Silver Bells

by Fern Michaels

  As he continued along the wet sidewalk in front of Charlie’s house, the colorful outdoor lighting in the old man’s yard seemed to proclaim hope and goodwill, as did that of nearly every house on Sugar Plum Lane tonight—every house but his and Jillian’s.

  At least hers had lights on inside. His, which he was now approaching, looked like a big black hole ready to suck the life out of the neighborhood.

  His feet sloshed along the wet concrete, and as he neared the streetlight, he glanced at his wristwatch. For the most part, the day was over. He’d had a lot of things he’d wanted to get done and not much to show for his time, thanks to the decision to get involved in a neighborly dispute. Everything else just got more complicated by the minute.

  What was he going to do about his attraction to Jillian?

  As he continued in a fog of indecision, he sensed that he wasn’t alone, and a feeling of being watched shivered through him. He glanced behind him, then looked to his right and left.

  Down the street, near the fire hydrant, he spotted a shadowed figure with long hair and wearing what appeared to be a dark trench coat.

  Jesse?

  His steps slowed, but the shadow, as well as the feeling, disappeared as quickly as he’d imagined them.

  Weird, he thought, shaking it off.

  Still, he wondered what the homeless man would have had to say about all of this. About the kiss he and his old high school sweetheart had shared tonight.

  Do the right thing, Jesse had once told him, and you’ll get the family you’ve always wanted.

  Before Jillian moved back to Fairbrook, Mac had considered the department his family. But had Jesse’s comments been a prophecy? Was there a real family in Mac’s future?

  Or was Mac’s hope of finally hooking up with Jillian merely an attempt to spit into the wind, like he’d done fifteen years ago?

  Chapter Ten

  The rain stopped around five o’clock that morning, and by the time Mac finally rolled out of bed and peered out the window, there were only a few clouds left in the sky. The day promised to be clear and bright, yet Mac’s thoughts were anything but.

  Ever since that kiss last night, he’d been unable to focus on anything other than Jillian and what he felt for her.

  Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. He also thought about her kids and the lousy Christmas they were going to have. Not that he was any expert on what they were missing out on. He’d learned not to put much stock in any holiday—especially that one—but he knew most kids were counting down the days by now.

  Around nine-thirty, as he poured his second cup of coffee, he had what could only be considered a lightbulb moment.

  What would it hurt for him to purchase Jillian’s kids a Christmas tree?

  There was a lot at the north end of Applewood Drive, so it wouldn’t take long to pick one up. He wasn’t sure what she had in the way of decorations, so before heading out to his Expedition, he climbed the stairs to the attic, where he turned on a dusty forty-watt bulb that dangled from the ceiling of the small room.

  He scanned a hodgepodge of junk Ray had been storing—a wrought iron birdcage that was big enough for a parrot or two, an old oak rocker with a slat missing in the back, a guitar with a macramé strap, and a beat-up canvas golf bag with several wood-shaft clubs.

  Those golf clubs had to be really old—antiques, maybe. He wondered where Ray had gotten them, why he’d been saving them, and if they were worth anything.

  Against the east wall, near the only window, several boxes had been stacked from floor to ceiling. Ray had marked the outside with black capital letters indicating the contents: 2005 TAX AUDIT, DAD’ S ARMY PAPERS, and XMAS STUFF. Mac pulled the Christmas boxes away from the rest and found colored lights and ornaments in them.

  Behind the boxes, life-size, painted plywood cutouts of a red-nosed reindeer and a drummer boy leaned against the wall. A couple of Victorian-style carolers had been placed next to them.

  Two wicker laundry baskets held strands of outdoor lights that had been rolled up neatly around shortened pieces of PVC pipe.

  Maybe Mac ought to take some of this stuff to Jillian’s and use it to decorate her house and yard. The kids would probably be happy about that. So he stacked a couple of boxes on top of each other, picked them up, and carried them downstairs. It took several trips, but soon he had it all placed by the front door.

  All he had to do was share his intentions with Jillian and hope she agreed with his plans.

  But why wouldn’t she? This way she and the kids could have a Christmas they would remember, even if it wasn’t at all like the holidays they’d had in the past.

  He stepped outside and, after locking his door, strode toward Jillian’s house. The sun was out, and a temperate coastal breeze had chased away the crisp wintry chill that had settled over Fairbrook yesterday.

  Across the way, a middle-age man who lived a few doors down from Jillian was tinkering under the hood of a red ’56 Thunderbird. Charlie had mentioned that one of the neighbors had refurbished the car and rebuilt the engine himself. If the guy would have glanced up from his work, Mac would have given him a nod or maybe even strode closer to take a look at the classic car. As it was, he continued on his way.

  In front of Charlie’s house, his steps slowed and he studied the display of Christmas decorations that, in the daylight, merely littered the yard.

  Mac had told the old man that he would try to solve the missing angel caper. So, on impulse, he crossed the wet, soggy lawn and approached the nativity scene, where the Madonna gazed lovingly on the infant in the manger and Joseph looked at the two in awe. A shepherd was flanked by two lambs, a cow, and a donkey. Mac wasn’t sure where the missing angel had stood, but as he surveyed the grass surrounding the other figures, he didn’t see anything amiss. As he turned to go, he noticed a small piece of gold ceramic floating on a puddle of muddy water. He stooped and picked it up, turned it over, and studied the broken edges.

  A second, closer scan of the surrounding area revealed another small piece just steps away from the first. And then another.

  It didn’t take a forensic expert to come to the conclusion that the angel had been broken or to follow the trail from Charlie’s lawn to Jillian’s. The pieces didn’t lead to her front door, but there were at least two smaller chunks on the side of her yard.

  Had Tommy been lying when he’d insisted he hadn’t taken the angel?

  As a homicide detective, Mac had honed a skill at reading facial expressions and discerning when a suspect was lying.

  Most liars tended to skate around the question, to blink, and to fidget in one way or another. But the boy had looked Mac right in the eye when asked about it. Of course, his answer might have been different if Mac had asked if he’d broken the angel and hidden the evidence that led to his house.

  Mac blew out a heavy sigh and raked his hand through his hair. He wasn’t exactly sure how to handle this, but he didn’t want to accuse Jillian’s kids until he had something solid. He supposed he ought to play it by ear. So he made his way to Jillian’s front porch and rang the bell, then, remembering that it was on the blink, grabbed the brass knocker and banged it several times.

  When Jillian answered wearing a pair of cream-colored slacks and a pink cotton blouse, her breezy smile nearly knocked him to his knees. The kiss they’d shared last night hovered over him, and he’d be darned if he knew what to do about it. Ignore it, he supposed.

  “Can you come outside for a minute?” he asked. “I want to talk to you in private.”

  Her smile fell, and she stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. “Sure, what’s up?”

  “I’d like to pick up a Christmas tree for you and the kids.”

  “That’s nice of you, but…”

  “The kids need a tree, Jillian. It’ll be my treat.”

  Her expression seemed to lighten, so he reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet, peeled out two hundred-dollar bills, and handed them to her. “I want you
to take this and pick up a few gifts for them—from you. And then buy anything else you need for Christmas dinner—ham, turkey, whatever.”

  “I can’t accept this, Mac.” She tried to hand the money back, but he wouldn’t take it.

  “It’s my Christmas gift to you. And if you have a major problem with that, then consider it a loan until your ex-husband comes through with the child support.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “A simple thank-you works for me.”

  She folded the bills together, clutching them in her hand, and her gaze sought his. He was usually pretty good at reading between the lines, but in this case, he was afraid to. She looked too appreciative, too touched, too…

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you what. If you want to go shopping now, I can keep an eye on the kids while you’re gone. Or you can go later. It’s your call.”

  She didn’t respond right away, and about the time he wondered if she would, she relented. “You’re right. The kids deserve to have a nice Christmas. And I’ll consider this money a loan.”

  He’d kind of hoped she’d take it as a gift, but he supposed it didn’t matter. “While I was in Ray’s attic, I found a box of decorations I won’t need, so I’ll bring them over for you to use—if you want them.”

  She started to lift her arms, and for a moment, he thought she was going to hug him. But she brushed her hands along the fabric of her slacks and crossed her arms instead. “I don’t know how to thank you, Mac.”

  “There isn’t any need to.” He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, then nodded at the door. “Come on. Let’s go tell the kids you have a few errands to run and that I’m going to watch them while you do it.”

  Ten minutes later, Jillian had done just as he’d suggested and had driven off. Mac hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in volunteering to babysit. He didn’t know much about kids, although he figured the most important thing was keeping them safe while she was gone.

  Tommy appeared to be pleased about the setup, but Megan, with her blond hair pulled back in pigtails, pursed her lips together, then took the dog out into the backyard. Mac couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling she somehow blamed him for her parents’ breakup.

  “Hey!” Tommy, who’d dragged a soccer ball from his bedroom, tossed Mac a grin. “Do you want to come outside and play?”

  Now that Mac was an adult, playing soccer with a kid was definitely a first, but he returned the boy’s smile and said, “Sure. Why not?”

  Tommy led the way through the kitchen and out to the yard, where Megan stood in the shade of an elm tree with Princess Leia.

  Or was the little dog actually Bobbie Sue?

  Mac wasn’t sure, but it was certainly possible. He again realized that telling Charlie about the similarities was the right thing to do, but he wasn’t in any big hurry to do that. Nor was he ready to have a chat with the kids about something that was sure to upset them.

  He supposed, if the dog turned out to be Bobbie Sue, he could always beg Charlie to let the kids keep her, but who knew what the old man would say to that?

  As Tommy dribbled the ball with his feet, Mac said, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t think anyone stole Mr. Iverson’s angel.”

  Tommy stopped the ball with his foot. “You don’t?”

  “Nope. I think what really happened is that someone broke it and hid the pieces.”

  “No kidding?” Tommy kicked the ball to Mac. “How come you think that?”

  “I found some small chunks of gold ceramic in Charlie’s yard.”

  “Who do you think broke it?” Tommy asked.

  “I don’t know for sure.” Using the side of his foot, Mac kicked the ball back to the boy. “Did you break it?”

  “Me?” The boy slapped his hands on his hips, letting the ball slip right past him. “Heck, no. I didn’t even touch it.”

  “Are you sure? Not even accidentally?”

  “No. Don’t you believe me?”

  Mac studied the boy’s expression, his eyes blazing with indignation and his chin lifted in defiance.

  Truthfully? He didn’t appear to be lying.

  “Do you know anyone who might want it to look like you broke that angel?” Mac asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. There’s a kid who lives down the street, and his name is Danny. He said hi to me once, but he doesn’t know me good enough to like me or hate me. Oh, and there was a homeless guy who was hanging out by the fire hydrant once, but he was pretty cool.”

  A homeless guy? Mac’s thoughts drifted to Jesse, to the image he’d imagined seeing last night. But he shook it off as coincidence, even though Sugar Plum Lane was a long way from where any of the homeless tended to gather.

  They kicked the ball around in silence for a while, and Mac decided to drop the subject. He really wanted to connect with Jillian’s son, but he had a feeling any further questioning was going to backfire if he wasn’t careful.

  His gaze drifted to Megan, who was still playing with the dog, her back to Mac and Tommy. Did she know anything about the broken angel?

  He supposed she might, but he wasn’t sure if he should quiz her. She’d withdrawn since yesterday afternoon, and he was afraid she thought he was trying to take the place of her father. For that reason, he figured it was best to let Jillian talk to her.

  As Megan wandered to the very back of the yard, near the rose garden that had been pruned for the winter, the dog trotted behind her. Mac focused on the soccer ball and on making friends with Tommy.

  Several minutes later, he heard a thump, a shriek, and a howl.

  He looked up to see Megan sprawled over a rose bush.

  Oh, no. Mac dashed toward her, hoping she hadn’t been hurt too badly. So much for thinking he would make a competent babysitter. Jillian would probably never leave the kids with him again, which was wise on her part. And maybe he ought to be grateful for that.

  He lifted the screaming child from the sharply cut, thorny branches, trying to avoid hurting her any more than she already was, and placed her feet on the ground. “Are you okay, honey?”

  “Nooo!” She screamed, leaning into him.

  He checked her carefully, noting a nasty scratch across her cheek and down one arm. She raised her blouse and showed him a red, raw scrape on her tummy.

  “Come on, Megan.” He picked her up and held her close. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

  “I want my mommy,” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I know you do. She’ll be back soon.” At least, he hoped so. He might have had first aid training, but he was way out of his league when it came to dishing out TLC.

  As they crossed the lawn, he asked, “What happened?”

  “I was running and tripped on a rock and fell in the thorns and pokers. And it hurts really, really bad!”

  Mac carried her into the house and to the bathroom, where he sat her on the counter. Next he turned on the water and searched the drawers for a washcloth.

  “I’ll get the medicine and the Band-Aids,” Tommy said from the doorway. “They’re in my mom’s bathroom.”

  “Thanks.” Mac’s heart was pounding a mile a minute as he tried his best to doctor the little girl.

  She really wasn’t hurt too badly. The fall, he suspected, had frightened her more than anything. Still, the scratch on her face announced that she’d been wounded on Mac’s watch.

  Great.

  After cleaning the wounds with an antibacterial soap and water, Mac dabbed them dry and applied a salve. “Is that a little better?”

  She nodded.

  “I guess I’m not a very good babysitter,” he said.

  “Sure you are,” Tommy argued. “Who could be a better babysitter than a policeman? Besides, you knew just what to do when Meggie got hurt.”

  Oh, yeah? Mac was a novice at this sort of thing, but he didn’t see any point in setting the boy straigh
t.

  Of course, he’d done a better job of it than his old man had done. Whenever Mac had been injured as a child, he’d known better than to complain. “Just rub a little dirt on it,” Jim Maguire used to say. “That’ll toughen you up.”

  Mac was lucky he never followed those instructions. He might have gotten blood poisoning or something.

  He let out a sigh, glad the girl had finally stopped crying.

  “Why don’t we go watch some TV?” he suggested. An indoor activity would ensure that no one else got hurt before Jillian returned.

  When the kids seemed to accept the new game plan, Mac scooped Megan into his arms and carried her downstairs.

  Hey, if she wanted to milk it, he was okay with that.

  “Thank you for fixing me,” she said.

  “No problem.” He tossed her a grin. “That’s what friends are for.”

  She seemed to think about that for a bit, then smiled. “Are we really friends?”

  “Sure we are.”

  As he set her on the sofa, she looked up at him with eyes that were every bit as expressive as her mother’s. “Can I ask you a question, Mac?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you always put people in jail?” she asked. “Even kids?”

  Was she afraid of him? “I only arrest adults who’ve broken the law. There are special courts that deal with children who get into serious trouble. Why do you ask?”

  “You don’t put kids in jail?”

  “Nope.” He couldn’t see any need to explain the intricacies of juvenile incarceration.

  She nibbled on her bottom lip, then glanced up at him, those eyes so much like her mom’s threatening to make a tough guy soft. “What happens when kids do bad things?”

  “Usually their parents take care of the situation. The police don’t get called in unless the kids do something really bad.”

  “Like breaking something on accident?” she asked.

  Uh-oh. Was Mac about to hear a confession?

  “When kids break things, their moms and dads handle that.” He pulled lightly on her pigtail and offered her a gentle smile. “But I think, when it’s an accident, most parents would understand and go easy on the child.”