Take Me Home for Christmas

“Why did I warn you? From what I’ve seen, you’re the one who loves Alexa best.”

She blinked rapidly to stem the tears. “How can you tell?”

“I have a kid of my own,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Just hang in there. If you really didn’t know what your husband was doing, you’re the biggest victim of all. What happened isn’t fair, but you have to stay sober or you’ll lose the only thing you’ve got left and the one thing that matters most to you.”

“Thanks.” She watched him stride to his car, feeling shocked that he’d try to help her—and hurt that a complete stranger would show more compassion than her in-laws.

7

Ted sat in front of his computer and read what he’d just written, then proceeded to edit it. Nothing he wrote seemed any good today; he couldn’t concentrate.

Shifting restlessly in his chair, he tried to devise a more believable method of getting his protagonist out of the building that contained the bomb. But every idea he came up with seemed so...contrived. It’d all been done before and, in his current frame of mind, he was pretty sure it had been done better. Hot Pursuit was turning out to be his weakest book—and yet he’d loved the premise when he first started the story a month ago.

What was wrong with him?

His cell phone rang, but he didn’t bother to get up and find it. He didn’t answer calls during the day. Refusing to be distracted was the only way he could finish his page quota and have any hope of meeting his deadlines. But someone had been trying to get through to him for the past hour. And after what Kyle and Callie had said at Black Gold Coffee last week about the possibility of Sophia DeBussi applying to be his housekeeper, he was afraid of who it might be. She had to do something to support herself and her daughter, didn’t she? What else could she do except go after any menial job that might be available? In high school, she’d partied so much she’d barely graduated. She had no college credits, no work experience.

He supposed she could model. She was pretty enough. But she couldn’t do that here in Whiskey Creek. And if her situation was as dire as he suspected from all the news reports, she wouldn’t have a car—at least not for long. She wouldn’t even have a house once the bank foreclosed.

Pushing away from his desk, he got up to stretch his legs, spotted his cell on a side table and scooped it up. The call he’d missed had come from his agent. Damn. He should’ve taken that one. But he’d deal with Jan Andersen in a minute; he had another call to make first. He’d limped along without any domestic help for the past ten years, since he started writing. He figured he could manage for a few more months, until whatever was going to happen to Sophia DeBussi happened, and he could interview applicants without fear that she might knock on his door.

Ed down at the Gold Country Gazette answered on the first ring. “What can I do for you, Ted?” he asked.

Caller ID, no doubt. “I’d like to cancel my ad.”

“But it hasn’t even run yet.”

So far, he’d posted on Craigslist, but hadn’t received much interest. A woman named Marta, who’d actually used Sophia as a reference, had applied; however she had a slew of other clients and couldn’t focus strictly on him. Besides, she didn’t cook, and she didn’t know how to use a computer. He wanted someone who would act as maid, cook and secretary. An all-in-one assistant wouldn’t be easy to find, especially since he didn’t have time to sift through applications. So it wasn’t just that he was afraid Sophia might apply for the job, he told himself. Delaying the process meshed better with his schedule.

“I’m aware of that,” he said. “I’m planning to hold off until after the holidays.”

“But the holidays are the busiest.”

“I don’t have time to interview, Ed. And I don’t have time to train anyone. Just yank the ad, okay?”

“Does that mean you’re pulling it from Craigslist, too?”

“Of course.” He was walking to his computer to do that this very second.

“I’ll take care of it. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Another call was coming in. Ted said goodbye and switched over. He wasn’t getting any writing done, anyway. “Hello?”

“Ted?”

It was his mother, Rayma, who’d raised him as a single parent after his father left them for his female law partner. He and his mother had moved to Whiskey Creek from affluent Atherton, south of San Francisco, when he was three years old and she was offered the position of vice-principal at the elementary school. She was principal now, and had been for twenty years, but recently she’d been talking about retiring and moving back to the Bay Area to be closer to her mother and sisters.

“What’s up, Mom?”

“Rough day,” she said. “Since when do sixth-grade students bring guns to school?”

“A twelve-year-old showed up with a gun?”

“The nephew of those trashy people in the river bottoms. Carl Inera and his clan.”

“Drugs have a lot to do with Carl’s situation.”

“Chief Stacy said the same thing.”

“So...what? Are you planning to retire even earlier than we talked about?”

“No. Nothing’s changed there.”

“Something’s different. You don’t normally call me while you’re at work.”

“Mrs. Vaughn over at the middle school wanted me to hit you up for a donation.”

“For what? You usually reserve my resources for your own school.”

“She’s aware of how much you’ve done here and hoped you might see your way clear to helping over there, too.”

“What do they need?”

“They’re raising funds for a new gymnasium.”

How could he say no? The school system had provided the job that’d enabled his mother to make a living and provide for him. And with the way schools were hurting these days, he helped out whenever he could.

“How much?” he asked.

“Could you do $10,000?”

“That’s not exactly pocket change, Mom.”

“Is it too much?”

He considered his bank account; he could afford it. “No, I’ll do it.”

“I’m proud of the man you’ve become, of your accomplishments. I hope you know that.”

He smiled. “What are you talking about? You don’t even like my books.”

“All that murder...it’s too graphic for me, but I can appreciate your talent.”

“I’m glad. Because I’m proud of you, too,” he said, and it was true.

“Have you seen Sophia since the funeral?”

He’d been heading to the window overlooking the same river that ran past Carl Inera’s shack some miles away. But at this, he froze. “No. Why would I?”