A Cold Christmas (19 page)

“I'll do it, Mom.” Zach took the bottle and twisted off the cap.

“Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you. You are the greatest kid in the world.”

He gave her a frightened look. “Okay if I go to the library with Jo?”

“Sure. Back by—” She squinted at the clock. The numbers danced. Ten o'clock?

“I'll be here by eight. You'll keep the doors locked, won't you?”

“Sure.”

He slouched out.

What was wrong with him lately? She shook out a couple of tablets and washed them down with some orange juice one of the kids had left at breakfast. Looking around the kitchen brought up loads of guilt. What a mess. The sink was piled high with dishes, the peeling linoleum was covered with crumbs and spilled breakfast cereal and sticky spots that were God knows what. Zach had been keeping the dirty dishes under control and fixing stuff like hot dogs for the Littles and generally shoveling debris out when it got too deep, but she couldn't let him do everything. He was a kid, for God's sake. She transferred bowls of soggy cereal to the sink, then sat back down for lack of strength. Oh God, how long did this flu go on? How long had it been now? Did it ever go away?

When the television went on, she couldn't even rouse the necessary energy to yell at Adam to turn it off. Elbows on the table, she propped her chin in her hands. If she tried really hard, she could get up again. She knew she could. If she just rested a minute. Maybe she could put her head on the table and take a little nap.

She drifted off to sleep and dreamed. Two men dressed in black, masks covering their faces, were standing in the kitchen yelling at her. They gave her twenty seconds to tell them what they wanted. One looked at his watch. When he nodded, the other pointed his gun at her.

He pulled the trigger. She screamed.

The doorbell rang. She jerked up her head and tried to figure out where she was. Before she reached a conclusion, Adam called, “I'll get it.”

She put her head back on the table and found herself running, trying to find a place to cross the river to get away from whoever was chasing her. She heard water running in the sink.

“You don't have to do that, Zach,” she mumbled. “Go ahead and go to Jo's.” He was humming Bach? Zach? Humming Bach?

She forced her eyes open. A man in jeans and a cable-knit sweater, sleeves pushed up beyond the elbows, was standing at her sink washing dishes. “Mat?”

He turned. It wasn't Mat. She should have known. Mat didn't wash dishes.

“Evan?” She squinted. Evan Devereau? Her boss? Church music director? Washing dishes in her kitchen? Hallucination?

“I didn't want to wake you.”

She stood on wobbly legs. “You can't wash my dishes.”

He turned, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. “Don't worry, I'm an expert. I had a mother, three sisters, and a female dog we never referred to as a bitch. I'm excellent at dishwashing. I do other useful things too. Scrub floors. Laundry. Sweep. Dust. It's not only music I'm a whiz at. I'm all full of useful talents.”

“Where's Zach?”

“According to Bonnie, he went off to meet his friend Jo, or maybe it's Sam. I didn't get that clear. Bonnie is, in case that's your next question, in her room writing a story to read to me later.”

“You can't wash my dishes.” Had she already said that? “You need to go.”

He shook his head. “I'm your boss.”

“The church is my boss.”

“Well, I hired you. That means I tell you what to do. And I'm telling you. Go to bed.” He took her elbow, turned her, and marched her along the hallway. “Where's your bedroom?”

“That one,” Bonnie said, having come to see what was happening.

Evan propelled Caley, digging in her feet, to the end of the hallway, where she planted her arms on the doorframe. No way was she letting anyone see the condition of her bedroom.

“Go,” he said. “Or I'll have to get tough.”

“Okay, but—”

“Go. I'll have one of the kids wake you when I leave.”

Tears threatened to gather up and spill over. Why was it she did just fine until someone was nice to her? Then she fell apart.

She dropped across the bed. It seemed only a moment later that Bonnie was whispering in her ear, “The good prince left and Daddy's here.”

What was Mat doing here?

She pushed herself out of bed, splashed water on her face, and yanked a brush through her hair. When she stumbled out, not only did she find the kitchen clean, but the living room—except for Mat—and the bathroom were clean as well.

Oh, God, how could you ever face a boss who had cleaned your bathroom?

“What do you want?” she asked Mat.

“Hey, the house looks nice. I'm taking everybody out for supper. Where's Zach?”

She looked at the clock on the mantel. It was a basement find. She had been blown out of her mind when she discovered it still worked as long as she wound it every month. If it hadn't lost its mind the time was six-thirty.

She'd slept since ten this morning? Where was Zach? Oh, right, with Jo. Something was riling him. The awfulness of adolescence? He was due, God only knows. Such a good, responsible kid. She relied on him too much. She had to stop it immediately and start relying on herself. Zach was a kid. He was entitled to behave like a kid.

“What do you want, Mat?”

“I told you. I'm taking everybody out to supper. By the way, the house looks nice for a change.”

“Get out!”

“Mommy!” Bonnie cried, her face stricken. Here was her beloved father come to see them at last and her witch of a mother wanted to throw him out.

“If we go, you won't have to cook anything.” Bonnie looked up through her lashes beseechingly.

Caley took a breath. “Right.” She gave Bonnie a hug. Germs, she reminded herself.

“Where is Zach?” Mat asked again.

“With friends. He won't be back until eight.”

Mat made a fake growl at the Littles. “Hear that, guys? More for us. Let's go!”

*   *   *

Zach was late. He used more time than he'd intended, looking through his dad's apartment, and then he didn't find anything. Except Dad sure owed a lot of money. Zach put his bike away in the garage, ran to the kitchen door, and was inside the house with the door locked behind him before he smelled something wrong.

He wasn't exactly thinking, but he was expecting the usual sounds and smells of home, the noise the Littles made and the clatter of Mom washing up after dinner. She wasn't the greatest cook in the world. Except for spaghetti; she was a wiz at spaghetti.

The kitchen was dark and empty and there weren't any sounds. No bickering from the Littles or Bonnie chattering to imaginary friends or Adam doing blow-up stuff, making machine-gun sounds.

“Mom?” He was headed for the stairway when an unfamiliar smell hit his nose. It didn't belong here. It was—pipe tobacco!

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

He screamed and wrenched away. He ran up the stairs. An angry voice growled something. While Zach didn't hear the words, he knew the meaning.

If he could just reach his room. He spared a glance over his shoulder. Baines was right behind him.

“The money, you little bastard!”

Panic squeezed him so hard he couldn't breathe.

A hand wrapped around his ankle. The pain in his chest was going to burst and kill him. The hand jerked him and he fell. His chin bumped against each step as he was dragged down. His teeth rattled against his tongue. Blood flooded his mouth, salty and metallic.

His cheek burned against the old carpet. Its mildewed smell choked him. He twisted, jerked up his free leg, and drove the heel of his boot into the guy's nose. Baines let go with a howl of rage.

Zach scrambled back up the stairs. He heard Baines pounding up right behind him. His bedroom door was at the end of the hallway. So far.

He reached the door, angled in, and slammed it shut. He'd just turned the lock when Baines thudded against the door. It didn't break open.

Zach slid up the window, climbed out, and jammed it shut. He climbed to the tree house, then across to another tree and from there to another.

He swung from limb to limb, getting closer to the ground. Baines tromped around shining a flashlight up through the trees, looking for him. When the light picked him out, without thinking about what was on the ground under him, Zach let go and jumped, arms widespread, mouth open. He hit the ground hard on his side, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He heard Baines coming.

Rolling himself over, he pulled in air, gasping, lungs not working. Finally, he got a breath in and he stood, shaky, trying to get his senses working.

The flashlight beam cut toward him. He took off, melted into the shadows, and finally pressed up against the rough wood outside the garage.

“Hey, kid! I won't hurt you. All I want is my money. Give back the money and I'll forget I ever knew you.”

Baines found the outside switch and flooded the driveway with light. While he stood blinking in the glare, Zach slipped by him into the garage.

Baines cursed and searched for the inside light. Zach grabbed the dusty old canvas covering the lawn mower and tossed it over Baines's head. With Baines coughing and choking and fighting the canvas, Zach jumped on his bike and pedaled as hard as he could to the street. Warm blood trickled from his nose. Wiping it with an arm, he put even more effort into moving his legs.

An engine roared, headlights popped up behind him. The black minivan! He pedaled harder. He couldn't see Baines's face, but he could feel those eyes staring into the middle of his back like a gun barrel.

Baines didn't worry about intersections; he just came smashing on through. Zach wasn't paying attention, either. He focused on getting farther ahead, but he kept losing ground.

At the next intersection he saw a pickup coming up on his left. He turned right and heard the pickup closing in on him. He knew he shouldn't, but he had to do something. He had to try. He had to.

He heard the truck picking up speed and felt it coming closer behind him.

Okay. Okay. He pumped his legs harder. It had to be perfect. He risked one quick glance over his shoulder and swerved to the right, still pushing it as hard as he could.

The pickup was moving toward him with the roar of a jet engine. Faster. Faster. If he got it wrong— He'd heard the horrors. Do it wrong and he was road kill. Flattened with tread marks from top to toe, head squashed like a cantaloupe.

He reached out—inched closer—closer—

He eased to the left, putting everything he had into another burst of speed. Heart pounding in his throat, he clamped his fingers on the panel of the pickup bed. When the pickup gained speed, he was skimming along like a sailboat in the wind.

It was exhilarating! He held on for dear life, steering the bike away from bumps and potholes. The minivan was lost somewhere behind.

The interstate was coming up. He had to let go before the pickup tore onto the high-speed road. He was afraid. Grabbing hold was one thing; letting go, with the tires right there, biting into the road and pushing a ton of metal— A vivid image came to mind of what they would do to him if he fell underneath.

He had to let go. He had to let go. Now. Now. Now! The pickup took on speed, and Zach unclenched his fingers and jerked the handlebars to the right. The bike bounced up over the edge of the road, wheels shimmying and juttering, and he was airborne.

26

Caley's head pounded like a jackhammer. The Littles had a great time eating pizza with their daddy, who acted as though this were a regular thing and not a once-a-year event. Mat had been coming around an awful lot the last few days. What did he want?

Not that she wasn't glad for the kids. Although Zach might know Mat had some ulterior motive. Zach was no longer so easy to fool. And something was up with him. Oh, Lord, what was going on in her life? Maybe if her head wasn't so noisy she could figure out some of this stuff.

There was a period not too long ago when she would have been thrilled right out of her falling-apart jogging shoes that Mat was spending so much time with them. She had dreamed about the great return and her joyous welcome. And a magnificent one it would have been too. But she was a little smarter these days. Just how that had happened, she didn't know, but she was seeing her gorgeous ex-husband for what he was, not for what she had convinced herself in the beginning that he was: a prince on a shiny, dazzling-white horse. Or was that a dazzling prince on a dark horse?

She shuffled to the door and fumbled with the key. The Littles were shrieking with joy, pulling on Mat's arms and dragging him along. He swooped up Adam and tossed him over his shoulder. Bonnie tugged on his free hand. He set Adam down and, growling fiercely, ran after Bonnie, who screamed with pretend terror.

Well now, wasn't that just the picture of an indulgent daddy bringing his beloveds home after a dinner out? She unlocked the door, gave it a swift kick to unstick it, and went inside.

“It's warm,” Mat said. “You must have gotten the furnace fixed.”

She stared at him. Where had he been for the last three days? In a cave? Here she was, about to be arrested for the horrid murder of the repairman, and he made a comment about how nice it was to have the furnace fixed. If she killed Mat, surely any judge in the land would let her off. “She was just so provoked, Your Honor,” her attorney would say. “Beyond human means and…” She sighed.

When Mat came in, a Little dragging on each hand, she shut the door behind them. She unwound her scarf and hung it over the newel post. “Zach?” She slipped off her coat and draped it over the scarf. “Zach?”

“I'll get these two monsters ready for bed,” Mat said.

“They're perfectly capable,” she said. “Thanks for dinner.”

“I want Daddy to help me,” Bonnie wailed.