Cupid's Holiday Trilogy

by Geeta Kakade

  “I’ll make my own arrangements, thank you.”

  “You can’t stay here,” he said bluntly.

  “Why not?”

  “The place isn’t clean and it needs repairs. The water heater doesn’t work properly, neither does the washing machine. The dishwasher hasn’t been used in years”.”

  “Then you’d better get busy hadn’t you, Mr. O’Keefe? The lawyer said you were a handyman caretaker. It doesn’t look like you’re very good at either job. Want me to call you a cab so you can pack and leave and I’ll hire other people to do the work?”

  Touché

  He couldn’t tell her he worked for a Special Investigative Government Task Force, formed after 9/11, so secret that even other branches of the Government like the FBI and CIA didn’t know of it, that he was on a special assignment here. No one except Jake had known he was a former Marine.

  He wasn’t going to blow his cover for Jake’s daughter or anyone else.

  "Now I’m here, I won’t be needing your services any longer." Anger made Christy want to let him know he was fired effective immediately.

  She certainly didn’t want someone like him around. Rude, arrogant, unsettling.

  One brow lifted mockingly. "You can’t get rid of me that easily. I have a piece of paper that gives me the right to live here till you can repay me."

  "Repay you?” Christy asked blankly.

  He nodded. "Jake had to borrow money from me when he was ill. He insisted on having a document drawn up that entitles me to live here till the debt is repaid."

  Living on borrowed money, sounded like the Jake Cupid her mother had told her about. "How much?”

  "Three thousand dollars."

  Christy’s heart sank. She had no way of repaying the debt right away. She needed the little money she had left to tide her over for a while. Which meant he stayed. Christy looked at him, making no effort to hide the dismay in her eyes.

  "Believe me, I’m just as happy as you are over this situation," O’Keefe said grimly.

  If Jake had needed money why hadn’t he sold some of the furniture?

  Christy’s chin lifted. “I’ll repay you but you still have to earn your keep if you’re staying.”

  Even though she had Jake’s eyes he knew he couldn’t trust her, not till a background check told him she was whom she claimed to be. He had to keep up his front.

  “I’ll take a look at the water heater later,” he said

  Christy looked at him. She knew she had to be as tough as she could with him if she was going to have a shot at living in the house.

  “What time do you start work each day? Nine? Ten? Or did you stop working when you lent Jake the money.”

  “Something like that.” He turned and walked away to the kitchen.

  Christy shivered. She was cold again. The encounter with O’Keefe had dispelled the happy feeling she’d woken up with. The fact the surly caretaker came with the house she’d inherited filled her with dismay.

  “They aren’t getting on,” Phillip said gloomily.

  “Neither did we, in the beginning,” Agnes retorted. “We fought about everything on the way here. Which wagon trail to join, where to look for gold, how to light a campfire.”

  “It only took a kiss to quieten you,” Phillip reminded her. “If O’Keefe can’t control her, she’s no good to him. Why didn’t he silence her with his mouth?”

  “They have to like each other first before they can kiss each other these days. You have to be patient.”

  “We’re going to be here forever,” Phillip said sulkily. “I may as well look over my gun collection. I hope no one’s messed with it.”

  O’Keefe plugged in the coffee pot. Frustration was a holding cell. He’d have to stay here for two reasons. The first was his work.

  Keeping the house next door under strict surveillance was the task he was currently assigned to. It was a safe house. The man being kept there was going to testify in an upcoming case against a drug kingpin. His testimony was vital to putting the man away and they had to make sure nothing happened to him no matter what. The FBI were in charge there with more men and women about than usual but the Special Investigative Government Task Force he worked for had told O’Keefe he was to keep an eye on the place and the people watching the witness for signs of anything unusual. Billions were in question and anyone could be bought at this point.

  The Task Force had been formed on the orders of the President to track down any threats against the country or the American people.

  The witness was a man who had contacted the FBI and said he had information about drug routes. His brother had been killed by the men at the top for refusing to continue with the work of the cartel. After he’d died the witness had opened the envelope his brother had left with him in the event of his death. It gave details of the operation, names of contacts along the drug routes, the people at the top.

  The man inside the safe house was terrified and convinced he wouldn’t live to come to trial.

  So far no one knew about the witness and that was the way the Government wanted it till he testified. If the media got hold of the story, all hell would break loose. If anyone else got hold of it the man would be killed.

  O’Keefe knew his work had been easy until now. Jake’s old rowboat, his fishing gear, a couple of books and he had the perfect front for watching the place. The caretaker of Cupid Lodge was nothing but a bum who drank and lazed around on the boat fishing all day. Beer cans in the boat, some trash and his old shabby clothes completed the picture perfectly.

  The witnesses’ bedroom faced the lake and O’Keefe watched for the signal the man had been told to leave in the window. White blinds pulled halfway down meant all was well; totally down meant he needed help.

  O’Keefe poured himself a cup of coffee.

  The second reason he had to stay here was he couldn’t go back on his word. The friendship which had developed between Jake and himself over the last year bound him to the promise he had given the dying man.

  Jake had asked him to keep an eye on his daughter if she ever decided to come to Cupid Lodge. Help her if she needed help. Positive that would never happen, O’Keefe had given his word. At the time he would have done anything to ease his dying friend’s mind.

  He’d taken for granted that she would ask Brigham to sell the property and send her the money. Who the hell would have known she would come out here herself?

  It was just like a woman. He could write a book on them. They were as unpredictable as the weather, disloyal as cats, and greedier than old Scrooge had ever been.

  His own mother had proved that. Right after his father’s death she had changed from a loving wife and mother, to a woman who thought of nothing except having a good time.

  He’d barely seen anything of her, she’d always been so busy with her own life. Even when she’d been at home, she’d had very little time for him. As a teenager, it had hurt deeply to know about the men in her life, to be aware she rarely went out with the same man twice. How could she have been so disloyal to his father’s memory?

  His second lesson about women had come a few years later during his first tour of duty abroad. After basic training he had married Jennifer Wales. For a while there he had almost reversed his opinion of women. Almost. Then he’d been sent to Afghanistan and on his return found that Jennifer had run off with an entomologist the day before he’d landed Stateside, leaving him a Dear John letter. She wasn’t cut out to be a soldier’s wife, she’d said.

  What bothered O’Keefe the most was he hadn’t suspected a thing was wrong till he’d returned. All the dreams that had kept him going, of a life with her, children, a house, had evaporated leaving nothing but a bitter residue. Jennifer’s departure had confirmed his belief women only cared about themselves. They were like cougars. Sly and dangerous.

  A sound behind him made him swing around. Christy Hathaway stood in the door. Shower fresh, her hair curling in damp tendrils around her face, in jeans and a black sweater wi
th the initial C in gold, she looked at the coffee pot on the counter.

  She didn’t want to begrudge the man anything but she had to make sure he knew who was in charge. “If you are going to live here I want you to stay out of the kitchen while I’m in it and wear a shirt all the time you’re in the house. After you’ve checked the water heater, which by the way gave me plenty of hot water, clean out the refrigerator and the stove. The oven too if you’ve been using it.”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  Christy ignored the sarcastic tone and the mug lifted in a toast.

  She took out her cell phone to make a list of what she’d need from the store. Henry Brigham said he’d meet with her at ten. She could shop for groceries after that and return here by noon. If she started cleaning then, she could hopefully have the bedroom, her bathroom and the kitchen done by tonight.

  O’Keefe picked up his coffee mug and headed for his room. He had time for a quick shower if she hadn’t used up all the hot water.

  He couldn’t give Christy Hathaway grounds for complaint so he would clean whatever she wanted and check the water heater, which had nothing wrong with it in the first place.

  Christy went into the pantry adjoining the kitchen. It was huge, used when the house was first built for storing game, poultry and fish, and jars of vegetables and fruit canned in the summer.

  Surprised she looked at the apples on the shelves, the potatoes and onions. Someone had been busy in the garden this summer.

  She crossed a few things off her list relieved by her sudden discovery. She’d check the garden out later.

  O’Keefe’s x-ray eyes unsettled her. She had to get rid of the man as soon as possible. It was the only way to squelch this uneasiness she felt around him.

  Trying to take her mind off O’Keefe, Christy looked around the kitchen again. Wooden cabinets that could do with polish, blue-and-white checked curtains. The counter top was granite, but the rest of the kitchen maintained the old atmosphere of the house. She traced the mosaic design in the parquet floor with her toe. Black walnut was an exotic wood to use for a kitchen floor even in days gone by. Someone had put a great deal of love into Cupid Lodge.

  As she looked around, the feeling she’d been here before, gripped Christy. It was the same sensation she’d experienced last night. As if the house had been waiting for her. As if she’d returned to something familiar.

  Christy shivered. The happenings of the last twenty-four hours had her in a state of shock. That was all.

  Unplugging the coffee pot, she went upstairs. Last night she’d chosen this room because it was the first one by the head of the stairs. Glad to see a dustsheet on the bed, she’d removed it, changed and slipped into bed. This morning a look around told her she’d slept in Jake’s room.

  The scent of his tobacco lingered in the air, reviving a memory. Jake lighting his pipe. Mother complaining about it.

  Christy took a deep breath. She associated the scent with warmth and happiness. Of a father she’d thought had loved her. Jake had spent a great deal of time with her. He’d played with her, told her stories, taught her to read.

  Then he’d left her.

  Christy bit her lip. Drowning in self pity was a game losers played.

  Going to the enormous front window, she looked across the front lawn and over the white picket fence at the beach and the water beyond. The expanse of sand separating the house from Silver Lake looked like gold dust in the sunshine. Emerald green, the waters of the lake seemed like her thoughts this morning. Tumultuous.

  It was hard to accept Jake had been alive till last week. Very hard. All the time she’d thought he was dead he’d been a few hours away.

  Within holding distance.

  It wasn’t till she’d called the law firm in Silver Lake City yesterday, that Christy had accepted the fact the letter was real. Henry Brigham, senior partner of Brigham and Brigham had offered his condolences and confirmed Jacob Cupid had passed away six months ago and they had tried to contact her.

  Why had everyone lied to her? Grandpa and Grandma Hathaway, Mother, even the servants in the Beverly Hills house at the time. Letting go of hope when Mother had told her Jake had died in a train accident, had been hard on a seven year old.

  Thoughts of Jake had always been a part of her life. She’d needed him so many times. On birthdays, at Christmas, on her graduation from school and college. Her first date, then years later when she’d found out Tim, a fellow student at college, who’d convinced her he loved her had really only loved the family fortune and did not share her dreams of making their own money.

  There were no signs or photographs of another woman so Jake hadn’t left them for one. Why had he walked out on them? Was what Mother had said about Jake not wanting to work been true?

  Christy placed her forehead against the double paned window to cool her thoughts. Pain that Mother had lied to her, formed mulch for the new sprouts of bitterness. There was no one she could trust.

  Mother must have wanted to shield her from pain. That was the only explanation for the pretense that made any sense. Accepting Jake was alive but didn’t want to see her would have been very difficult for a little child to understand.

  Christy bit her lip. She wasn’t going to cry.

  A part of her wanted nothing to do with Jake, or his house. Another part insisted she owed it to herself to find out all she could about him. It was the only way to understand the past and free herself from the bitterness lining her heart.

  Jake’s departure had turned her life upside down, made it impossible for her to settle in one place, form any kind of permanent attachment. His desertion had made her very insecure about trusting any man. Later she’d wondered if that was the reason she’d been unable to give Tim the love he’d wanted. When she’d overheard him talking to a friend he’d said she was a ‘prissy little bore’ whose only asset was her fortune.

  Deep down Christy felt she had nothing left over to give anyone else. Certainly not love, or trust. She needed answers to heal herself and she wasn’t going to find them by running away.

  She had to stay here till she could come to terms with the past.

  Christy felt she was entitled to reasons for what Jake and Mother had done.

  The thought that Mother would make her change her mind about staying here had stopped Christy from calling her and demanding an explanation. It had always been like that. Mother whistled, or rather cried...Christy did as she was asked.

  Only not this time.

  Christy could concede the child had needed protecting, but the adult deserved to have been told the truth. At twenty four, she didn’t need shielding any more.

  The chiming of the grandfather clock in the entry hall reminded Christy she had to get going or she would be late for her appointment with Henry Brigham. Grabbing her car keys and her bag, she hurried downstairs. She was going to be late.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Christy explored the main street of Silver Lake City after her meeting with the lawyer. The Professional Building he was in held doctor’s offices, a pharmacy and a dentist and an enormous rehabilitation center.

  There was a café, a restaurant, a post office, a hardware store, a grocery store, some clothing stores and a bank. There were lanes off Main Street that had more shops but she would explore those later when she had more time.

  A square with trees and benches was framed by City Hall, the sheriff’s station, the courthouse and the library. The fire station was larger than normal but Christy guessed they needed it in an area backing the National Forest and prone to huge fires in October, the dreaded fire season.

  Henry Brigham had given her a map of the Cupid Lodge property and told her the population of Silver Lake City was fifty thousand. It swelled to seventy five in the summer, fall and winter with visitors. The ski slopes in the area starting with Devil’s Run the closest to the house attracted a great many athletes; the smaller slopes catered to the learners and holiday skiers. They were the closest business and shopping center
for two other townships that had sprung up away from the lake.

  Cupid Lodge sat on three acres of land that extended from the private beach in front, to the edge of the national park in the rear. Bordered by peaks at the back, the area was scenically gorgeous in every season. Prime property, the lawyer had emphasized, over and over. An eager buyer he said had made a very generous offer, if she wanted to sell right away and get back to L.A.

  Henry Brigham and Mother must have been twins separated at birth. They both had the know-what’s-best-for-you angle worked out pat. Christy knew her looks and five foot two height normally created that response in most people. Even strangers felt she needed protection. It took time, and a strong will, to correct that impression. Telling the lawyer she’d consider her options before she made a decision, Christy left the office.

  On her way back to Cupid Lodge, Christy’s thoughts returned to Jake. The letter Henry Brigham had handed her from Jake seemed to weigh her handbag down. His last letter to her. Christy was oddly reluctant to read it just as she didn’t want to open the old letters from him. Did the letter hold explanations, a plea for forgiveness? Nothing was going to make up for the trauma of waking up one morning to find him gone. Jake had shed his responsibilities, as easily as if they were a skin he no longer needed.

  Henry Brigham hadn’t been able to tell her much about Jake. All the lawyer knew was that Cupid Lodge had been run as a bed and breakfast till eighteen months ago when Jake had learned he had cancer. He’d met Jake twice to draw up a living trust in her favor, appointing him as trustee till she could be found, and that was it.

  Jake hadn’t stipulated what she should do with the house, the lawyer said. If Christy sold the house and land, Mr. Brigham pointed out, the money she’d get for it would make her financially independent. She could do anything she wanted to: travel, start her own business, even buy a small house or apartment in L.A.