A Christmas to Believe In (46 page)

Nicolette laughed. Unfortunately, Louisa was right. A green

thumb was not one of Nicolette's attributes.

"Be right back with your dinner," Nicolette said.

After returning the can to the utility room, she went into

the kitchen where beef stew simmered in the crockpot. She

dished up a bowl and a slice of the cornbread she'd made

from a
Jiffy
mix. In the living room, Louisa still watched her

television show.

"That Doctor Lawrence is one smart cookie," Louisa said

proudly. "They can't pull the wool over his eyes, no siree."

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"That's for sure," Nicolette agreed automatically.

Louisa's worshipful attitude toward Saint Doctor Lawrence

was the same every time she watched him, although the

cliches changed a bit from day to day. Sometimes it was,

"you have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool Dr.

Lawrence," or "that Dr. Lawrence is sharp as a tack," or "Dr.

Lawrence cuts right to the chase, doesn't he?"

Nicolette placed Louisa's meal on the tray in front of her.

Reaching an aged, spotted hand out, Louisa patted Nicolette's

arm. "Thank you. It looks delicious, but you do too much.

You're a godsend, my dear."

Nicolette bent and kissed Louisa's cheek, smelling Jean

Nate on her cool, dry skin. "So are you."

As Nicolette headed back into the kitchen to clean up the

mess, the phone rang.

"Would you get that, dear?" Louisa called.

Nicolette peered at the caller ID. Not a familiar number,

and the name read 'private.' It sent a chill through her. The

private calls she'd received lately had been less than

pleasant. But, this was Louisa's phone, so therefore safe.

"Hello?" Nicolette bent to stick a bowl into the dishwasher

as she spoke.

"Next payment's due Friday."

Nicolette's hand stilled. She swallowed back the fear that

rose to her throat.

The voice was the same robotic, indistinguishable

monotone, but in spite of its vapidity, her stomach lurched

and her heart shot into overdrive. "How did you get this

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number?" she hissed into the receiver, casting a glance at

Louisa, who was thankfully glued adoringly to her hero.

"You mean, how did I get the number for your mother-in-

law, Louisa Jane Morgan, age sixty-three, address 742 Willow

Creek?"

Nicolette's insides quivered as the voice droned the stats

on Louisa. She wouldn't have been surprised if he'd quoted

her bra size. The fear that had her in its grip for the past

three months magnified. Not only was she in danger, Louisa

was, too. Poor, frail, loving Louisa. The bastard better not lay

a finger on her, but what Nicolette would do about it she had

no idea. Obviously, if she could have stopped his sick game,

she'd have done so with that first phone call seven months

after Rudy's death.

"You said ten thousand a month," Nicolette said quietly. "I

gave you a payment two weeks ago. When is this going to

end? I can't keep doing this. I'm not a millionaire."

"I'll let you know when you've paid enough. Until then,

you'd be wise to do as I say. You don't want the people you

love to suffer, do you?"

Nicolette gave a grim smile. Joke was on him. Since Rudy

died, she had very few people in her life she loved. Right off

hand, the only one who came to mind was Louisa.

"I'll have your money," she told the stranger.

"Yes. I'm sure you will."

"Nicolette, sweetie," Louisa called from the living room.

"Who is it?"

"Just a telemarketer," Nicolette answered, hoping her

voice didn't convey her fear.

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"Tell them we're not interested and come back in here.

Doctor Lawrence is about to give this cheating bastard the

what-for."

"I have to go," she said into the phone.

"Tell her I said hello." A creepy chuckle issued from the

receiver. "Hope you don't force me to tell her myself."

Nicolette slammed the handset on the base and drew in

deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves before Louisa saw

her. The woman was shrewd. She'd know something was

wrong.

Not for the first time, Nicolette wondered if she should go

to the police about the blackmailer. There were a few

problems with that, though. For one, the guy had told her—

more than once—that if she went to the cops, he'd kill her, or

someone close to her. For another, the charity Rudy founded,

Renewed Hope, would suffer, probably fold altogether. The

purpose of the charity was to help drug addicts get clean and

give them a new start. If the contributors learned the founder

himself was a drug user, donations would dry up. Once the

police knew about Rudy's drug use, there was no way

Nicolette could keep it from the public, and then her whole

purpose for caving to the blackmail would be defeated.

There were also a few very good reasons to tell the police.

One, maybe they could protect her and Louisa. Maybe they

could find the guy and stop him. Two, if she told the cops her

husband had been involved in drugs, they might investigate

that angle. They might think Rudy's suspicious death was

drug related. They might stop suspecting Nicolette of

murdering him. But then again, maybe not. If Rudy's murder

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had nothing to do with drugs, then all she would accomplish

by revealing his drug use would be to destroy a lot of lives.

"You shouldn't waste your time on those people," Louisa

said. "You're about to miss the best part."

Louisa loved it when Dr. Lawrence ripped cheaters a new

one. Her own husband had been a cheater, and Louisa was

extremely proud Rudy hadn't turned out like his father. She

was proud of his faithfulness as a husband, his giving nature,

his service to the community, and his devotion as a son.

Nicolette agreed her deceased husband had all those

wonderful qualities, and she was proud to have been his wife,

proud to have even known a man as good as Rudy Morgan.

But she hadn't learned until after his death that there were

things about Rudy that she nor his mother had known.

Now, those things were coming around to haunt her and

she'd have to figure out a solution soon. She had to protect

Rudy's memory, his reputation. For the sake of his loving

mother, and all the people who benefited from the charity,

she'd do her best to keep the truth from leaking to the public.

Even if it meant losing everything she owned to a greedy,

sinister blackmailer.

Half a mile from his family home, Hollyfield, Heath saw his

mother's Christmas lights. The closer he drew, the more

details he could make out—bright red bulbs lining the roof,

the wraparound porch, the stair railings. A glow hovered

above the front yard, fallout from the display of Santa in his

sleigh, complete with reindeer. Next to it, but no less

spotlighted, was the life-sized nativity scene. He and his

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brothers had been raised to appreciate both the commercial

and religious aspect of Christmas.

His mother must have heard his Tahoe because he'd no

sooner pulled into the driveway than the front door flew open.

Amidst the still-falling snow, he saw her standing anxiously in

the doorway, the light from behind spilling over her.

He slammed the truck door and crunched up the porch

steps into her waiting embrace, which was only slightly

encumbered by a pair of crutches.

"Heath!" she cried. "I've missed you."

Whether it had been ten months or ten minutes since he'd

seen or spoken to her, it was the same refrain, as if just the

fact that he now lived 360 miles away would initiate her

motherly longing to be near her middle child. But then, she

acted the exact same way with his brothers.

"Hey, Mom. I've missed you, too." They finished the hug,

and he looked down at her cast. "How's the ankle? You in

much pain?"

"Nah." She waved a hand in dismissal. "Just feeling a little

foolish."

"You tripped over cats in the garage. Those things happen.

It's not like you tried sky-diving."

She laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder. "As if! At

my age."

"Nothing you decided to try would surprise me."

She chuckled as she ushered him into the living room

where Alex and Jesse were chatting in front of the fire. Jesse

got up from her seat in the recliner and threw her arms

around Heath's neck, hugging him long and tight.

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When she released him, Alex shook his hand, then pulled

him into a manly, shoulder pound, brother hug. "How's it

going, bro?"

"Not bad. Glad to have the drive over with."

"Yeah. It's a bitch, and I live near the Plaza."

Alex stood a few inches taller than Heath's stocky, 5'11

frame. Where Heath was more of a blue-jeans, country

music, jock type, Alex was sophisticated and refined. Alex

wouldn't be caught dead with his hair looking like Heath's

shaggy mane. Alex's dark hair was styled and clipped short.

Hell, his haircut had probably cost more than everything

Heath wore.

"Hey Mom," Alex said, a devilish glint in his eye. "What do

you say about cutting into that apple pie?"

Heath inwardly cringed.
Apple
pie?

"We'll wait until Clint gets here." She turned to Heath.

"You're chilled to the bone. This ought to warm you up."

Without asking if he wanted it, she handed him a large

mug of steaming cider she'd plucked off a tray. He'd never

had the heart to tell her he hated cider. Hated apples, for that

matter. She'd been forcing the vile beverage and desserts on

him during the holidays ever since he remembered. He'd

suffered through it quietly.

Now that he thought about it, since she'd shared the

earth-shattering news of his father's infidelity, maybe it would

be acceptable for him to share his distaste for apples.

"Drink up, bro. Mom made it especially for you. I'm having

plain old coffee," Alex said, making Heath want to hit him.

"Are you going to the ceremony for Rudy?" Jesse asked.

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"I plan to."

"Expect quite a turn-out," Jesse said. "Around here, Rudy

was second only to Jesus."

Heath smiled. "So, nothing's changed, huh?" He grimaced

as he sipped the cider. "Has anyone talked to Clint?"

"I did a little while ago," Alex said. "He's about an hour

out."

"The three Kings will be reunited once more." Jesse

grinned, raising her coffee cup in a toast. Heath gazed

enviously at the mug, wondering why his mother hadn't given

him coffee, too.

Behind Jesse on the fireplace mantel were four stockings

that had hung there every Christmas for as long as Heath

could remember. One for each of the brothers and one for

Jesse, who'd been like a sister. Would a fifth stocking bearing

the name, Keeley, be added?

They'd each put their own names on the stockings with

glue and glitter when Heath was four or five. Clint's name was

neat and spelled correctly, but then he'd been seven or eight

at the time. The 'E' in Heath was backwards. Alex had always

been the smart one and the letters on his were correct,

although they were out of alignment, with the 'L' sitting

almost on top of the 'A.' Jesse's was only slightly neater. Part

of the glitter on all four had fallen off over the years, but

other than that, they were in pretty good shape.

Amelia lowered herself to the chair next to the hearth and

leaned her crutches on the wall nearby.

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Heath squatted down in front of her and searched her face.

"You gave us quite a scare. Clint and I ripped Alex a new one

when he called
after
the surgery."

"That was my doing. I didn't want to worry you."

"I'm allowed to worry about you, so get used to it." He

kissed her cheek. "I'm just glad you're all right." He rose and

settled into a chair near her and forced another drink of the

cider down his throat. He looked at Alex. "I thought your

fiancee would be here."

"She's out with friends." A scowl marred Alex's forehead,

and he stared into space for a long moment.

Heath waited for Alex to elaborate, but there was nothing

other than that blank stare. "Yo, Alex, where'd you go?"

Alex seemed to snap back. He kept the scowl as he said,

"Nowhere, just thinking."

Whatever his brother was thinking, it didn't seem happy.

"Wedding jitters?"

Alex shrugged. "You could say that. It's a big step. The last

two times didn't work out so well."