Love, Lies and Mistletoe. Jennifer Snow
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The young man probably wasn’t thrilled that Jacob had taken his position and wouldn’t be excited about meeting him, either.
“But in the meantime...”
“You’d like me to get your decorations out for you.”
She smiled. “You are such a sweet boy.”
“First thing in the morning, I’ll get everything out before I go to work,” he said, turning the corner and starting to climb the stairs.
She hurried after him. “I was kinda hoping to get started tonight.”
Jacob poked his head around the corner, checking the time on the microwave. “It’s eleven-thirty. You want to start decorating now?”
She nodded. “I’m a bit of a night owl.”
He stifled a yawn. “Mrs. Kelly...” How did he tell the woman that, just because he was renting space in her home, she couldn’t expect him to be there to help her with every project? That he preferred his privacy and space. He should never have ignored his gut, which had told him moving into her attic apartment would be a mistake. The price had been right, and at the time, he’d hoped he wouldn’t need the place for more than a few weeks, a month at most. But a few weeks had quickly turned into four months and counting.
Four long months hiding who he really was, avoiding meaningful contact with people in town, trying to get used to once again being a beat cop—handing out tickets and issuing fines—and desperately trying to convince Mrs. Kelly that he could do his own laundry and that she didn’t need to go into his apartment for any reason, especially not to put away his clothes. He’d learned quickly to keep anything personal in his locker at the station, away from curious old eyes.
The only thing he kept close by was his gun...and he hoped his landlady wouldn’t be nosy enough to check inside the toilet tank in his bathroom.
But just in case, better to stay in her good books... “Where is the storage space?”
Her eyes lit up. “Well, since I turned the attic into an apartment, I’ve been storing everything in the crawl space,” she said, leading the way.
He hesitated. Crawl space?
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
He followed. “Mrs. Kelly, do you mean like underneath your house? That kind of crawl space?”
“That’s right,” she said, opening a half-size door beneath the staircase at the end of the hall. She reached inside and pulled a string attached to the lightbulb in the low ceiling. “Everything is in here.”
Yeah, everything like spiders, mice, enough dust to induce an asthma attack in the healthiest of lungs...
“I can no longer bend enough to get in there,” she said.
Jacob glanced at her. Mrs. Kelly was barely five feet tall; if she couldn’t bend low enough, how could he? “Huh, Mrs. Kelly... I’m not sure I’m the guy for this job. Why don’t you hire a junior high kid to come over after school and help you? Pay them twenty bucks, and I’m sure they’ll be eager to help any way they can.”
“Pay someone?” She looked at him as though he’d suggested burning it all. She shook her head. “No need. You’re here. There’s only four or five boxes.” She peered inside the space and waved him closer.
Sighing, he got down on his knees and crawled beneath the stairs. The cold draft coming from the large, uninsulated space made him shiver. He hoped she didn’t have any snow globes among her decorations; they were probably frozen solid.
“They are all over in that far corner.”
Of course they were.
“Most of them are labeled.”
Most?
“If you’re not sure, open the top flaps. It should be easy to tell what’s Christmas stuff and what’s not.” She moved past him and straightened. “Thanks, dear. I’ll leave you to it.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, not for the first time wondering if maybe staying in the city and putting his life at risk was such a bad option after all.
Of course the department hadn’t left him much choice. It was either get out of town while the gun smoke settled on the bust that had gone wrong or be permanently removed from the force.
Heading farther into the space, he grabbed several nearby boxes and propped open the door.
“Oh, Jake, please close that while you’re in there. That draft is really cold.”
Right. “Okay, Mrs. Kelly,” he mumbled, moving the boxes aside and letting the door close behind him.
He was grateful for his jacket and gloves as he moved toward the corner where she said the boxes would be. Dishes... Clothing... Christmas decorations—in a far back corner behind dozens of other boxes. He sighed. It had been a long time since he’d needed to dig out holiday decorations...and he’d been hoping to avoid any reminder of better, happier times. He reached for the boxes and tried to simply focus on the task ahead of him. He just needed to get through the season.
* * *
HEATHER DESCENDED THE refinished hardwood staircase at the Brookhollow Inn the next morning, skipping the third from the bottom step that always creaked, despite Victoria’s husband’s many attempts to fix it.
The inn had been Heather’s home for a year and a half, but when she’d moved in, she’d had nowhere else to be. Visiting the quiet, laid-back small town had seemed like a great break from her stressful life in the city, but the desire to move on was increasing each day, especially as her bank account balance dipped lower.
She scanned the dining room, but it was empty. The B and B’s occupancy rate had dwindled in recent months, since the weather turned colder and the roads were less than ideal to travel on. And they wouldn’t be filling up again until the week before Christmas, when the inn would be full with guests visiting local family for the holidays.
She turned the daily calendar at the check-in desk. Almost another year wasted, without figuring out a plan for her future.
Well, it was time.
She reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved the piece of register tape from the bar. Mike Ainsley and the position at Highstone Acquisitions might be the answer to that. Tucking it in her hand, she poked her head into the kitchen.
Empty.
She headed toward the back of the house, listening carefully for Victoria’s voice. Her friend habitually sat in the back sunroom, feeding her baby girl, Harper, around this time every day. Usually, her off-key singing voice could be heard torturing a lullaby, but today it was quiet. Maybe she hadn’t arrived yet.
One glance through the glass walls of the sunroom revealed that it was snowing heavily, big fluffy white flakes collecting quickly on the already-covered ground.
The grandfather clock in the front sitting room chimed. Nine o’clock. Cameron had texted to say Rob had reluctantly agreed to give his boss a heads-up that she would be calling and that Mike Ainsley was expecting her call at nine. Heading back to the front desk, Heather pulled her cell phone from her purse.
Crap! She had to start remembering to plug in her phone at night. The dead battery light flickered a second longer, then the phone shut off completely. Wonderful. She’d have to make the long distance call at the desk. Luckily, she’d recently taken over paying the B and B’s invoices, so she would know how much to reimburse Victoria for the call.
She wondered if her friend would accept a payment plan schedule.
But what if her friend noticed the acquisition firm’s number on the bill? She bit her lip.
Two minutes past nine.
Picking up the receiver, she heard nothing. No dial tone. The line was dead.
What the...?