Season of Danger: Silent Night, Deadly NightMistletoe Mayhem

by Alexander, Hannah; Alexander, Hannah

  Dear Reader,

  Several months ago I met a lady who lives in Hollywood and is engaged in helping the homeless. Her story about what she’s seen—whole families living in their cars, on the street, more children and more teens than she’s ever seen before—was heartbreaking. These newbies haven’t been on the street long and are only there because of recent histories of lost jobs and lost mortgages. They don’t know how to fend for themselves.

  There are shelters for many of the homeless—for those who wish to abide by the safety rules. Those who do can find food and warmth. Many churches volunteer and trade off working in places of safety. My friends and I purchased items we believed people living on the street might need: small, light foodstuffs, small soaps, toothbrushes and small toothpaste tubes, washcloths, feminine care for women, easy-to-carry toys for children. We sent books, of course, and my friend Marty Frost sent prayer pillows she had made with passages from the Bible written on them. We didn’t feel it was enough, but we did what we could.

  I began to wonder how I would fare out in the cold with nothing to eat, no place to sleep, and my imagination took hold. I decided to set a romantic suspense at a fictitious homeless shelter, where the people who sought help were well cared for, found medical care, food and were put to work to earn their keep. That’s where Vance Mission emerged.

  I’ve seen homeless on the streets in the big cities. It’s hard to meet their eyes, especially when I know they’re going to be cold later, but that if I give them money, it may well go to drugs and alcohol, not food or the things their bodies really need.

  Please consider sending money to a worthy homeless mission for Christmas, maybe even volunteering at a shelter. Treat every kind of human on the street with kindness, because no matter how they ended up where they are, God loves them. They may have family somewhere who love them. Let’s find a productive way to love them, too.

  With much love,

  Questions for Discussion

  Tess is a strong woman who was raised in a family of faith, but when she began her own career, she was drawn away from her relationship with God. I think this happens to us all from time to time. When has it happened to you? How were you drawn back?

  Sean was not raised in a Christian family and was brought to his knees when the woman he got pregnant aborted his child. He went to his friend, Gerard, for counsel, and Gerard led him to faith. Have you ever had an opportunity to gently guide a friend through a crisis? Describe.

  Tess blames herself for the murder of her fiancé, even though she wasn’t the one who murdered him. How would you feel if someone hurt someone you loved to have revenge on you? What would your response be? What should it be?

  Sean is an ex-cop who carries a weapon, even though he no longer works for the police force. Do you feel he would be innocent if he were to use his weapon to protect himself or others from murder or rape? What if you were called on to protect others? What would go through your mind at that last moment?

  At one point in the book, Tess seeks the solace of animals in the barn at her brother’s ranch. Have you ever found solace in the presence of a dog, a cat, a horse? Please describe such a time.

  What goes through your mind when you see someone on the street pushing a shopping cart or carrying a black plastic bag, dirty, with eyes cast down? What are some of the emotions you feel?

  Tess and Sean both often feel helpless in the face of all the needs at the mission. Do you sometimes feel overwhelmed when you can’t meet your own expectations or those of others? Do you feel it’s a sin to learn to say no? Have you learned that word yet? How can you practice it during the day?

  In this story, true love wins out. It doesn’t always happen that way, and even Christians who are taught to be gentle and turn the other cheek have temper problems and relationship difficulties. What are some of the ways we can get around those difficulties?

  MISTLETOE MAYHEM

  Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  To pet-lovers and people-lovers all over the world.

  May the love of Christ shine through your life!

  Words kill, words give life;

  They’re either poison or fruit—you choose.

  —Proverbs 18:21

  ONE

  Kelly Granger stared into Nick Milton’s bloodshot eyes and suppressed a shiver. It wouldn’t do to betray her fear of him, any more than to give that advantage to a wild animal.

  Beefy face taut, Nick leaned toward her over the counter of the veterinary clinic’s reception area. “If my dog don’t perk up and shake off that drug you pumped into him, I’ll come lookin’ for you. He’s been layin’ around all afternoon, worthless as a tick.”

  His slurred words betrayed the alcohol he pickled himself in daily. How did Chelsea live with this guy?

  “Mr. Milton, Brutus’s behavior posed a danger to himself, the staff and other animals. In order to give him his checkup and vaccinations, it was necessary to administer a mild sedative first. I assure you, he will be himself by morning, barring a little stiffness in the vaccination site, which will also disappear.”

  There, she’d delivered a reasonable explanation, and her voice didn’t even quiver. If she’d discovered any sign of abuse on Nick’s Doberman, she would have turned the dog over to the SPCA to get the animal away from his disgusting owner.

  “Highfalutin, la-di-da doctor!” Nick shook a ham-size fist in her face. “I’m holdin’ you to them words.”

  Kelly gripped the edge of the counter. She would not back away. The creep might have a reputation for temper, but she was not going to be cowed. This was her clinic, and she’d done nothing wrong…except send her assistant, Tim Hallock, home early. Tim might be half Nick’s size, but at least he could have called the cops.

  Nick turned and stomped out the door, admitting a burst of chill air, which washed over Kelly. She allowed herself a shiver. Some people needed a muzzle and leash more than their pets. She wouldn’t mind calling the police to let them know Nick Milton was driving drunk again, except he wasn’t driving.

  The Milton’s beat-up van sat in a parking spot outside the clinic’s picture window. Nick’s son, Greg, perched behind the wheel. Kelly’s glance met the teenager’s, and the kid offered his usual juvenile leer. She marched to the door and turned the deadbolt as the van chugged out of the parking lot, spewing dark smoke from its tailpipe.

  Releasing a breath, she looked out the picture window, which revealed a panorama of white-topped mountain ridges looming over the struggling business district. Even with Christmas nearly upon them, traffic was thin this early evening. Vehicle headlights vied with the twinkle of Christmas lights adorning the facades of the buildings. Thankfully, no one seemed headed for the veterinary clinic. She’d dealt with enough excitement for one day.

  Brutus had been the easiest patient—a routine well-check. Six other pets, cradled by distraught owners—one of them Kelly’s sister—had been presented this afternoon, each animal exhibiting the same awful symptoms. She was keeping most of them overnight on IVs to rehydrate them. Her patients would live, but more by the grace of God than human skill. She’d never seen anything like it and prayed she never would again.

  Had Tim remembered to prepare the biological samples for submission to the state lab? They needed to discover what had made the pets so ill.

  Kelly headed for the pharmacy, loafers squeaking faintly on the linoleum. Her pharmacy was more like a large closet than a room. The package lay wrapped and labeled on the counter. Kelly smiled. Reliable was Tim’s middle name.

  A note in his handwriting sat by the box. She picked it up and read, “Courier service unable to make the pick-up until late tomorrow afternoon. One of the hazards of living in a Tennessee mountain town.”

  Kelly groaned. Compared to the frenzy of her Nashville vet school experience, she’d loved returning to the gracious pace of life in Abbottsville, nestled in the heart of the Great Smoky Mountains. But around here, tomorrow was soon enough for anything to happen. Might as well get h
ome and put her feet up.

  On the drive to her modest bungalow, her thoughts refused to wind down. What if the illness was an epidemic—something bacterial…or even viral? Or maybe it was as simple as a contaminated batch of pet food? But what if this was a contagion that could infect people? What if… Whoa, girl! No point in stressing over what had hit the pets of Abbottsville until the lab returned results.

  Darkness had fully fallen when she turned the final corner onto her street. She accelerated and then eased off on the gas pedal. What was up with this? The automatic timer on her Christmas lights should have had her place aglow with festive decorations, but the single-story home was dark. A faulty timer? Better that than some expensive electrical issue. It wasn’t a power outage. The porch light glowed on the two-story house next door, but no holiday decorations. Probably because her yet-to-be-seen neighbor had moved in only yesterday.

  Kelly wheeled the Explorer into her driveway, and the headlights passed over a scene of Christmas decoration carnage strewn across her snow-dusted lawn. What in the world? She halted the SUV at an angle and scanned the mess of tinsel, strings of lights, straw from the creche and holly and pine garland. Her stomach knotted. Who would do such a thing? Then she spotted the vandal, and her jaw dropped.

  The big, hairy culprit sat tall and proud on the cement step by her front door. Leaving the lights on, Kelly put the vehicle in Park and hopped out. Hands on hips, she studied the half-grown Saint Bernard pup. She’d never seen this fellow before. Whose was he? He wore a collar and tag, so he wasn’t a stray. Was he friendly?

  One way to find out. Kelly stepped toward the dog. The animal rose to all fours, tongue lolling, and wagged his tail so hard his thick haunches swayed back and forth. Guess that answered her question.

  “What a naughty boy you’ve been!” Kelly’s soft tone contradicted the scold.

  Whoof! The dog lunged toward her. Enormous paws thumped against her chest, and Kelly’s whoof echoed the dog’s bark. His tongue stroked the bottom of her chin. Keeping her balance—barely—she pushed the animal away, then bent and grabbed his collar.

  “Down, boy.” His hot, wet tongue anointed her cheek. Friendly didn’t begin to describe this pup. “Hasn’t anyone taught you manners?”

  Whew! Another six months, and this guy would be able to land his paws on top of her shoulders and look her square in the eye while he bathed her face. Whoever owned the animal needed to get him better trained before then.

  “Ben! You big doofus! What have you done this time?”

  The deep voice brought Kelly’s head up to see a tall, lean man trot down the porch steps of the house next door, cell phone clutched in his fist. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved, button-down shirt, and his head was crowned with blond hair so pale it gleamed nearly white in the beams of her car headlights. The strong, unlined features beneath the thick hair indicated he was in his early-to mid-thirties, not much older than her, newly thirty.

  The pup barked, broke away from Kelly and galumphed toward his master. At least, she assumed this must be the owner of the sweet-natured mischief-maker. Who could stay angry at such a cute dog? And the rest of the mess on her lawn? Well, the pup was doing what came naturally. Now, the negligent owner—him, she could blame.

  The man bent and ruffled the fur around the dog’s neck while issuing affectionate scolds.

  Frowning, Kelly crossed her arms. “Your dog is adorable, but while you were yakking on the phone, he made mincemeat of my Christmas decorations.”

  The man fixed his gaze on Kelly. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, even in the glow of her headlights, but the intensity of the look sent a surge to her pulse.

  “Matthew Bennett.” He rose to his full height, at least half a head taller than her five foot seven, and stepped forward, extending his hand. “You’d better call me Matt, since it looks like we’re neighbors.”

  She accepted a handshake, his generous palm warm against her cold fingers. “Kelly Granger,” she muttered, willing herself not to check for a wedding ring.

  “I’m sorry you had to meet Ben and me this way. Not the first impression I’d prefer to make.” A grin put attractive dents in his cheeks. “Let me take this bad boy to the house and grab a jacket. Then I’ll come back and clean up.”

  Kelly glanced around at the disaster. “We can’t leave it to blow through the neighborhood overnight. I’d better help sort through things to see what’s salvageable.”

  “Sure. I’ll be right back.” Man and dog trotted toward their house.

  Groaning, Kelly plodded to her front door. Inside, she removed her shoes and headed in stocking feet to her Spartan kitchen. Cooking didn’t number among her interests. That was her sister’s forte, and Kelly generally ate at Brenda’s restaurant. Tonight her appetite had been stolen, and she craved nothing more than the three Bs—bath, book and bed. Instead, she had a cleanup job to tackle. She yanked open a drawer and grabbed a flashlight. The car headlights didn’t illuminate the whole lawn, and she’d need something to pierce the shadows.

  She returned to the wintry yard to find Matt whistling a holiday tune beneath his breath while he stuffed shreds of tinsel into a garbage bag. Kelly gritted her teeth. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a bag?

  “Here you go.” He grinned and held out a square of black plastic.

  “Thank you.” She snatched the bag.

  This guy’s strong dose of cheerful when she’d rather spit a few nails was almost too much to take, but her mama had raised her to be a lady, and ladies are always polite. She migrated to a dark segment of yard on the other side of the walk from her handsome nemesis neighbor and clicked on her flashlight. The beam fell on a mound of debris.

  A scream left her throat. “My wreath!”

  “Oh, man.” Matt rustled up beside her. “Ben did a number on that one. Don’t worry. I’ll replace everything.”

  “You don’t understand!” Kelly rounded on him, nostrils flaring. If the top of her head could pop off, it might release actual steam. “The mistletoe wreath was an heirloom handed down for generations.” She smacked her arms against her sides. “I paid a bundle to have it refurbished and professionally preserved so I could hang it on my front door, and now look at it! All because you couldn’t keep track of your dog. Pet owners have got to be more responsible!”

  A lump formed in her throat. Why had she not noticed that the wreath was missing from the door? Enough was plain enough! She thrust the garbage bag at her openmouthed neighbor and fled into the house.

  Tears bathed her cheeks as she slid her back down the panel until her seat met the polished wood floor. What a foolish reaction to the loss of a Christmas decoration—heirloom or not. But she had so little of her heritage to treasure. With her parents gone in a car accident five years ago, she and her sister were the last twigs on the family tree.

  But Matt couldn’t know that. He must think she was a nut job. Not a great impression to make on the most interesting guy she’d met since Blake decided to take his engagement ring back. Kelly’s heart shriveled, and her jaw firmed.

  “You’re not in the market.” She spoke out loud to herself. “Who cares if the new neighbor has cute dimples? Looks are skin-deep.”

  Matt stood holding the bag—actually two bags—and studied Kelly Granger’s closed door. He’d shot himself in the foot with his beautiful neighbor.

  Shaking his head, he finished picking up the debris from the yard. There wasn’t much salvageable, least of all the heirloom mistletoe wreath. Kelly had been right. He needed to get that dog into a training class, but his life had been too hectic with emergencies in his job of state health inspector and the move from Nashville to this remote area. He’d hoped the smaller community would afford him peace and quiet during what little downtime his career afforded. What a way to begin!

  Later, Matt sat in his easy chair in front of a snapping blaze in the fireplace and scratched behind Ben’s ears while the pup snoozed on the floor. The ruddy hue that edged the golden flames r
eminded him of his neighbor’s vibrant hair. He’d never been partial to redheads, so why this woman should stick in his brain, he didn’t know. But when he’d seen the look on her face as she’d gazed at her destroyed wreath, his arms had ached to hold her and absorb some of her pain.

  The appealing picture of her leaning into him, bright head on his shoulder, took form in his mind’s eye. Matt hissed in a breath. He must really be bushed to let his imagination take off on him like that. Sure, he’d moved to Abbottsville as the outward symbol of his inner decision that he was ready to move on since the loss of his wife. Four years was long enough to grieve, wasn’t it? Sometimes he thought so. Other times, at the oddest moments, pain twisted his guts as though the funeral was yesterday.

  Matt waved a hand in front of his face as if dispelling smoke. Time to hit the hay. As he rose, his cell phone rang from the side table. He grabbed it, then frowned. The central office calling at this hour?

  “Bennett here.”

  “Matt, you’ve got an assignment for ASAP in the morning.” It was Will Jessup, his boss.

  “Where am I headed this time?” Great! Not even forty-eight hours to settle in.

  “Your own new backyard. Five residents of Abbottsville have been hospitalized with symptoms of an illness that could be food poisoning. Our victims patronized Brenda’s Kitchen within the past twenty-four hours. Collect samples from the restaurant and get them to the lab right away.”

  “That serious, huh?” A chill spread through Matt. Most food poisoning patients were treated and sent home to recuperate. Only severe cases were hospitalized. In this instance, since Abbottsville didn’t have a hospital, they would have been transported to Sevierville, the county seat. “Do you want me to close the restaurant?”