The Heart of Christmas (5 page)

“Let me guess—it hasn’t.”

“No. It’s getting worse. But what I don’t understand is why whoever it was stopped in the first place.”

“Maybe the guy went to prison.”

“That would explain it. Because he’s taking up where he left off, except the letters she’s receiving are even more personal,” Marilyn said. “One mentioned a mole on her, um...”

“Breast? Ass? What? You’re seldom at a loss for words.”

“It’s somewhere even more intimate.”

“So whoever is doing this has been
quite
close to her.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Or talked to someone who has.”

“That’s just...creepy.”

“At least it narrows the list of potentials. She still has no idea who it might be?”

“No. She says that none of her past lovers would do anything like this.” She cleared her throat. “You, uh, weren’t aware of the mole?”

“I don’t get sexually involved with our clients. You know that.”

“I do. But I thought this client might be an exception. She’s extremely attractive. And she’s not married.”

He had a soft spot for Scarlet, but she was more like a younger sister to him. When he’d watched over her before, he’d still been in love with Laurel, Virgil’s sister, but he wasn’t remotely tempted to change his relationship with Scarlet, even now. “You said it was getting worse. What else has happened?”

“Yesterday someone broke into her house and urinated on her bed. That’s why she finally called.”

“Was anything taken?”

“Several pairs of underwear.”

What he’d just learned made Rex itch to get back to work. It had always bothered him that the police hadn’t been able to find the guy who’d tormented Scarlet. “What’d you tell her?”

“I said I’d be happy to arrange for a bodyguard until the police can find out who’s behind it, but when she realized the bodyguard wouldn’t be you, she started to cry.”

This type of security was very up close and personal. He could see why she’d want somebody she already knew and trusted.

He wished he could help her, but he couldn’t ask her to sit tight and wait until he felt safe to return to the Bay Area. He couldn’t drag her around the Sierra Nevada foothills with him while he tried to keep a low profile, either. He was about to say he was sorry but there was nothing he could do when a flyer he’d found pinned to the public message board at the local coffee shop popped into his mind. It had advertised rooms for rent in a private residence....

Why not answer that ad? He could hunker down in this quaint town and have Scarlet join him. That would remove them both from their usual circles—take them out of the flow of motel life, too, which added a degree of security. He might not come up with such a perfect solution, at least not such a perfect and
immediate
solution, anywhere else, especially during the holidays.

“Text me her number. Given these latest problems, I’m guessing she’s changed it since I spoke to her last.”

“What are you going to do?” Marilyn asked, sounding surprised.

“I’m going to take the job.”

“How?”

“By inviting her to come and spend some time with me here in Whiskey Creek.”

“You think she’ll do that?”

“If she’s truly scared, I don’t see that she has a better choice.”

“But how can you ask her to leave her home with Christmas coming?”

“If the police do their job, she should be able to return by the big day.”

She harrumphed. Then she said, “Whiskey Creek, huh?”

“Why not? Getting her away from her usual routine should give us an advantage. Maybe her stalker will get frustrated when he can’t torment her and then he’ll do something that’ll give him away.”

“But I thought you were moving on, that moving on is what keeps
you
safe.”

He turned to frown at his packed bags.
This
latest move wasn’t about that. This move was more about what he’d done last night. He didn’t want to fall back into bed with Eve Whoever She Was—well, actually, he
did
want to fall back into bed with her. That was the problem. What he
didn’t
want was to get her hopes up, make her think they might have a future together. Considering his limitations, he knew that wasn’t fair.

But if he moved out of the B and B and into a house or some other situation with his client—a client he enjoyed as a friend—surely he’d be able to avoid Eve, maybe forget about her, too. His work had always been enough for him before.

5

M
eeting with Ted was awkward. After their failed attempt at romance, Eve had grown accustomed to coping with the strain in their relationship when she saw him and the rest of their friends on Fridays at Black Gold Coffee. She just directed her comments to the group in general, when she could, and avoided sitting too close to him and Sophia. But there was no getting around a direct confrontation now. He’d asked if he could come over. He wanted to write a book about the mysterious murder of the child who had died in the basement in 1871.

But he was already a successful suspense writer. Eve couldn’t understand why he didn’t stick with fiction and leave her alone.

“I’m not sure a book about Mary will be worth your time,” she said as she sat across from him in the parlor where she’d spoken to her parents earlier.

He’d been fiddling with his phone, trying to find the record app. “Why not?” he asked, glancing up. “I’ve been intrigued by it since I was a kid.”

“Because you’re doing so well with your fiction,” she explained. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to put out another serial-killer book or something in the time it would take you to write this?”

“I’m not doing it for pay. The proceeds will go to the historical society so they can preserve more buildings like this one.”

He was donating the money?

Damn, she couldn’t even feel justified in remaining mad at him. That was always the problem. He was too nice.

He gave her a look that told her he was suspicious of her resistance. “Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge.”

“You say that as if I’d have no right to.”

“You’re not the kind of person who hangs on to resentment.”

That was true. And he’d already apologized several times. He’d also tried very hard to maintain their friendship. But she couldn’t help feeling like an old shoe that had been cast aside. Maybe if she’d been able to move on like he had, or if the guy she’d been with last night hadn’t treated her the same way, it wouldn’t be a problem.

“Of course. I’m happy for you and Sophia.” Part of her really was. She’d known Ted since childhood. And she had to take partial responsibility for getting romantically involved with him. On some level, she’d realized he still had a thing for Sophia. She’d just chosen to ignore her instincts hoping that she would indeed find a good husband.

“When I walked in and hugged you, you were stiff as a board,” he pointed out.

“So I’m having a bad day.”

Some of the suspicion disappeared, replaced by concern. “Is there something serious going on?”

“Not really.” She tried to wave his question away. “I’m always under a lot of pressure around the holidays.”

“You
love
the holidays.”

She said nothing. She wasn’t enjoying them this year.

“Do you want me to come back in January?” he asked.

Why? Why not get this out of the way? He’d already explained that he’d turned in his latest book and didn’t need to start the next one until January. It was the fact that he had time during the Christmas period that made him want to get moving with this—and it was all for charity. His gift to the town they both loved. “No. I’m sorry. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Suffer through it, huh?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that even
Unsolved Mysteries,
and all the crime analysts they brought to town, couldn’t figure out who murdered Little Mary, so I’m not sure what more you’ll be able to do.”

“This isn’t so much about
solving
the crime as chronicling the mystery and suggesting possible scenarios.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “It should be good publicity for the B and B,” he said by way of enticement.

But he’d been talking about doing a book on Little Mary for several years. Did he really have to come and talk to her right
now?
The day after she’d slept with a total stranger? Make her worry that he might have heard the news? Make her wonder if he found what she’d done as pathetic as she did?

Mr. Taylor had returned earlier. Eve had watched him come in. But he didn’t look at her or acknowledge her. He’d walked right past her and marched up the stairs. Then he’d gone out again shortly after—without his bags. Since checkout was at noon and it was after two, she could only assume that he planned on staying another night.

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, whether she should do anything to enforce her request that he leave or just pretend, like he seemed to be doing, that last night had never happened. Their encounter was probably so meaningless to him that he didn’t care whether he ran into her every time he passed through the lobby.

“The B and B is doing better these days,” she told Ted. “The tea I’m offering is generating some interest. We’re getting groups of Red Hat Society ladies, and we’ve had an increase in couples ever since we started advertising in bridal magazines.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but advertising is expensive, and this will be free. If this book takes off, you could get a steady stream of visitors, curious to see whether this place really is haunted. That’s how it worked after
Unsolved Mysteries
aired, didn’t it?”

“For a while.” She supposed she should be grateful to him for taking an interest—on behalf of her and the town. She would have been if she didn’t already have so much on her mind.

“So...shall we get started?” he asked.

She sat back. “Of course. Ask away.”

“Why don’t we go over the basics, just to make sure I’ve got them straight?”

“You should know the basics. The whole town does.”

“I’m aware that Mary Hatfield was six when she was found strangled in the basement in December of 1871. Her birth and death are engraved on her headstone in the cemetery next door. But you lived here when you were little, too. I’m actually hoping you’ll tell me what that was like.”

“We were only here for a few years, until the first round of renovations were completed. Then my parents bought the property where we live today, and we moved out there.”

“I remember when that happened. We were still in grade school. But you didn’t move because of Mary’s ghost....”

“No, my parents wanted a regular family life, where they could be off work sometimes—and we could have some privacy as a family.”

“Are you glad they did that?”

She nodded. “I am. I love this place, and I did even then. But...it would’ve been difficult facing guests constantly with no break. And making sure three little kids were behaving perfectly at all times was too tall an order for any mother.”

“Can you tell me about some of your earliest memories of this place?”

“I remember the musty smell of it more than anything else. And I remember playing with the old stuff in the attic. Dressing up in the clothes I found in various trunks, taking my Barbie dolls up there, that sort of thing. Being in that space made me a bit uneasy, even back then, but it was the perfect size for a child and the only place I wouldn’t be bothered by my brothers. I could play for hours.”

“What about the basement?”

She shivered. “I never played here. But I remember my brothers locking me in once, just to frighten me.”

“That was where Mary’s body was found.”

“Yes. So you can imagine how terrified I was. They called through the door, telling me that her ghost was going to get me, and I was absolutely convinced they were right.”

“How’d you get out?”

“My mother heard me screaming and came to the rescue.”

A faint smile curved his lips. “I bet she was angry.”

“She was.”

“What happened to your brothers?”

“They were put on restriction.” She shook her head at the memory. They’d found her terror so funny.

Ted made a few quick notes. “Okay, so Mary’s parents built this place—and it wasn’t ever renovated until your parents took over. Is that correct?”

“It is.”

“How old was Mary when John and Harriett moved in?”

“She wasn’t born yet. But even after she was, she didn’t have any older brothers to torment her. She was an only child.”

“After her death, rumors circulated—and persisted—that her father might have killed her. Since he also discovered the body, and it was nearly Christmas, I always think of it as the nineteenth-century JonBenét Ramsey case.”

“Was there any evidence to suggest he did the deed?”

“Not really. He was known to have a violent temper and knocked her mother around a bit. He also didn’t seem to grieve much. But not all men show their pain.”

She’d left the doors to the parlor open. She almost always did that, so her staff would feel free to approach her, if necessary. But today it meant that when Brent Taylor came through the front door, returning for the second time, she happened to see him. He saw her, too, and paused as if he had something to say, so she stood up and hurried over.

“You’re late for checkout, but I can take care of that now, if you’re ready.”

His gaze shifted to Ted before coming back to her. “Would you mind if I stayed one more night?”

Couldn’t
anything
go her way? “A Room with a View has no openings?”

He frowned as if recognizing the disappointment in her voice. “I was just over there. They’re booked.”

Of course they would be—despite their cheesy decorations. Full occupancy seemed to come so easy for them. But they also spent a great deal more on advertising. They always
had
more to spend.

She wanted to refuse but Ted was looking on, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to come up with a good excuse for turning away business. Ted and the rest of her friends had been privy to her financial difficulties in the past few years. “That’s fine, I guess.”

“Thanks. Do you know a good place for dinner?”

“Just Like Mom’s has delicious home-style food, if you like that sort of thing. It’s down the street.”

He hesitated briefly. Then he took her elbow and pulled her close so he could whisper in her ear. “I could’ve handled this morning at your place a lot better. I’m sorry,” he said, then headed up the stairs to his room.

“What was that all about?” Ted asked.

Eve shut the doors in spite of her usual policy and resumed her seat. “Nothing. He’s just a...a patron.”

“Do all patrons whisper in your ear like that? It looked sort of intimate.”

“It wasn’t.” She considered admitting what she’d done, as she had with her parents, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. These days, Ted was happily married and the proud stepfather of a beautiful teenage girl. She didn’t want to be perceived as still struggling. Of course, he’d likely hear the rumor, so there was probably no way to prevent him from finding out. But she’d deal with that if and when it happened. She just hoped no one would bring it up or tease her tonight at her party or at their weekly coffee date. Her friends were wonderful, but they’d been so close for so long that nothing was off-limits.

“I only have a few more minutes,” she told him, “so we should get on with this.”

They talked about what
Unsolved Mysteries
had discovered when they came to town, which was virtually nothing as far as forensic evidence was concerned. Then they discussed the bits and pieces of information that had been recorded in the journals of various people who’d known the Hatfields at the time. These mostly contained venomous recriminations against John Hatfield, who was wealthy and austere and not particularly well liked. Although Eve couldn’t say there were any solid leads in those journals, she’d kept copies of everything she’d come across relating to the history of the B and B. She even had a laminated photocopy of a newspaper from the late 1800s that regurgitated the story, and a box of research material
Unsolved Mysteries
had given her when they were done with the shoot.

She went to her office to get the box but she couldn’t find it. So she’d brought back only the things she’d collected over the years.

“I can’t imagine where I put the stuff
Unsolved Mysteries
left,” she told Ted.

“But you’ll find it for me?”

“I will. I’ll check the attic when I have a minute.”

He accepted what she did have. “You seem to go back and forth on this, but, for the record, do you think the inn is haunted?” This had always been a difficult question for Eve. She didn’t want to commit herself because, crazy though it sounded, sometimes it
did
seem as if Mary’s spirit lingered. She told him about the drapes moving without being touched, about various doors closing and other noises she’d heard when there shouldn’t be anyone else about. One time, she was positive she’d heard someone moaning in the basement. That had been chilling. Unless there was something she absolutely
had
to get, she never went down there alone.

“I honestly don’t know. But I feel angry with whoever killed Mary and I hope justice will, somehow, some way, prevail, even at this late date,” she told him.

“Do you think the father did it?”

“I think Mary’s mother believed he did.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

“She wouldn’t speak a word after Mary’s death.”

Ted leaned forward. “I’ve never heard you or anyone else say that before.”

“I just found out about it. It was in an email I received a few days ago from a couple who come here every summer—a historian and his wife who once had family living in the area. He stumbled across a letter from his great-great-grandmother dated several years after Mary’s death. It refers to Harriett Hatfield and her enduring silence, and he thought I might be interested. According to this letter, Harriett became a hermit and would scarcely go out after that, which is probably why more people didn’t mention it. They didn’t really have any contact with her.”

“Her silence and withdrawal could be a reaction to her grief,” Ted suggested.

“True, but she could also have been an abused wife, rebelling in the only way she could without risking her own life.”

“It’s something to consider.” He stood and slipped his phone in his pocket. “That’s it for today. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

She gave him a weak smile. “You know where to find me.”