Christmas Miracle In July R.M.GAUTHIER Copyright © 2016 StarlightAuthor All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or...
7 downloads
50 Views
813KB Size
Christmas Miracle In July R.M.GAUTHIER
Copyright © 2016 StarlightAuthor All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed in the United States of America First Printing, 2016 Starlight Author 17 Flamingo Crescent North York, ON M6M4E9 www.rmgauthier.com ISBN-10: 1539774279 ISBN-13: 978-1539774273
Dedication To my family & friends foremost, who have encouraged and loved me no matter what I do. Thanks to you, I’m living the dream. To some special women who have formed a wonderful, supportive group, ‘The Fabulous Five.’ For all your help, dedication, voting and editing, this book wouldn’t be as spectacular without each of you Eva Pasco, Aliya DalRae, JB Richards & Lyra Shanti. I love you guys, and here’s to many years of friendship.
Readers Thank you, kindly I was late in finding this special part of myself, and although, I wish it was something I’ve done all my life, I do believe that timing is everything, and patience is the key to being happy and successful in anything you do. If you are so inclined to leave a review after reading, it would be much appreciated. There is nothing more joyful than hearing what readers think of your work. Good or bad. It helps me grow as writer and I appreciate the time people take to review. Thank you, once again, for your interest in my novel. R.M.GAUTHIER
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
1
10 14 20 30 39 48
Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
As glittering lights litter the town, all sparkly and bright, I cross the main street from one side to the other, wondering how people can possibly enjoy this commercially driven holiday. It holds no sense of the true meaning anymore. This holiday brilliantly displays human nature at its finest, providing them an excuse to show their true colors. People fighting in the outlet stores over who gets the last ‘have to have this season toy.’ Spending more money than one earns in a year to spoil their kids rotten while trying to be labeled as the best parents in the world. This holiday has sure grown into quite a spectacle. Yet, every year throngs of people spend their time looking for the perfect gift. The gift that says I love you the best. The gift that will, hopefully, give the intended receiver the impression the one giving the gift means more to them than anyone else. Makes me want to vomit. I wouldn’t even be here, in tinsel town, if it weren’t for
the assignment I was handed last week. The one assignment I didn’t want. The one assignment that has me stepping into a store that goes against my core belief. Christmas Town Store. Yes, I’m in Christmas Town. At the Christmas Town Store. Double vomit. The store is just as I imagined it to be. Brightly lit in a spectrum of colors –Christmas trees, ornaments, garland, bulbs, bells, trains, and snow, lots of frigging snow! Everywhere… snow. It looks like Santa threw up in here. How anyone can stand to work here is beyond me, and apparently, they are open year round… can you imagine? Who buys Christmas items in July? Glancing around the store at all the glitz and glitter, it occurs to me that I’ve never really liked this holiday. But, I wasn’t always this way, and I wonder what changed? Shifting my thoughts, thinking about this is useless, I’m here on assignment its time to get back to that reason. Which brings me to the woman standing behind the counter, singing a Christmas tune, and fiddling with something on the counter. Her head is lowered, attention being directed at the object in front of her. As I approach, I notice the object is a decoration, not that I’m surprised. “Jingle Bell Rock” plays throughout the store. The woman’s voice, which is not half bad, can also be heard on top of the music. She fails to notice my presence, so engrossed by the ornament, giving it her undivided attention. I stand directly in front of her for a moment, noting her features. She has chocolate brown hair, piled up in a bun-type thing on top of her head. She’s just under five foot five judging by my six foot two stature. Average weight, not anorexic, but not overweight either. She is
wearing a blue, red, and green sweater, you know the kind that looks like your grandmother knitted it—and get this—there’s an actual huge snowman displayed across the front. I thought those sweaters were for children. I didn’t even know they came in adult sizes. Sick, I tell you, sick. I clear my throat to get her attention. Her head pops up in surprise, as she fumbles to remove her glasses, which have fallen to rest on the end of her nose. They slip from her hand, but she recovers nicely, grabbing them off the ornament that had garnered of her attention. She picks up the tiny glass figurine to inspect it for damage. Obviously, satisfied that it’s intact, she places it back down, moving her glasses off to the side, and finally turns her gaze to me. Her face contorts from anguish to cheerful in one point five seconds as a smile spreads across her face. She brushes the loose hairs off the side of her face as she begins to greet me. “Hello, welcome to the Christmas Town Store. How can I help you today?” Her eyes, a beautiful shade of gray, surprise me. The rest of her is average, but her eyes stand out rendering me momentarily speechless. “Hi. I’m looking for Charlotte Rose,” I finally manage, in a not so-manly-tone. Shock registers on her features. “I’m Charlotte. What can I do you for you, Mr…?” She trails off leaving it a question. “Jack. No mister. Just, Jack,” I answer, purposely leaving out my last name, getting my head back in the game after being thrown off by the ordinary-looking woman with the sinful eyes. “So, Jack. New in town, or are you just passing through?” She asks, her voice reaching a higher octave
near the end of her question, a knowing smirk appearing on her face. It stands to reason that in sparsely populated town such as this one, someone new would not go unnoticed. In fact, the town’s people would have full knowledge of any new occupants before their arrival. “Just admiring the festivities,” I answer, as smoothly as I can. She doesn’t buy it for a minute, sharp one this woman is. “Uh-huh, well, is there something I can do for you?” she asks as she brushes her hands down the front of her jeans, attempting to remove the non-existent debris. A nervous twitch I’m certain. She’s nervous. Good, now the shoe is on the other foot, and I’m more comfortable. “You could join me for dinner.” I blurt out, mentally slapping myself as the words tumble from my lips. What am I doing? She looks shocked by my proposal. Shocked as I am by my outburst, I’m quicker to school my features. I have no idea where that question came from. It’s not like me to become personally involved in a case, but I can’t let any of that show. “Charlotte, where did you put my rifle?” A deep male voice interrupts our little moment. Charlotte closes her eyes for a moment taking a deep breath. “What do you need your rifle for, Dad?” She calls back. An older gentleman makes his way out of the doorway behind the counter where I can only assume the back room is located. He is tall, around the same height as my six-foot-two frame, but he is fragile looking, as he shuffles
his feet towards Charlotte, favoring his left leg. He has a head full of silver hair, an old knitted Christmas sweater with a reindeer plastered across the front, much like Charlotte’s, but older and torn, with threads hanging in places. I briefly wonder who the clothing maker of the family is. He looks directly at me, and I see the same gray eyes that have rendered me speechless when I saw them on his daughter moments ago. “And, who might you be?” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “Dad, this is, Jack. He’s just passing through town,” Charlotte says in a quiet tone as if talking to a small child. “Jack, this is my father, William, but most people call him Bill,” she finishes, with a slight smile. Bill, on the other hand, is sizing me up. “Nice to meet you, Bill. It’s a great store you have here,” I offer, attempting to diffuse any pre-conceived notions the older gentleman may have because, at the moment, he looks ready to find his gun and use it on me. “Uh-huh.” He grunts, as his features soften. It’s clear that he shares the same vocabulary as his daughter. All the air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room as tension builds and all noise fades into the background, while father and daughter stare at me with suspicious eyes. This is the most uncomfortable I’ve ever felt, and that’s saying a lot given my profession as a private investigator. The moment is broken as jingling bells ring throughout the room and everything returns to normal. Music plays through the speakers, that moments ago, were nonexistent. The tension fades, as the room’s bright and cheery atmosphere returns, where moments ago, it was dull and lifeless.
Charlotte, plasters a smile on her face as she looks over at the door. A woman glides through the store making her way to the counter. “Yoo-hoo!” Her voice sings out, sickeningly sweet over the music. “Good morning, Rose’s. How are you doing this wonderful morning?” The new arrival breezes over to Charlotte, a smile plastered from ear to ear, and eyes solely on the senior Rose, until she notices me standing off to the side. Her smile fades as her features take on an inquisitive look. She is decked out in a tailored, white pantsuit, polished off with a pair of silver peep-toe shoes. She’s dripping with diamond jewelry—putting her wealth on display for the world to see. She has short blonde hair that is brushed away from her face, styled perfectly—not a hair out of place—as if she’s just come from the hairdresser. Over her left arm are several parcels, evidence of a recent shopping spree, and her right arm holds a purse by a fancy designer I’m sure. Her eyes narrow as she looks me over. “And, who might you be?” She asks, as she turns back to Charlotte—looking for an answer—as if I’m not standing right here. “Mrs. King, may I present to you, Jack…?” Charlotte turns to me, as realization dons on her that I never told her my last name. “Bennett,” I fill in, and the mystery is solved. Charlotte smiles as she returns her attention to Mrs. King, who I will now refer to as Rich Lady. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. King,” I reply, as I hold out my hand to her in an offering. She reaches forward, obviously surprised by my presence. It’s plain to see she doesn’t enjoy being left in the dark when it comes to the goings-on in this town.
“I haven’t heard of a new family moving to town,” she questions. Very smooth of this woman attempting to acquire information without essentially asking. Two can play this game. “There hasn’t been,” I merely state, before making my retreat. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, but I must be on my way,” I offer, as I turn and head for the door. Charlotte looks shocked at my sudden departure but remains quiet. Her father narrows his eyes in suspicion at me once more. But, it’s Mrs. King, who is not going to let me off so easily. “Are you a relative of Jeannie’s?” she asks, as she studies me closer. “No, no relatives in town,” I answer, as I open the door, ready to run out. “See you around,” I state, looking right at Charlotte, making it certain my statement is for her. I exit the store turning in the direction of my motel, feeling as if I’m the one who was just thoroughly interviewed, not at all how I planned for this day to go.
CHAPTER TWO
As I sit, pouring over the file folder on Charlotte Rose, for the millionth time, I’m astonished how this woman has affected me. I mean, I asked her out to dinner. What was I thinking? She’s not even my type. And, she runs a Christmas store, no less. This has to stop. I’m here on business. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing, and I mean nothing stands in the way of business. I came here to resolve an issue and that is exactly what I intend to do. But, how can I do that? I’ve already blown it by making my presence known, essentially, tipping off my target that I’m in town. So much for subtly breezing into town, and catching her off guard. I was the one caught off-guard and that never happens to me. What does this even mean? This woman has me questioning myself and that is something I never do. My phone vibrating on the side table pulls me from my thoughts. I retrieve it and press talk. “Hello.” “Mr. Bennett, I haven’t heard from you and wondered how the investigation was going?” A deep, cold voice, snaps in the receiver. “Mr. Edwards, I just arrived yesterday. I told you this
would take time. Please let me do my job,” I state, as I rise from the bed and make my way to the window. Looking out, my motel is sitting on the edge of town. The view gives an unobstructed view of the main street. Christmas town. How this town can dedicate itself to Christmas is something I’ll never understand. “Are you listening to me, Mr. Bennett?” Mr. Edwards snaps, letting me know I’ve missed what he was saying. “Yeah, sorry,” I offer, as I walk away from the distraction of the window. “You were saying?” “I was saying, I’m not paying you to vacation up there, I expect you to report your findings,” he replies angrily. Vacation? Is he kidding? I’m in Christmas Town. Who would want to vacation here? “Sir, I was planning to write a report and email it tonight,” I answer, hoping to calm his anger. “Just enlighten me now, since I have you on the phone,” he states, his voice a little calmer, then he mumbles. “Then, this conversation won’t be a total waste of my time.” I hear him moving around and I can just picture him pacing back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office, giving a spectacular view of the city. I ignore his last comment as I relay the story of meeting Ms. Rose and her father. I give him every detail about the town, the store, and finally the father and daughter, purposely leaving out my impromptu dinner invitation. The phone is so silent, I thought he had hung up until I pull the phone from my ear to make certain we’re still connected, and we are. He sighs into the phone. “Well, I had hoped you would be further along in your investigation, but it is what it is.” His voice, a much calmer
tone. “These things take time, Sir,” I offer. “Yes, I suppose they do. Very well, keep me apprised. I’ll be in touch.” The line goes dead. No goodbye—nothing. That man is very demanding, that’s for sure, but I knew that when I took this assignment, so I’m not surprised. I’m glad I didn’t mention the fact that I asked Ms. Rose out to dinner. I know that wouldn’t go over well with him. I put my phone back on the nightstand and walk over to the window once more. In the middle of July, this town looks odd, but I’m certain come November, December, when the snow covers everything, when tourists are swamping the streets, this town is sure to be a wonderful sight to see. If you like all things Christmas that is. As for myself… bah, humbug!
CHAPTER THREE
As I stand outside the Christmas town store, once again, I’m filled with anxiety about going in. This never happens to me, and right now I’m pacing back and forth, just out of sight of the windows. I know I have to march in there, find out the information I came for, and then get out of town. Easy, right? Not so much. It’s dawned on me, that I resemble a crazy person, and I’m certain the neighboring stores have been watching me for the past twenty minutes, as I pace back and forth, but for some insane reason, I don’t seem to care. I have never been this sloppy when it comes to my work. I’ve never asked a subject of my investigation out on a date, and believe me when I say—I’ve investigated some beautiful women in my career. But, never once have I crossed that line, and there is a line in our business that you should never cross. For the first time ever, I’ve crossed that line, which brings me to my current state of pacing back and forth, feeling awkward about
walking in the store and confronting Ms. Rose. “What are you doing?” A concerned voice stops me dead in my tracks. With my back to her, I stand for a moment, close my eyes, and take a deep breath before finally spinning around to face her. “Nothing,” I reply easily. “You’ve been out here for twenty minutes. It’s not nothing.” It’s hard to tell whether she’s angry or not; however, if I had to guess, I would say there’s more concern in her tone than anything. I remain silent, trying to think of a good reason for my crazy pacing. Nothing comes to mind. I can think of no reason for my insane behavior that would appease her, but then again, I wasn’t prepared to get caught. When leaving my motel room this morning, I didn’t have a clear vision of the tactics I would use to gain information, but pacing out front of her store was definitely not one of them. So, why would I have prepared a story to tell if I got caught? “Get in here before you freak out my neighbors more than you already have,” she says, as she turns and heads back into the store. I stand, staring at her retreating form for a moment, still trying to figure out what to say. A plausible excuse for my behavior is in order. But still, I have nothing, as I slowly walk to the door, pull it open and step over the threshold. Christmas music blares through the store speakers, assaulting my eardrums. Bright, twinkly lights, blind me for a moment before my eyes adjust. Then, there’s all that snow. Freaking snow everywhere. Ugh! Again, I wonder how someone could work here. Striding over to the counter, I decide to get back to the reason for my presence here. To finally become the
professional I claim to be. With determined strides, I march straight up to the counter, where Ms. Rose is, once again, hunched over another ornament. Does this town have an endless supply of broken ornaments? Or do they break them purposely, in order to provide this shop with work year round? Makes me wonder. Without looking up, without halting her work on the ornament, she speaks. “So, are you going to tell me why I have my neighbors calling to tell me that an outsider is stalking my store?” It’s blunt, to the point, my kind of discussion. And, still, I have no answer, so I remain mute, once more. She finally halts her work on the tiny ornament, peeking up at me, while still hunched over. I’m immediately trapped by the warm color of her eyes. She raises an eyebrow, waiting for an answer, which will never come. I shake my head to break the hold from her eyes. “I’m Jack Bennett,” I say, stupidly. “Well, although we’ve met already, it’s nice to formally meet you, Jack Bennett. I’m Charlotte Rose,” she offers, as she holds out her hand for me to shake, which I do. Silence fills the space, besides the Christmas music playing through the speakers, which in her presence, I can almost ignore. Almost. She lets out an angry huff as she goes back to working on her ornament, completely ignoring me, and my refusal to answer her question. I stand, once again, awkwardly watching her work. Another loud huff escapes her lips. She really is as cute as a bear cub when she’s angry, almost makes me want to anger her more. Almost. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me work?” she asks, as she puts the ornament down, places her
hands on the counter-top and leans forward to stare at me. I hadn’t planned for this. Any of this. I’m never tonguetied. Never stumped, as much as she stumps me. I have no idea what to say. This is not how I normally run an investigation, letting my target know who I am and what I’m doing, but I can feel it coming. I can feel the truth slipping through my lips. I have to do something to stop it. “So, dinner tonight?” I blurt out, successfully avoiding the truth falling from my tongue, but shocking myself in the process. Apparently, I shocked Charlotte too, as she stands staring at me, silently. What was I thinking? I did it again. What’s wrong with me? As I’m berating myself, I notice the dumbfounded look on Charlotte’s face. I also notice her father standing in the doorway to the back room, narrowing his eyes as he gives me a death glare. I look back at Charlotte who has also noticed her father. She looks back at me and plasters a fake smile on her face. “I would love to go to dinner,” she replies, her face straining to keep the smile in place. Her father, on the other hand, not smiling at all. In fact, he looks as though he’s going to grab his gun and use it on me. “Great,” I say, nervously. “I’ll pick you up at seven?” I ask, more of a question than a statement. “Fine.” “Fine,” I repeat, as I start to back away from the counter, from her, but most importantly, her father. My eyes never leave his, as I make my way to the door. “See you later,” I call out, as I take my leave.
Turning onto the sidewalk, and heading in the direction of my motel, I give my head a shake, wondering how this happened to me—again. I asked her out—again. In my defense, I was trying to avoid telling her the truth of who I am. I’ve lied in my line of work many times before, so what makes this so different? Why can’t I lie to her? What is it about her?
CHAPTER FOUR
The lighting is low, soft music playing in the background, several people talking in hushed voices, and the scraping of utensils on plates is the ambience surrounding us as we sit quietly waiting for our dinner to arrive. It’s a nice restaurant, and feels as if every person in town has been through these doors, or is having dinner here tonight. I feel on display, as if everyone knows Charlotte and I, are here on—dare I say—our first date. I’ve been in denial about the date part. All afternoon, I’ve been in denial, thinking about how this evening came about. Asking her out to dinner was not on the agenda. But then again, none of this assignment has gone according to plan, since arriving in Christmas Town. I finally came to the conclusion that it’s the Christmas theme that is throwing me off. I’m not a fan of Christmas, so I deciphered that being in Christmas Town is messing with my senses. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Charlotte is sitting across from me in a nice black dress with a beautiful, long, gold necklace that has a heart dangling down, emphasizing her elegant neckline. Her
elegant neckline? Seriously? Since when do I talk about necklines? Or notice them for that matter? This is exactly what I’m talking about. This—Christmas theme—is messing with me. At least this restaurant seems like a Christmas-free zone. The only thing in this place that remotely resembles Christmas is the fireplace to the side of the room. And of course, the Santa earrings Charlotte, is displaying on her earlobes, letting me know that the store is not just a job to her, but rather a lifestyle. “So, why a Christmas store?” I ask at the same time, she asks. “What do you do?” We both laugh. Well, she giggles, and I give a hearty, manly laugh—but whatever. “Sorry.” Again, we both speak at the same time, and the giggling is repeated. Okay. Yes, I giggle, like a twelve-year-old girl, I giggle— so sue me. “I’ll go first,” she says as she picks up her glass of wine and takes a sip. “My father moved us to Christmas Town when I was eleven, after my mother left us. I think he was hoping to soften the blow by having Christmas—the happiest time of the year—all year round. We’ve been running the Christmas store ever since,” she pauses to take another sip of wine. “Is there really enough business to stay open all year?” I ask, really curious of the answer. “You’d be surprised,” she answers, just as our waiter brings us our dinners. Once everything is settled and we are tucking into our meals, she asks the question I’ve been trying to avoid. “So, Jack. What do you do?” She asks, as she raises a fork full of steak to her mouth, taking a bite. It’s quite pleasant to see a woman order a steak and
potatoes, rather than salad or tofu. I like meat, and there’s nothing like dating a vegetarian who is constantly trying to convert you. I’m not saying all are like that, but more often than not, that is who I find. To each their own I say, but that isn’t always the case. Instead of answering her question directly, I skirt the issue. “I own a securities business.” I had pre-planned that lie, so it was easier to say without thinking about it. “How interesting,” she offers. “Not really, nothing much interesting happens,” I say, waving my hand to dismiss her thought. “Have you ever thought of doing anything else?” I ask, hoping to distract the conversation away from myself. “Of course, I think everyone grows up wanting to be many things, but…” She trails off, taking another bite of dinner. I continue eating, waiting for her to continue. When it’s apparent she’s going to remain quiet, I prompt her. “But?” “But,” she huffs, as she puts her fork down, giving me her undivided attention. “Life gets in the way,” she states dramatically, before returning to her meal. I place my fork on my plate and stare at her. This is like pulling teeth getting information from her. I’ve never had this much trouble getting a woman to open up to me. What is it about her? By this point in any date women are usually telling me their life stories. Things that before this evening would bore me to tears, but not her. Why not her? “Tell me what you wanted to be?” I practically plead. She places her fork on her plate and looks up at me, a sad look in her eye. “Why do you want to know?” She looks up at me through her long, dark lashes, and I almost give up this line of questioning, but can’t. I came here to find out
specific information for my client. I have a job to do, even if it’s not my normal approach, I’m going to do it. “Curiosity.” I shrug, as I easily lie. “I just want to know why Christmas?” “I wasn’t always going to work for my father. I worked hard in high school, thinking I would go to University, but then…” She trailed off, once again. There’s a sadness in her eyes that makes me reconsider pushing the subject. Before I can say anything, she continues. “In my last year of high school, actually, two weeks before I was to graduate, my father had a heart attack. He had bypass surgery and I ended up taking care of him, the store, everything really.” She picks up her wineglass, taking a sip. “After that, his recovery, rehabilitation, lots of things kept me busy, including the store. The time just never seemed right.” She shrugs her shoulders, picks up her fork and continues eating. She’s a saint. That’s what she is. A saint. Who would give up their entire life to take care of an ailing parent? A saint I tell ya. “So, no ex-husband?” I had to ask, edging closer to the question I really had to ask. “No,” she giggles. “Kids?” “Um, no,” she answers, turning slightly serious, or maybe it was more sadness, I couldn’t quite tell. “You?” She counters. “Me, what?” I ask, confused. “Wife, kids?” She smiles at me. “No, never found the right person,” I offer, even though, a wife and kids have never been a priority for me. My priorities have always been my job.
We finish our meals while continuing small talk. There are things I need to ask, but decide not to push anymore this evening. After paying the bill we walk out to the street and stroll along the sidewalk. Since this is Charlotte’s town, I told her to pick the restaurant and I have to say, it was a great choice. Good food, great ambiance, quiet place, I couldn’t have found a better place. Now, as we walk along the sidewalk, I realize I have no idea what to do next, or where to go. Do I suggest something? Wait till she makes a suggestion? “Would you like to see something incredible?” she asks, looking over at me with apprehension. “Sure,” I reply, wondering if she can read my mind. We walk to the center of town, turn off the sidewalk into a park. Walking across the park, we come upon a large tree and stop in front of it. It’s huge, with a lot of branches, and very full. “When we moved here it was November, right around Thanksgiving, and I remember my Dad bringing me down here for our first tree-lighting ceremony. It was the best thing I’d ever seen,” her voice—a wondrous tone. “It was that moment that I fell completely in love with Christmas, and really saw the magic the season can bring.” She turns to look at me. I was looking at the tree, listening to her story, but took a moment to see the sparkle in her eyes, and how her face was lit up just from remembering that moment in her past. “Before coming here, we were a wreck. My father and I. My mother leaving broke both our hearts. I tried to stay strong because my father took it hard, but it took its toll on me too. Of course, I blamed myself, thinking I wasn’t a good enough daughter, so I made a promise that night,
after seeing the tree and all its lights, that I would always be there for my father and be the best daughter I could be.” She turns back looking over the tree like it’s a window into the past. “You do know, it wasn’t your fault, right?” I had to ask. “I do now.” She turns to look at me. “But back then, I was a child, I didn’t understand how she could leave us —me.” She looks back at the tree, staring a little longer. I look at the tree wondering if it still holds the magic she felt that night. By the look on her face, I would have to say—yes. Her whole face is lit up, eyes sparkling—she looks beautiful. I want to lean over and kiss her, but I’m torn knowing I have a job to do, and getting involved on a personal level with this woman is not part of my job. As if on cue, my phone starts ringing, sounding extremely loud in this quiet setting. Pulling it from my pocket, I peek at it to see Mr. Edwards’ name flash across the screen. I sigh as I turn to Charlotte. “I have to take this,” I say, as I press talk and walk a few feet away. “Good evening, Mr. Edwards,” I say, as I stop and look back at Charlotte who is still lost in the past while looking at the tree. “Are you avoiding me, Mr. Bennett?” Mr. Edwards asks, anger evident in his tone. “No, Sir. I was planning to call you tonight.” My attempt at diffusing his anger. “It’s already late, Mr. Bennett. I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he barks. “I understand, Sir. But, I’m still working,” I present. “I would assume a specialty store would close early, especially one in a small town. Would my assumption be incorrect?” I hate how he can accuse me of something, without actually accusing me.
“Yes, you would be correct in assuming that, but…” I am interrupted. “In that case, I should have heard from you by now, correct?” There’s that way of making accusations without actually stating them. “No, because—” Once more, I’m interrupted. “I don’t want to hear excuses, I just want results, Mr. Bennett,” he commands. That’s enough for me. I’m not used to dealing with people as difficult as Mr. Edwards. I’ve had to deal with people all of my life, but no one has come close to this man, and I’m beginning to wonder why I accepted this job in the first place. Money. That’s what lured me in. Money. This man is paying an obscene amount of money for what I thought would be an easy in-and-out job. He was willing to pay what amounted to a year’s worth of business for a couple of weeks’ investigation. How could I say no to that? I couldn’t. But, standing here now, the money doesn’t seem worth it. I should tell him where he can stick his money. I should just hang up, leave town and wash my hands of all of this, but now that I’m here, looking at Charlotte, recalling her past memories, while looking at that huge tree, I want to learn more about her. She’s captured my interest. “Mr. Edwards, when I wrap things up for the evening, I will get back to you. Until then, I’m afraid you will just have to wait,” I propose, hoping to settle him. “I don’t understand. If the store is closed…” The line suddenly goes very quiet, and yet again, I have to pull the phone away from my ear to check the connection. The timer is still running, so I know he is still there. Placing the phone back to my ear, I hear a sharp
intake of breath. “You are with her right now.” he states, rather than asks. “Correct,” I reply. “That’ll be all, Mr. Bennett.” He dismisses me and the line goes dead. I stand wondering what he means by ‘all’, this phone call, the entire investigation? What did he mean by that? “Bad news?” Charlotte asks, as she stands directly beside me. I wonder how long I could have been lost in thought that I didn’t notice her approach. “No. Just work stuff. I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” I reply, knowing it was the truth. I would have to deal with Mr. Edwards tomorrow, and I told myself to let it go for the night. I would deal with everything tomorrow, which meant coming clean with Charlotte, consequences be damned. I would also get the answers Mr. Edwards is seeking. I do believe he has this all wrong. As for tonight—this one night—I am going to enjoy the company and even this small town. For one night anyway.
CHAPTER FIVE
The old saying, “Sleep on it and you’ll have clear thoughts in the morning,” couldn’t be any truer, than it is this morning. I wake with complete lucidity of mind and I know exactly what I’m going to do. To start, I have to shower, dress and get ready to face the day, and everything it would bring. Once ready, I walk around the room of my motel collecting my personal items. Once set, I head out the door and down the street toward the Christmas store and Charlotte. I feel lighter, and with a small spring in my step. I can almost appreciate this town for what it attempts to do with the Christmas theme. Almost. I stop outside the Christmas store and peer in the window. There she is, hunched over the counter, working on yet another ornament. Her long, dark hair is hanging around her shoulders—styled today—rather than pulled up in the bun as she wore the first day I arrived here. I admire her concentration on the small object laid out in front of her. On my way over, I decided to use the direct approach from here on out, during this investigation. I decided to
be up front and honest with Charlotte about why I’m here and the goal I hope to accomplish. Now, it’s just a matter of walking in there and manning up. I take one last admiring look, before turning and heading into the store. Concentrating heavily on her work, Charlotte doesn’t notice me for a moment, but once she does, she lifts her head giving me the biggest smile, making me feel bad for what is about to happen. I’m hoping she can forgive me for not being completely honest with her. But it has to be done, cause I like her, more than anyone I’ve ever dated, and I hope we can get past this. However, I’m not that optimistic. “Well, hello there. How are you today?” she asks, as she places the small ornament down, giving me her full attention. “Good morning. I’m good, and you? How are you today?” I return. “I’m good,” she ducks her head, smiling wider. There’s a ping in my chest, knowing what’s about to come. I almost rethink my strategy, nevertheless, I know this is the right thing to do. I never handle these kinds of cases in this manner, but Mr. Edwards can be a very persuasive man. “Charlotte, I haven’t been completely upfront with you, since arriving in town,” I announce, watching her face go from joyous and smiling, to serious in a second. “I kind of assumed there was a reason for your sudden appearance,” she declares. “I’m a Private Investigator, here on a case for a client,” I blurt out. We are silent for a moment, while she absorbs this new information. “Okay. So, what or whom are you investigating?” she
inquires, raising her eyebrow at me. “Well—the thing is,” I hesitate, wondering how to state this. “Just spit it out, Jack,” she encourages. “You,” I simply state. “Me?” she repeats, surprise written all over her face. “Yes, I’m here to investigate you,” I utter, feeling sick to my stomach. “Why?” she counters. “I’m here to find out—” I pause, running my hand through my hair—a nervous condition. “My assignment is to—” More hair pulling, before running my hand over my face. Keeping my eyes closed, I spit out my next question. “Did you give away a baby?” Laughter fills my ears as I slowly open my eyes. Charlotte is almost doubled over with laughter. Shocked, I watch her giggling. In the background, I hear the ringing of the doorbells indicating someone’s arrival, but I don’t pay much attention, as I watch Charlotte who is attempting to settle herself down, wiping tears from her eyes. Her laughter has also caught the attention of her father who is now standing in the doorway, shooting daggers at me. “What is going on here?” His gruff voice sounds angry. Charlotte looks over at her father, and collects herself enough to speak. “Oh, Dad. Jack here is a private investigator,” she giggles a little. “He’s in town on assignment to investigate me,” her voice goes an octave higher, and I can tell the laughter is about to start again. Her father narrows his eyes at me, unamused. “What do you want to know?” Shocked by the deadly look he is giving me, I remain
quiet, but Charlotte doesn’t. “He asked me if I gave up a baby.” She laughs out loud once more, her father on the other hand, looks as though he may just throw me out of his store. “You never answered the question.” All three of us turn to the sharp, deep tone, of the person who asked that question. Mr. Edwards is standing there watching us all. He must have been the person who set off the bells over the door. He looks angry, not that he was ever overly friendly, but he has always kept his composure. Right now, not so much. I look back at Charlotte, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights, as she stares at Mr. Edwards. Her father looks angrier than before, if that is possible. Charlotte clears her throat. “No. I’ve never given up a baby,” she declares—but not to—me, she’s talking directly to Mr. Edwards. In fact, she can’t take her eyes off him. Mr. Edwards goes from angry, to disappointed, before he skillfully schools his features to reveal a blank expression. All is quiet. No one speaks. I can faintly hear the Christmas music in the background, as I try to come up with something to say. Something that will ease the tension in the room. “That’s not exactly the truth,” Charlotte’s father announces. We all turn to look at him, while he ducks his head, refusing to look up. “Dad?” Charlotte calls to him in a soft voice. He peeks up at her, than lowers his eyes once more. I look at Mr. Edwards, who raises his eyebrow at me. I
shrug my shoulders, indicating that I have no knowledge to present him. We both turn to watch the father and daughter. Charlotte has moved closer to her father, but her approach is slow. “What are you talking about, Dad?” He lifts his head to look at her, again. Rubbing his hand over his forehead he looks distressed, unsure. “It was for the best, honey,” he states in a pleading voice. “You were so young.” “What did you do?” Charlotte’s voice becomes angry. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he pleads with her. “You were so scared. Hell, I was scared for you. I didn’t want you to ruin your life,” he states, as he lowers his head once more. Charlotte is dumbfounded. She leans against the counter for support. “My baby died,” she whispers to no one in particular. “Not exactly,” her father whispers back. I remain completely frozen. I know I should leave and give this family the privacy they deserve, but I can’t seem to move. Mr. Edwards looks stunned, but also remains still. Charlotte’s angry voice breaks through my thoughts. “What do you mean not exactly?” She snaps. “When you had the baby, I told you he died, but the truth is, I had arranged for him to be adopted, by a good family. A family who would take good care of him and give him the life he deserved.” Her father’s voice was pleading for understanding. He turns to look at Mr. Edwards. “You have a good life, right? You parents treated you well?” Mr. Edwards, remains still—no expression to indicate what he is thinking. He nods, but remains quiet. “See, he’s had a good life. It was the right thing to do,” her father pleads with her.
“I don’t understand. The hospital…” Charlotte pauses for a moment, thinking. “They were in on this?” she inquires, looking enraged at her father, awaiting his response. “No. I told them you wanted to give the baby away. So, when you cried the whole time, they just thought you were sad.” He admitted. “But how could you do this without my consent? How could they just let you take my baby without my knowledge? How? Her voice is sharp—demanding. Her father takes a small step back as she steps towards him. “When I asked you to sign the death certificate…” Her father trails off. She takes a sharp breath, more like a gasp. “No.” She states. “They were really adoption papers.” Her father states, as he backs up into the wall, cornered. Tears begin streaming down Charlotte’s face. Mr. Edwards remains quiet and unmoving. Charlotte’s father looks like he’s going to keel over from a heart attack any moment. And I remain standing in the same spot watching this train wreck unfold, and the worst part of all is the cheery Christmas music filling the room around us, highly inappropriate at this time. “I can’t believe you could do this to me,” Charlotte hisses at her father. She walks around the counter coming to a halt in front of Mr. Edwards. They both stare at each other for a few moments. Charlotte raises her hand to his cheek, rubbing the side of his face. He remains completely still.
“I’m sorry,” She leans in and whispers to him. “I didn’t know.” She goes around him quickly and runs out the door. All three of us watch her leave. When it’s apparent she isn’t coming back, I look at the other two gentlemen. Mr. Edwards is staring at Charlotte’s father, and her father is leaning against the counter with his head down, shoulders trembling. Mr. Edwards glances at me and I give him a nod. I stride out of the store as quickly as I can. Stopping on the sidewalk, I glance up and down the street looking for any indication of which way Charlotte went. It suddenly dawns on me where she would go and I make way there. Standing at the back of the park, in front of the giant tree, is Charlotte, staring at the tree as if it has the answers to life. I approach her slowly, afraid she may run. “I’m not going to take off,” she whispers. “Sorry,” I reply. “You have nothing to be sorry for, it wasn’t you who’s been lying to me my entire life,” she says, her voice trembling, as she watches the tree. I can see streams of tears running down the side of her face. I have nothing to offer her. No words of wisdom. Nothing that would comfort her at this time. I am so out of my depth here. I realize the only thing I have brought her is pain. I also realize there is no fix here. There’s nothing I can do to make this right. I am the messenger in this scenario, and you know what they say about the messenger. I decide to take my leave, and let this family work out their issues. “I am sorry about everything, Charlotte. Please forgive me,” I whisper, as I turn and walk away.
CHAPTER SIX
It’s been five months since I was in Christmas Town. Five months since my entire world changed. After leaving Charlotte at the tree, I went back to my motel room, packed my bags and left town. I never heard from Mr. Edwards again, only receiving payment for services rendered. Although, my private investigations business was immediately flooded with work—so much so—I had to hire an office full of people to handle the inflow of customers. I strongly suspect I was being referred to by Mr. Edwards, but have yet to verify that. With the Christmas season upon us, I am a little nostalgic, which is why, when I received a formal request to attend the Christmas tree lighting ceremony—in none other than Christmas Town—I packed my bag and decided to make the trip. I’m not sure who sent the request, but I can only guess it was Charlotte. Although, I haven’t heard from her since I walked away from her standing by the tree that day in July. I have heard that Charlotte and Mr. Edwards have been seeing each other regularly. I am after all, a private investigator. Peering out the window of my motel, down the main street of town, I have to admit, it certainly is beautiful this
time of year. The whole street is dripping with lights. There are giant wreaths on every street pole, all filled with lights. A dusting of snow lingers on the street and sidewalks, which adds to the holiday spirit. Now, as you know, I’m not one for this holiday, but I have to be honest when saying that the town really is grand, and this place must be an incredible sight come the next few weeks. There is a flurry of activity in town. Shoppers going from store to store looking for the perfect holiday gift. The town population has swollen, packing the street and shops with plenty of customers. It’s hard to believe this is the same quiet town I was in only five months prior. The sun is beginning to set, indicating to me that it’s time for me to begin making my way to the town park, with the huge tree. I’m a little anxious to see the tree and all its glory, but I’m also curious to know whether it holds the same magic for me that it does for Charlotte. I walk down Main Street, viewing all the beautiful decorations, the large green garland running from each lamp post across the top of the street, all brightly lit up. Huge wreaths covered in Christmas bulbs and lights, hang from each lamp post. It’s overwhelming—all of it— and beautifully spectacular, there’s no denying it. Every store window is dressed for the holidays with a different winter scene predominantly displayed. As people make their way down the street, they stop and peek in each window. As I pass the first window, I also take a look. The scene spread out in the window is of a mountain full of snow. At the bottom of the mountain is a small town surrounding a pond. A frozen pond where small figurines are skating around and around. It truly is something to see, and very life like. As I move closer towards the window and look closely at the little figurines I notice they resemble the
ornaments that Charlotte was working on. I feel a smile spread across my face as I look at each figurine and admire the craftsmanship that goes into each one. It really is extraordinary artwork. I step back from the window to allow others to admire the view. I remain watching the tourists faces alight as they step up and look at the scene. The happiness that comes out is incredible, and to think something as simple as a winter scene brings such joy to people is overwhelming, and the pride I feel knowing how much care and energy goes into each piece is heartwarming. I turn and head down the street, smiling as the crowds around the windows get bigger and bigger. There’s no better feeling than watching the joy that these scenes bring people. The sun is low on the horizon—night not far off—as I make my way down the street to the park. Turning the corner that leads into the park, I’m immediately taken aback by the size of the crowd, as more people enter behind me. I stay back along the edge and peer around the crowd, closer to the tree. There’s no sign of Charlotte or her father. Christmas music is pouring through speakers that have been placed strategically around the park to ensure everyone’s pleasure. There are booths lined up along the sides, with vendors selling everything from hot chocolate, decorations and even a knitting booth, so that must be where the sweaters come from. At this time, it looks like the entire town and all the tourists are here or making their way here. The crowd is huge and impressive, as I glance around looking for familiar faces. When one comes into view, it’s not the one I’m looking for. Charlotte’s father stands across the way with Rich Lady
by his side. She’s looking at everything laid out on the counter of the booth, while he is staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I continue to glance around, attempting to spot the one face I traveled all this way to see. Finally, I spot her, running her booth, smiling, laughing and looking downright beautiful as she talks to her customers. My heart stops for a moment, before it starts beating faster than normal. My palms are sweating, which I’m positive has nothing to do with the gloves I’m wearing. The woman takes my breath away, and involuntarily I begin to make my way towards her booth. She has her hair down, with curls hanging out the bottom of the Santa hat positioned perfectly on top of her head. Her face is lit up, while she smiles at a customer inquiring about the ornaments on display. Once again, she is wearing a knitted sweater, but this time splayed across the front is the man himself, Santa Claus. Seeing the sweater this time gives me a different feeling, one of warmth and joy, instead of ridicule and annoyance. I watch her for a couple more moments before stepping closer to the booth, making my presence known. She looks over, a huge smile plastered across her face, which falters the moment our eyes meet. I know immediately, by the shock that crosses her features, she is not the one who extended the invitation. We stand staring at each other awkwardly for a moment, before the customer she is serving demands her attention once more. I remain still as statue, watching her collect herself and fall back into conversing with the customer. From a curtain behind the booth, Mr. Edwards appears carrying a handful of small boxes, which he places on the counter in front of Charlotte. She gives him a smile and pats his
hand. He smiles back at her. The two of them look happy, and my heart warms a little more at the sight, especially when I see the knitted sweater Mr. Edwards is wearing, with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer proudly displayed across the front. When we make eye contact, his features return to the serious businessman I met so many months ago. He nods in my direction before turning to Charlotte. They have a whispered conversation before he pushes her away from the booth, and in my direction. She comes around the booth to stand in front of me, where we stare at each other quietly. “I didn’t think I would see you again,” I whisper to her. “I didn’t either,” she responds, as she looks up at me. We both smile. “It’s obvious my invitation didn’t come from you,” I state. “What invitation?” she asks. “The one I sent him,” Charlotte’s father answers. We both turn to see Bill and the Rich Lady, Mrs. King standing a few feet away, both smiling at us. “Dad?” “What? So, I sent him an invitation. The rest is up to you,” he states, as he points in Charlotte’s direction. “I can’t believe you would interfere in my life again,” she retorts. I, on the other hand, feel deflated. Disappointed. Unwelcome. “I can see this was a mistake,” I declare, as I turn and head back to Main Street. Reaching the sidewalk, I turn towards the motel, completely depressed to learn this whole trip was a waste of time. I thought I was coming here to—to find—I’ll admit I had no idea what I thought I would find when I came here, but I believed it would lead anywhere other than
me, once again, leaving town, alone. “Jack.” Charlotte’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Jack… wait up,” she calls out even louder. I stop dead in my tracks and wait for her to catch up. She rushes to stand in front of me. “I’m sorry,” she rushes to say. “I didn’t mean to sound…” “It’s okay, I thought you invited me, but I can see how wrong I was. No need to apologize. I’m sorry for interrupting the festivities. You should get back to it. Take care, Charlotte.” I walk past her continuing down the sidewalk. “Jack,” she calls out once more. I turn around to face her. “You didn’t let me finish,” she declares as she steps closer. I step close enough to be toe-to-toe with her. “Finish,” I whisper, as I look into her eyes. “I would have invited you, had I known you would come,” she whispers. “I want you here.” She smiles up at me. I lean down and do what I’ve wanted to do since meeting this woman. I kiss her. As the sun is setting on the town, the choir singing Christmas carols, the tree lighting ceremony behind us, the crowd cheering, we have our first kiss, and it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
THE END
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOODNIGHT! -Santa Claus
ABOUT THE AUTHOR RM Gauthier has published one other novella, Longing. A prequel for her debut novel, Control. You can find all of her works at the follow links: Website www.rmgauthier.com Like my pages on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/BooksbyRGauthier/ https://www.facebook.com/Control-194513947652069/ Follow me on Twitter https://twitter.com/Ren071968 I encourage everyone to review books on Amazon, it makes an author’s day to hear what you thought of their work. Find my Author page on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/R.-M.-Gauthier/e/B0180XLIRW
OTHER BOOKS BY R.M.GAUTHIER
‘Longing’ is a prequel novella to the novel ‘Control’, which tells the story of two men coming together, one out for justice, the other revenge. Leroy, returns home after serving 8 years in the Special Forces to discover his nightmare has not ended, but is just beginning. After discovering that his sister has been missing for months, Leroy sets out on a mission to find and bring her home. Accepting a management position in an exclusive night club exposes Leroy to a world of crime and corruption he had no idea existed. If interested you can find it here: Longing on Amazon
CONTROL
Can one night change everything? After a night out with her best friend, Alexandria’s world is turned upside down making her re-evaluate her entire life. Meeting Landon Miller, a powerful businessman and owner of an exclusive club opens the door to a world she never knew existed. But, what lies beneath his business suit is a dark domain of mystery and control that unlocks a world of crime and punishment. If interested you can find it here: Control on Amazon
WAITING
Waiting - novella - At 17, Tristan met, Jeremy, the boy of his dreams. At 30, he realizes that Jeremy will never be his. After years of holding everyone up to the Jeremy scale, Tristan is finally, ready to move on and find someone who will love him back. Waiting is available here: Waiting on Amazon