The Christmas Thief (7 page)

“And that’s the only reason you don’t want my help?”

Tasha felt her gaze dull. This wasn’t going well, and by “this,” she meant the entire move to this peaceful paradise. She never meant to become a hermit; in fact, she envisioned a handful of friendly neighbors that she might run into at the local grocery store or gas station or post office. She figured she’d see them enough to learn their names, but return home to complete her project in peaceful solitude, making decisions without input from bosses or an ex who had likely lied to her from the start. She’d looked forward to turning the rather rundown shack into a picture-perfect cottage with white interior walls, bursts of rustic blues and greens, and a new coat of barn red on the outside. Coffee on the deck out back in the morning, and wine on the front porch at night.

Lately, that bigger than life dream had spiraled to a pinprick. But she didn’t owe Marc an explanation. Really, they had only barely moved past the polite stranger stage.

He reached for her elbow and bent closer to her, his voice low. “You are a brave woman, Tasha McHenry.”

She formed the word “Oh” with her mouth, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat. He’d called her brave. Now what was she to say to that? No one had ever called her brave. She doubted she would have ever used that word to describe herself. “That’s ... that’s kind of you to say, Marc.”

He continued to stare into her eyes, no trace of patronizing in them. “I’ve no doubt you can handle this on your own, but I’ve got a few men here with time on their hands. Let them help you.”

A tinge of wooziness swayed her, and she couldn’t take her eyes from his. She forced herself to blink, and when she did, she managed to glance away. She pulled in a breath through her nose and swung a hard look back at him. “Fine,” she said, her voice cracking, “but only if I can pay them in pizza.”

Marc laughed, the parentheses around his mouth deepening. He stood straighter and whipped a look back at the men, giving them a wave to continue toward her house. “She’s all yours, guys. When you’re done, Tasha’ll buy dinner.”

Bill and Teddy laughed and smiled. Andy, however, kicked a rock and sulked toward the cabin.

“You’re doing a good thing here, especially where Andy’s concerned,” Marc said. “The kid needs to feel useful. Thank you kindly.”

She nodded, not sure what he meant, but glad to know that this wasn’t a one-sided endeavor.

“I’ve got to run, but I’ll be back this evening. Save some pizza for me?”

She shrugged, biting away a smile. “That’ll be up to them.”

He nodded. “Sure enough.”

~~~

On Monday morning, Tasha woke up, made coffee, fed the pup, got dressed, and headed to her Subaru by the side of the road. The sea beyond the cliff was calm, and admittedly, so was she. The guys had done as promised and more. They’d discovered more than missing shingles when they’d climbed up on her roof on Saturday; they’d found some rotted boards too. The day had been warm and dry for November, so they spent the hours tearing out the damage and replacing what needed replacing with new materials. And when they were done with that, they’d celebrated by hanging Christmas lights for her.

She’d had two nights of peaceful sleep since. And some generous portions of humble pie.

“Morning, Tasha,” Mr. Cho called as she pressed the unlock button on her key fob. He slowed his long, tall strides, even as Courtney attempted to prance on past her, aloof as ever.

“Good morning to you as well,” she called to him.

“I see you’ve had some work done,” he said.

She stopped. Hillary and Lucy, a couple of women in her old office, talked nonstop about all the work they’d had done—lip augmentation, lipo, butt lift—she’d heard it all. But she took another look at Mr. Cho and realized—he was talking about the roof. Tasha stifled a laugh. “Yes. Fixed some leaks!”

The speed-walking couple she’d yet to meet rounded the incline, the wife in front. Mr. Cho gave her a salute as she huffed on past with her intense eyes and low-hanging jowls. She didn’t respond.

Her husband, however, slowed on approach. His beagle pulled and coughed, stretching the leash taut, but the man stopped. He nodded at Mr. Cho, peered at the cabin’s new roof, then gave Tasha a smile that was neither unfriendly or gregarious. “Had quite a crew out here over the weekend,” he said.

Until now, she hadn’t realized that her home had been on display.

She nodded and spun her keys around her fingers. “That’s true. I’m Tasha, by the way.”

“Jim,” he said, simply. He put a hand in his pocket and rocked on his feet. She imagined him sticking around to chat about the intricacies of the roofing project, something she didn’t know much about nor have time to discuss.

“Nice to meet you, J—”

“Jim!” His other half was bellowing at him from several cabins beyond hers, most of them empty second homes.

He gave her a placating smile that she couldn’t have been able to see, then waved her on to continue without him. “My wife—Helena—she’s always in a hurry.”

Mr. Cho crossed the small street, Courtney darting troubled eyes at him. “Jim,” he said, “how’s the manufacturing business, neighbor?”

Jim turned to Tasha. “Cho and I live a few houses apart. Hardly see each other, though.” He pointed toward the hill across the canyon. “I’m up there, beyond your back deck. Mine’s the white house with dormers.”

“That’s a pretty house.”

“Thank you. Anyway, Cho here and I haven’t talked in”—he turned back to Mr. Cho—“how long has it been now? Months?”

Something foreboding crossed Mr. Cho’s face. It reminded Tasha of sorrow.

“Yes, six months now,” Mr. Cho said. His expression remained grim, and though Tasha needed to get to work, something in the downward tug of his eyes made her want to stick around.

Jim pursed his lips. “I suppose you’ve buried yourself in work. That’s understandable under the circumstances. We should’ve—well, we should’ve stopped by more often. We’ll make a point of that.” Jim cast a wary glance to his wife’s back. She had nearly disappeared from view.

“Don’t worry yourself,” Mr. Cho said. He flashed a sad smile at Tasha. “My wife left me.”

Tasha’s thoughts drifted to her own break up. Though she and Roger had not yet married, for a time she was inconsolable. No wonder poor Mr. Cho looked so crestfallen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Thank you.” He nodded once and looked back to Jim as if it were still too difficult to dwell on.

“So,” Jim began, in an obvious effort to change the subject. “I take it your roof held up okay under that storm.”

Mr. Cho’s expression changed in a blink. He smiled. “Oh, yes, yes. No leaks for me. Of course, I always check my roof in summer. Wouldn’t want to have to climb up on a wet roof in the middle of a storm!” He laughed heartily, stopped abruptly, and looked at Tasha. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” Tasha said. “I’m heading to work now. It was nice to meet you, Jim, and to see you again, Mr. Cho.” They both nodded but stayed rooted, as if they had plans to discuss her roof—or whatever—awhile longer.

She bent to give Courtney a pat, but decided against it when the animal whined and pulled away.

“She’s cranky today,” said Mr. Cho.

Just today?

With one more wave to the two men, Tasha drove off down the hill. At camp, on her way up the back steps to the kitchen, Jeremy’s whistle broke through her thoughts. She stopped, her hand resting on the railing. She knew he was full of hot air—she’d learned of his reputation in a very short time—but no one had ever directed a catcall her way. At least not to her knowledge. Certainly not her ex-fiancé.

“Wanna hold the door there, beautiful?”

She was halfway inside but stopped and held open the creaky wooden door. “Such a flirt,” she said.

“It’s not flirting if ya mean it,” he said with a wink.

Tasha’s mouth opened as if to say something pithy, but she couldn’t think of a thing. Instead, she stood there in the mudroom of the kitchen, her mouth frozen open, as Jeremy darted off to his next stop.

“He’s trouble with a capital T, my friend!”

Tasha shot a look through the open doorway to where Lorena stood with one arm in a sling, and the other stirring a pot of something with steam rising from it. “Wait! Let me do that!” She rushed over and took the spoon from Lorena, realizing with a sudden start that she’d forgotten to wear her apron. Strange. She hadn’t noticed it hanging by the front door where she’d normally left it.

“I still have one good hand, you know,” Lorena said, interrupting her detached musings.

Tasha gave the pot of beans a good stir, breathing in the smoky aroma of bacon. “Yes, and we need to keep that one safe. Thought you were coming in late today.” She gave Lorena a frown.

“Couldn’t sleep. Not complaining, but I noticed that I’m a lot slower at home with this thing on my arm.” She shrugged. “Figured I might as well get up here and get a head start. Kids’ll be here by noon.”

Tasha bit her lip, figuratively, at least. Lorena would probably smack her with a spoon if she expressed her regret one more time, so instead, she’d shown up here early herself as a sort of penance. For the next three hours, she followed Lorena’s instructions, making hot dogs with all the fixins for eighty campers. Several counselors joined in the fun and prepped tables with napkins, silverware, and condiments. And when lunch was over, Tasha herself instructed the kids to “scrape, stack, and sort” before leaving their tables when lunch was over.

She stuck around and did it all over again at dinnertime. By the time she collapsed in her car after work, she had splotches of every edible color on her clothes—and she smelled worse. She started up her car, letting it idle, and put on the air conditioner. True, the air outside was much too cool to need A/C, but she sort of hoped the circulation of air would help dissipate some of the smells. As she sat there, allowing that flowing air to hit her, she checked her email.

One from Marylu, the welcome lady, making sure that she was enjoying the coupons. She hadn’t actually used any yet.

Another from her mom, wanting to know if she would make it home for New Year’s.

And one from ... her former coworker, Aly. She simultaneously pursed her lips and wrinkled her brow. It appeared that Roger ... had disappeared.

CHAPTER NINE

Some of us think he’s become a prodigal again, while others ... well, it’s not comfortable to have to ask you this, Tasha, but just between us—has Roger gone to live with you?

Tasha pulled into the spot on the street in front of her cabin, Aly’s email continuing to occupy her mind. Roger had disappeared. She wagged her head, jostling her curls. After Roger’s desertion, the women in her office had all given her pity pouts. Plenty of “there, there” side hugs and sad frowns, but no one on staff had become openly outraged for her. She’d received only two office-related calls after Roger broke her heart: one from Roger’s mother Syd, asking if she needed help returning gifts, and another from Carrie, a disgruntled ex-employee who offered to aim a line drive straight at Roger’s mini-mansion, the one abutting the country club golf course.

She’d almost taken her up on it.

Tasha leaned back against her car’s head rest, expelling a breath. So much had changed since that infamous day that it almost felt like Rog’s abandonment never really happened. The revelation startled her. When she’d bought this place, she was livid, blind with anger toward a man who had led her on for years. Then as the number of days to escrow closing shrank, she found herself sad, partially about Roger, but also sad that she allowed their relationship to meander along direction-less for so long. It shamed her to think this, but maybe marrying the boss’s son meant more to her than she had ever admitted.

And yet ... did he need her now? Maybe their break up had hit him harder than he had anticipated. She closed her eyes and tried to picture how she would react ... how she would feel ... if Roger showed up here in Cottage Grove right now ...

Someone knocked on her driver’s side window. She jerked forward, nearly strangling herself with her seat belt.

“You okay in there?” Marc’s face peered at her through the window, cracked open at the top.

She scowled at him. Unlocking her seat belt, she threw it to the side, opened the car door, and stepped out.

Marc stood by, a quizzical smile on his face, his hat fitted to his head. “Did I startle you?”

“You think?”

He chortled. “Sorry.”

She shook her locks and drew in a breath. “No big. Did you want something? Otherwise I’ve got to”—she turned toward her cabin and noticed a crew of five, six, maybe seven guys in various stages of work on Marc’s property. “So,” she said, pushing the contents of that email from her mind, “I see you’ve been busy.”

He nodded and they began to walk toward the narrow path between their lots. “We managed to smooth out the lot again and re-dig everything properly.”

“Any clue to what happened?”

“Maybe.”

This surprised her. How could he possibly know what happened when nobody had been around to see it? “Well? Go on.”