by Josie Brown
When complete, wrap dough in heavy-duty plastic wrap, and refrigerate for an hour.
When the hour is up, roll out dough to 1/4-inch thickness, on a lightly floured surface. Cut the dough with your sleigh bell, Santa, tree, and reindeer cookie cutters. (No knife needed). Afterward, place them two inches apart, on the prepared baking sheets. After chilling the dough for another 15 minutes, you’ll bake your cookies for ten minutes, or until edges have browned
Be sure to remove them from the pans, onto a cool counter or flat plate. Give them at least five minutes to cool, then garnish ever so lightly with edible paint icing, sugar pearls, or sparkling sugar.
For that uninvited guest in your life, I’d suggest a lacing of arsenic, or a sprinkle of SUX. If he doesn’t succumb to your sweet revenge, it’s time to get out the bat!
Mary looks around the kitchen and whistles. “Wow! We’ll be having a sugar high par-TAY tonight!”
You betcha.
Already I’ve baked gingerbread men. Right now, my little assistant, Trisha, is going wild with the cookie cutter, rolling out balls of chilled dough on a marble cutting board, then stamping out Santas, stars, snowmen, bells, and Christmas trees. As soon as her sugar cookies have baked and cooled, she’ll squirt squiggly designs onto them from the half dozen pastry sleeves I’ve filled with colored icing.
My own special project is already in one of my triple ovens, but I still have to clean up the clutter on top of the kitchen island, which is crowded with bags of flour and sugar cinnamon sticks, nutmeg, cloves, allspice, vanilla and almond extracts, a mound of butter, sliced almonds, as well as dates, currants, nuts, candied cherries, and a bowl filled with a dozen egg whites . . .
Oh, and a snifter of brandy.
My recipe called for lots and lots of brandy.
I’ve made a fruitcake.
And yes, I sampled the batter.
A lot.
I’m a bit tipsy. Big deal. Fruit cake makes a great snack for a pity party.
For the past two nights, Jack has disappeared in the middle of the night, for hours on end. He goes out after the children go to bed and doesn’t return until dawn. He comes down for breakfast with the children, and in front of them, we are polite but distant. Still, he leaves the house to drop them at school, but doesn’t return afterward. On a few afternoons in the past week, he’s made it home in order to help them with their homework or to go to their basketball games, but otherwise, we are like ghosts who haunt the same space, but exist in different dimensions.
“Mom! MOM!” Jeff yells at the top of his lungs, over the Mariah Carey Christmas tunes blasting through our home speaker system. “The carolers are here! Should we turn off the lights and pretend we’re not home?”
“Nah. It’s okay. Go ahead and open the door.”
Because he can’t believe his ears, he runs into the kitchen. “You’re kidding, right? But hiding from them has always been one of our Christmas traditions!”
And for good reason. The Hilldale Holiday Hummers are loud, and more often than not, off-key.
Tonight, though, I’m trying to drown out any thoughts of Jack. A few badly rendered Christmas ditties should do the trick nicely.
If they don’t, maybe another glass of brandy will kill the memory cells of where he still resides in my brain. I pour one as I head to the front door.
The Hummers’ rendition of “Deck the Halls” is passable, whereas their version of “Oh Come All ye Faithful” has both Lassie and Rin Tin Tin howling along with a few of their own unreachable high notes. And frankly, if I were them I’d drop “The Twelve Days of Christmas” from the repertoire altogether. It’s just abominable.
But certainly not as audacious as Valentina, who has the gall to stand in front of my house, smiling and listening, along with the most tone deaf of our neighbors.
If she’s still standing there by the time the Hummers finish the last stanza of “Good King Wenceslas,” that classic won’t be the only thing butchered tonight in Hilldale.
When, finally, the Hummers wrap it up and the crowd drifts off in search of more holiday cheer, I nonchalantly give my children permission to dig into the cookie-palooza awaiting them in the kitchen.
I’m now alone with Valentina.
The streetlight casts long shadows everywhere. Even the fake snowman in our front yard suddenly seems sinister. Valentina’s slow saunter up my driveway seems almost carefree, but I know better. Granted, she has taken the time to get the lay of the land, assess any traps, and plan an exit strategy or two.
The one thing she has already underestimated is my hatred for her.
I have a plan of my own.
I slant my head in the direction of my backyard gate. “After you.”
I’m too much of a lady to fight in public. Besides, who needs witnesses?
The gate makes a hollow clang as I shut it behind me. It’s enough to make her pause. When she looks back at me, I smile but I’m firm when I say, “Head for the shed.”
If Valentina is foolish enough to follow me across the wide expanse of velvety emerald fescue to the woodshed by the back fence, she’ll be the living punch line of every dumb blonde joke.
But not for long.
She saunters through my yard as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Then again, she hasn’t met my buzz saw.
Even before we reach the shed, I’m assessing my options. Besides the hacksaw, hoe rake, and shovel, there is a Glock 26 stashed in a bag of mulch. Oh yeah, and I carry a slim assassin’s knife in my stiletto boot.
I’d kill her with my bare hands, but I just had my nails done.
I see my children through the great room window. Even if my gun didn’t have a silencer, I wouldn’t be worried because they’re watching television, and are oblivious to anything beyond forty-two inches of Glee-ridden HD angst, accompanied by four-part Surround Sound harmony.
She stops when she gets to the shed door.
“Go on. Open it,” I murmur.
She pauses, takes a breath then does what I ask.
When I flick on the light, Valentina’s lashes flutter, like startled moths. What is revealed to her looks normal enough: a lawn mower, tools on a pegboard, my children’s bikes, and an old freezer. Trisha has left her dolls on two open lawn chairs. They sit with teacups cradled in their laps.
Valentina blinks with relief. I guess she was expecting some sort of torture chamber.
She hasn’t seen what’s beneath the trap door on the floor.
All in good time, deary. All in good time.
I toss the dolls out of the chairs, then point to them. “Go ahead, take a seat.” I don’t ever want it said that I was a bad hostess.
That’s why they’ll never find her body under the floorboards. Not because it won’t be there, but because I’m quite handy with lye and plastic bags.
“Thank you, no. I’ll stand.” Her Slavic drawl is slight. “You must get a message to Jack for me.”
I shrug. “I’m guessing you’ll see him before I do.”
“You’re wrong. I haven’t seen him in several days.”
Yes! Yes! I want to do a happy dance, but since this isn’t middle school, it wouldn’t be cool. Besides, the last thing I want to admit to her is that he hasn’t been here, either.
As if reading my mind, she adds, “I thought it best not to cross paths. It’s now obvious that I’m being followed.”
“If that’s the case, why did you come here, of all places?”
“I had no choice! I made sure to lose the tail before I came, but otherwise there would have been no way for me to get this to Jack.” She reaches to pull something out of her pocket. Seeing me tense up, she slowly extends her hand—
She is holding a business card.
It reads Safe & Sound Storage.
The address is on US 1, just a few miles south of LAX.
“What is this?” I say, as I take it from her.
“This is where Carl is hiding the MANPAD. The unit is Numbe
r 121, all the way in the back, on the first story. The security is minimal. Only one guard after eight, when the place is a tomb. Sorry I don’t have the security codes to the front door or the units, but I’m sure Acme’s tech ops will find a way around that.” She bites her bottom lip. “In any regard, Jack will have to move fast. Carl will be moving it out of there at midnight tomorrow, to its final destination.”
She looks at the door. “I have to go now, or else Carl will be suspicious.”
I could make her disappear now, and no one would know where she went . . .
But acting on this fantasy would rob me of the one thing I desperately want to know from her, so it’s now or never. “Valentina, why did you come back?”
The soul—stripped down, naked—is a frightening sight. You may think you hear it in a blood-curdling scream or the breaking of bones. You may think you smell it in the searing of flesh or the red river of blood flowing out of a wounded body, but no.
The soul isn’t skin deep. It’s buried deep within our eyes.
Seeing Valentina’s soul laid bare in those cornflower blue peepers of hers does not lessen my hate for her. But for once, I do pity her.
“Why am I here? Because I was so wrong about him. I thought . . . I thought he would always be mine! But no.” As she shakes her head, her hair sways and the tears fall away. “I see it now, so clearly. He . . . he is yours, and will be, always.”
Mine.
Jack is mine.
I haven’t lost him to her.
Still, that doesn’t make us BFFs or anything. But it’s probably fair to say that she’s been upgraded to frenemy status.
Private Frenemy Number 1.
I open the door. “Behind the shed, you’ll see a small gate in the fence. It leads out to an alley, which circles back around Hilldale’s Main Street. You can find your way back from there.”
She nods reluctantly. I know why. She abhors the thought of going back to Carl.
I would too.
The best I can do is throw her a bone. “Thank you for your honesty, Valentina. I know firsthand how difficult it is to rebuild trust in a relationship after a betrayal. I struggle with it every day. But now, knowing that there’s hope for us—”
“Yes, there is hope if you are willing to take him back.” Her eyes cloud over with sadness. “But why you would want to, I don’t know.”
If only Jack could hear her now, I think. “I want Jack, because I love him! Nothing will change that.”
A strange look comes over her. Suddenly she’s laughing through her tears. “No, no no! I was referring to Carl.”
Carl? . . . Still loves me?
I don’t want Carl’s love. I want Jack’s.
From the jubilant look on Valentina’s face, she considers my choice foolish.
No, she is the foolish one. She’s the one who chose the wrong man.
Is that why she is betraying him, because he’d rather be with me?
And is that why she’s came in from the cold, to see if Jack is willing to take her back?
Before I can ask her, she’s slips out into the night.
Maybe that’s for the best. Even if she answered me, I doubt she’d tell me the truth.
I know, because I wouldn’t tell her, either.
Chapter 14
Homemade Ornaments!
If you insist on plastic ornaments that hold no sentimental value for your family, I pity you. Instead, I implore you to make the creation of ornaments for your tree a family project!
For example, you can make ornaments with your children by cutting out cardboard stars, and adorning them with glitter. Or you can drain out the yolk of an egg with the careful prick of a needle and the use of a straw, then decorate the shells. You’ll crack a few at first, but then you’ll get the light touch needed to make perfect eggshell works of art!
You can also place fresh poinsettia flowers in a red and green water straws and strap them onto the tree’s branches.
These are kid-friendly projects. But you’ll want to wait until the children are sound asleep in their warm, snug beds before burying any uninvited guests in the back yard. This way, your little Christmas angels will have far fewer nightmares.
I greet Jack’s dawn arrival with a plate of blueberry pancakes, crisp bacon, and a mug of coffee, strong and black, just the way he likes it.
He picks up the mug, but he pauses before taking a sip. “I just have to ask, is there any substance in here that will stop my heart?”
“Ha ha, very funny. In fact, it’s decaf, so you won’t be done in by caffeine, either. I figure you’ll want to sleep in this morning, what with your busy nights.”
He sets the mug down on the table. “Are you going to start up about Valentina again? Give it a break, Donna! I wasn’t with her. She’s gone dark, and we’re scrambling for new leads. Oh hell, you know what? I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”
I slide the Vermont maple syrup bottle across the table. “That’s too bad, because as it so happens, I do believe you.”
He’s so stunned at my declaration that his hand freezes before it reaches the bottle, and it falls to the floor. Thank goodness it doesn’t break, but syrup pours out over my nice shiny wood floors.
Lassie and Rin Tin Tin scurry to lap up every last drop before I shoo them into the backyard.
Jack ignores the havoc he has wreaked. Nothing new there. “Say that again?”
“I said, I believe you.” I shrug. “Or I should say, I believe Valentina.”
Jack chokes on his coffee. “What does that mean?”
“She came here last night while you were out. She dropped off this.” I slide the business card across the table in his direction.
This time he catches it. “So, this is where Carl has stashed the MANPAD?”
I nod. “But he’s moving it at midnight to its permanent location. She says the security is fairly lax at the storage facility, and that it was chosen because it’s rare that a client shows up after eight at night. That said, Acme will still need to hack the building’s security code, as well as the one for the berth. It’s number 121, all the way in the back of the first floor.”
Still lost in his thoughts, he taps the card on the table. “I’ll get this information to Ryan. That is, if you haven’t done so already.”
I turn my head so that he can’t see my tears. “It wasn’t my place to do so. I’m no longer on Acme’s payroll. Remember?”
Jack laughs. “Well, considering you didn’t shoot first and ask questions when Valentina appeared on our doorstep, I’m guessing Ryan will forget you resigned. You two can just kiss and make up. By the way, what stopped you, anyway?”
“From what she said, it was obvious the two of you haven’t exactly been in touch these past few days, so I thought I’d cut her some slack.” I shrug. “Besides, if what she says is true and Carl is onto her, she has bigger issues than whether you’ll take her back.”
His smile fades. “It’s not her choice to make. It’s mine. And I’ve already made it.”
That’s all I need to hear.
By the way he devours me when I jump into his arms, it’s soon becomes obvious that I wasted my time making him the pancakes and bacon.
I’m the only thing he’s really hungry for.
As he lifts me onto the table, his plate goes flying off.
The dogs, having snuck back to where the action, make that food, is, catch the pancakes even before they hit the floor.
This morning, after donning one of his infamous disguises, Arnie meandered into Safe & Sound Storage and purchased a storage unit in the back.
Number 123, which just so happens to be adjacent to Carl’s.
We now have the access code for the building. And by hacking the encryption code tied to Unit 123’s security card, Arnie was able to create a dummy card, encrypted with 121’s code. He then tested it when pretending to drop off more boxes to his unit.
He also places Safe & Sound’s security feed on a loop, so that when Jack
breaks into 121, the only thing the security guard will see is an empty hall.
As Ryan tells us this, I squeeze Jack’s hand.
Ryan sees this and tries to ignore it. But he now knows we’ve kissed and made up.
Among other things.
I’m just about to ask Jack if he still has his every-afternoon engagement with Mary when Ryan says, “Jack, there’s an errand I’ll need you to run this afternoon, sometime between two and five.”
Jack gives him a thumbs-up.
I’ll have to break the news to Mary. I know she’ll be disappointed, but there’s nothing Jack or I can do about it. Until this crisis has been averted, it’s all hands on deck, twenty-four seven.
“One more thing,” Ryan adds, “I take it there’s been no further contact with Valentina since she tipped Donna off about the storage unit?”
Jack shakes his head. “Quite frankly, I’m worried for her.”
For the first time since hearing her name, I don’t feel threatened by her.
Knowing Carl as I do, I’m scared for her, too. If what she says is right and Carl still carries a torch for me, locking me in a cage and threatening me with rape is an odd way of showing it. I can only imagine what he’d do to the woman who betrayed him and his cause.
“So, when are we going to decorate the tree?” I can barely make out Jeff’s question because it’s garbled by a mouthful of spaghetti and meatballs.
Jack taps him gently on the back of his head. “Hey, guy! You know better than to talk with your mouth full.”
Trisha waves her napkin at me. “Mommy, can we do it with Aunt Phyllis tonight, while you and Daddy are on your date?”
Some date. Sneaking into a self-storage warehouse to steal a MANPAD.
Jack will have to make it up to me, big time.
And by now, he should know a sex cruise is out.
Okay, maybe a little bondage, some role-playing . . . in a cozy little cabin in the woods somewhere . . .
Sorta like Snow White and the Huntsman. I have a weakness for men in tights . . .
“—MOMMY! Mommy, wake up!” Trisha’s shrill squeal snaps me out of my fantasy. “Daddy says it’s up to you.”