The Night Before Christmas, page 7
“Oh, my God!”
“There’s more.
“Rafferty would like to call in the media. Have some TV cameras brought in here and broadcast Aunt Gem’s picture on the news. To see if anyone’s seen or heard anything. It might provide the police with some viable leads.”
The media. Laurel’s stomach tightened reflexively. “Oh, Ian, I can’t.”
The anger crept back into his voice. “I thought you said my aunt was your best friend?”
She felt as though the police and Ian had slipped a noose around her neck and were drawing the rope tighter. “She is! But what if they show me on the news? Someone could see it in Nelson, and then my past will all come out. There’ll be no stopping it. We’ll lose our chance to find out what’s really happened to Gertie May.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way.” He put his hands on her shoulders. The warm, even pressure of his touch steadied her, pulling her back from the fringes of panic. His irises, she noticed, licking her dry lips, were like a fine gray tweed blended with flecks of gold and green. Why had she only thought him ordinary? He had good bone structure.
With trembling fingers, she touched his cheek. “Could you do the interview?” His skin was warm against the icy coolness of her fingers. His gold-flecked eyebrows rose in surprise as an undercurrent of heat flickered in his eyes, igniting an answering flame in her belly. Then his eyes cooled again to the fine tweed. Noncommittal, again. Yes, she thought now, there was a quiet handsomeness about him. Ian Harris didn’t make waves, he moved with the undercurrents.
He was a secretive man with a secret life. Maybe he had his own reasons for not wanting to appear on television.
“Of course,” he said after a long moment had passed. “But maybe it’s time you faced up to the fact that sooner or later your past will come out. And it may not be up to you to decide when.”
His comment sounded like a warning.
* * *
IAN AWOKE from a deep sleep, his heart thudding at an accelerated pace. Where was he? Moonlight spilled through the window, making a parallelogram of ghostly white on the familiar patchwork coverlet. Then he remembered. Aunt Gem. Laurel. He remembered Laurel coming up to say good-night, her damp hair curling on the shoulders of her red robe and smelling fragrant as sweet peas. He still didn’t trust her, but every second he spent with her seemed to pull him deeper into the web of her troubles.
Cold air whispered around his bare chest as he sat up in bed, listening. Something must have awoken him. A noise? He strained his ears. Beyond the rhythmic ticking of the travel clock on his bedside table, and the odd creak of the house settling, he heard a faint scraping sound. Then silence.
Ian checked the time: 3:00 a.m. He’d been asleep for almost six hours. Why was someone roaming around the house at this hour?
He reached for his clothes and dressed quickly in the dark, then eased his door open, squinting against the glare of the hall light. The other doors in the hallway were closed. Barefoot, Ian quietly moved to the stairs and descended slowly, keeping close to the wall. The downstairs hall light was off and he stepped into a pocket of shadows. From somewhere in the back of the house he heard a small noise. Was someone fixing a late-night snack? He peered into the living room and dining room, but the rooms were soaked with darkness. The kitchen, too, was still and dark, a yawning blackness at the far end of the hall.
He inched down the hallway until the scrape of a drawer opening made him pause in midstep. The sound came from the alcove, just ahead of him, to the left. He waited for a moment, listening to the movements of paper being shuffled. Aunt Gem used the alcove as an office. Was Laurel doing paperwork this late? Or hiding paperwork? Another faint creak echoed down the hallway...a drawer was being closed.
Ian cautiously approached the arched opening. A faint pool of light, probably from the desk lamp, lapped the darkness of the hallway. The lamp suddenly switched off. Ian molded himself against the wall and froze. His ears strained to hear the faintest sound as he waited to pounce on whoever was rummaging through his aunt’s desk.
He didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds later he heard the rustle of clothing rubbing together. He could sense another person in the hallway, coming closer. Closer...
Ian reached out, entrapping his unsuspecting target’s neck in a viselike grip that had no mercy for screams. The person struggled against him as Ian dragged his quarry back inside the alcove and hit the light switch.
“Miss Smithe. I was expecting Santa,” he said in a deadly tone, without the slightest trace of amusement. Reluctantly he let her go. She slumped against the wall, her hands tentatively exploring her throat for bruises. She was dressed in a long, purplish nightgown. “Would you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing wandering around here in the dark?”
“You know, you’re an awfully big boy to believe in Santa Claus,” she whispered faintly. Her eyes traveled suggestively from his face to the waistband of his jeans. He hadn’t bothered to button his shirt.
Ian took a threatening step toward her. “Answer the question.”
Janet pursed her lips and ran her fingers in a sensuous trail from the base of her throat through the valley of her tiny breasts, and on down to the curve of her hip. “I couldn’t sleep. I remembered there were some books on the shelves in here, so I thought I’d borrow one.” She glanced toward the desk. “I was going to leave Mrs. Bishop a note. I was looking for some notepaper in the drawer—I didn’t think she’d mind.”
Ian followed her gaze to the rows of bookshelves suspended above the desk, not quite believing her. “Where’s your book?”
She sashayed into the hall where she retrieved a paperback from the floor. “I must have dropped it when you attacked me. That wasn’t terribly hospitable of you, but it was wildly exciting foreplay.”
Ian met her statement with stony silence. He found her and her cloying cheap perfume repulsive. Why did Aunt Gem let these weirdos into her home?
Janet shrugged her shoulders. “I picked out one of those glitzy novels filled with sex and lies. It’s the next best thing to the real thing. Merry Christmas, Mr. Harris.” With a throaty laugh, she disappeared into the darkness at the end of the hall.
Shaking his head, Ian examined the desk and checked inside the drawers. There was nothing he could see that would capture Miss Smithe’s interest. No money or bankbooks. Just the guest registry, a few files with bills tucked neatly inside, some tourist brochures and maps, a pile of photocopies secured with a rubber band, and postage stamps. Nothing too interesting or worth harming an affable elderly lady over. So why, then, did the lingering scent of Janet Smithe’s cheap perfume still disturb him?
Ian sighed and headed for the basement. Since he was up, he planned to do some middle-of-the-night investigating of his own.
Chapter Five
When Ian peered into her sleeping cubicle, Laurel was all curled up in that feminine way women have of sleeping. He checked on Dorie, too. The stuffed playmate she had clasped against her chest brought a smile to his lips. Pink bunnies were definitely not allowed at the boarding school he’d attended.
Moving silently, Ian turned on a table lamp in the sitting area and began a tour of the room, looking for clues to Laurel’s past. There was a cluster of photographs on the wall he hadn’t noticed before. One of a middle-aged couple, with matching stern expressions. Her parents, probably. A baby picture of Dorie. And a wedding photo of Laurel and Steve. He removed the photo from the wall and carried it closer to the light to examine Laurel’s radiant smile, the baby’s breath tucked in her hair, and the virginal white gown. She looked young. Eighteen. Nineteen, maybe. Her groom not much older, wearing a navy suit. Steve had the build of a high school athlete and what Ian called “persuasive good looks”—dark hair, clear blue eyes and a dimple in his chin. The kind of guy you couldn’t say no to. A born salesman.
Ian put the photo back. There was a shelving unit with a desk area piled with business course books. He opened a filing cabinet drawer. It didn’t take him long to find the ledger and Laurel’s bank records. He sat down at the desk and started to read.
By the time he’d scanned the last page in the ledger, he was ready to throttle Steve. What kind of husband and father left his wife and daughter thirty-five thousand dollars in debt? Here was Laurel diligently cleaning up her husband’s mess, steadily paying off the accumulation of bills. And doing a fine job of it, too. The tiny balance in both her checking and savings accounts was a testament to her thrifty management. Of course, it helped that Aunt Gem wasn’t charging her rent.
Ian made a list of the creditors and tucked it into his back pocket. He’d hire a private investigator to check them out. Make sure they were legitimate businesses. If Laurel paid them off with checks it could explain how this anonymous card sender had located her. Ian carefully put everything away. Then he went to check that Laurel was still asleep.
* * *
LAUREL LAY still in her bed with her eyes closed. Her heart thundered so loudly in her chest that she felt sure Ian could hear it from where he stood near the foot of her bed. She thanked God Ian hadn’t caught her peering around the partition at him. What was he doing searching through her belongings? The fact that he obviously didn’t trust her worried her. What would he do when he found out she hadn’t told him the whole truth?
Laurel didn’t relax until she heard the familiar sound of wood squeaking as Ian tread on the third step from the bottom of the basement stairs. He’d obviously finished for the night.
* * *
“STOP FUSSING and have some breakfast,” Ian grumbled at Laurel from the kitchen table the next morning. “The Boudreaults have gone out and Miss Smithe will probably sleep till noon, so you might as well sit down and join us.”
“I’m not hungry,” Laurel said sharply as she put the mixing bowl to soak in the sink. Anxiety frayed her nerves. How could she eat? It was Christmas Day and Gertie May wasn’t here to feast on her famous waffles. Please be okay, Gertie May, she prayed silently, looking through the window at the chilly winterscape. Wherever you are, whatever’s happened. Please, come back to us.
Ian came up behind her, and Laurel started. “Nervous about the media interview?” he asked, refilling his coffee cup.
She didn’t like the hint of censure in his tone. She flicked her eyes over him. He’d pulled on the same jeans from yesterday and a gray sweatshirt that made his eyes appear a darker gray, or was it worry about his aunt that darkened his eyes so? Laurel sighed. She couldn’t blame him for his suspicions.
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle the interview. You just stay out of sight downstairs with Dorie. I’ll say you’re too upset to go on camera if the reporter asks about you. Whatever you do, don’t come out until I tell you the coast is clear. You never know what these media types will do to get a story. Rafferty said four stations would show up.”
She turned to face him, sensing an introspective wariness stealing over him. The upcoming ordeal with the TV cameras didn’t seem like such a threat with Ian in charge. “Thanks, Ian. I’m glad you’re here.”
Deep down, she knew he could help her. He was the kind of man you could rely on in an emergency. If only she could get him to hold off going to the police for a few more days. Gertie May was sure to turn up....
“Mommy, is Gertie May coming home today?” Dorie asked, cuddling the doll Santa had left for her under the Christmas tree. Santa had responded to her note just as Laurel had promised.
“I hope so, sweetie,” Laurel said quietly. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“I miss Gertie May, Mommy.” Dorie’s eyes glistened with tears.
Laurel went to give her a hug, trying not to cry herself. “Me, too, sweetie. Me, too.”
Ian cleared his throat. “Me, three. But it seems to me there’s too much talking going on here and not enough eating.” He pointed at Laurel’s vacant chair. “Sit, lady. Eat.”
“Yes, sir.” Laurel sat down promptly as ordered.
Dorie giggled and hopped out of her chair. “My turn, my turn,” she chanted. “Do it to me, Ian.”
Laurel suppressed a smile as Ian made a great show out of ordering Dorie to eat, his expression parentally stern. If only Gertie May were here to see this...Laurel thought sadly. How many times had Gertie May lamented that her nephew would never settle down and give her a great-niece or great-nephew to spoil? Good gracious, she’d even have welcomed an illegitimate great-child.
Laurel choked down three bites of waffle, then pushed her plate away and muttered an excuse about cleaning the kitchen before the reporters arrived. “What sort of advertisement for Harris House would that be?” she demanded when Ian raised his eyebrows at her questioningly.
Advertisement, indeed. Laurel scrubbed hard at the countertop, wishing she could cleanse the pain from her heart just as easily. When an elderly woman inexplicably went missing, nobody cared about the state of her kitchen. The sound of the doorbell jarred her from her thoughts, causing her to drop the dishrag on the floor. Cursing softly, she bent to retrieve it, hating her nervous clumsiness. The reporters were here. What if they already knew about her past?
Ian took the dishrag from her and tossed it into the sink, his lips pressed into a tight line. The doorbell pealed again, but he seemed in no hurry to answer it. Instead he lifted her chin a fraction of an inch with his forefinger, his eyes lingering on her mouth and chin. Laurel could feel the emotional struggle going on beneath his still features. A tiny shudder passed through her. She had no idea what he was thinking.
“That’s better. That’s the lady who clobbered me the other night,” he said brusquely. Then, to her astonishment, he dropped a surprisingly gentle kiss on her forehead.
Laurel shook her head, overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of that kiss and the doubts that crowded her mind. Had the search he’d conducted of her belongings last night convinced him she was telling the truth? Oh, God, she needed him to believe in her innocence! “This feels like running away again, Ian, like I’m caught in a loop I can’t get out of....”
The doorbell rang a third time, an insistent knock accompanying it.
“You’re not running away this time...we’re waiting another twenty-four hours to see if another card shows up with a ransom demand. Then we’ll tell the police everything.”
So, he was going to hold her to her promise! Twenty-four hours was all she had left before her life fell apart completely. Did he think that little kiss would sway her toward his way of thinking?
She backed away from him, not trusting herself to speak, and lifted Dorie from the kitchen chair. Her heart wrenched as Dorie’s legs curled around her waist. She’s still a baby.
The basement felt as gloomy as the leaden gray clouds Laurel saw clinging to the mountains across the cove when she closed the miniblinds. The only bright spot in the darkened room was Dorie’s laughter at Cookie Monster devouring a dump truck on “Sesame Street.” No wonder Cookie Monster doesn’t have any teeth, Laurel thought, rolling her eyes. What was going on upstairs? The interviews should be done by now. Two hours of her precious last twenty-four had passed....
How long was Ian going to make her wait? She could be out scouring the neighborhood for clues the police might have missed. And what about the grid search the police were conducting in Panorama Park? Had they found anything? She could imagine the dogs and police officers poking through snow-encrusted layers of decaying maple leaves and brown, withered salmonberry thickets for Gertie May’s body. If Steve’s murder wasn’t still haunting her, she could be searching the park for Gertie May herself.
God, her stomach felt like cement was hardening it by degrees. Laurel prowled restlessly around the room, plucking real and imaginary cracker crumbs from the carpet. When she couldn’t stand waiting any longer, she parted the miniblinds a crack, but the sight of a TV news van in the driveway made her jump back from the window. This was making her crazy. She’d be climbing the walls soon.
The ceiling suddenly rumbled overhead with the steady tread of footsteps and Laurel gazed at it expectantly. Was the last news crew leaving? Her fingers balled into fists and she prayed that the publicity would help solve the mystery of Gertie May’s disappearance. At least, thanks to Ian, she had been spared the possibility of being recognized through the media.
Ian. That kiss.
Would he really force her to go to the police?
Laurel looked at Dorie, her eyes stinging with tears that she was too stubborn to acknowledge. They’d never spent more than a day apart since her birth.... But Laurel knew she’d do whatever she had to for Gertie May’s sake. Even if it meant going to the police and ending up in jail.
Laurel pushed her dark thoughts of grueling police interrogations aside and concentrated instead on the image of Ian’s face. She was going to think positive thoughts. She and Dorie would be just fine. Gertie May and Ian were going to have a wonderful Christmas reunion.
Perhaps because she had been thinking of Ian, he suddenly appeared in front of her. She hadn’t heard him enter. Although the room was shadowed, she knew it was him—blending what she could actually see with the reality in her mind.
“It went okay. It’ll be on the news, ‘round the clock. Maybe we’ll hear something...” His broad shoulders seemed to have lost their confident thrust, as though in the darkness he felt it safe to let down his guard. Laurel felt something releasing inside her, slipping away, and she reached out her arms to him.... Now was her turn to offer comfort.
Ian came, a harsh groan escaping from deep in his chest as he buried his face in her hair.
“Oh, Ian...” Laurel welcomed the tense hardness of his body into the soft curves of her own, admitting to herself that she was attracted to him. Dorie was too intent on Oscar the Grouch’s antics to notice that Ian had come in. Her back was to them. Laurel closed her eyes and held on tight, reacquainting herself with the stirring of sensations that holding a man could evoke. There had been no one special in her life since Steve.
