The Night Before Christmas, page 8
Her hand slid up his back, gently soothing, gently stroking, gently exploring the ridges of muscle and bone in an effort to comfort this man on whom she was beginning to rely far too much. What kind of lover would he be if she allowed herself to be carried away? Passionate? Playful? Unhurried, she was sure. And dangerously exciting.
She could feel that in the current of awareness that passed between their bodies. Being with Ian would take her to sensual heights she’d never known, but what would be the point?
She’d only end up alone. Dorie needed a father, and Ian with his world-traveler life-style was an unlikely prospect. Laurel didn’t believe in wasting time with brief flings.
The phone rang and Laurel extricated herself from the warm bond of their bodies, feeling a blush come to her cheeks at Ian’s obvious reluctance to let her go. “I’ll get that.” Dorie turned her head briefly at the sound of the first ring, then went back to her program.
Laurel hurried to answer it before the caller hung up. “Hello?”
The voice of her mother-in-law crackled thinly over the wire. “Laurel? I just saw a newsbreak. What’s this about Gertie May having disappeared? I can’t believe it.”
“Unfortunately, it’s true, Barb—”
“Why didn’t you phone me? The news reporter said she’s been missing for more than thirty-six hours. At least Ian is there. It was such a shock to see him. I haven’t seen him since he was a boy.”
Laurel swallowed back her tears. Barbara and Gertie May had been close friends for almost forty years. “I didn’t want to worry you—what with your tests and all. I—I was hoping Gertie May would turn up safe and sound. I still am.”
Barb was silent for a moment, her voice sounding even weaker when she spoke again. “Thank you for trying to spare me, dear. But I want you to promise to keep me informed.”
Informed? Laurel glanced quickly at Ian, who was opening the miniblinds, spilling pale gray light into the room. “I will, Barb. I’m going to have to tell the police about Steve...what happened—”
“What? Laurel, listen to me, don’t do such a foolish thing—” Barb stopped suddenly, gasping for breath.
“Barb? Are you all right?”
“Y-yes. Give...me a minute. Whe-he. Whe-he.” Barb’s breathing sounded so painful as she tried to slow it down with steady indrawn breaths. Laurel clung to the receiver, wishing she could transport herself to Barb’s aid.
“Listen, then, don’t talk. It’s too much of a coincidence.... If the police find out, it could look very bad for me. You know how they think. Don’t worry, okay? Everything’s under control.” Laurel spoke for a few minutes longer, editing her words in case Dorie was listening. When she hung up, she felt even more troubled. Just how ill was Barb?
“Who was that?” Ian asked. His face looked carefully composed, his gaze unreadable. Was this the same man she’d held so intimately a few minutes ago?
“My mother-in-law. She saw you on the news. You gave her a shock.”
Ian nodded grimly. “I thought I’d walk over to the park and check on how the grid search is progressing. Want to come?”
Laurel shook her head and said quietly, “I don’t think it’s any place for Dorie. Especially if...it’s being covered by the TV news cameras.” That wasn’t precisely what she’d intended to say, but it was a suitable substitute. “We’ll be okay here. We have a delivery to make next door at Frederick’s. That should keep Dorie occupied for a while.”
“And her mom, too.” Ian’s fingers brushed the hair off her shoulder and Laurel felt a tingling sensation radiate down her shoulder to her arm. “Just don’t jump up and offer to wash the dishes—you don’t want to insult the old guy.”
Laurel frowned. “Hey, I don’t—you’re not insinuating something with that remark, are you?”
Ian laughed dryly, then his eyes grew serious again. “No, just sometimes when your heart’s breaking you’ve got to laugh at something to ease the pain. At least, that’s my way. You clean. I laugh.”
Laurel folded her arms across her chest to keep from touching him again. Why did she feel so drawn to him? He didn’t trust her farther than he could throw her, and yet there was something tangible between them. Was it because her heart was breaking, too? She wet her lips, saying the first thing that came to mind. “I’m sure Dorie would be happy to lend you a Sesame Street bandage to mend your broken heart. If you think it would help...”
“What good’s a bandage without a kiss?”
His question was so provocative. Her gaze flew reflexively to his mouth, which seemed just a few scant inches from her own. Was he thinking of kissing her? Her face grew hot with embarrassment—and shame. No, he couldn’t! She couldn’t—not under these circumstances.
To Laurel’s intense relief, Dorie chose that moment to interrupt them. She looked down to see Dorie tugging on Ian’s arm.
“You have to come in the bathroom if you need a bandage. I’m too little to reach. Which do you like, Big Bird or Cookie Monster?”
Ian chuckled. “You choose for me, sprite. You’re the doctor.”
After Ian had gone with Big Bird stuck to his shirt, Laurel reminded Dorie that they had a tea party and a present awaiting them at the Aameses’. “Why don’t you get the presents you made for Frederick and Anna?”
“Okay, but don’t look, Mommy.” Dorie sped across the room into a little nook beneath the basement stairs that was just big enough for a child’s play kitchen and a miniature chair. Dorie called it her “mouse hole.” Dorie tugged the kitchen out of the hole and opened a small access door to a storage area underneath the lower portion of the stairs. “I’ve got the presents, Mommy.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Five minutes later they were ringing Frederick’s doorbell.
“Who’s this? One of Santa’s elves, I’m sure,” Frederick exclaimed, opening the door. His face looked grave as his eyes met Laurel’s, but he kept his voice cheery for Dorie’s sake.
Dorie giggled. “Merry Christmas! I brought presents.”
“My goodness! I was just about to make some tea. Are you in the mood for a tea party?”
“Yes!” Dorie exclaimed.
“Laurel?”
Laurel blessed him for his tact, her jaw tightening as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. “That would be fine, but we won’t stay long.”
“I understand. Come in. Let me help you with your coats. Leave your boots by the door. That’s nice. Dorie, Anna’s in the living room by the Christmas tree. Why don’t you go in and say hello?”
Laurel bent down to pick up Dorie’s tuque, which had been abandoned on the floor. She could hear Dorie singing to Anna in the other room.
“I saw the noon news. I suppose there’s no word yet on Gertie May?” Frederick inquired hopefully, slipping his wiry arm around Laurel.
“No.”
“Do the police have any leads?”
“None that they’re sharing.”
“Well, Gertie May’s a strong woman. I’m sure she’ll be back with us soon.”
“I hope so.”
Frederick gave Laurel a supportive hug. “The water’s probably whistling in the kettle. I’ll go check. Sit down and make yourself comfortable.”
“Did you like my new ring-around-the-rosy song, Anna?” Dorie asked, twirling around. “Gertie May taught it to me.”
Laurel chose a lumpy wing chair by Frederick’s cheerful fire, discovering as she adjusted a cushion to ease the lumpiness that one of the lumps was a stack of bills secured in an elastic band. She quickly shoved the stack further into the crack behind the cushion. She didn’t want Frederick to think she was prying into his personal affairs.
Anna was apparently more interested in the animal figures on the bright wrapping paper than in Dorie’s song. She bent her dark gray head over Dorie’s honey-colored one. “Look, my little sister has given me a lovely Christmas present. I don’t know where my other presents are, especially the doll Papa gave me.”
“I’m sure it’ll turn up,” Laurel replied, forcing a smile. Anna’s green eyes were dull and doubtful as she pulled a tissue from a box on the coffee table and blew her nose. “Papa says I have a cold.”
“You do look ill. Did you have a nice sleep last night? That’s the best thing when you’re sick. Soon you’ll be up and around and playing with your doll again.”
“What doll?” Anna frowned.
From experience, Laurel knew better than to pursue the subject of the doll. “Here’s Frederick with the tea tray. Now that we’re all here, Anna, perhaps you’d like to open your present?”
Laurel didn’t know how Frederick could live with this day in, day out. Though she knew sometimes he and Anna had quite lucid conversations about the past. The fact that he cared for his wife so dutifully spoke highly of his love for her. It was the kind of love Laurel wanted in her own life. Everlasting. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. A shared life, without secrets. Certainly not what she’d had with Steve. Frederick handed her a steaming cup of herb tea.
Anna tore open her package with a hoarse cry of pleasure. “Oh, pretty soaps. Thank you!”
“Smell them.” Dorie held one to Anna’s nose. “It smells like flowers.”
“I love flowers. Papa grows the most beautiful flowers in the garden. Don’t you, Papa?”
“Yes, Anna. I grow them just for you. Sweet peas and roses and English daisies. Here’s your tea, now.” Frederick placed a dainty china cup and saucer on the coffee table.
“Now, Frederick’s turn,” Dorie announced, enjoying her role as gift giver. Frederick sat down on the sofa and undid Dorie’s lovingly wrapped package with shaking hands.
“What a fine bird feeder.” He extracted the lid of an egg carton smeared with peanut butter and birdseed from a plastic bag covered with Christmas wrap. “Did you make this, Dorie?”
“Uh-huh. Gertie May told me how.” The corners of Dorie’s mouth turned downward.
Laurel swallowed hard, watching them.
“You did a good job. Thank you very much.” Frederick kissed Dorie, and Laurel thought she saw a bit of extra moisture in the elderly man’s eyes. “I’ll find a nice safe place to hang it so our feathered friends can have a birdseed snack without worrying about the Thompsons’ cat. Here’s our gift to you.”
Dorie brightened immediately and wasted no time in opening her present—a storybook on gardening. Although Laurel knew Frederick was probably thinking about Gertie May, too, the tea party proceeded on an almost merry note until Anna dipped one of her fancy soaps in her tea and bit into it, thinking it was a cookie. With a quiet grumble, Frederick went into the kitchen and came back with another teacup and a damp washcloth to remove the taste of soap from his wife’s mouth. Neither helped, and Anna made such a fuss that she was soon coughing uncontrollably.
Laurel touched Frederick’s shoulder. “I’ll take Dorie home now, so you can get Anna settled.”
“Yes, that would probably be best.” Frederick sighed. “I’m sorry this happened.”
“There’s no need to be. We had a lovely time. At least it’s distracted Dorie from what’s happening around her. I’ll let you know if there’s any news about Gertie May.”
Laurel hurried Dorie along. As they stepped outside the warmth and commotion of the Aameses’ house, the coldness of reality seeped into her bones. It was still Christmas Day. Gertie May was still missing.
Laurel glanced anxiously at the sky where the faint yellow tinge of the sun was nearly obscured by a rumpled blanket of gray clouds that promised another dump of snow soon. Would Gertie May be found by then?
Maybe she’d just put Dorie in the sled and do a tour around the neighborhood.
* * *
IAN SURVEYED the desolate solemnity of Panorama Park from the front seat of a police car. The parking lot was jammed with police and volunteer vehicles, and news vans. The sweeping expanses of the picnic area had been churned into a brown, crusty mess by the diligent searchers. Only the branches of the towering evergreens curving downward in frosty arcs remained unsoiled. Would this be Aunt Gem’s final resting place?
Why was it taking so long?
A crowd of people had gathered around a fire someone had lit in a garbage can, waiting for news of the search. Ian recognized a few of his aunt’s friends. It was nice of them to show up—especially on Christmas Day. Among them was a woman wearing a drab olive coat and purple felt hat; she resembled Janet Smithe. But the distance was too far to be absolutely certain. Perhaps the wasp was losing some of her sting.
Ian turned his head at a tap on the window. Constable Rafferty opened the driver’s-side door and slid inside. His face was reddened from the cold around the big, gray-streaked mustache.
Ian’s stomach froze into a slab of stone. “Well?”
“The search was negative, Mr. Harris.” Rafferty flexed his gloved fingers on the steering wheel.
Thank God. Ian closed his eyes for an instant, letting it all sink in, allowing hope to flourish anew in his chest. In this instance, no news was good news. But the constable’s cautious demeanor told him it still looked bad. “What next?” he asked after a pause, keeping his tone equally cautious.
“The investigation is ongoing. We’ll spread the search out over the surrounding terrain tomorrow, and the next day, if necessary. We should also be hearing back from the forensics lab soon. Go home. Get some rest. We’ll be in touch.”
Home. Ian was acutely aware of the fact that he didn’t have a home. Especially with Aunt Gem missing. That he might never have a home. Why did it suddenly seem so important?
Snowflakes began to sift down from the sky, melting into the silvery waters of the cove as he walked back to his aunt’s house. The tuque and gloves he’d pulled from a box in Aunt Gem’s basement allowed him to take his time, to plan a strategy for dealing with the police—and Laurel. The imprint of her sweetly feminine body pressed against his was indelible in his memory, disturbing him even now.
Logic told him she had to be involved in Aunt Gem’s disappearance. There were too many coincidences. But yet there was a part of him that wanted to believe her. That part had to do with Dorie. Laurel was a good mother to her daughter—warm, loving, fiercely protective—and on that basis alone, Ian wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe in someone who could give her child such selfless, unconditional love. It also occurred to him that just such a mother would kill to protect her daughter.
If only he could shake the feeling that Laurel was still hiding something from him.
Ian exhaled a deep, frustrated breath that misted his glasses as he limped down Aunt Gem’s salt-sprinkled front walk. To make matters worse, he couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Laurel; and the way she’d held him this morning suggested she was attracted to him, too. Ian pulled up short on the veranda. Maybe the means of getting the truth out of Laurel was staring him right in the face—he’d seduce it out of her.
Chapter Six
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Ian asked Laurel when she emerged into the kitchen from the basement stairs, looking tired and flustered. “There’s red or white in the fridge.” He suddenly felt guilty for planning to seduce her. Wisps of hair escaped the confines of her ponytail and framed her pale, oval face. She’d hardly touched her dinner.
“White, please.”
He poured her a glass and she took a sip. “Ah, just what I needed to take the edge off.” She gave him a sidelong glance and looked away quickly, saying with a deep sigh, “Dorie was hard to settle. Gertie May’s absence is sinking in.” She took another drink, nearly draining her glass.
Ian clasped the wine bottle and an empty glass in one hand and picked up a plate of cheese and crackers in the other. “Let’s go sit in the living room. We need to talk.”
“No.” Laurel cleared her throat nervously. “I mean, I’d rather not. How about my sitting room? The guests have their own keys. We’ll know when they come in.”
“Fine.” He looked at her closely. What was she so nervous about? Talking to him? Or being alone with him? He followed her downstairs, silently appreciating the fact that she looked great in jeans. Nicely rounded hips, slender legs. He remembered all too vividly those legs in the sexy, black stockings she’d worn beneath the black leather skirt the other night. He wanted to pull the pink elastic band that matched her sweater out of her hair and see it fall softly around her shoulders. Why did women grow their hair long and then put it in ponytails so you couldn’t see it—or touch it?
Laurel flipped the switch for the overhead fixture, flooding the area with light. “How’s this?” She stepped hesitantly toward the seating area, choosing to sit on the larger couch.
“Great, if you like inquisitions.” He had something more subtle in mind. Ian set the food and the wine on the wicker coffee table, then leaned past her to turn on the table lamp before retracing his steps to the wall switch. She watched him warily over the rim of her wineglass as he turned off the overhead light. The large room suddenly grew more intimate.
Ian suddenly felt uncharacteristically uneasy.
“Oh.” She shifted on the couch, moving away from him as he sat down beside her.
But he was still close enough to remain vitally aware of her sweet-scented warmth and the change in the rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing rate increased. He realized with a jolt that seducing her would require very little acting on his part.
Ian poured himself some wine and refilled her glass. Her hand trembled on the stem of the inexpensive crystal. “What did you want to talk about, Ian?” Her voice was distinctly steadier than her hand.
He leaned back against the comfortable cushions, hoping she’d do the same. “Frederick told me he saw a short male on the front porch the day Aunt Gem disappeared, but he couldn’t give me much of a description.”
“Do you think this person could have kidnapped Gertie May?” Laurel asked incredulously.
“It’s possible. My gut feeling is, if we’re dealing with a kidnapping, then a ransom note will be delivered shortly in the form of one of those Christmas cards. In which case—” He broke off abruptly, searching her face.
