Christmas Coins

by Kristy Tate

  Ethan tried not to be annoyed that Misty hadn’t even apologized for making him take her home from the bar. But maybe she’d been so soused, she hadn’t remembered. He shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “I’m not sure what we can do.”

  “We could pool our resources and buy it ourselves,” Misty suggested.

  Could he live with a daily dose of Misty? He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t sure how to say this. Misty, although a talented artist, was probably the last person he’d want to go into business with. He sought out Zoe. Their gazes locked.

  She was one of the few people who wasn’t interested in him because of his art. He liked that. He liked her. When was it too soon to tell her?

  CHAPTER 7

  Zoe and Ethan fell into a habit of eating dinner together every evening. Sometimes they’d eat at her place and sometimes at his. After dinner, they’d watch TV or play games with Hannah. Zoe felt at home in Ethan’s apartment, in part because it had been her home for so long.

  But she hadn’t told Ethan that. She wasn’t sure why.

  It wasn’t like it was a secret. Originally, the attic had been converted into an apartment for some long-ago housekeeper, back in the heyday of her mother’s acting career. Zoe loved the skylight and big dormer windows, the tiny kitchen where everything was at her fingertips, the wooden floors, and her bed tucked beneath the eaves.

  She liked that she could hear Ethan and Hannah moving around below her, their muffled conversations coming through the floorboards. But one evening in November, she heard crying.

  Concerned, she paused on the stairs. She was carrying a basket containing a loaf of sourdough bread and a pot of spaghetti covered in clam sauce. Ethan was providing the salad, but—it seemed—Hannah would be supplying the drama. Zoe didn’t know what to do. She despised drama. She got enough of it from her mom and her sister. She didn’t want it in her house, as well.

  Ethan, as if he sensed her indecision, poked his head out the door and spotted her.

  “Something’s wrong,” Zoe stated the obvious.

  Ethan nodded. “Mrs. Hancock, Zoe’s babysitter, is moving to Riverside. Hannah is...upset.”

  “Oh dear. I don’t blame her. When is that happening?”

  Ethan held the door open for Zoe and she passed by, tingling from his nearness as she did.

  “As soon as her condo sells. Hannah wants her to move in here.”

  “Ah.” Zoe moved through the mudroom to the fragrant kitchen. A pan of steaming roasted vegetables sat on the table beside a pitcher of ice water with slices of lemon in it. Everything Ethan did turned out lovely. His table settings always looked Pottery Barn photoshoot worthy.

  “That’s not a realistic plan,” Ethan said.

  “Why is she selling?”

  “She’s not, her landlord is.” Ethan took a chair at the table and motioned for Zoe to join him. He lowered his voice and looked down the hall at Hannah’s closed door. “I could, however, buy her condo.”

  Zoe took a chair opposite him. “That seems like a remarkably generous thing to do.”

  Ethan dished up some vegetables. “Not really. It’s a good investment, I think. What Mrs. Hancock is paying in rent will more than cover the mortgage.”

  “Do you want a rental property?” Zoe cut into the bread and offered a slice to Ethan.

  “What I want is a gallery. That’s what I’ve been saving up for. If I buy Mrs. Hancock’s condo, I can’t buy a gallery.” He twirled spaghetti on his fork.

  “But you haven’t been able to find a gallery.”

  He met her gaze. “Right.”

  “It’s a pickle.”

  He took a bite and after a moment said, “No, this is darn fine spaghetti.”

  “You could find another babysitter.”

  “That would be a much cheaper option, of course.”

  “Does Mrs. Hancock want to go to Riverside?”

  “No. She’s moving in with her daughter’s family and her relationship with her son-in-law is difficult. Seems he doesn’t change his underwear very often.”

  “Goodness! How would she know that?”

  Ethan grinned. “I don’t really want to know—do you? Besides, I’m sure the underwear is a small thing compared to his unemployment and gambling.”

  “Poor Mrs. Hancock. Is there another apartment in town she can afford?”

  “You know how tight the housing around here is. I’ve been wondering about the basement of this place.”

  “The basement?” Zoe echoed.

  “Yeah. Could it be converted into an apartment?”

  “Do you think Mrs. Hancock wants to live in our basement?”

  “Why not? It’s a big space. It wouldn’t take much to convert it into an apartment.” Ethan finished eating and pushed his plate away. “You said you know the owner. What do you think she’d say?”

  “Hmm... I don’t know.”

  “You want to peek in the windows with me?”

  Zoe set down her fork. “I can do better than that. I have a key.”

  “Really? Why would you have a key and not me?”

  Now would be the perfect time to tell him that her grandmother was his landlord, and yet, she hesitated. Why?

  “I guess because she knows me better than you.” Zoe stood, collected the plates, and nodded at the food on the table. “Should we leave this out for Hannah?”

  “For a bit.”

  “She’s settled down.” Zoe listened for Hannah, but the sound of crying had been replaced by some top-forty boy band.

  “Come on,” Ethan said. “I’m excited.”

  She followed him through the kitchen and into the mudroom where the stairs led up or down. “How much would it cost?”

  “Probably less than her condo.” He paused in the center of the mudroom. “Don’t you need to get the keys?”

  “Yes.” She headed down the stairs.

  He tromped after her, clearly confused. She answered his unspoken question when she unscrewed a light sconce on the wall and extracted a key.

  “Huh,” he said.

  She grinned, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The basement smelled damp and musty. She tried to think of the last time anyone had been in here. A lone light bulb dangled from the ceiling, and Ethan went to turn it on. A glow filled the dark and shadowy space, exposing a collection of ancient camping gear stacked in the corner beside a banana-seat bike.

  Ethan whistled. “It’s even better than I imagined!”

  “Are you serious?” What was she missing?

  He nodded. “This place is great.” He wandered into the next room. “Why isn’t Mrs. Lickel using this?” His words floated out to her.

  She trailed after him. “Well, it takes money, of course. And time.”

  “Yes, but she could make her money back in a few months and everything after that would be gravy.” He returned to the main room. “This could be the living room. You could have two bedrooms—maybe three—and a bathroom.”

  “We’d have to share the laundry room with another person.”

  “Would that be such a big deal? We could even put a washer and dryer down here when we put in the kitchen.” He laughed. “Listen to me. It’s not as if we can do anything. It’s up to the mysterious Mrs. Lickel.”

  Again, another perfect opportunity to tell him. Again, she let it slide. “But how would that work? If you paid for the renovations, what would you get out of it? Other than a convenient babysitter, of course.”

  He pushed his fingers through his hair. “Mrs. Hancock is like family.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, laid her head on his chest, and listened to the gentle beating of his heart. “I think it’s sweet the way you try to keep Hannah’s life as painless as possible.”

  “Dad!” Hannah shrieked.

  Ethan looked at the ceiling and grinned. “Do you think she could hear you?”

  Above them, Hannah’s footsteps pounded.

  “You better go and see what’s up,” Zoe said.
“Why don’t I call Mrs. Lickel?”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Dad!” Hannah’s voice carried panic.

  “Do you think she’s hurt?” Zoe asked, concerned.

  “Probably not physically,” he said, “but with girls that age, there’s a lot of emotional wreckage.”

  SEVERAL WEEKS LATER, when the renovations were nearly complete, Zoe sat in the bakery with Courtney and Grandma Lillian. Grandma Lillian had a faded beauty, like a rose that had wilted and crumpled around the edges. She wore flimsy clothing that floated around her, as insubstantial as the perfume she wore. Her gray curls framed her face and her makeup never bled into her wrinkles the way it tended to do on other women her age.

  “The basement apartment is looking amazing,” Zoe said.

  Blueberry lemon muffins and steaming cups of tea stood between them.

  “I’m more interested in this man than the renovations,” Grandma said.

  Courtney winked at Zoe. “So is Zoe.”

  “Much more interested than she’s letting on,” Grandma said.

  Zoe grew warm and uncomfortable beneath their scrutiny. “You know I don’t have time for romance.”

  “It’s a good thing he’s so close, then,” Courtney said. “Wouldn’t want to waste any time commuting.”

  “Guys! Focus!” Zoe picked up her teacup to hide her flaming cheeks. “When do you want to come and inspect the renovations?”

  “I can’t believe he just paid for all of it out of his own pocket,” Grandma said.

  “I told you,” Zoe said. “He’ll get paid back through Mrs. Hancock’s rent.”

  “But what if she doesn’t pay?” Grandma said.

  “Then we’ll find another renter who will,” Courtney said.

  Grandma sniffed. “I’m still suspicious.”

  “He’s really into Zoe,” Courtney said.

  “No, he’s just an amazing dad,” Zoe said. “It has nothing to do with me.”

  “Listen,” Courtney began, “I need to talk to Hannah.”

  “About what?”

  Courtney toyed with her muffin and wouldn’t meet Zoe’s gaze. “Hannah’s really angry with Laurel and it’s tearing Laurel apart.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last night.” Courtney blew out a breath. “It’s dumb preteen drama.”

  “If it’s important to Laurel, you know it’s important to me.”

  “I know. You’re the best aunt ever,” Courtney said.

  “So, what’s going on?” Zoe asked.

  Courtney lifted her gaze to meet Zoe’s. “Hannah has a secret crush on Jon Frank, and Laurel let it slip.”

  “I take it it’s not so secret anymore,” Grandma said with a smile.

  “That’s right,” Courtney said. “Hannah is furious and won’t speak to Laurel.” Courtney took a sip of her tea before continuing. “I want to sit the girls down and talk about how friends should trump crushes.”

  “But confidences should be respected,” Zoe put in.

  “Absolutely,” Courtney agreed, “but it’s not always easy to keep a secret. You know that. Do you think Laurel and I could come by tonight and talk to Hannah? Maybe you could take Ethan for a walk and get him out of the house?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you love Laurel.”

  “I do love Laurel, but—”

  “Hannah doesn’t want her dad to know she has a crush on a boy.”

  “Huh.” Zoe stirred milk into her tea and watched it turn from dark to light. “I don’t want to conspire behind Ethan’s back.”

  “You’re not conspiring. You’re saving a friendship.” Courtney put down her tea. “You know how girls that age can be—and you know how dads can get.”

  No. She really didn’t. And neither did Courtney. They both had non-existent fathers, although Courtney’s, at least, had helped pay for her medical expenses when Laurel was born. Zoe had never even met her father. But she did know the type of father Ethan was, and that was just one of the things she loved about him.

  She set her cup down so hard, tea sloshed over the brim and scalded her fingers. She shook off the tea. She didn’t love Ethan. It was too early for that. Or was it? They’d been eating dinner together as a family for weeks now. Should she tell him how she felt? Not yet. But she could help mend the rift between Hannah and Laurel.

  AT THE END OF A SCHOOL day while Ethan and Hannah tidied up the art room, Ethan’s phone buzzed. Juggling a container of paintbrushes and a collection of palettes, Ethan had to set everything down before he could scrounge through his pockets for his phone.

  The buzzing stopped before he could get to it, but he saw it was from Scottsdale.

  “I don’t know anyone in Scottsdale,” Hannah said. “Do you?”

  Ethan scratched his chin, trying to think. Something tickled in the back of his mind. “It can’t be important if they didn’t leave a message, right?”

  But the worry/tickle wouldn’t go away. Because he knew Desmond was originally from Arizona, on a whim, he decided to swing by the gallery on his way home from school. The door was unlocked, but Desmond wasn’t in his usual place on the seat behind the front desk.

  “I bet he’s in the bathroom,” Hannah said.

  Ethan dropped his hand on her bony shoulder. “Go and see if the light and fan are on and I’ll check the back room.”

  Ethan bit his lip and pushed aside the curtain that divided the back office from the gallery’s showroom. No Desmond. Anger pulsed in Ethan’s chest. Because of shoddy security, they had already had one break-in and Ethan had lost one of his favorite pieces. Now this. Leaving the gallery unattended, even for a quick donut run, was stupid.

  Hannah trotted up to him. “The light and fan are on in the bathroom. I didn’t want to knock and disturb him.”

  Ethan sucked in a deep breath and chided himself. Everyone occasionally has to take a bio-break. He glanced at his watch. The moments ticked by and his apprehension grew. After another minute crawled away, he went to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Desmond?”

  No response.

  He knocked harder. “Desmond? You in there?”

  Hannah stood at his elbow, worrying at a hangnail.

  “Sweetie,” Ethan said, “I’m going to open this door, but I want you to stay in the showroom in case anyone comes in. Can you do that?”

  “But what if someone does come in?”

  Ethan was more concerned about Hannah being with him when he opened the door and found Desmond with his pants down than he was about the threat of customers. He examined the doorknob. It was round and solid.

  “Hey, I know,” Ethan said. “Can you go to the bakery and see if Bobby or Claire are working with Zoe today?”

  “What if they are?”

  “If Zoe’s free, ask her to come. Okay?”

  Hannah gave him a look that told him she knew he was trying to get rid of her.

  “There’s my button,” Ethan said, using the phrase he always pulled out when he wanted Hannah to do as he asked.

  Hannah huffed and stomped away. After the bell on the door jingled and announced Hannah’s departure, Ethan went to find something he could use to remove the bathroom door.

  He rifled through the contents of Desmond’s desk drawer—a stapler, sticky notes, pencils, a random key. He considered the key. Could it be to the bathroom? No, there hadn’t been a keyhole. Maybe it belonged to Desmond’s house. Or...he didn’t have time for speculation, so he left the key in the drawer and went to the break area to find a knife to use on the screws.

  After a few minutes of fiddling with the door, he sat back on his heels wondering if he should call the police. He had no idea if Desmond was in the bathroom. For all he knew, Desmond was strolling down the street.

  Maybe Desmond had an emergency kit inside his car. Most people did. Unfortunately, Ethan did not. The key in the desk drawer didn’t look like a car key, but Ethan picked it up anyway on his way out the door.

/>   Desmond’s car was parked in the lot beside a shed. Ethan had never given the shed much thought, but now curiosity tickled the back of his neck. He shook it away. First things first. Find a screwdriver so he could take off the bathroom door.

  Desmond’s car was locked. Unless he broke a window, he’d never know if Desmond had an emergency kit or not. But the shed...He slid the key into the doorknob and twisted. Light fell into the shed.

  There on a shelf stood Harold and the rest of the stolen art.

  Ethan was so angry he almost missed the tool kit standing in the shed’s corner. He grabbed it, relocked the door, and strode back into the gallery. If Desmond was still alive, Ethan was going to kill him.

  It took just minutes to take the door off the hinges. There on the floor lay Desmond. Eyes closed, skin gray, lips blue, closer to dead than alive. Ethan’s vengeance faded and with shaky fingers he dialed emergency.

  ZOE ONLY HALF-LISTENED while Claire regaled her with romance woes. For such a large woman, Claire had an amazingly active love life. She was nearly as round as the donuts she was so fond of, but she moved with surprisingly swift grace, not only in the bakery when it was filled with hungry customers but also on the dance floor. But Claire stopped complaining about her last date as soon as Hannah blew in the bakery door.

  Hannah, breathless and red-cheeked, rested her butt against the counter.

  “Hannah, what is it?” Zoe asked.

  “Desmond is locked in the bathroom,” Hannah panted out. “My dad asked me to come and get you, but I really think he just didn’t want me around when he finds Desmond’s dead body.”

  Feeling a little like Superman stepping out of his street clothes, Zoe pulled off her apron and tossed it onto the counter. “Are you okay here on your own?” she asked Claire.

  “Of course,” Claire said. “Go!”

  “Do you really think Desmond died in the bathroom?” Zoe asked Hannah as they hustled down Oak Hollow’s Main Street.