A Mulberry Park Christmas Read online

  Silver Bells

  Book by Judy Duarte

  Mulberry Park

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  FERN MICHAELS

  Silver Bells

  JoAnn Ross

  Mary Burton

  Judy Duarte

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Contents

  A Mulberry Park Christmas

  Judy Duarte

  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

  A Mulberry Park Christmas

  Judy Duarte

  Chapter One

  When the doorbell rang the first time, “Mac” Maguire was stretched out on the floor with his head and shoulders under the kitchen sink, trying to fix a leaky P-trap. He wasn’t in the mood for visitors, so he ignored the interruption.

  But then it chimed again.

  And again.

  In his haste to get to his feet, he banged his head on the cupboard overhang and cursed under his breath. By the time he reached the entryway, his forehead was throbbing and aching like a son of a gun. So when he swung open the door, he found it difficult to smile, even when he found seventy-nine-year-old Charlie Iverson standing on the stoop wearing a blinking, battery-operated Santa hat, a white shirt stained with tobacco juice, and a red and green argyle vest.

  “I need to report a theft,” the elderly widower said.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “You are the police.”

  Yes, but Mac was also off duty and on vacation. “What was stolen?”

  “An angel that’s been in my family for years. It was standing in the front yard, right by the nativity scene. Just like it’s been every Christmas since Grace and I moved to Sugar Plum Lane.”

  “Is that the only thing missing?”

  Charlie slapped his hands on his hips. “That’s plenty, as far as I’m concerned. And it shouldn’t be too hard to find the culprit. I know who he is. It’s that little hellion who lives next door.”

  Mac wasn’t up for this right now. Not while his forehead hurt and the kitchen sink was torn apart.

  “I’m not one to fight with my neighbors,” Charlie added, “but that brat has gone too far this time. So I thought you could go next door, demand that he return my angel, then tell him and his mother what happens to naughty little boys whose parents don’t control them.”

  Mac had pretty much raised himself, so he had firsthand knowledge of what happened when parents didn’t play an active role in their children’s lives. But he wasn’t about to get involved in a neighborhood dispute, especially when he planned to list the house he’d recently inherited with a Realtor right after New Year’s Day.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t had a run-in with that kid yet,” Charlie said.

  “No, not yet.” The majority of the homeowners on the street were senior citizens, but Mac had seen several children playing outdoors. “Which kid are you talking about?”

  “The one who moved in a week ago.” Charlie pointed to the pale green Victorian house on the opposite side of the cul de sac, the one Jillian Grant had lived in when she was growing up.

  “What makes you think that boy stole your angel?”

  “Who else would do it? He’s as ornery as all get out, and this isn’t the only thing he’s done to spite me. Last week, while I was pruning the roses, he sprayed me with the water hose. And yesterday, he pelted me with pine cones. He also thinks it’s funny to ring my doorbell and then run away before I can get to it.”

  Right now, Mac wished Charlie had rung the bell and then run off.

  “How old is the kid?” he asked his temporary neighbor.

  “Eight or nine, I suppose. Just the right age for a good spanking. But he doesn’t have a father, and his mother coddles him.”

  Mac raised a hand to his forehead, finally giving in to the compulsion to probe the wound and determine how badly he’d hurt himself.

  Great, he thought, estimating the lump to be about the size of a walnut. As he lowered his hand, he checked his fingertips for blood, but didn’t find any.

  Mr. Iverson cocked his head to the side and studied Mac’s injury, squinting to get a better look. “What happened to your noggin?”

  “I bumped it.” Mac again fingered the tender lump. “It’s no big deal.”

  And neither was Charlie Iverson’s problem. The boy was probably just mischievous. Not that Mac was making excuses for his behavior.

  The elderly widower scanned the house and yard. “I see you still haven’t gotten your Christmas lights up yet.”

  No, and Mac didn’t intend to. He only had a week to get the house in shape, then he’d be back on the job and living in his loft apartment in downtown San Diego again. “I’ve been too busy.”

  “I can imagine. Too bad Ray had to go and die before he could fix up the place. Still, he always found time to decorate for Christmas, which is a tradition on Sugar Plum Lane. I’m not sure if you know this, but folks come from miles around to see the light displays on our street.”

  Yeah. Mac had already been approached by several well-meaning neighbors. And he’d told them all the same thing. He really wasn’t into Christmas. Never had been. Not even as a kid.

  “By the way,” Charlie said, “Ray stored his decorations and lights in the attic, so if you need anyone to help you put them up, just let me know. I’ll give you a hand.”

  “Thanks, Charlie. But I really don’t have time to drag it all out, then put it away a week later.”

  “But yours and that boy’s house will be the only ones on the street without lights.”

  “Yeah, well, that can’t be helped.”

  Charlie clucked his tongue. “That’s a shame. Christmas won’t be the same this year.”

  Before Mac had time to consider a response, Charlie added, “’Course, it won’t be the same without my Grace either. Everyone in Fairbrook used to call her The Cookie Lady. She’d start baking just after Thanksgiving and freeze what she could. Then she’d fix a platter of goodies for all our friends and neighbors. She’d even remember the mailman, the folks at the bank, and her hairdresser.”

  From what Mac had heard, Charlie didn’t have any family left. And since he’d lost Grace just months before Ray passed away, he had a lot to grieve this year.

  As the old man’s eyes glistened, Mac decided to change the subject to one they’d both be more comfortable discussing, but Charlie blinked back his grief and beat him to it.

  “Anyway, back to that kid.” Charlie crossed his arms. “I suppose I’ll have to go next door and give his mother a piece of my mind. But I’ve done that already. And when she got all weepy eyed, I backed down. I never have been able to handle a woman’s tears. That’s why I think an official visit from a police officer might work better.”

  “It would have to be an unofficial visit. I’m off duty, and Fairbrook isn’t even in my jurisdiction.”

  “So you’re suggesting it would be better if I called FPD and made a formal complaint?”

  Mac sucked in a deep breath, then slowly blew out, hoping to expel his frustration as well. As much as he’d rather let his temporary neighbors squabble, he didn’t like the idea of a kid being dubbed a troublemaker at such an early age. He knew firsthand how easy it was for a boy to start believing the adults who’d called him a bad seed and predicted he’d never amount to anything. But he didn’t like the
idea of a budding sociopath living in the quiet, tree-lined neighborhood either.

  “No, Charlie. There’s no need to call FPD yet. I’ll talk to the boy and his mother.” And if Mac thought the kid was going to graduate to setting fires and hurting small animals, he’d encourage Charlie to file an official complaint.

  “Thanks, Mac. It’s nice having a cop in the neighborhood again.” Charlie adjusted the Santa hat he wore, then turned and started down the steps. “I sure miss Ray Burke.”

  Mac missed him, too. Ray had been Mac’s first partner, and in spite of a thirty-year age difference, the two had become best friends. Of course, thanks to all the overtime Mac pulled, they hadn’t gotten to see each other as often as they would have liked after Ray retired. So when Mac received word that Ray had died of a massive coronary in his sleep, he’d been slammed by regret as well as grief.

  By all outward appearances, Ray had been in excellent health, so his death had been totally unexpected.

  And so had the news that Ray had created a trust and had named Mac as the sole trustee.

  Still, Mac didn’t plan on staying in Fairbrook more than a week or ten days. Just long enough to fix up the house and put it on the market. He sure couldn’t take care of two places, and his apartment in San Diego suited him best.

  Besides, Mac wasn’t into the Christmas hullabaloo or life in the suburbs. And if by some fluke he decided to go the white-picket-fence route, it wouldn’t be on Sugar Plum Lane, the one neighborhood in which he’d been the least welcome as a teenager.

  Mac stepped onto the porch, then closed the front door and made his way to the sidewalk, where Charlie waited for him.

  “See there?” Charlie pointed to the nativity scene at the far corner of his yard. “The angel used to be looking over the manger, but now it’s gone.”

  Mac hadn’t noticed the angel before, but he’d keep an eye out for any stray ones in the neighborhood that matched Charlie’s figurines.

  His focus shifted to the pale green Victorian where the so-called hellion lived. The house and yard were as devoid of holiday adornment as his was.

  As Charlie shuffled up his driveway and headed home, Mac continued to walk toward the house that had once belonged to the Grants. Shortly after Jillian had left for college, her father had packed up and moved. At least, that’s what Mac had heard. He wondered who lived in the house now. Someone who’d just moved in, Charlie had said. A single mom who coddled her ornery kid.

  Mac strode toward the front door. Each time he’d come to visit Ray, which hadn’t been often enough, he’d noticed that particular house and how it had been going steadily downhill. When the Grants had lived here, Jillian’s father had spent a lot of time outdoors, creating a garden showcase, but time had certainly changed things. The lawn, once neatly trimmed, was overgrown. And the colorful array of flowers, plants, and bushes that had lined the driveway and porch now grew wild.

  But the yard wasn’t the only thing that had been neglected. The white gingerbread trim had yellowed with age, and the faded green paint on the exterior walls had chipped and cracked. He hoped the new resident was planning to refurbish the place, which would increase the value of all the homes on the street.

  He rang the bell. At least, he thought he had. Dead silence suggested it might not be working, so he lifted the squeaky brass knocker and rapped. As footsteps sounded within, he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and waited for someone to answer.

  His breath caught when an attractive, thirty-something brunette opened the door, and as recognition dawned, his heart slammed against his chest.

  There stood Jillian Grant.

  Chapter Two

  As Jillian welcomed her old boyfriend into the house, her pulse rate soared through the roof, and her heart tripped all over itself trying to regain control.

  Yesterday she’d spotted a man in the neighborhood who’d resembled Mac, but she’d shrugged off the similarities, thinking her eyes had been playing tricks on her. But, apparently, they hadn’t been.

  Now here he was.

  “You look great,” Mac told her.

  She wanted to believe him, but she’d gained weight during her marriage—ten pounds with each child she’d borne and then some. But she thanked him anyway and added, “You look great, too.”

  And he did. He still wore his sandy-blond hair stylishly mussed, and his blue eyes were just as bright and intense as they’d ever been. His face had matured nicely, and in keeping with the memory she held of him, a light stubble of day-old beard added to the bad-boy aura she’d found so attractive when she was a teenager.

  A nasty lump, which appeared fresh, marred his forehead, though. She wondered how it had happened—a fight maybe?—but the question stalled on the tip of her tongue. After the way she’d ended things between them, she didn’t have the right to be so curious.

  Nor did she have the right to gawk at him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He still resembled the lanky teenager she’d once known, and she found him just as intriguing now that he’d grown up. Maybe more so.

  As they strode through the entry and into the living area, he scanned the room from top to bottom. She imagined he was noting the yellowed water spot on the popcorn ceiling, the curled up edges of the blue floral wallpaper, and each gouge and scratch on the original hardwood floor.

  She was taking in a few things, too, like the way he’d bulked up over the years and filled out the white T-shirt he wore.

  He was either working out regularly or his job required physical labor. Construction maybe? She could imagine him driving a bulldozer or wielding a jackhammer.

  Her gaze returned to his shirt, but this time she actually noticed the red and black lettering that read: JIFFY BAIL BONDS—We’ll have you out in a jiffy.

  Did Mac work at the place?

  Or maybe he’d used their services. Her heart sank a bit as she entertained the possibility.

  “I always wondered what the inside of this house looked like,” he said, reminding her that this was the first time she’d ever invited him in.

  She’d had her reasons for not doing so at the time, but wouldn’t stew about that now. “I’m afraid the house was in much better shape when my dad and I lived here.”

  “I thought your father sold this place when he left town.”

  “No, he didn’t. While I was in my first semester of college, he moved up to the Sacramento area to be closer to me. But instead of selling the house, he rented it out. Now I’m trying to get it back into shape, and it’s a lot more work than I expected.”

  “Tell me about it,” Mac said. “I’m refurbishing one of the Victorians, too. The beige and white one that’s on the other side of the cul de sac.”

  So they were practically next-door neighbors; only Mr. Iverson’s house separated them.

  “In fact…” Mac laughed and pointed to the knot on his head. “This is a result of my latest fix-it project.”

  He seemed to be doing a good job in the chitchat department, but she was almost speechless. All she could seem to do was marvel at how good the years had been to him.

  “Are the neighbors giving you a hard time about decorating the house and yard for Christmas, too?” he asked.

  “A couple of them have made comments, but I’m pedaling as fast as I can to turn this place into a home, so stringing lights along the eaves and around doors and windows is the last thing on my list.”

  She didn’t mention that when she and the kids moved out of the house they’d once shared with Jared in Roseville, she hadn’t thought to bring any decorations or ornaments with her. And even if she had the money to buy new ones and the time to put them up, she just couldn’t get into the holiday spirit this year.

  Of course, she blamed Jared for that. If she were still living with him, she’d be wrapping the last of the gifts, polishing the silver, and planning elaborate menus for Christmas Day.

  “Charlie told me the woman living here was a single mom,” Mac said, “but I didn�
��t realize it was you.”

  “Are you talking about Mr. Iverson, the old man who lives next door?”

  Mac nodded.

  She wondered what else her crotchety neighbor had said. He’d been on Tommy’s case about one thing or another ever since they moved into the house next to his.

  In fact, he’d come to the door and voiced another complaint yesterday, but he’d caught her at a bad moment. Jared had just called to say his child support check would be late, which meant, after paying a repairman to get the furnace working again and then purchasing a new hot water heater, she was going to be strapped for cash. So she would be buying groceries instead of the tree she’d promised the kids they would get this weekend.

  She’d been on the verge of tears when Mr. Iverson had knocked on her door, and when he started in about Tommy, calling him a hellion and saying that he needed a firm hand, the floodgates had opened.

  Fortunately, Mr. Iverson had been so taken aback when she fell apart that he couldn’t back off the porch and skedaddle fast enough.

  “It’s good to see you,” Mac said.

  “Thanks.” She offered him a smile, wishing she hadn’t postponed her diet until after the holidays. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

  She glanced down at the pink cotton blouse she wore, noticing a grape jelly stain on the front. She definitely would have changed her clothes if she’d known she was going to see Mac, and she would have combed her hair and applied a bit of lipstick, too.

  Uh-oh. Her thoughts shifted and her movements stilled. If Mac was living in her neighborhood now, she hoped Tommy hadn’t had a run-in with him.

  “So why did you come by?” she asked.

  “Charlie wanted me to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  “He mentioned calling the police, and I thought he was overreacting. So I figured it might be best if I took care of it.”