Christmas On Nutcracker Court Page 4

  Then Josh adjusted the straps of his backpack and started on his way.

  He had no idea what time it was, but he figured his friends had already left for school. He just hoped Ross had done the same thing.

  Running into that bully again was the last thing he wanted to do. But with the luck he’d been having this morning, who knew what the rest of his day would be like?

  Chapter 3

  As Max stood on the lawn, the morning dew chilled his bare feet. Yet rather than return to the house, he watched the Westbrook boy head down the street, his small shoulders slumped as if the backpack weighed a ton.

  Max didn’t think it was textbooks causing his sluggish steps or drooping head. It had to be the altercation that was burdening him.

  For a moment, Max was tempted to follow behind and make sure that the bigger boy didn’t pop out of the bushes and create more trouble. But how involved did he want to get?

  Besides, the bully had taken off at a dead run and was probably in his seat at school by now.

  Still, Max walked to the edge of the grass until the Westbrook boy turned left at the stop sign and disappeared from sight.

  He really didn’t believe the kid’s story about returning Hemingway to the yard, but either way, he didn’t like seeing big guys—no matter what the age—beating up on smaller ones. So in spite of the annoyance and having his sleep interrupted, he was glad he’d done his part.

  Still, he couldn’t help wondering if the parents had any idea where their kids were and what they’d been doing.

  Probably not.

  When Max had been a probation officer, he’d come into contact with a lot of people who might have been better citizens if their parents had kept a closer eye on them while they were growing up.

  As he started back to the house—and back into bed—he heard a front door open and close. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Grant Barrows on his front porch wearing a black sports jacket, a pale blue shirt, and a snazzy tie.

  The self-employed neighbor who worked from home usually wore Hawaiian shirts, shorts, and flip-flops, so Max couldn’t help commenting. “Wow. You sure clean up nice. Where are you going all decked out like that?”

  Grant adjusted his tie. “To a job interview.”

  “No kidding?” Max made his way across the street, the grit and small rocks sharp on the bottoms of his feet until he reached Grant’s concrete driveway. “What’s the deal? Did you get tired of working at home these days?”

  Grant shrugged. “Not really. But . . .” His hesitation suggested that he wasn’t comfortable opening up to a neighbor.

  “I’m sorry,” Max said. “It’s really none of my business. I was just curious, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, well, with the economy what it is, I figure a little job security will go a long way.”

  Max knew what he meant. His own savings were dwindling, and without having a book contract within reach, he was uneasy about his decision to take a leave of absence from the county position he’d held for more than fifteen years.

  Grant reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his car keys. Then he pushed the button on the remote to unlock the door. “I haven’t had a job interview since I graduated from college, so I’m a little more nervous than I’d like to admit.”

  “You shouldn’t have any trouble impressing them.”

  “I hope you’re right. But it’s not just meeting with the company HR team that has me a little on edge. That part should be a breeze. It’s just that . . . Well, bottom line? I both want and need this job.”

  If that was true, it was a shame. Grant had really been rolling in the self-made dough a year or so ago. He’d even poured a ton of cash into that massive renovation on the house. But it sure sounded as if he was having some serious financial trouble now. So if that was the case, there was no need to pry or to stir up any discomfort on his neighbor’s part.

  So Max said, “New clothes?”

  Grant ran a hand down his silk tie. “Yeah. What do you think?”

  That it must have cost a pretty penny, so maybe his financial picture wasn’t all that bad. “Nice choice.”

  “Thanks. Hopefully it will impress the HR department. If I can get past that hurdle, I’ll be invited back to meet some of the executives.”

  Since Grant seemed to have a healthy degree of self-confidence and some solid social skills, Max didn’t see a problem with that. “I’m sure you’ll knock ’em dead.”

  “I hope so, but I’m pushing fifty and haven’t stepped into the corporate world for nearly twenty-five years. I just hope they can overlook all of that and see what I can bring to the table.”

  “I’m sure they will.”

  Grant shrugged a single shoulder. “If they don’t, I’ll have to come up with another option.”

  “What happened? I thought things were going well for you.”

  “They were, but thanks to a couple of bad investments. . .” Grant clucked his tongue. “Correction. They really weren’t bad investments. They were just ill-fated.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Grant heaved a sigh. “I had an opportunity to make a big killing on two separate stock purchases. It wasn’t a sure thing, of course, but I’ve always been a smart gambler. I did the research, and after realizing that the potential outweighed the risk, I bet the farm, hoping the stock would double or triple within a year.”

  “And it didn’t?”

  “A couple of months ago, an F5 tornado wiped out the major plant of one of the corporations. And about two weeks later, the chief financial officer of the other was arrested and convicted of embezzlement, which threw the firm into bankruptcy.”

  Ouch, Max thought. “I guess ‘ill-fated’ is a good word.”

  Grant slowly shook his head. “No one could have foreseen any of that, but it happened. And now I need to go back into the workforce.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, well . . . it happens.” There was a beat of silence before Grant added, “I have to go. I want to arrive at the interview early.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” As Grant turned to reach for the door handle, Max glanced across the street and noticed a blond, middle-aged woman in Helen Pritchard’s front yard—the same one he’d seen in the neighborhood last night, although the man was no longer with her.

  She was standing near the hedge that separated Helen’s property from his.

  “Hey,” Max said, stopping Grant. “Have you ever seen that woman before?” He nodded toward the blonde.

  After checking her out, Grant said, “No. Who is she?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  As she started toward them, Max got a better look at her in the daylight, noting that she wasn’t anything remarkable. She was neither young nor old, tall nor short, slender nor overweight. Words like “ordinary” and “nondescript” came to mind.

  As she reached the two men, Max said, “How’s it going?”

  “Great.” When her sky-blue eyes sparked, a smile formed, lending an interesting appeal to her face.

  Not that Max found her attractive or anything. He was just making a casual assessment of a stranger.

  “Are you looking for someone?” he asked. If it was Helen, he wasn’t going to mention that the woman was gone and that her house would be vacant for the next three weeks.

  “No. I’m house-sitting for my cousin. She’s on a cruise.”

  Max felt better knowing that she belonged in the neighborhood.

  “My name is Mary-Margaret Di Angelo,” she added, first reaching out her arm to Max, then to Grant. “But everyone calls me Maggie.”

  The men introduced themselves and shook her hand.

  As Maggie scanned the exterior of Grant’s house, Max assumed she was checking out the recent paint job, which had been part of the extensive renovations Grant had made. Most people made a fuss over the rich, green exterior with its red front door, black trim, and shutters.

  Instead, she s
aid, “I see that neither of you have put up your Christmas decorations yet. I’m going to take Helen’s out of the attic this morning.”

  The folks who lived in the old Victorians on Nutcracker Court and Sugar Plum Lane always went overboard with lights and all the holiday paraphernalia. At times, it seemed a little over the top, with each home owner trying to outdo the others.

  Even Jacob Kipper, whose wife was a cantor at the local synagogue, adorned his home with twinkly lights on the eaves, a battery-operated menorah in the window, and a HAPPY HANUKKAH sign on the front door.

  The neighbors had been delighted by his cheery efforts, although Max suspected he’d only done it to keep everyone off his back.

  But ever since Max and Karen had split, and she hadn’t been around to fuss about it, he’d refused to join the others who took part in the silly custom. After all, without a wife or kids, why bother?

  Besides, he’d never been one to bow to peer pressure. So he gave Maggie his standard answer. “No, I won’t be dragging out the lights this year.”

  “That’s too bad,” she said.

  He didn’t think so. But he didn’t have time to stand around and chat with a stranger who would probably end up accusing him of having a bah-humbug attitude.

  Grant glanced at his wristwatch. “It was nice meeting you, but I’ve got to get out of here. Have a good day.”

  “You, too.” Maggie smiled, those intensive eyes lighting up as she zeroed in on Grant.

  Max had every reason to excuse himself at that point, too, but before he could move, a familiar bark sounded and grew louder.

  Then, from out of nowhere, Hemingway came bounding across the street, his tongue dangling out of his mouth and flopping from side to side.

  Max chuffed. How had he gotten out of the yard? Had the Westbrook boy been right? Had the dog found a way out on his own?

  It didn’t seem likely.

  Assuming the dog had come looking for him, Max turned to face him. But Hemingway headed straight for Grant, as if noticing a friend and wanting to play.

  “What a beautiful animal,” Maggie said.

  There wasn’t anything beautiful about Hemingway. He was about as ugly as they came. But before Max could open his mouth to object, the dog jumped up, planting both front paws on Grant’s new shirt and tie, smearing mud and dirt across the front of him.

  A couple of swear words blasted out of Grant’s mouth as he pushed the dog away.

  “Oh, no,” Maggie said. “Look what he did to your shirt.”

  Max grabbed Hemingway by the collar and held him back. “I’m so sorry about that.”

  Grant, clearly shell-shocked with surprise, merely glared at Max.

  “If you’ll let me have your shirt,” Maggie said, “I can try to get the stain out for you.”

  The fabric might come clean, but Grant was going to have to change clothes completely, which meant he’d arrive at his appointment with very little time to spare.

  To be honest, Max would have been angry, too.

  Grant lifted his finger and shook it at Max. “That darn dog is becoming a public nuisance. He’s been barking incessantly and using my lawn as a litter box whenever he gets out of your yard. And now this.”

  “Like I said, Grant. I’m really sorry. I’ll buy you a new shirt and tie.”

  Grant rolled his eyes, then grumbled as he returned to his house.

  Before Max could follow suit, Maggie bent over and gave Hemingway a scratch behind the ears.

  What was she doing?

  “Don’t reward him for what he just did,” Max said.

  Maggie extended the scratch for a moment longer, then straightened. “He didn’t mean any harm.”

  Max hated it when people humanized animals like that. “He’s a dog. And he’s out of control.”

  “He’s like a child who just needs a little love. In fact, I think we’re all like that.”

  Max had neither the patience nor the desire to continue this discussion with a stranger.

  “Come on,” he said, as he tugged at Hemingway’s collar and led him home. “What am I going to do with you?”

  When he glanced down at the delinquent animal, Hemingway looked up at him like a shaggy-haired kid.

  But this four-legged kid didn’t need love.

  He needed obedience school—and someone with the time to take him.

  While pinning up Ruth-Ann Draper’s wet hair in rollers and listening to another weekly rendition of her granddaughter’s divorce-related woes, Carly’s cell phone vibrated in the front pocket of her smock.

  “I’m so sorry, Ruth-Ann. I really need to get this.” Feeling a little relieved to have an interruption and hoping to schedule another client, she answered without even checking the display to see who was calling. “This is Carly.”

  “Mrs. Westbrook, it’s Margo Evans at Parkside Elementary. I’m afraid we have Joshua in the office this morning. And he appears to have been involved in a fight.”

  “He appears . . . ?” Couldn’t he talk? A blast of adrenaline shot through Carly’s veins as she tried to read between the lines.

  “He has a split lip, a scrape on his chin, and a torn shirt,” Mrs. Evans said, “but when he’s quizzed about it, his responses are pretty evasive.”

  “Can you please hold on a moment, Mrs. Evans?” Carly set down the pink roller she’d been holding. “I need to find a quiet place to talk.”

  After covering the mouthpiece, she apologized again to Ruth-Ann and said, “I’m afraid I have to take this call. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be a minute.” She offered her the latest People magazine and a smile of reassurance.

  Once inside the break room, Carly returned her full attention to the school principal. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans. I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

  “Joshua is sitting outside my office right now. He was more than five minutes late entering class this morning, so his teacher, who was working with another student at the back of the room, sent him to get a tardy slip. When the school admissions clerk noticed his injury and torn shirt, she asked him what happened, but he refused to explain. So she sent him to see me. Unfortunately, he won’t tell me, either.”

  Why wouldn’t Josh speak up? Was he afraid of getting into trouble? Was he trying to protect someone?

  And why had he been late to class? He’d ridden the bus to school this morning, hadn’t he?

  Of course, after breakfast, he’d mentioned that he wanted to walk to school. But she’d insisted that he stay with . . .

  Mikey.

  Fear clawed at her chest. She tried to keep the panic from her voice as she asked, “Where’s Mikey? The boys should have been together. Is he okay?”

  “Yes, I’ve already checked into that. Michael is in class. And from what he told Mrs. Hornkohl, he rode the bus to school, but Joshua didn’t.”

  Carly’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Josh had argued with her in the past. He’d also done his share of whining and complaining about looking after his brother or accepting responsibility. But up until now he’d always been compliant and had never rebelled or willfully disobeyed her.

  Was this the sort of thing she had to look forward to when he became a teenager? Was this only the beginning?

  She closed her eyes, trying to conjure an image of that sweet little baby who’d nursed at her breast, the toddler she’d cuddled in her arms—her firstborn son. Yet all she could see was the disappointment on his face when she’d told him he had to ride the bus this morning.

  And now he was in some kind of trouble.

  “I’ll have to shuffle a few of my clients around,” Carly said, “but I can probably be there within twenty minutes.”

  She’d ask one of the other stylists to finish rolling Ruth-Ann’s hair and to put her under the dryer. Depending upon how long she would need to stay at the school, she’d probably have to ask someone to do the comb-out, too.

  But her sons were—and always would be—her first priority.

  “You do
n’t need to leave work,” Mrs. Evans said. “I know that you’re a single mom and the sole support of the household. But I did want to notify you and let you know that Josh will have detention after school today. We’d like to keep him until four. Will that be a problem?”

  “No, that’s fine.” Josh certainly deserved to be punished for disobeying and refusing to tell the truth when he was questioned. But what was she going to do with Mikey? He got out of class at two thirty, and her only option, at this point, was to pay the fee for him to stay for the YMCA day-care program.

  Once again, there was another financial hit. If she could afford the cost in the first place, she would have registered her sons at the beginning of the school year.

  “We’ll take care of it from here,” Mrs. Evans said.

  But Carly had a second thought. “Can I speak to my son? Maybe he’ll tell me what happened.”

  “Of course. I’ll put him on the telephone.”

  As Carly waited to speak to Josh, she scanned the small break room where the stylists hung out when they were between clients. Right now she had it all to herself, which was a relief. She didn’t like her coworkers knowing how tough things had been lately.

  Moments later, Josh picked up the phone and uttered a sheepish, “Hello.”

  “What happened?” Carly asked him. “Why didn’t you ride the bus this morning?”

  Silence stretched across the line.

  “Don’t you dare ignore me, young man. I want to know what’s going on. And I want to know right now.”

  “I was going to ride the bus, Mom. I was even waiting in line with Mikey when that man’s dog got loose. It was wandering in the canyon. And when it started walking on the side of the road, I was afraid it would get hit by a car or something.”

  Carly rolled her eyes. “You left your brother alone to chase after a dog?”

  “Don’t worry. There were a couple of moms at the bus stop, so I knew Mikey would be safe without me.”

  “But it sounds as though you weren’t safe. What happened after that?”

  Silence again. The kind that made a mother suspect that a lie was brewing. Or that the truth was going to be a real struggle to tell.