Spells and Jinglebells

by ReGina Welling

  My, What Big Fangs You Have

  A Vegan Vamp Christmas Story

  Cate Lawley

  Summary

  Christmas dinner with the family has never been so strange. Evelyn is convinced her daughter’s sudden weight loss and new liquid diet are a sign of a serious illness or worse. She’s going to get to the bottom of the mystery before the dessert course no matter how far it stretches her parenting skills or dents her reputation as the perfect hostess.

  Join Evelyn, her daughter Mallory, and their close friends for this heartwarming Christmas story set in the Vegan Vamp world.

  Chapter One

  Sometimes a woman has to pressure her child. Sometimes apply guilt. Sometimes it simply takes more than that. What was that saying? Walk softly but carry a big golf club?

  My husband had always been the golfer in our family, though he certainly hadn’t walked softly. But he was gone, and though I could hardly celebrate the fact that he’d died—that would be heartless—I could celebrate the fact that the cheating oaf had died before either our divorce was finalized or he’d changed his will.

  But his absence meant that I was the golfing parent now. It wasn’t a role I felt suited me. I’d always been more of a tennis player. But suited or not, it was time to pull that club out. I dialed my daughter’s number.

  Praise be, the child answered. At least she wasn’t so far gone as to duck my calls. “Mother, how are you? I don’t have long to talk.”

  “Mallory, darling, one should always have time for one’s mother.” I let a slight edge sharpen my voice. “And it has been—oh, let me see—how long has it been since I’ve set eyes on you, darling?”

  A tense silence followed my question. Naturally. Tense silences occurred when one’s child hid from her mother—for months.

  “Mallory? Are you still there?” I tapped the phone. “The line’s gone all quiet.”

  A beleaguered sigh followed. She must think I was going deaf in my dotage. Well, I was neither in my dotage nor going deaf. “Yes, Mother, I’m still here. And I know it’s been a little while since we’ve gotten together. Work has been…”

  “What was that? Work’s been demanding? What is it that you do, now that you’ve changed careers? I’m not sure you’ve ever been clear on that point, sweetheart.”

  Mallory had been rabidly avoiding dispensing any information about her mysterious new job, and the opening had simply been too good to pass up. Not to imply that a mother-daughter relationship was a battle. Certainly not. It was more a protracted war in which two parties fought, sometimes together, sometimes apart, against the rest of the world.

  “Ah, my job, I…um, I was doing some client work, and then—”

  “Client work? What type of client work?” Pressure applied, and now for the walk back. “You know what, darling, that’s all right. I’m in a bit of a rush myself. Maybe we can discuss your job later.” And then that big golf swing. “At Christmas dinner. I know you wouldn’t miss Christmas dinner with your widowed mother.”

  Reference to my widowed status might seem extreme, but adding a touch of guilt was always wise when dealing with naughty children. I examined my manicure. I really must start bringing my own polish. The new line of products the salon used wasn’t holding up. And it wasn’t like I participated in any particularly strenuous or arduous tasks. Tennis and yoga certainly didn’t count. Although, I suppose life had gotten a little more physical of late with my gentleman friend. What that man could do with his—

  “All right. Yes, Mother, I’ll see you at Christmas dinner.”

  “Lovely!” I paused for effect. “And we can be thankful that you won’t be coming down with that flu bug that’s been going around, since you already had your nasty little run-in with it over Thanksgiving…isn’t that right?”

  I could almost hear her teeth grinding.

  It’s never pleasant to be caught in a lie. It served the little reprobate right. Shame on her for skipping out on Thanksgiving dinner with her closest living relative. That had been when I still believed the never-ending excuses. I’d brought around soup, for goodness’ sake! The ungrateful child had told me to leave it on the porch. What a way to behave. I’d raised her better than that.

  Finally, she said, “I’m sure I won’t be sick. You’re right, I’ve already had the flu that’s going around. About that… You know, I lost a bit of weight when I was sick. So, I, ah, I’m a little thinner than the last time you saw me.”

  Since I was as certain my child hadn’t contracted the flu as I was of the inauthenticity of Buffy Segal’s new four-carat ring, my suspicions were immediately aroused.

  Not that my daughter couldn’t stand to lose a few pounds. Mallory wasn’t exactly round. She was what we used to call pleasantly plump, which had been code for “could probably lose ten or fifteen pounds and look better.” But nowadays it wasn’t considered acceptable to criticize weight, and I would never want my lovely girl to think she was failing in any way…even if she could stand to shed that little extra she carried around.

  If not that fake flu of hers, then what had caused her weight loss? Hm. I supposed I’d have to skip it for now. Wouldn’t want to get a hasty retraction for Christmas. “Well, then all the more reason to enjoy a lovely five-course Christmas dinner with your mother.”

  “Ah, and about that, so I’ve taken up a new diet…”

  I waited. This should be good. Mallory did not diet. Not to fit into that special dress. Not to catch that elusive man. Not to increase her energy. Not to shame her slightly pudgier peers. My child liked to eat.

  “Anyway, I might not be able to eat much, so don’t go to too much trouble, okay?”

  Hm. And then a thought dropped right into my head, a terrible, nasty thought. Drugs. My daughter had become a drug addict. She was doing meth and didn’t want me to see that she’d ruined her lovely teeth and was wasting away. How long did one take meth before losing one’s teeth?

  “Darling, are you sure you’re all right?”

  A long-suffering sigh practically tickled my ear.

  She really must think I was deaf.

  “I’m fine, Mother, really.”

  The threat of drugs still loomed, so I wasn’t so sure about that. But if she skipped out on Christmas dinner, my new gentleman friend and I were going to have a long chat. As my daughter’s roommate, he’d been quite insistent from the beginning that we keep those particular boundaries intact.

  He didn’t discuss Mallory with me, and I only occasionally used my womanly wiles to get information out of him.

  “Oh, sweetheart? I’ve invited Jefferson to join us for Christmas dinner. The poor dear doesn’t have any family to celebrate with.”

  My daughter muttered, “Of course he doesn’t.” Then, in a brighter tone, added, “Do you mind if I invite a friend to even the numbers?”

  And my heart soared. Every good hostess knows that even numbers implies an even mix of gentlemen and ladies. My daughter had a gentleman friend! I could barely contain my excitement, and it would explain so much. After taking a breath, I said, “Of course, Mallory. You’re welcome to invite whomever you choose. I wouldn’t wish anyone to spend Christmas alone.”

  I hung up—and then I pulled out the champagne. With a quick glance at the clock, I added a dash of orange juice. There, perfect for a midmorning libation.

  “My daughter has a beau!” Finally!—but I would never say such a thing aloud. Not even in the privacy of my own home. I would, however, toast her future happiness.

  When I was done celebrating—no mother wants a life of loneliness for her child—I looked at the phone in my hand. I might not be a golfer, but I’d gotten a few good swings in.

  Now if only all the signs were pointing to this new gentleman friend—and not, God forbid, meth—then everything would be just fine. I’d have to get to the bottom of that particular mystery.

  I was up to the challenge. This was my daughter, my only child. For her, I would climb mountains, so solving a little mys
tery was certainly manageable.

  I’d even cook a Christmas dinner that met whatever strange new diet she was claiming to be following. We’d all have a fabulous dinner, while I rooted out the cause of all the recent changes in Mallory’s life. And I promised myself that if it wasn’t this man, if it was drugs, I could handle it.

  I could. I would. I loved my daughter, and whatever was going on in her life, we’d get through it.

  Chapter Two

  Five days later

  Christmas dinner was going to be a disaster.

  Months of on-and-off dating and not once had Jefferson’s special dietary requirements arisen. I couldn’t believe that we’d never shared a meal. We’d attended many events—soirees, award banquets, charity dinners, social luncheons. So many events with food, and yet he never ate a bite. How had I not seen that?

  Then I smiled. I knew how. He’d claim to be watching his figure and then give me one of those looks that was just suggestive enough to tell me that he’d happily exit for a private interlude in the library, and all without being so crass as to leer.

  The man had a talent. Many talents, I amended, when I considered the occasional side room we’d shared at events. A dark corner for a little hanky-panky, an isolated room for a little more. A sigh escaped my chest. It might not be love, but it certainly was a rather advanced case of full-blown lust.

  Jefferson was delectable. The things that man could do made my insides quiver like so much lightly set custard.

  And he could dance like a dream. He didn’t complain about being kept waiting (a woman must always look her best), was always suitably attired—except for that beard that he refused to shave, but at least kept nicely trimmed—always handled the ordering and the check, and always drove and maintained his car as a gentleman should. He might be ten years younger than me, but that sort of thing wasn’t nearly so gauche today as it had been a few years ago.

  And then there was his body. His gorgeous body. Unlike so many men in my circle of acquaintance, he hadn’t spread more around the middle the longer we’d dated. In fact, Jefferson had initially been, ah, “less than fit” would be the more delicate phrase. But the longer I’d known him, the fitter he’d become. And now… I clasped my hand to my chest. Now, my Jefferson had the body of a Norse god.

  He sounded almost too good to be true. But he was real, and he was mine, every delicious, lickable inch of him. And there were many inches to lick. I fanned my face.

  What had I been dithering over? I glanced at the pen and paper in front of me. The dinner menu. Yes, dinner. I fanned myself again. So the man had a few dietary foibles. The whole package was worth the trouble.

  If only my daughter would reveal the constraints of her own diet, I might be able to plan a proper meal.

  A warm glow suffused me. Mallory, dieting! I never thought a man could bring about such a change. But then a darker thought intruded again—perhaps it wasn’t a man, but drugs. Surely it wasn’t drugs.

  I’d been reading up on addictive behaviors and the signs of drug abuse. It was chilling reading.

  But there was nothing to be done until I saw my daughter with my own eyes. Then I could decide how best to tackle the problem. A little bit of that warm excitement burbled in my chest again: maybe, just maybe, she was in love. And not a drugged-up junkie.

  Chapter Three

  Two days later, Christmas Eve, late afternoon

  “Darling! You’re so thin.” I immediately regretted the comment. I’d always been thinner than Mallory, and she’d perceived that as an unspoken criticism. And for that to be the first thing I said on opening the door—shame on me. “The dress you’re wearing is very flattering. It’s a beautiful choice, sweetheart.” I kissed her cheek, but her shoulder was tense under my hand.

  “You look lovely, Mother.” Mallory met my gaze and held it for a heartbeat before brushing past me.

  Something was different. She always said I looked lovely. She was a good girl, and I’d raised her with a modicum of manners. But this time—I felt my eyes burn a bit—this time she meant it.

  Much as I peeked around the front of the house at the drive, I couldn’t spot her date.

  She glanced over her shoulder and caught me checking. “It’s just me. My friend Alex drove separately. He’s running late.”

  She looked rather put out by the fact. Especially considering that she was calling him a friend. Not her boyfriend. Not even her date.

  I shut the door then tipped my head. “Work? On Christmas?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure.” She seemed to consider the question then nodded. “It might be. Alex does some work as an emergency responder.”

  That conjured all variety of possibilities. Firefighter? Paramedic? Not Mallory’s usual type, but whoever could hold my daughter’s interest must be fascinating, whatever he did. And there were all those calendars with all those bulging muscles, so maybe he was interesting in that way.

  “When are you expecting Wembley?”

  “I really don’t understand why you call him that, dear. His name is Jefferson.” I patted the back of my French twist. “I’m sure he’ll be here shortly. Jefferson is always on time.”

  “Okay. I just wondered, because he left our place at least a half an hour before me.”

  I could feel my cheeks tingle. Most certainly I could expect a lovely arrangement for the table or a festive bouquet for the credenza in the hallway. Jefferson always did the right thing. I was sure that was what had detained him. I’d expected them to arrive yesterday, and I hadn’t any idea where he might be retrieving them, because no florist was open the afternoon of Christmas Eve.

  As Mallory hung her jacket in the coat closet, her lips twitched. “I thought you didn’t approve of women dating younger men. When Francesca had her fling with that twenty-nine year-old, you thought she’d lost her mind.”

  “Not her mind, dear, her sense.” I touched my neck and hair again, only recognizing the fidget after I’d already ascertained that it was as neat as it should be. “Besides,” I added in an airy tone, “I haven’t a clue about Jefferson’s age. It hasn’t come up.”

  Mallory started to cough. She covered her mouth and gasped for breath. Maybe she was coming down with something. Maybe she truly had been sick before. Maybe her immunity had been shattered by all the drugs she was doing. Oh, God.

  I rubbed her back, trying to sneak a closer look at her mouth when she lowered her hand. Some of the pictures I’d found online, oh my, appalling.

  When she caught her breath, she said, “Wow, Mom, no need to look so worried. I’m fine. I’m not getting sick, I just, ah, I swallowed wrong…or something.” Her voice trailed away to nothing, and she averted her eyes.

  That girl was hiding something, and before she left tonight, I was going to find out what.

  The ring of the doorbell had me switching to hostess mode, so it would have to wait—for now.

  When I opened the door, I discovered a slightly disheveled, very tall man on the doorstep. No, on second glance, not disheveled. He had more than a shadow of scruff, perhaps a week’s worth of beard, but he was attired as one ought to be for a family Christmas dinner. Slacks, a button-down shirt, a beautiful tie, but no jacket. He simply had a rakish air about him that his refusal to shave reinforced.

  My warmest hostess smile in place, I extended my hand. “Hello. I’m Evelyn Andrews, Mallory’s mother. Welcome to my home.”

  He accepted my hand and shook it with exactly the right amount of pressure, neither so briefly as to slight nor so long as to be forward. “Alex Valois. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  That voice. If my daughter wasn’t interested in this man, she should be.

  “Please come inside.” I opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter.

  “Thank you for having me. I appreciate being included in your family dinner.” He handed me a bottle of wine as he crossed the threshold.

  Hm. Perhaps they’d just begun to date? Those didn’t sound like the words of a man i
n a committed long-term relationship. “You’re more than welcome, Mr. Valois—”

  “Alex.”

  I nodded. “Alex. We’re both very happy to have you. And thank you for the wine.” I glanced at the label then looked again. Alex Valois had expensive taste in wine.

  Before I could impress—with some subtleness, of course—how welcome a man was in my daughter’s life, at least so far as her mother was concerned, the doorbell rang again.

  With a touch on his shoulder, I pointed to the bar. “Please, help yourself.”

  He removed his coat and handed it to Mallory, and I had to peel away my attention from shoulders that had been revealed as surprisingly broad and the lovely shape of his derriere. It was always delightful when a man could fill out a pair of pants nicely.

  After depositing the bottle of red wine on the credenza, I opened the door. The doorway was filled with a gorgeous bouquet of white, green, and a pinch of red. Now that would have to go in the hallway. It would make the entryway smell lovely for days. I accepted both the bouquet and a kiss to the cheek before ushering Jefferson inside.

  “Mallory, darling, take Jefferson’s coat while I put these in a vase. Aren’t they gorgeous?” I leaned closer as I passed by. “And your friend Alex brought a divine bottle of red.”

  “Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Jefferson asked.

  I paused en route to the kitchen and gave him a very pointed look. If he couldn’t interpret the clear signs of “not now” and “speaking will result in your castration,” then he was blind.

  “What have you done now, Wembley?” my daughter asked.

  “Ah. You two should consider speaking about—” My daughter’s glare derailed him, and after a substantial and quite noticeable pause, Jefferson said, “Things.”

  Mallory flushed, and I noticed, not for the first time this evening, how impeccably she’d applied her makeup. She looked ten years younger. “I don’t want to talk about things, Wembley.”