by Joanne Fluke
Willy gulped. The redhead’s eyes were incredible, a lovely emerald green. “It won’t bother me at all.”
“I’ll be waiting. Just ask for Cherie White when you come in.”
“Cherie.” Willy breathed out the name and stared after her as she left. What a body! What a smile! What a woman!
“That didn’t take long.” Willy’s boss came rushing up. “Is she a hot prospect?”
Willy nodded. What else could he do? He didn’t want to tell his boss that he was being recruited by another dealership. “She wants me to meet her for dinner. I’ll bring some brochures and see what I can do.”
“Take as long as you need.” Willy’s boss clapped him on the shoulder. “She smells like money, so go in for the kill!”
Willy was grinning as he headed to his cubicle to pick up some brochures. What his boss didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and the other dealership might pay a lot better. Even if he didn’t get the new job, dinner with such a gorgeous babe was something he wouldn’t pass up on a bet.
* * *
Doug grinned as he walked through the Christmas tree lot. Carols were blasting from a portable CD player inside the heated kiosk, and he wondered how many times the heavyset blonde manning the counter had been forced to listen to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” The trees, arranged in bundles according to length, were tied tightly with twine so their frozen branches wouldn’t snap off in the cold.
“Can I help you, sir?” A teenage boy emerged from the kiosk. As he hurried to Doug, he zipped up his parka and pulled on heavy gloves.
“I’m looking for a six-foot blue spruce.” Doug smiled at the boy. “I need a fresh tree that hasn’t been shaped.”
The boy nodded. “There’s a load in the back. It came in last night, but it’s not sorted.”
“That’s okay.” Doug followed the teenager to the back of the lot, where trees were stacked against a fence. The fence was marked at intervals of one foot with painted lines.
“The green line’s six feet.” The boy pointed to a green line that ran along the fence. “If you find one you like, I can tag it for you.”
Doug walked past the trees until he found a blue spruce. “How about this one?”
“I think it’s over six feet.” The boy stood the tree next to the fence and nodded. The top was well over the green line. “I can top it for you, but you’ll have to pay the seven foot price.”
“That’s okay. Turn it around so I can see the back.”
The boy turned the tree while Doug watched. It was difficult to judge a Christmas tree that was tied into a bundle and resembled a carrot, but Doug had learned the hard way. The first year he’d spent in Minnesota, he’d taken home a tree, set it up in the stand, and come into the living room the next morning to find gaping holes where branches should have been. He was much wiser now, and he surveyed the tree carefully to make sure it was uniformly shaped.
“That one’s fine. Don’t bother to top it though. I’ll do it in the morning, when it warms up.”
The boy nodded and looked hopeful. “Do you want me to tie it on top of your car?”
“No. It’ll fit inside.” Doug pointed to his ford Explorer, the only extravagance he’d allowed himself since he’d joined the police force. He knew the boy probably worked for tips so he handed him the keys. “Just back it up here, and load it for me. I’ll go up to the counter and pay.”
“Yes, sir.”
The boy was grinning as he handed Doug a red tag and raced off to get the Explorer. Doug paid for his tree, declined the opportunity to buy a tree stand, a wreath, or an evergreen garland, and got back to his Explorer just as the boy had finished loading his tree.
“I wrapped it in plastic before I put it in.” The boy turned to Doug. “I didn’t want any needles to fall off.”
“Good.” Doug smiled and handed the boy a five-dollar bill.
“Thank you, sir!” The boy’s eyes widened as he saw the size of his tip. “When you get it in the stand, drop a couple of aspirin in the water. It’ll keep longer that way. Have a great Christmas, and here . . . this is from me.”
Doug smiled as the boy handed him a small package wrapped in brown paper. “Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too.”
The traffic was heavy as Doug pulled out of the lot, and he didn’t get a chance to look at the package the boy had given him until he’d parked in his spot at the apartment building. Then he unwrapped it and pulled out a sprig of mistletoe.
Doug started to grin. Mistletoe was a Christmas tradition. He’d hang it over his doorway, and it would give him license to kiss any woman who came through his door. Of course, the possibility that any woman would ring his bell was very unlikely.
As he carried his tree to the garage elevator and rode up to his floor, Doug found himself wondering if mistletoe was still a Christmas tradition. Kissing a woman just because she was standing under a sprig of mistletoe was probably politically incorrect. It could even be grounds for a sexual harassment suit. Perhaps it would be wiser to dump the mistletoe in his kitchen wastebasket and not take any chances.
“The hell with it! I’m putting it up!” Doug set his tree in the stand, dropped two aspirin in the bowl, and filled it with water. Then he got out his stepladder and tacked the mistletoe over his door.
Five minutes later, Doug was relaxing on the couch, enjoying another Christmas tradition—hot chocolate with a splash of brandy, a drink his family had always enjoyed after they’d brought home their Christmas tree. The room smelled good as the frozen tree began to warm up and its pine fragrance filled the air. He’d trim it tomorrow, with the decorations he’d brought from the ranch in Texas, ornaments that had been on Lake family Christmas trees for three generations. There were the blown-glass strawberries that had belonged to his grandmother, the strings of old-fashioned bubble lights that looked like candles, and the brightly painted elves and other wooden Christmas figures his grandfather had whittled on the porch by the light of a kerosene lantern on quiet summer nights.
Doug sighed. His family was gone now, and he missed them. He’d lost his mother first, when he was a boy, of a heart defect no one had known she had. Then his grandparents had died while Doug was still in high school, and his father had passed away three years ago. Doug had sold the Lake family ranch when he’d gone back to Texas for his father’s funeral. A former ranch hand had bought it. Although Doug knew he’d be welcome to visit, seeing his old boyhood home, newly renovated, didn’t appeal to him. He had his memories, and trimming the Christmas tree with all the old ornaments made him feel as if his family were all out there somewhere, pleased that he was keeping some of the Lake family traditions alive.
The branches of the blue spruce were starting to thaw and spread slightly, so Doug got up to walk around the tree. There didn’t seem to be any bare spots. He’d made a good choice. The mistletoe, hanging over the doorway, caught Doug’s eye, and he smiled as he imagined a beautiful woman walking through his door, a woman who would welcome his kisses and come in to help him trim the Christmas tree.
If he could share the season with any woman in the world, who would she be? Doug sat down and thought about famous actresses, beautiful models, and former girlfriends, but none of their faces stayed in his mind. The woman he wanted had hair the color of morning sunlight, eyes so blue you could drink in their color like a cool, refreshing swallow of water, and the perfectly shaped legs you might find on a runway model. Her smile was pure joy, and he knew her lips would be soft and sweet like the petals of an exotic flower. She would fit into his arms as if they’d been created for each other, laugh at his jokes even if they weren’t funny, and cry with him when he was feeling sad. Her face was always there, hovering at the very back of his mind. No other woman could erase her image. The one he wanted with him was Jill.
CHAPTER 15
They were sitting in the back room at the Lamplighter, and they’d talked throughout dinner. Since only one other booth was occupied, it was almost as if they had the room to
themselves.
“Take a look at this. It’s one of my favorites.” Willy handed Cherie his Swiss Army Knife. He’d just finished telling her about his knife collection, and she’d seemed very interested.
“Why do you need all these blades?’
She stared down at the knife in fascination, and Willy laughed. “They’re not all blades. Most of them are tools for survival. There’s a pair of scissors, a bottle opener, screwdrivers, a file, and a magnifying glass. There’s even silverware. See the fork and the spoon?”
“This is incredible!” She looked up with a smile. “How many things are there?”
“A hundred and eighteen. You can do anything with this knife, from field dressing a deer to building a temporary shelter in the woods.”
“You really seem to love knives, Willy.”
She reached out to touch his hand, and Willy began to feel slightly uncomfortable. Of course he was flattered by her interest, but she was staring at him with such intensity it was almost spooky. He couldn’t help feeling that she must know him from somewhere, but he’d thought about it all during dinner and he just couldn’t place her. Who was she? A former client? Someone he’d met at a convention or a party? It seemed impossible that he could forget such a beautiful woman.
“You look uncomfortable. What’s the matter, Willy?”
God, she was perceptive! Willy shivered under her intense gaze. “Well . . . I was just wondering if I know you from someplace.”
“Not really.” Her laugh was like quicksilver, dissolving into beads that skittered away. “You don’t know me, Willy . . . but you have something that used to belong to me.”
Willy raised his eyebrows. “I do? What’s that?”
“Your kidney.”
“My . . . kidney?” Willy made a conscious effort to stay calm. What the hell was she talking about?
“You had a kidney transplant, didn’t you?”
Willy nodded. “Yeah, but . . . that came from a donor. A dead donor. There’s no way my kidney belonged to you.”
“Oh, but it did.” She laughed again, a light carefree kind of laugh. “You see, Willy, your kidney came from the man I love, the man I was going to marry.”
Willy swallowed hard. He was beginning to understand. “Okay. I get it. And believe me, I’m sorry about your boyfriend. But . . . what does that have to do with me?”
“I need something from you, Willy.” Her voice was low and intimate, and she leaned forward to touch his hand again. “It’s something that only you can give me.”
He resisted the urge to pull away. Was she some kind of fruitcake? “Uh . . . well . . . sure! It must have been rough for you, losing your boyfriend and all. If there’s any way I can help—”
“I just knew you’d say that!” She smiled and closed her fingers around his hand. “It’s very sad, Willy. I was pregnant when Alan died. When they told me about his accident, I lost the baby.”
Willy nodded. He’d always been a sucker for a sad story, and he felt really bad for her. “That must have been awful for you, Cherie. I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks, Willy.” She gave him a sad little smile. “Losing the baby was horrible, but that’s not all. While I was in the hospital, Alan’s parents closed up the condo and they took all his things. Now I don’t have anything of Alan’s to remember him by.”
Willy shook his head. “The bastards! Can’t you call ’em and ask for a picture or something?”
“They won’t speak to me. They didn’t want Alan to marry me in the first place. But you have something of Alan’s. You have his kidney.”
“Hey . . . wait a second.” A chill ran down Willy’s back. Was she a nutcase who wanted her boyfriend’s kidney back?
He must have looked scared, because she started to laugh. “Relax, Willy. I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t a scene from a horror movie. Alan wanted to donate his organs, and I’m glad you have his kidney.”
“That’s a relief !” Willy laughed, too. “For a second there I was beginning to get nervous. But . . . you said you want something from me. What is it?”
“I want a baby.”
The expression on her face was soft and pretty, but beads of sweat popped out on Willy’s forehead. What the hell was she talking about? “You want . . . a baby?”
“I want your baby. Make me pregnant, Willy.”
Willy knew he was staring at her, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Normally, he would have killed for the chance to get a woman like Cherie in the sack, but this was weird!
“Just think about it, Willy. You have Alan’s genes in your body. He’s alive, and he’s a part of you. If I have your baby, it’ll be like having a part of Alan back with me again.”
She was still holding his hand, and Willy jerked away. “Hey, Cherie. You’re kidding me . . . right?”
“No. I’m very serious. You’ll make me pregnant, won’t you Willy?”
Willy shivered. The expression in her eyes was so determined, it scared him. He swallowed once, then shook his head. “No way. Look, Cherie, I can understand why you’re so upset. What you’ve been through is enough to drive anybody a little bit crazy. But you’re on the wrong track here.”
“You won’t make me pregnant?”
Her voice was a little too loud, and Willy put his finger to his lips. “Keep it down, Cherie. I told you before, you’re talking crazy. Why don’t you go home and get a good night’s rest? Things’ll look better in the morning.”
“Let me get this straight, Willy. You’re refusing to make me pregnant?”
Her voice was softer, but it scared Willy all the same. Even more frightening was the way she was handling his Swiss Army Knife. She kept pulling out the biggest, sharpest blade and then flipping it back, over and over.
“Answer me, Willy.” She looked up from the table and met his eyes. Her stare was cold, chilling.
Willy swallowed again and reached for his knife, but she pulled it back, out of his reach. He knew he had to be firm with her. She was really flipped out. Humoring her wouldn’t do any good. “No, Cherie. I won’t make you pregnant. You’re crazy. What you need is some professional help.”
“I’m crazy?” Her eyes began to smolder. “You’re the one who’s crazy, Willy. Alan promised me that you’d cooperate. He said he’d make you understand!”
Willy began to frown. “Alan? But you told me Alan was dead.”
“He’s inside you, Willy. Listen to him. He’ll tell you what he wants you to do.”
Willy shivered, though the restaurant was warm. She was getting crazier and crazier. Was she on some kind of drug? “Get this straight, Cherie. I’m not going to sleep with you, I’m not going to get you pregnant, and I’m not going to listen to somebody that’s dead. You must have had a little too much of something—drugs, booze, whatever. Why don’t you head on home and sleep it off?”
“You don’t understand, Willy.” She reached out for his hand again. “Please . . . you just have to do it! It’s the only way I can keep Alan alive!”
“No way.” Willy shook his head. She looked ready to cry, but he hardened his heart. She was crazy, and he had to get rid of her. She could make all sorts of trouble for him if she followed him around, begging him to get her pregnant. “Go home, Cherie. There’s got to be a law against this kind of thing. You’re harassing me, and you’d better get out of here right now or . . . I’ll just have to call the cops!”
“You’re a nasty man, Willy Rossini! You don’t deserve to have a part of Alan!”
She slid out of the booth so quickly, she knocked over his cup of coffee. Willy mopped up the mess with a napkin and breathed a sigh of relief as he watched her go out the door. That was the last he’d see of her, thank God!
But she still had his Swiss Army Knife! He frowned. It was one of his favorites, but he guessed it was a small price to pay to get rid of her. He could always order another from one of his catalogs.
But what would she do with his knife? She was crazy and now she was arm
ed. Should he call the cops and tell them that there was a crazy woman out there somewhere, wandering the streets with his knife?
Willy thought about it for a moment and then rejected the idea. She hadn’t actually done anything illegal, and if he reported her to the police, he’d have to tell them the whole crazy story. His boss was bound to hear about it. They’d joke about it at the dealership for the next twenty years. It would be smarter to keep this to himself. He’d just tell his boss he’d given her the brochures and she’d promised to contact him when she was ready to buy.
The waitress stopped by his booth and smiled. “Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes. Thanks a lot.” Willy handed her a tip and stood up. He was thinking about Cherie as he paid the cashier and headed out the door. Did he actually have her boyfriend’s kidney? The doctor had told him the donor’s name was confidential, so he had no way of knowing whether that part of her story was true. It could be a figment of her imagination, and she could be out there right now, trying her story out on another guy.
But she had known about his transplant. Willy shivered as he zipped up his parka and stepped out into the cold. She must have asked questions about him because she’d even found out where he worked. Did she know his home address? Would she knock on his door and try to force her way in?
It was dark as he headed across the parking lot, and he shivered slightly. He wasn’t exactly afraid, but it gave him a very uneasy feeling to walk past the rows of deserted, snow-covered cars. He felt naked without his knife, and he wondered if he should start carrying some kind of weapon. She was crazy. And she was angry with him. It was impossible to guess what she might do.
His car was parked in the back row. Willy’s hands were shaking slightly as he unlocked the driver’s door. He glanced around carefully as he slid in behind the wheel, checking the backseat to make sure that she wasn’t hiding there. Nothing was moving in the parking lot, but Willy didn’t relax until he’d slammed his door and locked it. Was she out there somewhere, watching him start his car and turn on his headlights?