Three Christmas Wishes

“The counters are fine,” Noel informed him and he raised an eyebrow.

“Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house,” Mrs. Bing said. “Noel, you can wait down here.”

“That’s okay. I’ll come with you,” Noel said. Her rent was paid up. She had every right to join the home tour.

They walked from room to room, the interloper seeing ways he could change every one.

“You know, this house is very nice just as it is,” Noel informed him.

The interloper cocked his head. “Yeah? Then why don’t you buy it?”

“I want to. Mrs. Bing knows that,” Noel said and looked accusingly at her landlady.

Mrs. Bing’s cheeks turned rosy. “Noel, if you had the money I’d sell it to you.”

“Noel, pretty name,” said the interloper. He thrust out a hand for her to shake. “Mine’s Ben, Ben Fordham.”

Noel put her own hands behind her back. “What do you intend to do with this house, Ben Fordham?”

“I intend to fix it up.”

“And then what? It needs a family, people to live in it and love it.” Okay, she was lecturing now.

No, no. She wasn’t lecturing. She was getting in touch with her inner Marvella Monster, chasing away a predator.

He held up his left hand. “Not married.”

“Well, then...” Suddenly it dawned. “You don’t want this house for yourself. You’re going to flip it.”

“I’m going to fix it up and sell it to a family who will love it.”

Fix it up? Ha! He was going to destroy its character. Noel turned to Mrs. Bing. “Mrs. Bing, please don’t sell the house to this...this...Scrooge. He only wants it so he can make a profit. Please let me rent to own or give me time to come up with a down payment. I love this place. I’ll take care of it.”

“I saw how you’re taking care of it with the dirty dishes on the counter,” Mrs. Bing said, pursing her lips.

“I never have dirty dishes on the counter, really. That was...” Noel was aware of Ben the Bad Man looking at her.

“Camouflage?” he guessed. “Like the rats and the so-called leak.”

She wasn’t too proud to beg. “I’m sure you can find other houses to buy.”

“Of course I can,” he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Until he added, “But not at this price point.” He turned to Mrs. Bing. “Why don’t we go back to your house and talk?”

Nodding, Mrs. Bing started down the hall.

Ben the Bad Man turned to follow her and Noel caught him by the arm. “Please don’t buy this house.”

He looked down at her pityingly. “This is nothing personal. It’s just business.” Then he gently disengaged his arm and trailed Mrs. Bing down the hall. “Nice meeting you, Noel.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she called after him then leaned against the wall and wished all manner of Christmas disasters on him. She hoped he fell off a ladder while hanging Christmas lights and broke his leg. No, make that both legs. She hoped his dog bit him. And if he didn’t have a dog she hoped all the dogs in the neighborhood would poop on his lawn. She hoped Santa would drive right by his house or, better yet, drive over it and dump an entire load of coal down his chimney. She hoped...he’d have a change of heart. Maybe he’d have a dream and get visited by a bunch of ghosts showing him what a bad boy he was.

Or maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to win him over.

Chapter Four (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)

Riley called Noel shortly after the invaders had left. “How’d it go?”

“He wasn’t fooled. And he wants to buy the house and flip it. He’s talking about taking down walls and ripping out counters and all kinds of things. He’ll ruin its character.”

“Too bad the rats didn’t work.”

“Please don’t say that word,” Noel begged, looking over at the useless rodents in their cage.

“Sorry. I’ll come over and collect them for you.”

“No need. The house thief already did that.”

“He saw the cage?”

“What can I say? I screwed up. It’s just that they had me so icked out I couldn’t concentrate.”

“We’ll think of something,” Riley said. “And I’ll come and get them tomorrow, okay?”

“In the morning?” If she had to look at them all day...

“Yes, and don’t worry. I’m sure this will all work out.”

Perhaps, but meanwhile, she had to be proactive. She said goodbye to Riley then pulled out her laptop and did an internet search for Ben Fordham. She found him under Fordham Enterprises. We Turn Nightmares into Dream Homes, he promised on his website. And there was a picture of the dream-maker himself. He looked like an HGTV star in his jeans and T-shirt and tool belt, with his muscles and dark hair and trust-me smile. He was on the front porch of a pretty Victorian, sitting on the railing, one leg dangling casually. Underneath that was a before-and-after example of his work, two shots of the same house. In one it resembled something out of a Halloween movie, with peeling paint and a front lawn overrun by unruly shrubs; in the other, it had turned into a sweet, two-story charmer with a freshly mowed lawn and flowers blooming along its front walk. Very impressive.

But her house wasn’t a nightmare. And she had her own plans for turning it into a dream home.

She poked around the site, checking out more examples of what he did. Various pages offered visitors a chance to sell a property (You need out, we’ll step in) or buy property (We did the work, you reap the benefits), and his contact information gave not only his email address but the physical address and phone number of his business, as well. She knew that building. It was downtown, around the corner from the Wiltons’ hardware store. It had once been a little on the derelict side, but now housed both his business and a real estate office, plus an escrow company and an interior decorator. Very handy. No doubt he worked hand in glove with the Realtor, and she supposed the home-decorating woman helped him stage his stolen homes.

Stolen was about what they were, she was sure. He probably never paid full market value, probably preyed on poor widows who were desperate for money. Like Mrs. Bing.

Except Mrs. Bing drove a new car and lived in a rambler in a nice neighborhood. Noel didn’t believe she needed the money as badly as she claimed. Of course, in all fairness to Mrs. Bing, you never really knew about a person’s personal finances.

Still, darn it all, she’d been providing the woman with a monthly income in the form of rent for two years now. Why couldn’t Mrs. Bing have given her a chance? Greed. It came down to that.

Well, she wasn’t going to let her house go without a fight.

That’s the spirit, whispered Marvella, who sometimes hung around even when Noel wasn’t working on a story.

She returned to the Fordham Enterprises home page and studied her nemesis. What a phony, insincere smile! She studied that naked ring finger on his left hand. The man was single, which might make him susceptible to female persuasion. A hot outfit, a plate of cookies...

Except, unlike Riley, she was a lousy baker. Okay, then, wine. Most people liked wine and that was more sophisticated, anyway. She knew nothing about it, but there was a new shop in town that sold wine. They could help her choose something classy.

That took care of the bribe. The hot outfit was another matter. The clothes in her closet fell into the lukewarm category.