Yuletide Peril

“John Reid was my uncle.”

“Aha!” he said, and his brown eyes brightened with sudden comprehension. “So you’re the one who inherited his estate?”

“Yes. My father is his youngest brother. Although,” Janice added in a contemptuous tone, “I don’t go around bragging about it.”

“Do you know any of your relatives in these parts?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember ever being here until I came last week.”

“Where’s your pa?”

“In prison somewhere. I haven’t heard from him for years.”

The officer fingered his mustache as he walked around her car. A few inches shorter than Janice, Chief Goodman was probably in his late fifties, and there was a slight stoop to his shoulders. His neat brown uniform failed to provide him with an impressive appearance.

“I’ll have to inspect the car before you can have the tires replaced,” he said. “Do you need the car today?”

“No. Can you recommend a garage to repair the damage?”

“There’s a tire store in town that will give you a good price if you can wait until Monday. They’re closed on Saturday afternoons and Sunday.”

“I can wait until then, I guess. I’ll be taking my little sister to school on Monday, but we can walk there.”

“You’re planning to live in Stanton?”

“Yes,” and motioning to her car, she added, “but it seems I’m being warned to leave.”

The cop’s eyes twinkled with admiration. “You’re a sharp lady!”

“What else can I think? I’ve looked around and no other cars in the lot have been touched. I don’t think it’s a random act of violence. This was deliberate and planned.”

“I’m sorry it happened to you.”

The chief got in the cruiser and drove away. Janice walked slowly into the motel and picked up some rolls and juice in the lobby. Unwilling to ruin Brooke’s pleasure in the day, she didn’t mention the vandalism.

Lance Gordon lived in a two-story stone house in a subdivision located on a plateau north of Stanton, about five miles from the center of town. Driving from the motel to his home, he explained, “I’d just built this house five years ago when Linda got her divorce and she moved in with me. I turned over the running of the house to her. I wanted Linda and Brooke to be free to entertain their friends, but I like my privacy. I reserved two rooms for my bedroom and office, and except for meals, that’s where I spend my time.”

Linda Mallory was a quiet, blond, sad-faced woman, but she was obviously pleased to look after Brooke for a few hours. Janice had no qualms about trusting Brooke to Linda’s care for the afternoon.

“One of my major worries about moving to Stanton has lessened now that Brooke has found a friend,” Janice said as Lance drove away from his house. “She’s always made friends quicker than I have.”

“Kids do seem to make friends easier than adults. For the most part, people in Stanton are easy to know. I believe both of you will find friends here.”

He wanted to assure her that she’d already found one in him, but Lance was puzzled by the air of defeat Janice exhibited today. Her shoulders slumped, and her slender hands unconsciously twisted together in her lap as if her composure was hanging by a single thread.

To avoid thinking about the new crisis, Janice focused on Lance. The other times she had seen him, he’d been dressed in a suit, dress shirt and tie. Today, he wore heavy leather boots, jeans and a casual long-sleeved shirt. A ball cap covered his light hair.

Janice had dressed in jeans, too, and she wore a sweatshirt and lightweight boots with thick soles.

After he parked by the entrance to Mountjoy, Lance took a machete and a large flashlight from the back of his van. He passed the flashlight to Janice.

At the gate, he paused with his hand on the latch. “I’ve hesitated to tell you,” he said, “but yesterday, I decided to check out your property. I got in sight of the house, and if I was superstitious, I’d say your property is haunted.”

Conscious of the sudden gray pallor that spread across her face and the apprehension in her eyes, he quickly explained what he’d heard the day before.

“Judging from similar experiences others have had when they’ve trespassed on the property,” he concluded, “this must be an effort to scare intruders away. I don’t know if it’s safe for you to go any farther.”

Lance’s words coming on the heels of the slashed tires alarmed Janice as nothing had ever done. She staggered against the gate, and Lance reached out a hand to steady her. She shook her head.

“I’m all right,” she struggled to say. Through tight lips, she told him about the written message she’d received warning her to stay away from Stanton.

“Maybe I should have heeded the warning. I don’t mind risking my own life to claim what belongs to me, but if anything happened to me, Brooke would be all alone!” Swallowing with difficulty, she continued, “And last night, the tires on my car were slashed. Chief Goodman is investigating.”

Lance frowned and his blue eyes darkened with anger.

“Every time I decide I can make a home in Stanton,” Janice continued, “something else happens. I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?” Lance asked.

“Forget I’ve ever heard of this place, take Brooke and move so far away that no one has ever heard of my family.”

A gleam of interest in his eyes, Lance persisted, “But what are you going to do?”

Janice forced herself to remember the biblical promise, “God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power.” If anything happened to her, surely God would take care of Brooke.

“Stay here, claim my property and find out who’s trying to drive me out of town.”

Smiling, Lance opened the gate and stepped aside for her to enter. “Then be my guest,” he said. Swiftly, he stepped in front of her. “On second thought, perhaps I’ll not be a gentleman today. I’ll walk in front—you stay behind me.” He handed his car keys to Janice. “If anything happens to me, run as fast as you can and bring the chief of police.”

Janice laid her hand on his arm. “This is my problem. I should take the risk, not you. Why are you going to all this trouble for me?”

A look of bewilderment in his eyes, Lance shook his head slowly. “I really don’t know.”

Chapter Four

Janice’s face flushed. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m practically a stranger to you. I don’t know why you’d put your life on the line for me.”

“I don’t understand it, either,” he said, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Let’s just say it’s because you need help, and it’s my Christian duty to help you.”

“Except for the years I spent at VOH, I’ve taken care of myself and Brooke without any help. I’d like to think I can still do it, but I’m in over my head now. I can’t manage alone anymore.”

“Then let’s check out your property and go from there. Be careful.”

With the machete, Lance cleared a narrow path for them to follow until they came to the copse of evergreens. Dried needles matted the ground and walking was easier. Janice enjoyed a sense of pride to know that this property actually belonged to her. The grounds had been badly neglected and it was almost like walking through a wilderness, but she believed the lawn could be restored to its original splendor.

It was hot and stuffy under the trees, and Lance stopped to wipe his face with a handkerchief. Some of the underbrush consisted of sturdy brier vines that were difficult to cut. Janice felt guilty when she noticed several scratches on his arms. He breathed deeply and took a swig of water from the bottle he carried. Looking around, he asked, “Who’s been responsible for looking after this property?”

“Nobody, apparently. Mr. Santrock was administrator of Uncle John’s estate, but he said he hasn’t been here for years. Perhaps he thought the house was too far gone to need checking, and he may be right,” she added, when Lance hacked down a large multiflora rosebush and she had a sweeping view of the house.