Midnight Before Christmas (3 page)

But the sad thing was, there was no reason for her to go home, either.

She heard a knock on the door. A familiar head poked through. “Is Santa in?”

Megan looked up and tried to smile. “Ho, ho, ho.”

Cindy Kendall strolled into Megan’s office. She was tall, with shoulder-length ink-black hair and legs that went on to infinity. She was wearing a dignified but attractive beige suit—a Harold’s special, probably. She looked like a million bucks, Megan thought, which was a value of roughly $999,999.00 more than Megan would’ve appraised herself.

Megan rose from her chair. “What’s happening, Cindy-Lou Who?”

“Just came by to see if you finished the cookie rounds. Looks like you did. And survived to tell the tale.”

Megan smiled. She liked Cindy a lot, even if she was devastatingly attractive. Whenever the teenage boys who worked in the firm as clerks ran their errands, they invented excuses to linger in Cindy’s office. Megan was lucky if she got her morning mail.

“Completed my appointed rounds, and with no injury to self or others, I’m proud to say. Even made a bit of profit.”

“Don’t tell me one of those pro bono buddies paid you.”

“In a way.” Megan pointed toward the picture frame leaning face forward against the wall. “See for yourself.”

Cindy took a step toward the picture, but Jasper scooted forward on his hindquarters and began howling. Spittle flew in all directions.

Cindy quickly backed away. “I’m sorry, Megan, but you have to get rid of this purported canine.”

“I suppose in his own way he thinks he’s protecting me.”

“In his own way he is, but it’s disgusting and he still has to go.”

“Easy to say. But what can I do?”

“Call the dogcatcher. Send him to the vet for a lethal injection. Ship him to one of those third world nations where they have a meat shortage.”

Megan covered her mouth. “Cindy! You’re terrible!”

“Wimp.” Cindy stepped around the dog, lifted the picture frame, and turned it around. “Oh my gosh.”

“Isn’t it awful?”

“No! It’s wonderful!”

Megan blinked. “It is?”

“Yes!” Cindy held the picture in both hands. “Look at those cute widdle puppy dogs! Don’t you just love it?”

“Cindy, it’s kitsch.”

“Yes, but it’s classic kitsch.” She laid the black-velvet masterwork on Megan’s desk. “Seriously, Arnie is crazy about this kind of stuff. This is just what he’s been needing for the pool room. You don’t suppose …”

Megan waved her hand magnanimously. “It’s yours.”

“Oh, thank you! This is a Christmas gift he won’t be expecting.” She pressed her hand against her lips. “Oh! But I don’t have anything for you!”

“That’s quite all—”

“I’ll be right back.” Cindy scurried out of the office, then reappeared barely thirty seconds later. She plopped her treasure in the center of Megan’s desk. “My mother-in-law gave me this last Christmas. Lovely woman, but…”

“What is it?” Megan asked. It was a small contraption, maybe half the size of a shoebox. It held five metal ball bearings hanging in a row, each suspended by two wires, one on either end, from the wooden framework. “What’s it called?”

“Well …” Cindy hedged. “I don’t really know what it’s called.”

“What does it do?”

“Watch.” Cindy raised the ball bearing closest to her, then released it. The metal ball swung like a pendulum into the other four balls, which then kicked up together, hit the apex of their arc, then swung back into the other ball, which then swung up and back into the four balls, which then…

“Okay,” Megan said. “What next?”

“Whaddya mean, what next? There is no what next. That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“Right.”

Megan nodded. “Um… thanks.”

“You’ll probably want to keep it in your office.”

“Sure. Next to the lava lamp.”

“Whatever.” She snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot why I came in here. There’s a new client waiting in the lobby—”

“On Christmas Eve?”

“She says it’s an emergency. Of course, since I’m supposed to be handling the domestic cases now, they sent her to me, but I haven’t even finished my Christmas shopping, and if I don’t get out of here soon I never will. I wouldn’t do this to you normally, Megan, but there aren’t many lawyers in the office today, and since … you know …”

Megan did know. What Cindy was saying but not saying was—Since you’re not going anywhere, since you don’t have anyone to see or to spend the holiday with—

“… I wondered if you wouldn’t mind talking to her.”

“What does she need?”

“Emergency restraining order. Ex-husband.”

Megan shrugged. “Cakewalk. Send her in.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” She stopped at the door. “You know, Arnie and I are driving to Tulsa to spend Christmas with his folks. It’s a two-hour drive, but if you’re free by then, we’d love to have you—”

Megan smiled. “Thanks, Cindy. You’re a good friend. But I have plans.”

“You do?”

Granted, it was a lie, but Megan still wished Cindy didn’t look quite so astonished. “I do.” She winked. “Me and Jasper. Now get out of here.”

“Okay. Thanks so much, Megan.” She hesitated. “Merry Christmas.”

Megan nodded. “And to you.”

Megan took advantage of the break to change out of her Santa suit and back into her standard-issue office clothes. About a minute later, the client in question entered Megan’s office—a thin, petite woman. She had a fragile look about her, especially now, when her hands were trembling and her eyes were streaked and red from crying. Still, she was quite attractive. Maybe not in the Cindy Kendall million-dollar-model category, especially at the moment, but still, Megan thought, several G-notes ahead of me.

“I’m Bonnie Cantrell,” she managed. She saw her hands shaking, then lowered them to her side. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m nervous. I’ve been so scared.”

Megan reached out and steadied the woman’s arm. “Just relax, please. Whatever’s happened, I’m sure there’s a solution. My associate told me you’d like a restraining order.”

She nodded. Fresh tears leaked from her eyes. “It’s Carl, my ex-husband.”

Megan nodded sympathetically. “How long have you been divorced?”

“More than two years now. I got custody. He didn’t even get visitation rights. He—” She lowered her head. “He had a drinking problem. Has, I should say.”

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been very difficult for you.” More than once during her days at St. Paul’s, Megan had counseled parents and spouses dealing with alcoholism. She knew it could have a devastating impact on the life of a family.

“It … was.” Bonnie licked her lips, took a deep breath. “He never managed to succeed at anything. I tried to help but nothing ever seemed to work. I thought it would be better, after the divorce. But he’s continued to harass us, to stalk me, my little boy.”

“How old is your son?”

“Tommy’s seven. Too young to understand why…”—another deep breath—“why his mommy doesn’t want him to see his daddy.”

“Have you called the police?”

Bonnie opened her purse and removed a stained handkerchief. “You have to understand—Carl is a cop.”

Uh-oh. Megan fell back in her chair. This was going to be more complicated than she realized.

“He’s not on active duty right now. He was suspended some time ago. But all the local cops know us. They consider Carl one of them. And they consider me someone who betrayed one of them.”

“Still, you should lodge a complaint if he’s threatening you. The law requires the police to—”

“I did call once. But Carl shaped up as soon as he heard the sirens. The cops hassled me, then wrote me a citation because the inspection sticker on my car had expired.”

Megan’s lips pursed.

“I’m just afraid if I call them again, they might do something horrible—like plant some cocaine in my bedroom. And then I’d be the one who goes to jail. And I’d lose custody of Tommy.”

Megan laid her hand on Bonnie’s. “I understand. So you want a restraining order. We’ll go to the courthouse immediately. One of the judges is on duty today, handling emergency cases. We won’t be able to get a permanent restraint without giving your ex notice and a chance to be heard, but we will be able to get a temporary order pending a later hearing. Of course we’ll have to demonstrate that there are exigent circumstances.”

“He came to the house today.” Bonnie’s voice cracked; she appeared to be on the verge of breaking down altogether. “The sun was barely up, but he was already drunk. Crazy drunk. Crazy mean drunk. He punched a friend of mine for no reason. He shoved a neighbor down the porch steps. He broke a window with his bare fist.”

Megan gasped.

“I have witnesses. My neighbors saw everything. I can give you their names.”

“Surely you called the police.”

“One of the neighbors did. Carl ran off when he heard the sirens. I hid, let the neighbors talk to the police. I didn’t want them to know it was me.”

“That must’ve been awful. I’m so sorry.” She placed her arm around Bonnie’s shoulders and squeezed. As others had noted before, whether Megan’s name was followed by D.D. or Esq., her counseling technique didn’t change much.

“It was,” Bonnie whispered. “It was a nightmare.” She clutched her handkerchief so tightly she could have wrung water from it. “I was so scared. I’m still scared.”

“Scared that he’ll come back?”

“Scared of what he might do. Especially if he gets to Tommy.”

“Surely he wouldn’t hurt his own son.”

Bonnie’s eyes widened impossibly, and the flood of tears continued. “I know Carl. He’s thinking, If I can’t have Tommy, no one can.”

A hollow ache resounded in the pit of Megan’s stomach. It was a feeling she had learned to trust. “Forgive me for asking, Bonnie, but where’s. Tommy now?”

“He’s at his school—it’s a private school. Villa Veronica. I didn’t want to bring him here. Didn’t want him to see me like this.”

“I don’t want to alarm you,” Megan said evenly, “but I think you should call. Right now.” She yanked her cordless phone out of its cradle and passed it to Bonnie. “Just to check.”

Bonnie nodded. Slowly, with trembling hands, she punched seven numbers onto the keypad.

A moment later, Megan heard a click that told her someone had answered the phone. “H-hello. This is Bonnie Cantrell. I—I wanted to check on Tommy.”

Megan looked away, but continued to listen. “Yes,” she heard Bonnie say. “Yes.” Then there was a sudden intake of air. “
What?”

Megan whirled around. “What is it? What happened?”

Bonnie looked up wordlessly. The phone fell out of her hands and landed on the carpet with a thud. “He isn’t there.”

“Isn’t there? How can that be?” Her answer was more whispered than spoken. “They say his father picked him up.”

C
ARL EXITED I-35 AND
pulled into the parking lot of the Toys
“R”
Us near Crossroads Mall. He was worried about Tommy. It had been a cinch liberating him from Villa Veronica. The permanent staff was off for the holidays and the substitutes were clueless. Why shouldn’t he take Tommy? they thought. He was the boy’s father, after all.

Carl had taken Tommy straight from the school to his car, but ever since then, Tommy had been almost motionless, sitting in the passenger seat staring out the window. No matter what ploy Carl tried to engage him in conversation, Tommy remained silent.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The boy had barely seen him these past years. Once they had been as close as any two buddies on the face of the earth, but that was a long time ago now. Baby days, to a mature man of seven. He probably didn’t even remember.

Damn that woman! She had no right to take his son away from him. She had no right to erect a wall between them. God only knew what horrible things she’d been telling Tommy about him. No wonder he didn’t speak, didn’t seem comfortable. She had probably turned his father into the biggest bogeyman who ever walked the earth. Probably maligned him while glorifying that sorry SOB she was with now.

“Damn!” he shouted aloud, pounding his fist on the dash.

He froze, suddenly embarrassed. His son was watching him. Not staring, but surreptitiously peering at him out of the corner of his eye.

Way to go, Carl, he swore silently to himself. The boy was already uncomfortable and confused. Now you’ve managed to totally alienate him.

It’s too late. He tried to block out the thought, but it kept coming just the same. It’s too late to undo all the damage she’s done. He will never be yours again. Not unless you take him away from her. Not unless you take him away for good.

He parked the car, trying to quash the fears that haunted him. “Let’s get out of the car,” he growled.

He slid out of the seat. As he slammed the door, he noticed his son hadn’t budged. “Well, are you coming already?” he said, waving his hands in the air.

Tommy popped the door open.

Carl shook his head. It seemed like only yesterday he had held this boy in his arms and rocked him to sleep. Now the kid came up to his waist. He had a thick thatch of jet-black hair that whipped across his head and hung lopsided over one side of his face. That was the fashion these days, he supposed, stupid-looking as it was. He decided not to make a fuss, even if it did make the kid look like a sissy. His whole face seemed round and soft; obviously his mother had been pampering him, treating him like a baby doll instead of a real boy, exposing him to weak-kneed influences like that boyfriend—

He stopped himself. He had to get out of this, had to concentrate on his son. He’d gone to all this trouble to get the kid; he should start taking advantage. Especially since he knew their time was limited.

They started across the parking lot. He reached for his son’s hand, but the boy pulled away. “So what’re you wanting for Christmas this year, son?”

The boy didn’t look at him. “Mama says Santa will bring what I want tomorrow.”

Carl rolled his eyes. The kid was seven and he still believed in Santa. Pampered. And he thinks he’s going to get everything he wants. Spoiled.

“There must be something else you want. Something they don’t have at the North Pole.”

Tommy’s head twitched a bit, though he still didn’t make eye contact. “Mighty Movin’ Dino-Fighter,” he mumbled.