Sugarplums and Scandal

by Dana Cameron

  “My ex-husband’s new wife owns it.”

  His quiet “Oh” said he understood everything; there was one place in town to purchase last-minute gifts, and it was from “the replacement,” and the terms weren’t friendly.

  Inside Fancy Stuff, Berenger took in Cecilia’s determination as she wandered around the counters and shelves layered with everything overpriced and unnecessary. Crowded with last-minute shoppers, it was small, cluttered, and presented a potential disaster zone for a large man. Berenger stood still, sizing up the people who seemed distracted but friendly toward Cecilia.

  Tracy took in his appearance immediately. Berenger sized her up: Tracy was cold, fake and she definitely had a grudge, weighing in with a snooty, “So this is your new one. I hear he has a—well, let’s just say it isn’t new—camper and pickup parked in your driveway.”

  Cecilia skipped right over any inference of involvement and said crisply, “He’s… a friend, and just passing through. He’s having car trouble. It will be moved soon.”

  In a matter of less than a block, from the cafe to the shop, Berenger had gone from an intimate relationship with Cecilia, back to the needy guy. The girl had her defenses up.

  Tracy eyed Cecilia’s credit card. “I hope this is good.”

  “Would I be using it, if it weren’t?” Cecilia bristled.

  Tracy shrugged and smiled, catlike, and stuffed the gifts into a sack. Cecilia handed it to Berenger on her way out of the store. “Happy Holidays,” Tracy singsonged behind them.

  Outside the shop, Berenger toted Cecilia’s sacks. “You don’t like her, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t have gone in there, but it’s the only gift store in town. And I have to go to her house to collect the gifts and deliver them to the families.” Cecilia steamed along beside him and muttered, as if to herself, “Thank God, I already sent my family’s presents to Florida. The charges on my credit card are going to take years to pay off. I’d better do some more advertising and take my business cards around, do some free consulting to stir up more work.”

  Berenger needed to know if John, Cecilia’s ex, could have it in for her. “That’s rough. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. Did you try to give her some tips on her place? The cafe guy didn’t like it at all.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You were helpful last night, and I just feel obligated to let you know the layout of whatever is happening in my life… since you seem to momentarily be in it anyway. But you’ll be gone—preferably this afternoon—because we’re going to put some gas in that truck and you can be on your way.”

  Berenger wasn’t above playing his aces. Monroe would need time to work on the three men’s description and Berenger wasn’t leaving Cecilia undefended. “I sure wish I had somewhere special to go for Christmas,” he said wistfully.

  Cecilia was trudging along beside him, apparently still locked in whatever was going on between her and the second Mrs. Lattimer. She glanced at him as though just remembering his presence. “You must change your lifestyle. I saw your scars when you were trying on my brother’s shirts.”

  Ms. Lattimer knew how to look at a man, the down-up kind of personal that made him feel prime. “Nothing important… a couple of bullet holes and there was that knifing.”

  Cecilia stopped and stared at him, her mouth opened. He couldn’t resist raising a finger beneath her chin, lifting it to close those soft lips. “Do you have any more shopping to do?”

  He could have fallen into those wide green eyes, wrapped himself up on that curvy body and in her gingerbread scents, and—

  “You really should leave,” Cecilia said as she took back her sacks and started to hurry away.

  He walked beside her. “Your car didn’t start because someone jerked the wires in it… right in your garage. They wanted you to be walking that night, and they knew the route you would take.”

  She turned and stopped so fast that his arms went up around her as they collided. Against her cute little ear, he whispered, “Lady, I’m big and I’m mean, and you need me—until whoever broke into your house is caught.” More than anything, he wanted to keep Cecilia safe.

  Wrapped in his arms, she shivered delicately. “My heating bill is going to be enormous.”

  Berenger noticed his own rising heat and nudged his nose a little beneath her knitted cap, where her hair smelled like flowers and gingersnaps. “It could happen again. Those guys mean business. You’re pretty visible. They could visit your house—while you’re there.”

  “Visit my house? With me in it?” Cecilia’s voice was high and tight with fear. She held very still, those green eyes wide upon him as a little quiver ran through her body. He really liked that little quiver, because it wasn’t from fear. And he liked the slight huskiness of her voice. “So you’d be like a… a bodyguard?”

  “Something like that. I could run errands for you, pick up the presents at Tracy’s house for you.”

  “I really do not want to go there. She makes such a big deal out of—You’re holding me too tight.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Not every woman makes great gingersnaps. Which is what I’d want—maybe some lasagna, too—for payment, and enough money to head out after this thing is over, of course.”

  He released her slowly and she considered his offer. “I guess—I guess you could help deliver the Christmas Club’s presents to those who really need cheering up. I need some house fix-it stuff done. Do you know anything about cars?”

  “I get by. Will work for food,” he stated firmly. “But then, a single woman with a new man in her life might stir up gossip.”

  He watched that tidbit sink into Cecilia. According to Monroe, she was on the hit list of the town’s biggest attorney, a man who had sworn to ruin her and was definitely a bully. And Monroe had said that everyone knew that Cecilia had been shattered by the breakup of their marriage and that John Lattimer was open about “trading up.” An ex-husband would know about her little quirks, what would unnerve her that no one else would know, like a messed CD collection.

  Cecilia was apparently considering him. “You do need help. Your life, I mean. That awful camper. And there are things littered over your pickup’s dashboard—cups, maps, sunglasses.”

  That uneasy little chill went up Berenger’s spine; danger came in all sorts of cute little packages. “Hands off.”

  Chapter 4

  “You were walking all over town today with that guy this morning. No one knows him, or anything about him. Tell him to get that truck and camper out of the driveway. It just doesn’t look good for a single woman to have a man move in with her that way,” John ordered on the telephone as Cecilia worked on her floor plan for a new real estate office.

  “You’re not my husband anymore, John. And this isn’t your home any longer, so you do not have anything to say about my life—or my property… I bought you out, remember?”

  “It doesn’t look good, Cecilia. I have a certain reputation to maintain. You’ve got to stop going into Tracy’s shop and upsetting her.”

  Cecilia took a calming breath; it didn’t work. “I was shopping for presents, John, and it wasn’t nice to tell Tracy our bedroom secrets, that I liked to plan our romantic nights, John. She just happens to spread that stuff all around town.”

  “Is that what this is about? Getting back at me? Everyone knows that you just took Edward’s proposal because you were on the rebound and that you still love me. You’re going to have to let go. I’m not coming back. I’m calling Monroe and having him check out that guy. He’s probably wanted somewhere for something.”

  “I wouldn’t have you back on a platter, and Monroe has already been here and talked with him.” Cecilia remembered Berenger’s broad shoulders and muscled body and the way he held her close and tight, his cheek warm against hers, his deep voice rumbling intimately around her. John was probably right—Berenger was definitely the kind of man that women would want—for something.
/>   “There’s been breakins all over town. He’s probably involved,” John was saying.

  Cecilia held her breath. John could be right. The three men were new in town or she would have recognized them, and then Berenger had turned up. Clearly, he and Monroe had an association, and one they didn’t want known. But then, Cecilia had grown suspicious of associations, after missing her ex’s with Tracy during their marriage.

  And clearly involved in an affair, Monroe had plenty to lose—his reputation, his job, and maybe career; also his pregnant, wealthy wife.

  Cecilia ended the call firmly, then stood in front of her window, studying the battered camper and truck in her driveway. Was it possible that Monroe had hired Berenger? A man working in the law would know those outside it, wouldn’t he? He’d know their specialties, like murder?

  Berenger had been gone since early afternoon, probably chatting with his boss and getting orders on how to make her death look like an accident. Dying at Christmastime wasn’t her preference. Cecilia wondered how many times he’d used that big revolver in that worn harness.

  Edward’s black Lincoln slid slowly by her driveway. His phone call followed within seconds, his anger snapping over the line. “What the hell are you doing with that vagrant’s camper parked in your driveway? What the hell are you doing walking all over town with him? Don’t you have any sense at all? You’ve really done it this time, Cecilia.”

  Edward’s dark side was something that he hid very well, but in private, his anger could be explosive. “I know what I’m doing at all times,” Cecilia stated quietly.

  “There’s been robberies all over town and he’s probably in on it.”

  “I don’t think so, Edward.” I really think he’s here to silence me and I can’t tell the police chief that I’m on to him.

  “You’ve finally sunk to what you can get,” Edward stated arrogantly. “I cannot take you back after this.”

  “Yeah, sure, yada yada. Good bye.”

  Cecilia studied that camper. It was disgusting, layered with men’s stuff. On the other hand, maybe beneath that stuff, in the cabinets, maybe there was something she could use to prove that Berenger was Monroe’s hit man.

  Or, if he was involved with the burglaries, maybe the camper and truck held some of his loot.

  Minutes later, Edward called again. “There’s something funny about this. Monroe isn’t being helpful at all. But I’ll find out who this guy is and what he’s up to—why he’s in town.”

  Of course, Monroe wasn’t fingering his hit man.

  Cecilia studied that camper. At any rate, she was going in…

  Chapter 5

  Berenger hitched up his collar against the wind chill and the mist that could turn to snow. Monroe had the three men under surveillance in a nearby town. All three were small-time hoods, without enough brains between them to plan and coordinate the Dewdrop burglaries—and they would have taken jewelry and other valuables, not just the wrapped presents.

  In the distance, he saw Cecilia’s twinkling Christmas tree lights, and pictured her cooking and wrapping presents; it was a sweet little image. Maybe he’d get to see her without her coat; he’d turn up the furnace if he had to.

  Berenger stopped walking; the twinkling lights were actually in her driveway—around his camper. He hurried to the lighted camper, listened to the faint sounds within, the Christmas carols, the woman singing along with them, then jerked open the door.

  Cecilia was without her coat, dressed in a red sweater and jeans that hugged her bottom, and she was holding a box. She thrust it at him. “Trash. Put it in the can in my garage.”

  While he stood in the snow, holding the box and staring at her, trying to adjust to her invasion, Cecilia thrust another box at him. “Recyclables. You’ll have to sort into the bins in my garage.”

  “What the hell have you done?” Berenger realized that he’d just bellowed.

  “Here’s my garage door opener. Close it when you’re done. Is that ‘What the hell’ line the only one men have in their vocabulary today?” she asked airily as she closed the door in his face.

  Berenger stood there holding the two boxes, trash and recyclables. The Christmas lights circling his camper twinkled hypnotically. He began to blink in sync with them, wavering between evicting Cecilia’s busybody self and the curvy image of her body. He decided to think about how to do both as he went to the garage and began sorting recyclables and depositing trash. Finished, he returned to the camper, stopped to glare at the twinkling lights, noted the extension cord running from her garage to his camper, and stepped inside. “You’ve ruined my camper,” he stated, just to start things off.

  Apparently used to such confrontations, Cecilia placed a big red candle on the table where he preferred to lay his magazines. She watched Berenger take in the new order in the camper, the overly neat collection of his favorite magazines, the television hidden away from easy couch-viewing, the usual spices on the counter had vanished.

  “Make that your pickup, too. Everything will be a lot neater if you use that organizer box I put in it.”

  The encounter was too much. Berenger took off his coat, sat down on his newly cleaned couch-bed, the sleeping bag neatly rolled beneath his pillow, and held his head. He felt weak and confused. Cecilia patted his shoulder and took his coat, placing it away in a closet. She lit the candle and placed a plate of gingersnaps beside it. “A lot of men have that same reaction. Women accept, men take a while to adjust.”

  “I could kill you,” he said, looking up at her as his hand circled her wrist.

  “I know, but could you please wait until the holiday season is over?” she whispered unevenly.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” he corrected warily.

  “People shouldn’t say things they don’t mean.”

  “I bet a lot of people do that around you.”

  She considered past conversations. “Maybe.”

  Cecilia looked down to where his hand circled her wrist, his thumb stroking that smooth skin. He had big hard hands; his touch was gentle and warm. The twinkling light from outside lit his face to the rhythmic heavy beat of her heart. “I think the smell of those cookies is getting to me,” he whispered as he stood. “I’ll walk you back to your house.”

  “You’re evicting me.”

  “Something like that.”

  Berenger entered the house first. Cecilia had accepted this as bodyguard procedure. He moved through the rooms, and came back to stand beside her. His look down at her was long and searching, and Cecilia fought blushing.

  “He was an SOB, wasn’t he? Your ex-husband?”

  “We weren’t on the same wavelength.”

  “My ex-wife and I weren’t either.”

  “Ohh, and losing her threw you into this life? You shouldn’t be afraid of committing again. Things will work out.”

  Berenger’s lips seemed to be forcing back a smile. To his credit, he didn’t remind her that her engagement to Edward hadn’t worked out. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Then he kissed her. Hard and long and soft and sweet and then, pretty darn hot, like he was gathering her all into him, to keep forever, all snug and safe and—hot. She hadn’t realized that he’d picked her up until her feet slowly touched the floor. “Mistletoe—on the decoration above us,” he explained rather hoarsely, his arms still around her.

  “Uh-huh.” Her fists were still locked to his shirt. The flannel was old and soft and comfortable. She could wear it as she cooked breakfast…

  “Look, I should tell you that—”

  She didn’t want his confession, that Monroe had hired him to silence her. “I need to wrap presents. Good night.”

  Berenger seemed to hover there, reluctant to leave. Then he nodded and closed the door behind him. Cecilia stood still and savored that warm, well-kissed feeling. The door jerked open. Berenger had on his coat and he looked fierce—and puzzled. “How did you open my truck and camper?”

  “I picked the locks. I’m really good with hairpin
s.”

  He stared at her blankly, then turned and walked toward the police car that was waiting for him on the street.

  They probably had plans to make, didn’t they? The cover-up of her murder would take some doing, made much easier with the help of the local law. Her own plans concerned wrapping gifts and finishing Christmas delivery to those who needed it.

  Cecilia looked at the mistletoe ball above her doorway and sighed. Good kissers were hard to find, ones good enough to make her feel safe when she wasn’t. She would hopefully finish Christmas, then resolve what to do about Monroe’s mistress.

  Chapter 6

  “My mistress? Your sister, who’s dying of her latest heartbreak?” Monroe chuckled, then settled into the facts of the new burglary; he turned up the police car heater. “Another one. Same M.O. In and out… knew just what they wanted. No valuables or anything else taken. Family was at the local church program. Surveillance for those three men said they haven’t left the house of one of their sisters, except to carry out garbage and make snowmen.”

  “It’s someone here, then. Someone who knows the town and what’s going on.” Berenger drank coffee and settled in to eat Monroe’s wife’s German chocolate cake, but his mind was on Cecilia’s safety. Edward and John, her exes, had queried Monroe about the “vagrant parked in Cecilia’s driveway.” Apparently both males felt they still had proprietary rights, and Berenger could see why the men wanted her: Cecilia’s kiss said that beneath her ladylike demeanor, she was a very hot, spicy package.

  “Got any ideas?” Monroe was asking as he dug into the cake.

  “Someone has a thing against Christmas or they’d be taking valuables. It’s someone who wants to make a point. Anyone match that profile? And was anyone else’s home messed up like Cecilia’s, or their cars tampered with?”

  “No. I’d say this might be payback from her ex. She told me that after she found out John had been seeing Tracy, Cecilia picked the lock to his office and walked in on them. Likewise, Edward and his secretary. Then Cecilia rearranged all their files.” Monroe’s grin said he approved.