe they would have returned to their ancestral home in the Otherworld.

  "What do you know about their mother?" I asked quietly, almost fearful to hear the answer.

  "Her name was Smith. But I don't remember her first name, even though it was in the paper for weeks. She left town to stay with her folks. The press had a field day with that, saying it made her look guilty. It didn't help that the police couldn't find her when they went looking."

  "But what does any of this have to do with my mother or where she is?" Alexander asked, frustration clear in his voice.

  "Your mother was distraught—really distraught about the whole thing. She just loved babies," John said, not understanding Alexander's question.

&
nbsp; I looked again at the picture of everyone gathered around the triplets while Neve turned away, her face clouded with worry. What could she have been thinking?

  Alexander had disappeared into the library while I finished packing. I popped my head in to check on him a several hours later.

  He sat at the desk, staring at his laptop and rubbing the back of his neck. He read something on the screen with a laser focus and didn't hear me come in. I watched him for a minute. His dark wavy hair, in need of a trim, curled over the back of his shirt collar. His face looked drawn and haggard. I realized for the first time the strain these past few weeks had put on him.

  "Xander, dinner's ready."

  He jumped and looked at me in surprise before going back to the computer screen. "You guys go ahead. I'm in the middle of something."

  I watched him for another minute before leaving. I wanted to tell him that relaxing a bit and getting a good night's sleep would be better for him than whatever work he was doing, even without knowing what that was. However, I held my tongue and went to find Sophia.

  Alexander still hadn't left the library by the time I'd put Sophia to bed. I fell asleep waiting for him and awoke with a start around midnight when I realized he hadn't come to bed yet. The room was dark and quiet, the incessant hum now gone.

  Worried about his unusual behavior, I slid into my slippers and robe and tiptoed past Sophia's room as I set out to find him. Only the light hanging from the foyer ceiling disrupted the darkness at the bottom of the stairway. No light glowed under the door to the library. I checked it anyway and found it deserted.

  I crossed the foyer and headed to the kitchen, wondering if he was catching a late dinner. The bulb that hung over the kitchen island created an oasis of light in the otherwise dark room. Alexander sat there, inside that light. He had a large bowl and a box of cereal in front of him.

  He looked up as I entered the room. His mouth flickered with a smile that quickly faded away. He slouched down in his seat, a stark contrast to his usual upright, military bearing. I sat across from him and my concern grew as I took in the weariness etched on his face.

  He took a spoon out of a drawer behind him and held it out to me, silently offering to share his meal. When I waved the spoon away, he put it back and continued eating his cereal.

  "Xander, are you okay?"

  He shrugged. "Nothing seems to be going my way these days. We're fighting the fae, even though we've returned home. My dad isn't himself. We're no closer to finding out what happened to my mother. And then there's…"

  His voice trailed off. He took another spoonful of cereal, keeping his eyes fixed on the bowl so as not to look at me. He didn't need to finish the sentence. He was thinking about his proposal, or more accurately, my response to his proposal.

  His stress was heavy and palpable. The weight of it pressed down on me, spurring a craving for sweets that changed my mind about having a snack.

  I shuffled around the island to grab a bowl and a spoon from the cupboard. I returned to my seat and poured myself a serving of the sugary flakes, covering them with milk. We ate together in silence for a minute.

  "You could also say things have gone pretty well," I ventured, not sure if he would embrace this line of thinking. "We've come through the scuffles unharmed. Your dad is safe with us. The pictures we found today must be a clue."

  I didn't address the last issue. Reminding him that I had said—well, not 'no,' exactly—more like 'not now'—might push him further from me. I appreciated that he was being patient; I didn't want him to give up on me.

  He frowned and shook his head.

  "If the photos are a clue, I can't decipher it. I spent the day reading about the triplets. Several newspapers in the area followed the story for weeks, but I found nothing related to my mother's disappearance."

  "I also tracked down an old buddy from high school. He's a police officer now. He emailed me the files on both cases—at least, what he was allowed to send. There wasn't much there either. I even called the Nelson's to see if they remembered any details that weren't reported, but no luck. At this point, the pictures are a dead end."

  "Perhaps not," I said. My mind raced to conjure an idea and I brightened when something solid came to mind. "Why don't we send the Pixies to speak with Deirdre? The death of Sidhe triplets wouldn't go unnoticed; she may know the mother."

  He looked thoughtful as he picked up our empty bowls and carried them to the sink. When he turned around, a spark had returned to his eyes. "You're right. If three babies had returned after being murdered, it would have been big news. If we can track down their mother, she might be able to tell us something. Let's ask the Pixies if they'll go."

  It was well past midnight, but I was glad to go out into the cold dark night if it would preserve the hint of buoyancy in his expression. We bundled up and discussed a concise message to send with the Pixies as we walked to the lake.

  When we reached the maple tree, Kerry and Peter answered our call with frowns and heavy eyelids. They mumbled a few incoherent words, which we had to ask them to repeat twice before we understood that Brenna was spending the night in the dollhouse at the shop.

  They perked up when we made our request, excited at the prospect of a quick visit to Faery. I gave them the message, and they left. Alexander and I shook our heads in amusement at the dizzying speed of the entire interaction. Five minutes after arriving, we started back home. I took Alexander's arm as we walked.

  "I love you. You know that, right?" I asked as we closed in on the Manor House door.

  He smiled down at me. "I know you do."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I went into work the next day to find Ida Krauss sitting on a stool by my workstation, looking quite comfortable and in no hurry to leave. Pausing just outside the store, I listened to her chatting with Holly and Linda as they worked.

  "Shoplifting isn't so unusual for the stores in town, or anywhere really. You must get your share here as well," she said.

  "Sometimes," Holly said. Trayce slept against her chest, held there by a fabric sling carrier, leaving her hands free to work on the display in the window. She had taken out the signs advertising deep discounts on the few remaining Aran sweaters and Irish lace linens, replacing them with a Valentine's Day arrangement that touted our jewelry as the perfect gift for everyone's sweetheart.

  "Well, Stan had some expensive outdoor equipment stolen over the last couple of days: tents, sleeping bags, that kind of thing. He said shoplifters rarely go for those things," Ida said. "I get the occasional out-of-towner slipping out without paying their check."

  "People actually do that?" Linda asked from where she worked putting price tags on newly arrived Waterford crystal.

  "Unfortunately yes, it happens. But I've never had food stolen from the kitchen!" She shook her head to emphasize her disbelief. "It takes some the nerve to sneak into an active kitchen and take food that was about to be served."

  "Good morning, ladies!" I forced cheerfulness into my voice to hide the worry creeping up inside me. After hearing this last snippet of conversation, I felt sure I knew who would be so bold.

  "Tressa, did you know? There's a thief in town," Ida said, pleased to have a new audience for her gossip.

  "Aye, I heard," I said, hoping to forestall her from repeating everything. I rushed into my workroom to hang my coat. I smoothed my skirt and checked my hair in the glass of a framed print on the wall.

  Brenna sat with her legs dangling off the edge of the shelf in front of her dollhouse cottage. She held her hands up, using a finger to plug each of her ears as she sang, "la, la, la, la, la." I gave her a stern look before turning back toward Ida.

  "When did this happen?" I asked, hoping that the story was old news.

  "It started a couple of days ago. My bet would be on that dwarf that's been hanging around town. I mean, I hope not. But he looks suspicious to me."

  Gobban as an outright thief was ridiculous. He would want to have earned what he had, even if th
at meant tricking the other party into a bad deal. I kept my thoughts to myself, not wanting to add any fuel to her gossip.

  Ida continued chatting, but I lost track of the conversation as I stewed in my own thoughts. I had convinced myself that Sloan had flitted back to the lighthouse. Now I realized that, while caught up with my own problems, I hadn't taken the time to think it through. What about the dog? Lady couldn't flit, and as often as Sloan tried to disclaim her, I didn't believe she would leave Lady behind. I had little doubt that she was the thief in Ida's story.

  I wanted to be angry with the young hoodlum, yet I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She had the opportunity for a nice warm bed, Jenny's excellent food, and a hot shower. Yet she still chose to live rough on the streets. Did she insist on being isolated because of some trauma in her youth? Or was she so used to being on her own that she couldn't accept anything else?

  The stealing had to stop. I had just resolved to find the girl when the door chimes jingled and Tom Lynch walked in, wearing his navy police uniform. He took off his hat as he looked around.

  He frowned when he saw Ida and kept his gaze moving until he noticed Holly working at the window. His face lit up as he headed in her direction.

  "How's the little man doing?" he asked, brushing his finger across the sleeping baby's cheek. "He's getting so big!"

  "If you have time to fuss over babies, you must have already solved the recent crime wave," Ida called over to him.

  "Don't you worry, Mrs. Krauss. We're working hard on the case. If you're finished chewing Tressa's ear off, I might get a chance to talk to her."

  "Chewing her ear off! I don't have that kind of time to waste, what with a restaurant to manage. But I had to warn these ladies. Look how long you took to get here." The older woman glared at him smugly.

  "You're too kind, Ida—such a good neighbor. But perhaps now I should speak with Officer Lynch," I said, eager to get her out the door.