The Surprise Holiday Dad

by Jacqueline Diamond

  The door cracked open and Reggie peered in. “You awake?” he whispered.

  “I am,” Adrienne confirmed.

  Into the hallway he hollered, “Okay, Dad! We can bring down the tree now!”

  A light tap preceded Wade’s appearance behind his son. “Should we wait till you’re up?”

  “Go ahead and get started.” The physical chore of carting stuff from the attic held no appeal for Adrienne. “I’ll join you shortly. The pull-down door to the attic is in the ceiling next to your bathroom.”

  “I noticed.” He gave her an indulgent grin.

  “Set up the tree in the family room,” she added.

  “The front hall has more space.”

  “But it isn’t as friendly.” Adrienne didn’t mention her other reason for placing the tree in a less-public spot. Over the years, it had lost some of its artificial needles and much of its freshness. She’d planned to dispose of it after the holidays last year and buy a new one, but Vicki’s death had thrown everything off-kilter.

  “Point taken.” In front of him Reggie was hopping from one foot to the other. “Okay, sport, let’s give your aunt some privacy.”

  “Can I climb up the ladder?” Reggie asked, darting under his father’s arm.

  “Yes, but carefully, and only when I’m watching.” Wade gave Adrienne a wink before closing the door quietly.

  Once Adrienne showered, dressed and ate a quick meal, she found that the industrious pair had already set the tree on its stand in a corner of the den. Boxes of ornaments, wreaths and knickknacks lay on the coffee table and carpet.

  Nostalgia rushed over her. Years ago she and Vicki used to tumble about while their parents decorated a tree—a real one. The scent of pine had filled the air, along with apple cider heating on the stove and cookies baking.

  Only a little over a week remained before Christmas. Recovering from the wedding and adjusting to her new housemate, she’d fallen behind in her planning. She’d meant to update the collection of ornaments, and she hadn’t yet wrapped presents.

  Wade was checking the colored lights intended for the porch. “Most of these are burned out. I’ll buy a new string, but not today. I have an appointment with a client in a little over an hour.”

  “You’re working?” She felt unaccountably disappointed.

  “I’m afraid so.” He shrugged. “Not sure how late this will run.”

  “Hope you make it home for dinner,” Adrienne said. “I’m cooking pasta with broccoli and peanut butter.”

  “My favorite!” Reggie put in. Adrienne was sure half a dozen other dishes would have drawn the same response.

  “Save some for me, okay?” Wade gave her a sideways smile. “I’ll be hungry whenever I get home.”

  “Of course.”

  They spoke like roommates or friends, yet a sweet tension hung in the air. We’re always tiptoeing around each other. Was it possible he had feelings for her, too?

  If so, Adrienne reminded herself, they couldn’t afford to indulge them. For Reggie’s sake, the two of them had to work together. To be strong, dependable and stable. There was no room for the emotional roller-coaster ride she had experienced during her long-ago engagement and that Wade had apparently suffered with Vicki. Presumably any other love affairs hadn’t worked out, either, since he’d remained single.

  They both had terrible track records. Mercifully, they’d begun to form a workable team. That was enough.

  Since the exterior lights weren’t ready to hang, they devoted their energies to the tree. Adrienne’s favorite ornaments were the personal ones: framed pictures of Reggie as a baby and toddler, salt-dough figures he’d whipped up in preschool and kindergarten, and a coffee-filter angel Vicki had helped him create last year. There were a scattering of colored glass balls, tiny toy soldiers and wooden elves, as well.

  She explained the history of each to Reggie. While listening, Wade settled a large old-fashioned Santa on the top. He was tall enough to reach it without a ladder.

  Next Wade affixed sparkly angels to the higher branches. “Is anything here from your own childhood?”

  Adrienne hesitated to comment in front of Reggie, but it was better to give him the facts. “My father drank too much one year and knocked over the Christmas tree. Stuff broke.”

  “That was bad,” Reggie said. “People shouldn’t drink.”

  “You’re right.” Although some doctors recommended a glass of wine with dinner, Adrienne considered it wise for a person with a family history of alcoholism to avoid even that.

  As usual, Reggie’s attention quickly shifted. “Can I take photos now?”

  Startled, Adrienne regarded the bedraggled tree. It was hardly worthy of recording, yet this was a special holiday for her nephew. After a tough year, he had his father. And she’d like to build up a new stock of family photos, even though they couldn’t entirely replace those they’d lost. “Sure.”

  The little boy ran for his camera. Harper, who took professional-quality photos of insects and hummingbirds to illustrate children’s nature books that Peter wrote, had taught Mia and Reggie to compose their pictures, study the lighting and use special settings.

  The boy was absorbed in his picture taking when Wade departed. “I’ll replace the lights as soon as I can,” he promised.

  “Thanks.” For being here. For bringing us light in more ways than one. “Good luck with your client.”

  “I may need it,” he said enigmatically.

  “We’ll be baking cookies this afternoon.” The fragrance would fill the house. “I’ll save you a plate.”

  “What kind of cookies?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Studies have found chocolate chip to be vastly superior to any other cookie on earth,” Wade informed her. “Aside from that, I’m not particular.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” She nearly walked him to the door, except that he wasn’t a guest.

  Then Adrienne turned to Reggie. Sticking to her theme of staying in the moment, she put all those rampant male vibrations out of her head. “Let’s start baking cookies,” she suggested.

  Lowering his camera, he faced her solemnly. “What kind?” he asked, just like his father.

  “All kinds,” Adrienne said, grateful for her stock of refrigerated dough.

  “Yay!” And with that unqualified endorsement, off they went to the kitchen.

  * * *

  THIS TIME, SOMEONE had locked the gate at Bruce’s condo complex. Wade buzzed his grandfather, who promptly let him onto the grounds.

  Good start. Expecting to encounter hostility, Wade wouldn’t have been surprised had Bruce kept him standing there like a fool.

  As he strode between buildings, the wreaths and lights already glimmering in the late afternoon reminded him of what he was missing at Adrienne’s house. In Pine Tree, Wade had volunteered for holiday shifts and served at charity kitchens to avoid the loneliness of his silent apartment. This year, sharing the small ritual of decorating the tree had soothed his spirit.

  No decorations enlivened Bruce’s door. However, scarcely had the bell rung before it opened.

  Bruce stood erect, his crisp cotton shirt and slacks tailored to his thin frame. Giving Wade a taut nod, the elderly man stepped aside to admit him.

  Wade kept his expression blank as he entered the living room. He’d have shaken hands, but his grandfather didn’t offer one.

  He hired you to do a job, nothing more. Don’t treat this as personal.

  Bruce eyed him sternly. “I presume you realize this business is between you and me and no one else.”

  “Except my employer.” Wade remained standing since he hadn’t been invited to sit.

  Grandpa acknowledged the comment with a tilt of the head. He coughed and then continued, “Here’s the th
ing. I’m not the sort of man to put up with a woman who cheats, you understand?”

  Startled, Wade registered that the case concerned the mysterious girlfriend. “I do.”

  “I’d drop her in a minute if I figured she was like that, but it seems out of character.” Bruce scowled. “She claims to love me, but she turns off her phone and doesn’t return my calls for hours. Won’t tell me where she’s been. You see the problem.”

  The problem is that you’re in love with her, or you’d already have said sayonara. Wade took out his pad and pen. “What’s her name?”

  “Renée Green.”

  That sounded familiar. Hoping the connection would surface, Wade went on asking questions and jotting information. Address. Age, height, approximate weight and where she worked.

  She was retired and volunteered at the hospital. Since hospitals restricted the use of cell phones, that might explain why she wasn’t always available by phone, although not why she kept her whereabouts secret.

  They’d met about six months earlier at a summer concert at City Hall Park, where Bruce had offered Renée his folding chair, Wade learned. The next weekend, they’d attended an Angels baseball game, and since then they’d spent several evenings a week together.

  However, Bruce hadn’t met her friends, and she hadn’t met his. Each paid separately for meals and tickets, except when she cooked a special dinner or Bruce treated her to a movie. If the woman had secrets, Bruce hadn’t been able to find any clues on the internet. He’d also checked her credit rating, which was sterling. A widow, she owned her home.

  She didn’t strike Wade as a gold digger. Nor did she cancel dates, make hysterical middle-of-the-night phone calls or otherwise act unstable.

  The photo his grandfather provided revealed a woman in her mid-sixties with strong features, a rectangular face and graying brown hair. Nothing overtly flirtatious marked her appearance, and kindness shone from her eyes.

  “Does she have children?” Wade inquired.

  Bruce hesitated before answering. “One married son. And a grandson.”

  “Her son’s name and address?” An even longer pause followed. As Wade waited, he remembered where he’d heard her name before. No wonder his grandfather had gone to such lengths to keep the matter secret from the other detectives. “It’s Lock Vaughn, isn’t it?” Mike’s partner had said his birth mother volunteered at the hospital.

  “Yeah. Don’t raise a fuss about it,” Bruce grumbled.

  Although he’d done no such thing, Wade refrained from correcting the client. This was understandably a sensitive subject.

  “Let’s discuss indications that she might be cheating,” Wade said. “Has her behavior toward you changed recently?”

  “She’s grumpier than usual,” Bruce muttered.

  “Less affectionate?”

  “Not once she’s warmed up.”

  That might be more information than Wade cared to know. However, he was there in a professional capacity. “Does she accuse you of cheating?” That was a common tactic used by unfaithful partners.

  “Wade, I was a detective before you were born,” Bruce snapped. “I know all this crap.”

  Hang on to your temper. “How often is she unavailable?”

  “More than she ought to be.”

  This seemed to mark the end of the interview. “I’d appreciate your giving me an idea of her usual activities and schedule,” Wade said. “I’ll start surveilling her right away.”

  “Tonight,” his grandfather said. It wasn’t a question.

  “That would be fine.”

  While his grandfather wrote down the requested information, Wade ran a background check on Renée using a web service to which the agency subscribed. Aside from filling in a few details, it added little to what he’d already gathered.

  Saturday evening did seem like a prime time for the amorously inclined to entertain company, Wade acknowledged as he departed. After calling Adrienne to tell her not to save his meal and grabbing some food at a drive-through, he located the target’s house in a residential area a few blocks from the medical center. With its gingerbread trim and multipaned windows, the cottage resembled a fairy-tale illustration. A lit nativity scene on the lawn showed restraint compared to the overblown displays of Santas, reindeer and cartoon characters on neighbors’ lawns.

  Wade parked across the street and a few doors down. Scrunching in his seat, he kept an eye on the place while staying alert for dog walkers and other potentially snoopy folks.

  As twilight fell, lights came on inside the cottage, revealing a cheerful room lined by china cabinets. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of a woman moving about inside. As far as he could tell, she was alone.

  After a couple hours, Wade’s limbs had stiffened and his back hurt. Stretching, he was about to call Adrienne just to talk when a faded sedan halted in front of the house.

  Might be a neighbor. Or not.

  A man emerged from the driver’s side. Middle-aged, perhaps ten years younger than Renée, he wore a thin jacket and seemed nervous. The guy stood on the street, studying the house—too bad Wade couldn’t see his face from this angle—before approaching. Admiring the decor? Preparing to greet his lover? Planning a heist?

  Wade readied his camera.

  A flash of light from the doorway revealed the sturdy frame and unmistakable face of Renée Green. Wade started snapping pictures, on alert for an embrace.

  Bending down inside the doorway, the woman lifted something from the floor and handed it to the man. It was a grocery bag, a canned ham visible above the rim.

  The passenger-side car door slammed and a tiny girl pelted up to the porch. Wade photographed Renée bending for a hug. Then, toting a sack labeled The Bear and Doll Boutique, she accompanied her visitors to their car.

  Wade ducked lower.

  Through his partly open window, he heard the rumble of the man’s voice and caught a few words of Renée’s response. “I’m glad your wife’s recovering.”

  She must have met these people at the hospital and decided to brighten their holiday. Wade wondered what his surly grandfather had done to deserve such a saint. But generosity didn’t preclude the possibility that Renée had a dark side he just hadn’t stumbled across yet.

  The visitors drove off. Once his target returned indoors, Wade headed out. It was cold and he preferred not to remain in one place too long.

  Despite what he’d witnessed, he was far from concluding that Renée had nothing to hide. She was dodging Bruce while continuing to claim she cared about him. If Wade couldn’t find an explanation for her behavior, he’d be failing his grandfather.

  Worse, Wade would be letting down his boss. And that he did not intend to do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You bought him a sweater?” Stacy sat up on the examining table, her amber eyes dancing with mischief. “A sweater, for the man you’re living with? I never took you for a romantic, Adrienne, but seriously!”

  We shouldn’t be discussing personal matters during office visits. That wasn’t Adrienne’s real problem, though. It was that despite her insistence that she and Wade remained nothing more than housemates, her friend refused to believe it. So did half the hospital staff, according to the gossip she’d overheard.

  “What’s wrong with a sweater?” inquired Cole, who’d accompanied his wife to her checkup. Since Adrienne saw private patients from 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. three nights a week, he hadn’t had to rearrange his own schedule.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a sweater.” Hearing the sharp note in her voice, Adrienne switched topics. “Stacy, you’re doing very well. It’s impressive that you’ve carried the triplets to within six weeks of your due date. They’re growing well, your blood work came back normal and your weight gain is within the desirable range.”

  “Reall
y? I feel like the side of a barn.” Stacy had been suitably distracted, thank goodness. “My sister claims she never gained more than twenty pounds with any of her four children.”

  “Who were singletons,” Adrienne pointed out. “Are you staying off your feet as much as possible?” She didn’t press for complete bed rest, once a common recommendation in multiple pregnancies, because it hadn’t been proved to prevent preterm labor.

  “Yes,” Stacy said.

  “No,” her husband responded.

  “I am, too!”

  “We closed escrow on our house last week,” Cole told Adrienne. “She’s been packing.”

  “While sitting down!”

  “Scheduling the cleaning crew, the movers....”

  “On the phone,” his wife insisted.

  “Try to cut back,” Adrienne advised her patient. “Also, be sure to wear compression stockings and elevate those swollen ankles.”

  “Okay, okay. They’ll go down as soon as I deliver anyway.”

  “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” Adrienne replied. “Just because you’re a nurse doesn’t mean you’re immune to complications.”

  “That’s what I keep telling her, but she won’t listen,” Cole complained. “When she was my surgical nurse, she used to treat my observations with more respect.” He appeared more puzzled than offended.

  “You’ve been demoted from Lord High Surgeon to husband. But that’s also a promotion,” Adrienne explained.

  He looked mystified. “Is there a point at which all this will make sense to me?”

  “Unlikely.”

  She and Cole were assisting Stacy to her feet when her friend reverted to her earlier theme. “I’m still amazed that Wade turned out to be the opposite of what Vicki used to tell us. He’s such a doting dad! At the wedding, when Una let him touch her bulge and the babies moved, he practically levitated.”

  “She let him touch her abdomen?” Cole asked. “Where was her husband?”

  “Sitting right there, in a fog.”

  “I’d never allow that,” he muttered.