A Semi-Precious Christmas (6 page)

I laughed.

“What?” He rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand.

Being wanted made my toes tingle. “Don't look so sad. There's always tomorrow, right?”

“Actually, no. It's a crazy week.” He flashed me a triumphant look. “But Friday night would work. Remember Mom invited you to dinner?”

“Works for me.”

“Good. Now since we've got that straightened out, I'll take you home, or…back to your uncle's house.”

After a quick peck on my cheek and an even quicker hug, Chris left. It was hard to watch him go, and I was really getting tired of hugs and pecks. That surprised me, but it was a good place to be.

Sure he seemed perfect, but where was he with God? We hadn't had much time to really talk. How was it my heart had jumped in with both feet without knowing that critical detail?

Putting on the brakes was a losing battle. He'd gotten under my skin, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I just hoped he was as good as he seemed to be.

10

I finished fastening Miss Margaret's earrings and slipped into my gold flats. Why was I so nervous? I'd already met his mom, Maggie seemed to like me, and I was confident Chris liked me, too. Maybe it was the fact it had been almost a year since I'd been out on a real date.

Nah. Couldn't be.

If Amee could see me now, she'd snicker at my apprehension.

“Silly, huh, Butterscotch?” I hefted him into the air, his baby fat soft on my fingertips. In the New Year, I'd have to work on portion control. I held him close, kissed the top of his head, and then plopped him back onto my borrowed twin bed at Uncle Marty's. My chunky boy arranged himself in the middle of the comforter and stretched to impossible lengths. He closed one eye and licked a furry toe.

Ginger leapt from the windowsill she'd claimed as her own, leveled me with a glare, and dove under the bed, where she huddled with the tip of her tail sticking out. I had to figure out a way to cure that scaredy-cat-ness. She so wanted to be loved. She just didn't know enough to let her guard down. I vowed to spend more time bringing her out of her self-imposed isolation.

The doorbell rang, and I tripped lightly down the stairs and threw wide the front door. I regretted the extra flourish immediately. An icy cold breeze flew up my dress and I struggled to smooth down the thin skirt. Brrrr. Not a wise move.

Chris covered a smile with his hand and held out a small paper bag. “A gift for milady.”

Milady? Someone had been reading too many Arthurian legends. “For me?”

“Uh, not really, but open it.”

Nestled inside the bag were two pouches of cat treats—one chicken, one salmon. Aww. Thoughtful. And smart. The sure way to get in my good graces was through my furry creatures. “Good guesses. Ginger will love the chicken, and Butterscotch—the big one—will do back flips for a taste of salmon. His mournful stare wears me down more often than not.”

Chris widened his eyes and smirked. “Hmmm.”

It took me a second to see the irony. “I guess it's obvious my chunky kitten gets what he wants, huh?”

“I didn't say a word. Did you see my lips moving?”

“I'll just put these safely in the pantry. Even through the packaging, Butterscotch will sniff them out. I think he's part bloodhound.”

As Chris helped me with my coat, he touched an earring. “Very unusual. They look good on you. But then, you'd make anything you wear look beautiful.”

He certainly was sweet. Genuinely so.

“They were a gift from a friend. Thank you.”

The drive to Chris's mom's house took little time. I'd been warned not to bring any food, much less a hostess gift.

Mrs. Lane greeted me like a long-lost relative and promptly made it clear I was to call her Shelly, no buts about it. She wore a dancing reindeer sweater and matching earrings.

Maggie tiptoed down the staircase in purple slippers, a plastic horse in each hand. “Do you like ponies?” Her pixie face held such hope.

Even if horses scared the daylights out of me, I would have said yes. “Yes, I do like horses. I've been horse-crazy ever since I was a little girl.”

The shyness evaporated. Maggie raced down the last couple of stairs, handed me the bay horse, slipped her hand into mine, and pulled me into the living room. “Good. We can race. You can be Seabiscuit, and I'll be Secretariat.”

“You're on.”

Chris disappeared into the kitchen.

I was alone with the exuberant child. No hardship there. We played for a while and galloped the horses across the carpet. After a bit, she let her horse fall on his side and rested her elbows on her knees. Her sparkling blue eyes locked on mine. “Do you like my daddy? 'Cause he sure likes you.”

Thank goodness Chris wasn't in the room, because a sudden flash of heat flamed my cheeks. How to answer that? “Yes, I think your daddy's a nice man.” Innocuous enough.

“Good.” Apparently, that was all she needed, because she used my momentary distraction to grab Secretariat, surge ahead, and win the race. “I win, I win! Let's do it again.”

Poor Seabiscuit had been left high and dry. He languished in the wretched dust of defeat. He deserved better. I narrowed my eyes and pretended to glare at Maggie. “I want a rematch.”

She giggled and petted her horse's head. “My aunt had a horse farm, but she died, so I don't get to see the horses anymore. She used to let me ride the pony if daddy was with me.”

“I'm sorry, honey. I'm sure you miss her.”

A literal dinner bell rang with a light, silvery tinkle, cutting off any further discussion.

“Dinner is served,” Shelly sang out from the dining room.

We all gathered, and Chris said the blessing. It was a real prayer going straight up to God. A person couldn't pray like that without a real relationship with the Almighty. Something tight loosened in my chest.

We passed the bread and salad around a festive table decorated with a poinsettia-embroidered cloth.

Shelly motioned for my plate and served me a plentiful portion of lasagna, gooey cheese dripping from the edges.

I inhaled the fragrant, saucy scent. “Thank you. Looks delicious.”

Next, Shelly turned up the sleeves of her sweater and swiveled to Chris. “C.J., do you want a piece the same size, or this larger one here in the corner?”

C.J.? Everything burst into focus. “Your name is C.J.?” My mouth dropped open. “You're
C.J.
?”

Chris tilted his head. “Uh-huh. My dad's name was Christopher. C.J. is short for Christopher Junior. Why?”

“Don't tell me your aunt is…was…Margaret Vaughan.”

“…Y-yes. How did you know? Was she a friend of yours?” He stared at me, hard, squinting, piecing it together. “You were at the funeral, weren't you? And you used to read to my Aunt Margaret.” The gears in his mind meshed with a clink. “Peri. You're
Peridot
?”

I don't know why I hadn't seen it before. “Yes. And you're the C.J. she talked about non-stop. Miss Margaret and I often prayed for you and her grandniece.” And we'd even prayed for his marriage, especially after his wife's affair. Miss Margaret and I had frequently prayed for all sorts of things in her nephew's life. We'd rejoiced when her grandniece had been born, although she'd always called her Baby Margaret. We'd cried when C.J.'s marriage had broken up. We'd prayed fervently for his salvation, and I'd shared her joy when he'd accepted Christ only a year ago.

I knew more detailed information on this man than many of the friends I'd known for years.

Shelly started to laugh. “So, you're the ‘jewel' Margaret was so fond of.” She reached over and took my hand in hers. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Maggie stared at her father, then at her grandmother, and then at me. “Did Peri get to ride the horses on the farm, too?”

I gave her a smile and nodded. “Yes, honey, I did. Someday, we'll find more horses to ride, and we can think about the good times you spent with your aunt.”

That seemed to satisfy her. She went back to picking cucumber bits out of her salad.

I glanced over at Chris. His eyes were full of astonishment. This was unreal.

Oh.
What had Miss Margaret shared with him concerning my life? If he knew half as much about me as I did about him…I chewed on the corner of my garlic bread and reached for my glass of water. His gaze softened. I speared a forkful of lasagna. Yep. Still looking at me. A big grin slowly spread across his face. My pulse started to race like the real Seabiscuit rounding the final curve.

Chris brushed my hair away from my face. “Your earrings. No wonder they looked familiar. Aunt Margaret loved you, you know.”

“She was very special to me, too.” Tears swam in my eyes.

Shelly used the tongs to serve herself a large portion of salad, sprinkled on Italian dressing, and waved her fork at me. “How did your parents come to name you Peridot? And your sister. I can't quite remember, but she has an unusual name, too, right?”

“Yes. Her name's Amethyst, but we call her Amee. Uncle Marty and my mother opened Keaton's Jewelers a year before I was born. Mom thought it would be fun to name her daughters after birthstones. Since I was born on August 1
st
, I'm Peridot, although if I'd been born two hours earlier, I'd have been named Ruby. Amee was born in February so she's Amethyst. Dad used to joke that we were both semi-precious.”

That garnered a laugh from the adults and Maggie shrugged. “Do I have a rock, Daddy?”

“I'm sure you do, honey. What's the birthstone for April, Peri?”

“I'm not sure you want to know. It's a diamond.”

Maggie squealed. Obviously, she knew diamonds were special.

I grinned, still processing the revelation of our connection to Miss Margaret, when my phone chimed.

Shelly shook her head in a motherly fashion.

I pulled my phone out and switched the mode to vibrate. With an apologetic smile, I slipped the device back into my purse. The phone shimmied, again…and then again. Somebody was insistent. “Excuse me. I just need to know if it's Uncle Marty.” I wandered into the kitchen. The phone was barely out of my purse when it went off again. “Miralee? What's going on?”

“Peri. Thank goodness, I found you. I was watching Chris's station and could hardly believe it when I saw it.”

“Saw what, Miralee?”

A couple of slow, uneven breaths carried across the line. “OK. Let me start again. Channel Five just ran a piece about a robbery earlier tonight. A man held up a convenience store. He had a mask on so they couldn't see his face on the surveillance camera but a bystander videoed the getaway car. The woman in the front seat was wearing a necklace I'm almost positive was stolen from Keaton's.”

11

Shelly boxed up a large to-go portion of the lasagna before we left.

As Chris and I slipped out the door, I peeped in the bag. A cannoli had found its way into the package. Now that was something to anticipate.

Chris planned to stop by the TV station to pick up a copy of the tape and take it to Locksley.

I'd coaxed a few more facts out of Miralee. She had been watching the news—something she rarely did—at just the right moment.
Thank you, God.
The necklace was definitely Miss Margaret's. Only someone who worked at Keaton's would recognize the platinum chain with rare pearls and flashy spectacle-set diamonds. It was one of a kind.

We hurried into the building. Jennifer waited with a copy of the dubbed recording, but Chris wanted to see it in its entirety. Chris queued the uncut version and we settled down to watch. The person taking the video had been standing at the corner of the building and started filming as soon as the masked thief had walked toward the store.

The camera operator swung his phone back around and included the getaway car. The girl in the passenger seat was clear as day—young, maybe late teens, and she wore a pink sweater, with Mrs. Margaret Vaughan's necklace bought in Europe fifty years earlier.

A necklace I wanted returned in good condition.

Chris enhanced each frame as much as he was able. The result was crisp and clear. When the would-be robber entered the store, the suggestion of fear hitched his steps. Two minutes later, when he waved his gun around the parking lot, he was preening.

Toward the end of the tape, Chris zoomed in close. Long red scratches stood out on the guy's neck. Proof that the man on the tape—just a boy, really—was the same one who'd robbed my house.

Until that moment, I'd harbored a shred of compassion for him, thinking he'd somehow been coerced into helping with the jewel heist. But no more. The boy had learned well from his “mentor,” and he was apparently out to perfect his craft.

On the second pass, Chris zeroed in on the girlfriend's wide, glistening eyes. She was in hip-deep as a full-fledged accomplice.

~*~

Chris and I left the police station in the wee hours.

Locksley had picked my brain clean after berating me for forgetting to mention that the younger man had a girlfriend. I never wanted to see that station again. Coffee as thick as molasses, chairs as hard as flint, and Locksley's office decorated by a hoarder-in-training. He assured me the police were on the job and had hopes of bringing our young thief to justice. But where was Mean-Eyes?

Not having a car was tiresome, and it was my own fault. I put a reminder on my phone to get my locks changed. In the meantime, I needed a rental, unless Uncle Marty would let me use his sedan. I was taking up too much of Chris's time.

By the time he dropped me off at Uncle Marty's, it was well past midnight. I'd texted Miralee and asked her to open the store in the morning. Tomorrow, I planned to sleep, sleep, and sleep some more.

Chris offered to walk me to the door. In fact, he offered to sleep on the sofa. But neither of the robbers knew where I was, and the kitties and I would manage.