The Patricia Kiyono Christmas Collection

by Patricia Kiyono

  “Please, Daddy? I’ll be careful. Joey will watch me. And you can see me from here.”

  She had him there. “Okay, princess. Stay close to Joey, and I’ll come and get you when the pizza is ready.”

  ~~~~

  Another meeting with the church girl. Is he getting serious about her? If he marries this hometown sweetie, his daughter will have a momma, and the old bird in Chicago won’t have much of a case against him.

  Duncan stood in the bushes outside the Pizza Barn and shot several pictures of the couple. They’d sent the kids off to play. Probably did that so they could have some alone time. Thanks to the lighting, they looked more like they were on a date rather than having a night out with the kids. He raised his camera to his eye.

  “Excuse me.” A raspy voice from behind him sent shivers down the PI’s spine. Standing outside a restaurant window with a camera was not a good place to be caught. He’d hoped the darkness and the four-foot bushes would hide him. Slowly, he turned, and seeing nothing but a massive chest, he directed his gaze up. They sure grew these farm boys big around here. He gulped and attempted a feeble smile.

  “Evening, officer.”

  ~~~~

  True to his word, Joey watched Angie, making sure she stayed with him in the play area. Mitch started to relax.

  “So how are the mini-sessions going?” Sophie asked.

  Mitch kept his gaze on Angie as he answered. “Great. Thanks a million for the idea. I’m booked almost every day for several hours right up until Christmas. I’m glad I have the equipment to make the prints and offer a good price.”

  “I’m glad it’s working out. And you’re getting your name out there. I’ve heard good things from the gossip mill.”

  “Oh?” That brought his attention to her.

  “Yeah, Mildred Feenstra told the quilting group you were quite a catch. You might get bookings from a lot of single ladies for a professional portrait.”

  “Umm, okay.” He felt his face heat and his throat constricted. He searched his mind for a change of topic. “So, how’s the roller skating job going?”

  Her face fell, and he wondered if he’d hit a sore spot with her. Had she lost her job?

  “The job is okay, but I don’t get that many hours, and it doesn’t pay well. At this rate, it’s going to take at least another year to save up enough just for the plane ticket, let alone living expenses while I get my bearings. Once Joanie is back on her feet, I’m hoping to get a waitressing job at a nice restaurant. Or I can cook.”

  “You’re welcome to cook at my house. The reason we came here tonight is because I burned another meal.” Mitch kept his voice light, but his heart took a beating with every word she uttered. She planned to leave as soon as possible. Fame and fortune lured her like it had lured Sarah. Big city life, crammed schedules, and endless traffic.

  Everything Mitch had wanted to leave behind.

  Angie came back to the table. “Look what I got, Daddy.”

  Mitch fingered the little fur-covered plastic figurine and studied it solemnly. “Uh, that’s nice, sweetheart.”

  “You don’t know what it is, do you?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Sorry. No. What is it?”

  “It’s a Puffy Monster. I won it in the ball toss game.”

  “You did? Good for you, sweetie.”

  “I’m gonna give it to Baby Jesus.”

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m gonna give it to Baby Jesus, just like the Wise Guys. They just gave him a bunch of boxes. I’m going to give him a toy.”

  “That’s it!” Sophie nearly jumped out of her seat.

  Mitch wasn’t sure which female at his table to try and figure out first. But Sophie seemed to understand Angie. She reached over to give the girl a hug.

  “Angie, you’re a genius! That’s just what this program needs. I was trying so hard to find something special the kids in each grade could do for the show. We can have the first graders each give something to the Baby Jesus, just like the Wise Men. That’s perfect!”

  Angie beamed, showing the wide gap in her front teeth.

  “We could do this right after the Wise Men give their gifts during the play. The narrator can say something like ‘What would you give to the Holy Babe?’ and have each of you come up to the microphone. We can tie in other parts of the play with modern day references. Like when Mary and Jesus couldn’t find a room at the inn. We can have the second graders present the ways they would help people in need.”

  She started to pace around the table, heedless of the stares from other patrons in the restaurant and the waiters who skillfully stepped around her, balancing large trays.

  “What can I have the third graders do? There’s the animals. Maybe one class can share something about their pets. And there are the angels, singing the Good News. I’ve gotta write some of these ideas down. She sat back in her seat, grabbed a napkin, fished a pen out of her purse, and started to write.

  Their pizza came and Joey joined them at the table. Sophie, despite her earlier hunger, kept writing, too excited to eat. Occasionally she’d cry, “Perfect” or, “Oh yeah!” and write some more. Twenty minutes later, she had an entire napkin covered. She put it in her purse with a deep sigh. And then she dug into her cold pizza.

  Mitch watched her eat. It was good to see a girl enjoy her food. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Sarah eat pizza. It had always been salad with a vinaigrette dressing and unsweetened tea. Her pregnancy had added to her weight worries. She’d watched every ounce she gained and her biggest concern afterward was losing it all. Mitch had dealt with night feedings, since Sarah had needed her sleep.

  But that was in the past. He really needed to let go of his bitterness. He had Angie, and could never regret that. But sometimes he wished he had someone who would be willing to share the responsibility. He could picture Sophie in that role. But she had plans. Big plans that didn’t include him. He needed to stop thinking about her. About the cute way she bit her lip while she wrote. About the way her wavy hair came loose from her ponytail and framed her face. About the way she excited him like no woman had in a long, long time.

  Yup, he had to forget about all that and focus on being a dad to Angie.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Let me get this straight. You’re all coming here, to my house for Thanksgiving? You’re going to sit around my table for a holiday family gathering, knowing I’m the only one of your children who didn’t learn to cook?”

  As much as Mitch loved his mother, at the moment he wanted to reach through the phone and throttle her.

  “It’s your turn to host it, Mitch. Everyone else has had a turn. Several turns. You’re the only one who’s never hosted it. When you lived in Chicago, it was understandable. But now that you’re in Zutphen, in Eric’s house, you can take your turn hosting a holiday. What better time to have a housewarming? Besides, you won’t have to worry about cooking. I’ll bring the turkey and your sister and brothers will each bring something to go with it. All you have to do is supply the house.”

  “You do realize that I’m a single father, and that this house barely looks lived in, right? I have absolutely no talent for decorating, and no desire to learn.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve got the whole week off from my job, so I’ll come over and help you get your house all spiffed up.”

  “Mom, that’s not necessary.”

  “Really? Do you have a girlfriend who’s doing it for you? I heard you’ve been seeing someone.”

  “I’m not dating anyone, Mom.”

  “Eric and Laurie’s former neighbor told them you had pizza with a pretty girl and her son in the Pizza Barn a week or so ago.”

  “He’s not her son and it wasn’t a date. We just shared a booth because the place was crowded and they would have had to wait.”

  “Did you invite her to join us for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “Of course not.” Mitch rolled his eyes. Rita Carson was an unstoppable force at times. Too bad the loc
al grapevine had reached her ears.

  “You should invite her. I hear she’s taken Angie under her wings.”

  “The former neighbor again?”

  “No, your cousin Tess. She lives in the next town over but she still shops at Zylstra’s Grocery.”

  Mitch closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. “Sophie is directing the Sunday School Christmas pageant, so she sees Angie twice every week.”

  “And a few times in between, I’ve heard. Well, if she’s not redecorating your house, then I’ll be there next Monday morning. See you!” She disconnected before Mitch could get another word in.

  He stood at the kitchen counter, staring at his phone. What just happened here?

  “Is Grandma Carson coming over?” Angie called to him from her seat on the couch where she’d been watching Saturday morning cartoons.

  “Looks like it, sweetness. She wants to decorate the house and have everybody come over here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Goodie!” The little girl hopped down and skipped toward him. “Can I help her? When is she coming?”

  “I bet she’ll be happy for your help. She’ll be here on Monday.”

  “Oh. How many more days is that?”

  “Two more.”

  “Is she going to decorate my room, too?”

  “If you ask her to, I bet she will. She might not have time this week, but she’d be happy to help you.”

  Angie wrinkled her nose. “Can I ask Miss Sophie to help me decorate my room instead?”

  “Sophie? Why? Don’t you like the way Grandma’s house looks?”

  “It’s okay. And I think she’ll make our living room and kitchen look nice. But I want Sophie to help me with my room because… because… I don’t know. I like her. She always looks so pretty, and I think she’d make my room look pretty, too. And she said purple was her favorite color, too. Please? Will you call her? If Miss Sophie helps me decorate my room before Grandma gets here, then I won’t have to tell Grandma she doesn’t need to do it for me. And then she won’t be sad that I don’t want her to do it.”

  Mitch had no argument for that. Besides, after the news he’d received the day before, he needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand. He looked up Sophie’s number and dialed. If she truly needed more work, maybe she’d be willing to put in a few hours as an interior decorator.

  ~~~~

  “What do you mean, you’re in jail?” Melinda Billingsworth cleared her throat and straightened her spine, resuming the polished, cultured image she’d worked so hard to achieve.

  “You wanted proof the guy was a lousy father, and I tailed him. I almost froze to death sittin’ in my car and watching him. He had a few hot kisses with a local girl, but he wasn’t doin’ nothin’ you could use against him. I stood in the bushes while he took his daughter out for pizza. The police caught me there and warned me to mind my own business. I figured the only way the guy would look like a neglectful dad was if the girl got herself kidnapped, so I tried. How was I supposed to know that the school had a list of names they could release each kid to? The secretary went to check, and I left. But she got my license number and they tracked me down. I’ll need to add my bail to your expenses.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind. I hired you to get evidence that Mitchell Carson is not fit to raise my granddaughter. I expected you to have more sense than to walk into a public building and take her.”

  “I would have just nabbed her, but the kid is never alone. The dad is always with her when she’s outside. He takes her to school and picks her up. If he goes to the store, she goes with him. I tell you, the guy watches his kid like a hawk. So I figured I’d go up to the school and tell them her dad was in an accident and I was sent to take her there to see him. It didn’t work.”

  “I will pay you for your expenses up to this point and nothing more. You can consider yourself dismissed from this job.” She disconnected before Duncan could argue.

  Melinda knew she would probably end up paying the fool’s bail. But it was clear she would have to do her own dirty work. The holidays were coming up, and that bohemian her daughter had married was probably busy shooting photographs for people. If she played her cards right, she could probably gather some evidence of neglect.

  And if she couldn’t find any evidence, she’d just have to create some.

  She went to her walk-in closet and pulled out an old photo album. The pages had already started to yellow, and she wondered if she should have her secretary find someone to put the photos in one of those new photo-safe albums. But right now she found comfort in looking at the images of her precious daughter. Her baby girl. The daughter who should have been her ticket to the international jet-set.

  Sarah had been her pride and joy. She’d been educated in the finest schools, and thanks to Geoffrey’s connections, she had met and charmed Chicago’s elite. Melinda gently touched the photos and mementos of her daughter’s life: report cards from school, programs from piano recitals, and certificates of appreciation from charities she’d worked with. She’d been on her way to becoming a true lady — a member of the American nobility.

  Sarah’s position as a news anchor on the evening news had made her a household name. At one time she’d dated the son of a state senator, and Melinda had held her breath, waiting for news of an engagement. But Mitch Carson had swept Sarah off her feet and they’d married within the year. Melinda had been furious and had told her daughter she would neither attend the wedding nor pay for any of it. But her husband had overridden her. The fool had actually approved of Mitch as a son-in-law. “Nothing wrong with a man who works hard,” he’d said when she’d voiced her objections. Mitch came from a hard-working, honest family, and as far as Geoffrey was concerned, that was more important than having money or fame. What mattered was that he loved Sarah and would be loyal to her.

  Melinda sniffed as she skimmed over the pages with Sarah’s engagement announcements and wedding invitation. The only good thing to come from that marriage was Angela. She looked so much like Sarah it made her heart ache. And Sarah had taught her well, too. She had looked like a little lady at Sarah’s memorial service. That father of hers, on the other hand, had embarrassed her with his choice of apparel. He’d worn a suit, but it hadn’t fit him well and was at least two years old. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he’d borrowed it from someone. He hadn’t bothered to shave off his beard, either. He’d looked like a wild mountain man. There was no way the unsophisticated boor should be allowed to raise a lovely flower like her granddaughter.

  “Melinda, where are you?”

  She put the album back in its box and replaced it in the closet. Geoffrey had never understood her plans for Sarah. Best to keep him in the dark. She’d make her travel arrangements and keep them to herself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sophie dragged the last of the grocery bags into the kitchen and set her hands on the counter, leaning against it until she caught her breath. Cooking for the four of them was no problem, but gathering enough food for the entire Gardner clan was a bigger challenge. Since their parents had retired and moved to a small condo near Lake Michigan, Joanie had taken over hosting the family holidays. But due to little Abbie’s arrival, it was up to Sophie to plan and prepare most of the food for Thanksgiving. Mom Gardner would bring desserts, and their brother and his wife usually brought snacks, but Sophie would cook the main course and several side dishes.

  Joanie and Dave had left for the morning with the kids to visit Dave’s parents. With everyone out of the house, Sophie had decided it was the perfect time to get the shopping done. Unfortunately it seemed the rest of Zutphen had had the same idea. Shopping had taken twice as long as it should have.

  Before she left for the store, she’d cleared out a large space in the refrigerator. She’d found all sorts of half-eaten leftovers that she’d thrown away to make room for the twenty-pound turkey. Now she just had to wrestle the monstrous bird into the space she’d created.

&n
bsp; She’d propped open the refrigerator door and reached for the turkey when her phone rang. Sighing, she closed the door and checked her phone. The display showed an unfamiliar number. Was it a telemarketer? She debated a moment then decided to answer. If it was a poll or something she didn’t want to participate in, she could always hang up.

  “Hi, Sophie.” Mitch. Why does my tummy do somersaults whenever I hear his voice?

  “Hi, Mitch. What’s up?” Did my voice just squeak? I probably sound like a teenager.

  “I’m really sorry to bug you about this, but Angie was adamant she needed you.”

  “Angie? Is she all right? What happened?” Something in Mitch’s voice raised the hairs on her neck, and she gripped the phone tightly.

  “She’s fine. She just wants your help decorating her room. My mother is coming down from Muskegon on Monday to get the house ready for our family Thanksgiving, but for her own room, Angie would rather have your help. She says your taste is more like hers. If you can’t, I understand. I know you’ve got the pageant and everything…”

  Is this just an excuse to get me there? Maybe he can’t tell me what’s really wrong because he doesn’t want to talk about it in front of Angie. “I’d love to help. Does she want to have her room done before Thanksgiving?”

  “Well, only if you’ve got time. I told her you’ve got work and writing to do.”

  “I don’t have to work at the rink until this evening. And I can do the writing any time. Is Angie available today? I can come over and make some plans with her and maybe we can get some shopping done this afternoon.”

  “Aw, Sophie, you’re a lifesaver. When will you be here?”