Harrison grinned. “You pulled the wrong string, Tucker. I am a walking encyclopedia of Christmas trivia. I always try to learn something new for each birthday. In Hawaii, Santa Claus arrives on a bright red outrigger.”
“Man, that sounds like my idea of Christmas.” Tucker looked toward the door. “Hey, Peg, Gina. What fascinating tidbits about Santa can you share? Me, I like the idea of wassail and lots of it.” He reached out, gripped a poker, and jabbed at a log. Sparks whirled upward.
I am not a fan of apple cider laced with sweet juices, but I was very hungry. I hovered near the buffet. If I were adroit…I glanced around the room. Every eye was on Peg. Though it lacked manners, I decided to forgo a plate. I could easily carry several chunks of cheese and some strawberries and crackers in my hand. I moved fast and no one noticed the tidbits in the air. I dropped far enough behind the sofa that I could eat without notice but still see everyone.
Peg stood stiffly by the opened doors. “I have exciting news.” Her voice was brisk but her face looked strained. The calico cat walked purposefully toward the fireplace and settled on a green silk cushion and began to groom.
The strawberries were succulent. I glanced toward the small bowl of sour cream on the sideboard. That would have been nice, but I wasn’t trying to indulge myself. I was simply building up strength. The crackers snapped as I munched. Fortunately the fire crackled at the same time. Too soon my snack was gone. I was tempted to forage again for food, but instead settled on an empty settee.
Gina skirted around Peg, walked toward the buffet. “We have company.” Her tone was neutral. She took a plate, spread pâté on several crackers.
Tucker looked eager. “A gorgeous redhead maybe?”
Startled, I looked down. Not a trace of my sweater or slacks was visible. I didn’t think I’d appeared. Not, of course, that I see myself as gorgeous. Absolutely not. Truly, I was thinking only in terms of being redheaded. I am definitely redheaded. Flaming copper, to be precise. I breathed a sigh of relief and brushed back a loose curl.
“No such luck for you, bud,” Gina muttered. She pulled an ottoman closer to the fire. She looked at Tucker, legs outstretched from the gilt chair. “Don’t hog the warmth, bro.” She balanced the plate on her lap.
Peg stood a few feet inside the door. She clasped her hands as she spoke. “A little boy arrived here tonight. There was a note with him. He’s Mitch’s son, Keith. Susan told us to put him in the blue room.”
The hiss and crackle of the fire was loud and distinct in sudden silence. No one moved or spoke.
I looked around the room.
Jake’s big blue eyes stared blankly at Peg. A shaky hand clasped at a strand of pearls. She looked like a good-natured pig confronted with an unfathomable reality, an alligator in the kitchen or a crevasse that yawned without warning.
The lanky young man still bent toward the fire, the poker gripped in his hand. The face turned toward Peg was immobile, dark eyebrows slashed over light brown eyes, bony features rigid.
Red-faced Harrison’s bonhomie drained away. He stared, sandy brows drawing down in a frown.
His wife pushed dark-rimmed glasses higher on her nose, looking as alert as a prairie dog poking out of a burrow and sighting a predatory badger.
Gina stared into the fire, her narrow face somber, her gaze mournful. The crackers on her plate remained untouched.
Peg’s smile was hopeful though her eyes were anxious. “Isn’t this great news? Christmas will be special this year.”
Jake’s head jerked toward the hallway. Her face was suddenly blanched. Her lips quivered. “Susan isn’t well.” Breathing heavily, she came to her feet. “I’ll go and see. This is absurd. Who brought this child? He can’t stay here. Whoever brought him must take him where he lives.”
Peg lifted a hand. “Susan’s gone to bed. She doesn’t want to see anyone now. We don’t know who brought him. He was left on the porch with a note that says Mitch is his father. There’s a birth certificate that lists Mitch as his father.”
Jake held to the back of a chair. “There has to be some mistake.”
Tucker’s face relaxed. He scratched at his bristly chin. “Don’t get in a swivet, Jake. He’s either Mitch’s boy or he isn’t. Susan will find out. Well”—his expression was bemused—“you can’t say we aren’t starting off the holidays with a bang.” He glanced at Gina. “What do you think, sis?”
“We didn’t know what happened to Mitch after he ran away.” Her voice was low and sorrowful. “I guess now we’ll find out.”
Harrison looked like a man whose boat had sprung a leak and there’s no land in sight. “If it’s true”—his words were reluctant—“it would be a great happiness for Susan. Still, this unannounced arrival seems suspicious to me. We may have to step in and protect Susan since she isn’t well.”
His wife lifted a hand as if warning him. “Susan can deal with anything, sick or well. And”—her eyes were thoughtful—“she deserves some happiness.” She looked around the room. “I’m sure you all agree.”
“Oh, of course.” “Certainly.” “Hope this isn’t a disappointment ultimately.” “Wade Farrell will have to be very careful.”
Beyond the flurry of words, I sensed shock and, more, a flash of white-hot fury.
Wiggins had been uneasy on Keith’s behalf.
I looked around a room filled with people who apparently resented his arrival. I had to find out why his existence caused such shock. And dismay.
In the blue room, I tucked the wool blanket around Keith’s shoulders. That should keep him toasty. I stepped to the window, eased it up a bit. Fresh air makes everyone sleep better.
The gathering downstairs had broken up. The distant sound of voices faded. Car engines murmured. The front door closed.
I didn’t know who was staying in the house. I assumed Jake was a resident. She had an aura of proprietorship. I didn’t know if Peg was a guest but she’d promised to stay in the room with Keith so obviously she was to be in the house overnight.
I glanced toward the ceiling. Not that Wiggins would be hovering there, but he was either at the Department of Good Intentions or possibly out checking on his emissaries. Or was I the only one who required close supervision? I preferred to think I was one among many. Certainly I’d done nothing this evening to require his counsel. Surely the brief interlude with Rob and Dil was acceptable. After all, they may have sensed my presence, but I definitely had remained unseen. Here at Pritchard House, I’d worked quietly behind the scenes. I felt a quiet pride.
I sat on the edge of the opposite twin bed. When the house settled for the night, I planned to explore the kitchen. I needed a glass of milk and a roast beef sandwich for energy. As for sleeping accommodations, the chaise longue looked inviting.
I hoped Peg wouldn’t feel crowded with the three of us there. I’d do my best not only to remain silent and invisible, but to contain my natural energy. Bobby Mac claimed I carried energy with me like static electricity.
However, for now, Keith was sleeping soundly, all was well here, and the night was still young. Perhaps I could discover who lived in Pritchard House in addition to Susan and why her grandson’s arrival had caused such consternation.
Downstairs in the living room, Peg and Gina loaded trays with plates and bowls.
Jake paced nervously by the fireplace. The cat lifted her head and gazed with unblinking golden eyes. Jake flung out a hand toward her daughter. “I don’t understand why you didn’t call me. I should have been summoned at once. The idea of a child abandoned on the doorstep is appalling. Someone has been criminally negligent, whoever the child is.”