A Season of Miracles

“It’s all yours, Jeeves,” she said cheerfully.

She was leaving. She glanced at her watch one more time. Taxi or subway? She was due to meet Connie in fifteen minutes.

Feet. She wasn’t that far from the coffee shop where they had planned to get together. She would just walk fast. That would be her best bet.

“’Night, Jeeves,” she told the cat. Happy Halloween. Trick or treat.

She grabbed her coat and her handbag, and exited her office.

The cat, heedless of the comings and goings of mortals, gave no note. It greedily drank up the milk.

Suddenly the animal’s body went rigid, then convulsed.

It collapsed by the tea tray.

The body twitched once. Twice.

And then it was still.

Dead still.

CHAPTER 2

“I didn’t think I was ever going to get away this afternoon,” Jillian told Connie when she met her at the little coffee bar off Fifth. She’d been in such a hurry to leave. She had actually gotten here first. But now, out of the office at last, she was beginning to relax. Not even the caffeine in her café mocha could start her blood rushing again.

“You shouldn’t have given me the day off,” Connie said sadly, stirring her tea.

Jillian looked at her friend. Connie Adair Murphy was petite, dark haired and blue eyed. Her face was round and always pleasant; she had a dimpled smile, and could be a powerhouse despite her small and cheerful appearance.

“You always take Halloween off. And I don’t think anyone could have helped. It was just one of those family kind of days,” she said, rolling her eyes, then grinning.

“They were feisty today, huh?”

“Moody, I think.”

“Over the cross?”

“Only Daniel.”

“What did your grandfather have to say?”

“He didn’t come in today. He likes to take Halloween off, too.”

“Are you going to start over? It would be a shame. It’s such an outstanding design.”

“No, Daniel says we’re going with it. We’ll just put a different spin on it.” She looked at her watch. “My God, it’s getting late.”

“No, it’s not so bad, only three-thirty.”

“It gets dark so early.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Connie assured her cheerfully. “I told the girls we’d head out at five-thirty or six. We’ve got a little time. It won’t take long to get home on the subway. We’ll just shove anyone in front of us away from the platform. We’re fine.”

“If we hustle.”

“So we’ll hustle.”

“Let’s do it.”

They hustled. And to good avail.

Connie found darling dresses for her daughters. And though Llewellyn Enterprises offered an elegant line of evening wear, they took pleasure in finding the bargains that could be had in haute couture by other designers. They went on to find some fantastic gowns for the season’s parties, and there were going to be a lot of them. They would be celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of Llewellyn Enterprises, and the rounds of activities and events planned for the estate in Connecticut were endless. Naturally Connie, as Jillian’s assistant, was included, as was her husband. There were benefits to having both members of the family working for the same business. Connie had met Joe right out of college, during her first year working for Jillian; Joe had already been a rising star in the management division.

At the end of their whirlwind shopping spree, they happened upon a costume shop, with a last-minute sale. Connie was totally incapable of passing a sign that stated—in large black letters—50% Off, Today Only!

“Wow! Will you look at this?” Connie said.

Inside, Connie pulled a costume off a rack and brandished it before Jillian. It was a witch’s costume in silk and velvet, decorated with rhinestones. It had a high collar, draping sleeves and a suggestive bodice. It was fitted at the waist, and flowed from there.

“Exquisite,” Connie breathed.

“Buy it. Fifty-percent off,” Jillian suggested.

Connie shook her head sadly. “Too long and too tight for me. But…” She paused and looked at Jillian. “It’s you.”

“Me? I’m not wearing a costume. And there’s no time. We have to take the girls out. In fact, we need to take them soon.”

“Yes, and I’m going to find a costume. I’ve decided I’m going to be one of those fun moms, all dressed up like the kids. Oh, look, there—”

Jillian looked where Connie was pointing and saw a large horse’s head. “That one? Oh, no, Connie, even if I decide to come with you, I am not playing the rear end of a horse so you can be a fun mom.”

Connie started to laugh. “No, not the horse. I’m going to be a princess, and you can be the witch. The gorgeous witch, I might add. And when we finish the trick-or-treating bit, we’ll meet Joe at Hennessey’s.” She made a face and shrugged. “It will be fun. You know Joe. He’ll take a few pictures of the kids, tell them they’re adorable, then leave me to do the candy bit. But he’s going to the annual Halloween party at the pub, and he’s always telling me to get my mom to watch the kids and join him. We’ll do it. We’ll get dressed up and go together.”

“An Irish pub for Halloween?” Jillian asked skeptically.

“Why not? It’s sure to be filled with pixies and leprechauns and maybe a banshee or two.” Connie cocked her head, looking at Jillian hopefully. “All right, so there are sure to be a few big bad wolves around, as well. Actually, you could use a big bad wolf or two in your life.”

“My life is fine.”

“You can’t mourn Milo forever,” Connie said, studying her friend.

Jillian felt another twinge of loss. People still tiptoed around mentioning Milo’s name most of the time. Today, though, he seemed in the forefront of her mind, and she reminded herself again that she had married Milo Anderson with her eyes wide open. She had known about his cancer. He had tried to talk her out of marriage on the basis that she pitied him but didn’t love him. She had insisted, though. Because he had been wrong. She had loved him very much.

Even more than Connie, he had been the best friend she’d ever had. Maybe she hadn’t been in love the way it was in movies and romance novels, but she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be in love that way. Loving Milo had hurt enough.

Neither all the king’s horses and all the king’s men—nor all the Llewellyn money—had been able to stop the growth of the disease. Milo had died almost a year to the day after their wedding. Almost a year ago now. No one in her family ever told her, “Well, you knew it was bound to happen,” and for that she was grateful.

“I’m not going to mourn Milo forever. I’m glad for the time we had together, glad for what he did for my life, glad for what I was able to do for his. But it’s not as if I’ve been wasting away for years. He hasn’t even been gone a year. I don’t go out a lot because I’m busy. I—”