Kitabı oku: «Yuletide Peril»
“Do you know what caused your uncle’s death, Janice?”
Lance’s voice seemed troubled, and she glanced quickly toward him. “No.”
Taking a deep breath, Lance said, “He committed suicide at Mountjoy. There was some talk that he was murdered, but it looked more like suicide. The police department searched around a while, but they couldn’t prove anything.”
Janice’s optimism about her inheritance crashed. “My dad didn’t talk much about his family, but I’ve heard him say that someone in each generation of Reids died a tragic death.”
“Yes, that story goes around.” He hesitated, but Janice had to be warned. “It isn’t just any Reid, but the owner of this house.”
Her eyes widened. “If that’s the case, then I might be the next victim.”
IRENE BRAND
Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasn’t finished it yet. However, since 1984 she’s published thirty-two contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles. She started writing professionally in 1977 after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself to writing.
Consistent involvement in the activities of her local church has been a source of inspiration for Irene’s work. Traveling with her husband, Rod, to all fifty states, and to thirty-two foreign countries has also inspired her writing. Irene is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters with strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187 or visit her Web site at www.irenebrand.com.
Yuletide Peril
Irene Brand
MILLS & BOON
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For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.
—II Timothy 1:7
Thanks to Lieutenant Carl Peterson, Mason County Sheriff’s Office, for providing information about meth labs and other illegal drugs.
Dear Reader,
Thanks very much for reading this book, and I pray that it has been a blessing to you.
Since I’m a “from-scratch” type of cook, I wanted to share one of the recipes I mentioned in the book.
PORK CHOPS AND RICE
5–6 boneless pork chops
3 cups boiling water
4 bouillon cubes
1 cup rice
½ cup chopped celery
¼ cup chopped onions
¼ tsp pepper
Brown chops and remove from pan. Add water and bouillon cubes to pan and stir until dissolved. Add rice, celery, onions and pepper and stir. Put chops on top and bake at 300°F for 1½ hours.
When you prepare this recipe for your family, I hope you think of me and pray for my writing ministry.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Prologue
The summer storm reached the old house as the fourth member of the gang stepped up on the porch. A clap of thunder, as loud as a mortar blast, rumbled across the metal roof. A bolt of lightning sliced the skies and struck a spruce tree, toppling half of the tree on the roof of the house. The man jumped as if he’d been shot and scuttled inside like a scared rabbit.
Another streak of lightning revealed three other men lounging on the dilapidated furniture. One of them laughed uproariously. “I believe the old house is getting to you, boss. We’d better can some of this noise—it’s better than what we’ve been using to scare people away.”
Rain blew in the broken windows soaking the ragged carpet, and the intermittent lightning revealed a room that at one time had been elegantly furnished. But time and the elements had taken a toll on the old house—its grandeur was a thing of the past.
Ignoring the comment, the newcomer took off his hat and shook the water from it. “We’ll have to suspend operations for a few days. The big heiress is coming to town. I don’t think she’ll visit the house, but just in case, be sure that everything is hidden. We don’t want any evidence that we’ve been using the house in case she gets nosy.”
“You say she ain’t apt to be around long,” the man who’d first spoken commented.
“Chances are she’ll pocket her money and leave without causing any trouble,” the leader of the group said.
“Don’t give me that baloney, man. I’ve been shadowing her for a month, and she strikes me as a stubborn woman who won’t be easy to scare. You’d better let me get rid of her.”
“No,” the leader said in a tone that brooked no argument. “We’ve got a good thing going here, and I won’t ruin it. If we kill the woman, we’ll have cops all over the place. Murder is not an option, for now, at least.”
Chapter One
Stanton was a step above her hometown of Willow Creek, but that still didn’t say much for the town where Janice Reid intended to make her home. Her primary reason for coming to Stanton was to meet with the lawyer who’d handled her uncle’s estate. As she braked at the town limits and drove slowly into Stanton, Janice focused her attention on the street in front of her, because she’d only had her driver’s license four weeks.
Brooke, her eleven-year-old sister, perched on the edge of the seat and watched for the office of Loren Santrock. Brooke located all of the fast-food restaurants, but she didn’t spot the lawyer’s office as they drove through the town.
Glancing at the fuel gauge of the car, Janice said, “Let’s stop for gas, then we’ll look for Mr. Santrock’s office again.” She pulled off the street, stopped by the pumps of a convenience store and took a deep breath, thankful that they’d made a safe journey. She didn’t have much confidence in her driving ability.
“What do you think of the town?” Janice asked Brooke. With a pensive glance at her sister, she added, “Does it look like a good place to live?”
“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t care where we live as long as we can finally be together.”
Janice’s throat tightened and tears stung her eyes. Brooke was only ten years younger than Janice, but she felt almost like her mother. She’d had the primary care of her sister until their parents were sent to prison when Janice was fourteen. Brooke was placed in a foster home and Janice had been sent to the Valley of Hope, a residential facility for children with a variety of problems. Janice had been allowed weekly visits with her sister, but the years before Janice could be Brooke’s legal guardian had passed slowly for both of them.
Janice leaned over and kissed Brooke’s cheek before she got out of the car. “We’ll be together from now on—that’s a promise.”
She took a credit card from her purse, stepped out of the car and flexed her muscles. Unaccustomed to buying gas, Janice carefully read the instructions on the pump before she inserted the credit card and punched the appropriate tabs.
While the tank filled, Brooke tried to make friends with a scrawny black Labrador that was standing on its hind legs, eating food from a trash can beside the store.
“Hey, Brooke! Don’t bother the dog. He might bite you.”
“He looks hungry. Is it okay if I give him one of our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”
“As long as you put it on the ground and let him pick it up. Don’t try to feed him. You don’t know if he has any diseases or fleas.”
Janice watched her sister while she waited for the receipt to print. Brooke took a sandwich from a plastic bag, unwrapped it and laid it a couple of feet from the dog. He seized the food, ran across the street and disappeared behind a residence.
“Look at him run!” Brooke said, laughing. “He must be awful hungry.”
“Wait in the car for me,” Janice called as she glanced over her shoulder at Brooke and started into the store. “I’ll ask for directions to the lawyer’s office.”
Brooke’s brown eyes widened. “Look out!”
Janice swung quickly toward the store just as a tall tawny-haired man opened the door and bumped into her. Janice staggered backward. The man’s strong arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and kept her from falling.
“That was a close call,” he said sternly. As if reprimanding a child, he added, “You should look where you’re going.”
Janice’s face flamed. Although she knew the man was right, she motioned toward her sister and quipped, “I preferred looking at what was behind me, rather than what was in front of me.”
Realizing that she was still in his embrace, Janice squirmed free, as with a pleasing grin, the man said, “Touché. Thanks for reminding me I wasn’t being careful, either.”
Janice lowered her gaze, deeply humiliated and irritated that she’d given way to one of her failings—a tendency to lash out at people when they criticized her. That wasn’t the way to start life in a new town.
“That was rude of me. Thanks for saving me from a fall. I should have been more alert.” Taking a deep unsteady breath, she stepped away from him.
The man’s short, wavy hair flowed backward from his high forehead, and his warm dark blue eyes clung to her heavily lashed green ones for a moment. His face reddened slightly, and he said, “No problem.” He strode purposely toward a black van parked at one of the pumps.
It took a lot to fluster Janice, but she realized that her pulse was racing. Surely it must be from the near fall, rather than the thrill she’d experienced when the man had embraced her. She hurried back to the car, slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
“Did you learn where to find the lawyer?” Brooke asked.
With a start, Janice remembered her reason for going into the store. “Oh, after I almost fell, I forgot about it. But Stanton is a small town. We’ll find his office.”
Traffic wasn’t heavy, and Janice drove slowly along Main Street, hoping to spot Santrock’s office. When they didn’t locate it, she said, “Let’s get out and walk. Since Stanton’s downtown area covers only a few blocks, it should be easy to find.”
She pulled into a diagonal parking space and fed the meter. They went into a drugstore and the clerk gave them directions to the lawyer’s office.
Brooke took Janice’s hand as they walked to his office, one block west of Main Street. Janice squeezed her sister’s hand, wondering how apprehensive Brooke was about their move. But if they didn’t like Stanton, she could sell the property she’d inherited from her uncle and return to Willow Creek. Despite their sordid family background, they’d been accepted there. People in Stanton might not be as understanding.
Janice hadn’t doubted her decision to move to Stanton until a few weeks ago when she’d read a letter from the uncle who’d willed his estate to her. A few of his words had seared her memory and they were foremost in her mind today.
I’ve recently become aware of some mysterious happenings at Mountjoy, but I intend to find out what’s going on. I pray that I haven’t saddled you with more trouble than you needed.
Santrock’s office was on the second floor of an old, two-story brick building, but his reception room was impressive. When her feet sunk into the thick gray carpet, Janice had the sensation of walking on a bed of woodland moss. The windows were dressed with long, heavy maroon draperies. A semicircular arrangement of wood veneer furniture, finished in cherry, dominated the room. The desktop held the very latest in computer equipment, including extralarge flat-screen monitors.
The middle-aged receptionist turned from her computer to welcome Janice and Brooke with a smile. The woman’s black suit obviously hadn’t come off the bargain racks where Janice bought her clothes. She felt ill at ease in such affluence.
“I’m Dot Banner,” the receptionist said. “What can I do for you today?”
“I’m Janice Reid. I have an appointment with Mr. Santrock.”
A somber look replaced the woman’s smile. “Mr. Santrock couldn’t be in the office today, and we didn’t know how to reach you. Did you come far?”
Irritated at this turn of events, Janice said bluntly, “Yes, I did. It’s a four-hour drive from Willow Creek, and I have to return in time for work tomorrow morning. This really puts me in a bind.”
Gesturing helplessly with her hand, the receptionist said, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Janice replied, her irritation evident in the tone of her voice. “I made this appointment two weeks ago to discuss my inheritance. Now that I’m twenty-one, Mr. Santrock said he’d have the papers ready to transfer the property and bank accounts to me today.”
“The papers are ready, but you’ll have to see Mr. Santrock to finalize everything.”
Discouraged at this delay, Janice sat down uninvited in one of the upholstered guest chairs and motioned Brooke to another one. “I have to return to Willow Creek tonight, so I’ll call in a few days to make another appointment. I would like to see the house though. If you’ll give me the key, I’ll take a look at it.”
“I have no authority to give a key to you. You’ll have to see Mr. Santrock. He’s a stickler on seeing that everything is done legally.”
Janice had the feeling that she was being given the runaround and she couldn’t imagine why. Her uncle had died three years ago. Santrock had had ample time to know when she’d take control of the property. If he couldn’t be in his office today, he should have contacted her.
“I don’t suppose I’ll break any law if I look at the property,” Janice said tersely. “Surely your boss won’t mind if you tell me where to find the house.”
“Oh, you won’t have any trouble finding the Reid property,” the receptionist said smoothly, apparently choosing to ignore Janice’s sarcasm. “It’s the last house on the right side of the highway as you leave the city limits. If you see a sign that says, ‘Leaving Stanton,’ you’ve gone too far.”
As they left Santrock’s office, Janice reasoned that with the setbacks she’d had in her life she shouldn’t be surprised that this venture had fizzled out. When they reached the street, the scent of food from a nearby restaurant reminded Janice that she was hungry.
“How about some lunch?” she asked.
“Yeah!” Brooke gave Janice a thumbs-up, and her brown eyes shone with merriment. They walked across the street to Brooke’s favorite chain restaurant.
Brooke ordered her usual hamburger, fries and glass of milk. Janice chose an Oriental fruit and vegetable salad and iced tea.
As they ate, Brooke talked excitedly about having their own home. “Wonder if we can have a big, big Christmas tree? And outside decorations, too?” she added hopefully.
“Since it will be the first time in our own home, I think we can afford to celebrate,” Janice agreed, before she added cautiously, “but I can’t promise until I know exactly how much money I’ve inherited. Our uncle was very cautious—he left matters in the hands of his lawyers until he assumed I’d be old enough to handle money.”
Since Christmas seemed to be a high priority with Brooke, Janice intended to have a good holiday season to make up for all the ones they’d both missed as children.
After living from hand to mouth most of her childhood, Janice had dreamed of having a home of her own. Since she’d heard that John Reid had remembered her in his will, Janice had been anticipating living under her own roof. She’d nightly thanked God that her bachelor uncle had chosen her to inherit his estate. The legacy included the Reid family home and several thousand dollars, but she didn’t know the exact amount. Any amount would seem like a fortune to Janice, who’d always had to save up for everything she’d had. She thought that her life had taken a turn for the better when she inherited her uncle’s property.
Following Dot Banner’s directions, Janice rounded a curve in the road and had the first look at her house, situated on a hill about a quarter of a mile from the highway. Although stunned into disbelief, she was alert enough to glance in the rearview mirror before she slammed on the brakes and pulled off the highway. Her dream had suddenly turned into a nightmare.
“Is this it?” Brooke asked, blinking with disappointment.
“I’m afraid so,” Janice said. “There’s the sign Miss Banner mentioned, and this is the last house on the right. Besides, I’ve seen a picture of the place. This is it.”
The Reid home, Mountjoy, the same name as the family’s ancestral home in England, was a two-story frame house with an upstairs balcony on the front of the building. Untrimmed rhododendron and laurel bushes, as well as a tall evergreen hedge, obscured the first floor.
At one time the weatherboarding had been white, but the paint had peeled off, leaving it a dingy gray. Some of the windows were broken and strips of curtains dangled through the holes. Weather-beaten green shutters hung askew. Janice assumed that the first floor looked as bad as the rest of the house.
“Can we live here?” Brooke asked in a frightened voice.
“Not right away. I can see why the receptionist was amused when I asked for a key. It will take a bulldozer to clear a path through that wilderness so we can reach the house.”
Janice’s great-grandfather had built this house in the late nineteenth century with money earned from the coal industry. He had accumulated vast wealth, and his sons and grandsons had squandered most of his fortune, but Janice had no idea that the family home had fallen into such disrepair. John Reid, their uncle, had lived in a house in Stanton for several years prior to his death. From the looks of things, nothing had been done to the property since he’d moved to town.
Not only was Janice disappointed in her legacy, but as she glanced around the property, a flutter of apprehension played a staccato rhythm up and down her spine. She’d experienced plenty of fear when she’d lived in her parents’ home, but after she’d landed in the sheltering arms of VOH, she’d had no reason to be afraid. So what had caused her sudden jolt of terror? A shock so powerful that Janice wondered if she should forget about moving to Stanton and return to Willow Creek where she still had a job, as well as friends and acquaintances. Cutting ties with the past might not be the sensible thing to do. Should she ask Mr. Santrock to sell this property and transfer all the assets to her banking account in Willow Creek?
But during the uncertain years of her childhood, Janice had developed a hardness of spirit and self-reliance that had kept her going when most girls her age would have given up. After she’d survived long days and nights alone as Brooke’s only caregiver, to preserve her own sanity, Janice had learned to overcome her fear.
She put the car in gear and moved forward until she found a place to turn around. Brooke huddled beside her, a fearful expression on her face. Janice had thought that relocation would be good for Brooke, as well as for herself, but now she was uncertain about her decision.
Trying to put on a cheerful face for her sister, Janice said enthusiastically, “Let’s stop by the school and see if you can register today. You’ll enjoy coming to a new school.”
“But if we don’t have a house to live in, how can we move here?” Brooke asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t have an answer to your question now. But I’ve been planning for months to start a new life in this town, and I will not willingly give up my plans.”
Eventually, she might have to return to Willow Creek, but not without checking her options. Janice wondered if her alternative idea of selling Mountjoy and buying another house in Stanton would be feasible. She doubted that the property would bring a good price in its present condition. Janice slowed the car to take another look as they drove past her legacy on the way into town.
“Looks like a haunted house to me,” Brooke observed.
A chill tingled along Janice’s spine again, for the same thought had occurred to her. She sensed that Mountjoy spelled trouble for her. Did danger lurk behind the thick undergrowth?
Her father’s visits to the family home had been infrequent, and after he became an adult, he never spent a night in the house. He avoided the place because, in every generation, a Reid had died a tragic death at Mountjoy. Would she be the Reid to die in the present generation? Annoyed at the thought, Janice questioned what had happened to her common sense. Again she remembered her uncle’s letter and his comment about mysterious happenings at Mountjoy.
During the four years she’d spent at the Valley of Hope, Janice had learned a lot about the Bible. Miss Caroline Renault, the director of the facility, had emphasized the necessity of memorizing Scripture verses. When she was especially troubled, Janice always reached into her storehouse of Scripture verses for a spiritual truth that encouraged her to carry on.
Glancing at Brooke’s woebegone face, fear again threatened to overwhelm Janice. Searching frantically for an antidote to combat this fear, Janice dipped into her memory bank.
“Brooke, Miss Caroline always said that the Bible can help us work out our problems. Let’s think of some Bible verses to encourage us to face the future with hope.”
Brooke sniffled and blew her nose with a pink tissue that she took from the pocket of her brown shorts. “I don’t know many verses ’cept the Lord’s Prayer and the Twenty-third psalm.”
“That psalm has a lot of encouraging words. Can you think of one verse to say over and over when you’re scared?”
“‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.’”
“That’s a good one,” Janice said. “The one I’m thinking about is from the New Testament. The apostle Paul encouraged his young friend, Timothy, by saying, ‘God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power; and of love, and of a sound mind.’ We won’t let that old dilapidated house scare us. Let’s think about how it looked a hundred years ago.”
“In that picture you have?”
“Yes. Maybe we can make it that way again.”
With a wistful sigh, Brooke said, “I do want a home of our own. I’m always afraid I’ll have to live with Dad and Mom again.”
Janice winced when Brooke expressed the fear that had worried her until she turned eighteen. “I’m your legal guardian now, and wherever I am, you’re going to be with me,” she said firmly.
“I don’t suppose they’d want me anyway.”
Hatred, so acute it almost choked her, surged through Janice. Her feelings about her parents had been one barrier she couldn’t overcome to maintain a satisfying Christian outlook. She couldn’t forgive her parents for the way they’d neglected Brooke and her. Leroy and Florence Reid were addicted to drugs and alcohol, and they spent most of their time in bars. Even when they were at home, they lolled around in drunken stupors. Most of their money was spent on alcohol, not food for their children.
She could have stood it for herself, but when it became clear even to her young eyes that Brooke was in danger of becoming malnourished, Janice had started hoarding away money taken from her parents’ wallets for food. She’d been successful in keeping them alive for six months before her parents were arrested and convicted of robbing a convenience store. They’d been sent to prison for ten years, with the possibility of parole after seven. Brooke had become a ward of the Department of Health and Human Services when Janice had been sent to the Valley of Hope.
Suddenly it dawned on Janice that it was almost time for her parents to be paroled. Even if they hadn’t contacted their daughters while they were in prison, if her father found out that she’d inherited his brother’s estate, he’d try to take the money away from her. She wished now that she’d been more secretive about where she was moving.
The compassion of Miss Caroline and the other staff members at VOH had compensated somewhat for the physical misery of Janice’s first fourteen years. But her parents’ neglect gnawed at Janice’s spirit every day, and she didn’t think she could ever forgive them. Even when she’d prayed the Lord’s Prayer in chapel services, she had always remained silent when they came to the phrase, “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.”
Her unwillingness to forgive had always stood between Janice and a satisfactory relationship with God. She believed that Jesus had died for her sins and she’d accepted Him as her Savior. But could she ever claim Him as Lord of her life until she humbled herself and forgave her parents?
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