The Christmas Thief (9 page)

When her toe kicked a thin, woody branch that had fallen from a tree, she stooped and picked it up, bringing it along for a companion as she walked farther along the meandering road. Up ahead, a metallic green truck sat in front of a lighted yellow house. She slowed. She had seen that truck somewhere before. Her mind zipped through images of the post office, the grocer’s, and the organic fruit stand she pulled into on occasion after work, but she couldn’t place the truck.

And then she remembered. Andy’s girlfriend had appeared one night at the barbecue in a truck similar to this one. At least, the color was similar. She peered at it more closely, taking in the stickers littering the truck’s back window—Country Girl, a pot leaf, and a saucy die-cut sticker of an anatomically flawed stick figure batting her eyelashes. No wonder Marc had steered Andy away from the girl.

With resolve, she kept on walking, gouging the stick into the ground with each step. A few lights from homes to the north appeared in the canyon around the bend, bathing everything in a simmering glow. She breathed in the earthy mix of dense wood air and listened for the rhythmic sounds of the sea that she enjoyed from her small cabin that sat closer to the cliff. Occasionally, a burst of water slamming into rock would reach her ears, but otherwise, the mood on the hill was more quiet and forest-like.

When she rounded the corner that led her back across the front of the mountain, she stopped at the sound of sparring voices. Words like “ogling” and “freezing” and “other woman” pierced the silence. She glanced at the white-painted wood home to her right, its lights blazing. It hung over the edge of the cliff, and as she moved past it, she looked back up the hill to see dormers inset like winking eyes in the sky.

Jim and Helena’s house.

She crept closer and listened in the dark to mangled sentences spoken in harsh tones. Guilt crept through her. What if they knew she was listening to their argument? Or, at least, that she was trying to? Tasha shook her head of curls and blew out a breath, determined to keep what she heard—or what she thought she heard—to herself. She took a step back, forgetting that to get there in the first place she had stepped over a row of river rock lining the home’s perimeter. She stumbled backward, letting out a small cry as she caught herself from falling squarely on her tail bone.

The unmistakable bark of an angry beagle interrupted the peaceful night. A screen door creaked open, then fell shut. As she scrambled to right herself, Tasha caught sight of a figure in the dark. “Somebody out here?” a voice called.

She recognized the voice as Jim’s.

Tasha held up the stick. “Yes, yes. Jim, it’s me—Tasha, from down the hill.”

Jim stood under the porch light, his eyes squinting. “What’re you doing up here in the dark?”

She forced a chuckle and poked the stick back onto the ground. “Just out for a walk. Work was exhausting today, so I thought I’d stretch my legs a bit. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

“No worries. You want a ride home?”

A picture of her car, left next to an abandoned home, flashed through her mind. How awkward was this? “N-no, thanks.” She waved the stick in the air, still forcing that smile. “I’ll be on my way now. Should be home soon.”

She hurried on to the south, past empty lots and a couple of dark cabins. Two vehicles passed her, one a Jeep and the other a Subaru like hers, both continuing up the mountain until their red tail lights disappeared from sight.

She ended up in front of a soaring glass and wood home with a fairy tale garden that elicited a gasp from her. Although winter was nearly upon them, the flora surrounding the house flourished with end of fall blooms—including the roses. No doubt the caretaker of this property was waiting until the bitter end to give those roses the deep pruning they would need to bloom like this again.

Looking down the side of the house, her own cabin appeared in the distance, the twinkling white Christmas lights outlining her roof. She took another look at the elegant home. This was the house directly across from hers? She darted a glance up and down the street. Nothingness surrounded her. Carefully, she padded down the long and narrow side yard until she reached the face of the mountain on which this house hung—and a completely unencumbered view of the cliff on the other side of the canyon and the ocean beyond.

Her mouth formed the word “wow.” She had specifically told her real estate agent that she wanted to live cliff side near the water, which is likely the reason she’d never seen the houses on this mountain up close. But, wow. The view ... the view was spectacular—even in the dark. She imagined it was ten times more magnificent in daylight.

Tasha glanced into the owner’s backyard, aware that just a few minutes ago she had been caught snooping at Jim and Helena’s. Oh, but this backyard! Two thickly padded wrought iron lounge chairs on wheels faced the expanse of canyon, cliff, and sea. If she lived here, she would probably recline out on one of those loungers every night—even if she had to bring a wool blanket with her for protection from the elements.

She pulled her gaze away and found herself staring across the canyon toward her little cabin where something moved near the back door to her home, across the deck. A figure stood under her porch light, and though it was difficult to make out exactly who it was, she knew. It was Marylu. Since her welcome wagon visit, Marylu had called Tasha twice, asking if she could check in on Wolfy for her when she was at work. Finally, Tasha took her up on it. Especially since the days had grown colder and she’d been leaving Wolfy inside more and more. She always left the back door open anyway, so why not? Tasha had wanted to take this little excursion up the hill without anyone noticing, and having Marylu feed her wild beast had given her the excuse she needed to bypass her home after work—and snoop around up here.

Another figure crossed the deck and stepped over the threshold into her house. Tasha blinked. Marc? She bit her lip, squinting into the dark at his unmistakable, towering figure. What did he want? She sighed. Probably interrogating poor Marylu. Unless, of course, he had some other reason to enter her home ...

A low and whiny groan came from somewhere nearby. Tasha froze. Instinctively, she whipped out her phone but noticed she didn’t have service. She bit the inside of her lip and hastily slipped the phone back into her pocket. The whine began to build until it morphed from a subtle groan into a fierce yet guarded bark. A dog jumped down from one of the lounge chairs and scrambled toward her, barking its fluffy white head off.

Courtney!

Tasha bent and tried to soothe the furious animal. “Ssh, Courtney. It’s okay. Ssh.”

The prima donna poodle held her ground a moat’s distance away, groaning and growling like an irate queen. Realizing the animal would not be allowing her to get close, Tasha stood and began to back away. She was halfway back to the street when the poodle released one more “and stay out” bark into the black night and retreated, ostensibly back to her perch on her owner’s backyard lounger.

Minutes later, Tasha reached the car, her heart still beating in her ears. If she’d wanted to simply raise her metabolism after a long day’s work, she’d certainly accomplished that. Tasha slid into the driver’s seat and put her key into the ignition. Truth was, she was looking for something—anything—that would help her figure out who was out to get Marc, and why they had attempted to pin the crimes on her.

She made the slow and windy ride home, past the occasional cabin lit with Christmas lights and whimsical decor. She had put homes with some of the faces she’d met, and she had become introduced to another area of Cottage Grove, but for all the new information she had gained, Tasha realized that she still had more questions than answers.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The roses on her kitchen table exploded from their green-tinged vase. Every rose was dark crimson, open—and ostentatious. A card stuck up above the largest one, as if waving at her and calling out, “Pick me, pick me!”

Tasha set her purse down and slipped out of her boots, sliding them up against the wall. Wolfy wandered over, sniffed her sock feet, sneezed, and rolled himself up next to her boots. Tasha patted his head. “Missed me, eh?”

She pulled the card from the bouquet, curious. Had Marylu found them on the porch and brought them inside? She couldn’t imagine that Marc had given them to her, although she still wondered what had drawn him inside her cabin. Snooping for clues, perhaps? She rubbed her thumb over the place where her name was written on the envelope. The penmanship didn’t look familiar. Then again, it was probably written by a florist clerk. Tasha dropped the unopened card onto the table with a sigh. If her parents or a friend or camp folk had sent her flowers, they would not have been roses—and definitely not red ones.

Her cell phone split the silence, the tune painful in its familiarity.
Since You Been Gone
by Kelly Clarkson. Brutal Lyrics. Perfect to signal that an ex was calling. Thing was ... she’d not actually received a call singing out that ode to a deadbeat ex—until now. The words of the song cut through her mind like a sharp blade. Her stomach tumbled, like she might be sick. She reached out, found herself staring at Roger’s name blazing on her screen like some rogue celebrity, and in a knee-jerk reaction, she turned off the ringer and tossed her phone onto the floor.

Wolfy wandered over, sniffed her phone, then gave her a what’s-this-all-about look.

“Don’t judge!” she said.

Her pooch quirked his head to one side, and when she didn’t reply, he collapsed onto the ground next to her phone, the loose skin above his eyes shifting side to side.

“Fine!” She ignored the phone and instead grabbed the envelope on her table and ripped it open.

Tash -

You were the one and I never knew it. I want you back. Can we put this behind us?

Rog

Really? The card was the size of a business card, so clearly he couldn’t fit much on it, but ... really? She remembered back to the evening she’d called him to discuss last minute reception seating arrangements. “About that ....” He’d begun his farewell speech, over the phone no less. About that? About their wedding? Their marriage? She took another glance at the card. His penmanship, as usual, was perfect. Image had always meant the most to him, and saying things like “I’m sorry I ripped your guts out of your body while breaking your heart ...” was probably not something he’d like to admit on paper.

Tasha collapsed into a chair and rolled her disheveled hair up into a bun, then let go, allowing it to cascade down her back. She cut a wary glance at the flowers. She had to admit—they were gorgeous. Fresh and lovely. She knew that she was allowing her past to color her view. Part of her still wanted to drop them in the garbage pail, but another part wanted to give them a home that would appreciate it.

Decision made, she got up, turned off the light, and padded down the hallway toward bed.

~~~

The next day after work, Tasha drove back home, those ridiculous roses still strapped into the front passenger seat of her small SUV. Three of the baker’s dozen were already drooping hopelessly, a reminder of her engagement to her ex-fiancé—weak and short-lived.

“What’re you doing with those?” Lorena had asked that morning, her face marred with stress lines. Tasha had just arrived and had schlepped the large bouquet up the back steps, thinking they’d brighten up the dreary cafeteria. She had hoped that by now they would have hauled out holiday decor and decked the halls. But they’d been shorthanded, and besides, she’d heard that most of the decorations had turned up moldy after being stored in a leaky closet all year.

“Just a little something to brighten up the cafe,” she said. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Lorena bit her top lip. “You haven’t heard, I guess.”

“Heard what?”

She sighed. “Oh, it’s a mess, really it is. Sit down and I’ll make us some coffee.”

And that was when she learned that Jeremy had run off and married the camp director’s daughter—without anyone’s blessing. He was thirty-two, and she was only eighteen.

She pulled up next to the edge of her property, and released an exhausted sigh. The day had been long, and by the looks of things on her neighbor’s property, the night could be longer. Marc had a full house over there. A fire had already been lit. Next thing you know there’d be the mingling aromas of marinades and marbled meat wafting through the trees.

Before she could turn the key in the lock of her front door, Marc was there to greet her. “Can we talk?”

She glanced at the revelry going on next door. A girl was hanging on Andy’s arm ... the girl with the truck. Tasha eyed Marc, not sure she felt like dealing with anymore drama tonight. She huffed and clicked open her door. “I guess,” she said, as he followed her inside.

Tasha set the flowers back onto the table, along with her keys and bag. She didn’t remove her coat. Instead, she swiveled around to face Marc, her hand leaning on a dining chair. “What did you want to talk about?”

His face filled with concern, his brows lowered. “Are you okay?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You mean about your near accusation the other day?”

He stared at her, recognition lighting his eyes. “I thought you knew that ... surely, you know that I don’t think you’re guilty of any wrongdoing.”