Dear Santa Part 8

"You have a cake-and-ice-cream store?" she asked, sound ing a little incredulous and almost happy.

"Yes, I do."

Their conversation continued out of the schoolyard, up and down the aisles of Price Chopper Supermarket, and all the way to Katherine's apartment building on State Street across from Washington Park.

"You've got a snowman place right in front of your house," Sprite exclaimed, indicating the expanse of snow-covered park on the opposite side of State Street from Katherine's wrought-iron railed stoop.

"Can we make a snowman tomorrow?"

"After school, we could do just that," Katherine said smiling.

Sprite had already wheedled one agreement out of Katherine to return to Price Chopper, for apple pie this time. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. Katherine felt her heart bubble with laughter at the thought, in the special way her heart hadn't done since before Daniel got sick. She reminded herself that somewhere between those excursions tomorrow she would have to fit in some shopping for Christmas decorations. She was entertaining herself with the fantasy of teaching Sprite to frost windows with finger paint and spray-on sparkles when Katherine opened her apartment door and snapped on the light.

The scene in her living room was nowhere near as blatant in its carnage as what had been done to Tooley's house. There were no broken furniture pieces or jagged windows, no pile of ravaged belongings on the floor. Yet, what Katherine saw now was as devastating to her as if the entire building had been set on fire and burned to the ground. The damage was slight and subtle, but she noticed it immediately, probably because it had been done to the object her eyes automatically sought out whenever she entered this room.

A small portrait of Daniel, painted in the days before they'd learned of his illness, sat on Katherine's mantelpiece in a stand that matched the portrait frame. The portrait had been slashed, just once diagonally, from corner to corner. Katherine hurried to the fireplace with tears already in her eyes. She loved this portrait. How could anyone have known how much she loved this portrait? She picked up the mined likeness and pressed it to her heart. She felt the urge to rock and keen just as she had done so many times in the months after Daniel's death.

"What's wrong?" the small voice asked from the doorway. "Did you break your picture?"

Katherine turned quickly. She'd forgotten Sprite for a moment. She hung back now from entering the room, her large eyes frightened again. If her thumb hadn't been encased in a mitten, it without doubt would have been in her mouth.

"Nothing's wrong, Sprite," Katherine said forcing cheer and her former rea.s.surance back into her voice.

She laid the small portrait facedown on the mantelpiece. That was when she saw the note that had been left there. It was typewritten and read: We know you are holding out on us about the boy. We will find him anyway. If you want to keep the little girl alive, you'd better not try to stop us.

Katherine grabbed the note and crumpled it in her fist. "Nothing's wrong at all, Sprite," Katherine fibbed yet again.

"But I almost forgot that Mr. Maltese likes cake and ice cream, too. Let's have our party at his house."

Katherine was careful not to latch onto Sprite's hand too hard or too quickly while hustling her back out the door as fast as was possible without startling her.

"Does he have a Christmas tree?" Sprite asked as Katherine glanced furtively up and down State Street before hurrying them down her front steps to the sidewalk. "What was that, Sprite?"

"Does Mr. Mowtese have a Christmas tree?"

"I don't know," Katherine said, her mind far away from thoughts of the holiday decorations. She was too concerned with keeping Sprite safe.

Chapter Nine Vic was startled by the flurry of knocks at the door of his restored, nineteenth-century row house on Livingston Avenue. Several sharp, persistent raps in quick succession were followed by just as insistent pressure on the doorbell. Someone really wanted to get in.

His immediate impression was of a person in trouble, maybe a kid from the center. This wouldn't be the only time one of them had shown up here with a crisis on his hands. That thought set Vic moving fast into the front entryway. His next thought stopped him in his tracks.

Most of all, this a.s.sault on his door sounded desperate, and desperate people can be dangerous7 Vic had learned that lesson long ago.

He hurried to the small, three-drawer stand in the hallway. He pulled out the bottom drawer and snapped open a compartment at the back. No one but Vic knew it was there. This hidden niche, a practical departure from the original design, was an example of his talent with tools and wood.

The object he pulled out of that secret s.p.a.ce cast off a reflection of the light from the living room. He moved cautiously along his entryway wall, carrying the cold gleam of steel in his hand. A gun was a necessity for someone with his history. Still, he had never liked guns and couldn't imagine that he ever would.

He thought he could hear his name being called from the other side of the door, but he couldn't be sure. He'd bought that st.u.r.dy door at the demolition sale of an eighteenth-century farmhouse near Coeymans, and had planed it down to fit his doorjamb like a hand in a glove.

Not much seeped through that tight framing. Besides, a storm had blown up in the past hour, gusting snow in front of a howling wind.

He usually liked that sound. Right now, though, he would have liked this storm to quiet down enough to let him listen for clues to the ident.i.ty of his visitor---or visitors.

Vic settled the grip of the gun firmly into the palm of his hand. The barrage at his door began again. He reached for the doork.n.o.b. On a silent count of three, he took a deep breath, tripped the latch on the door and pulled it open. He kept the door in front of him like a shield and his pistol poised. Still, he was all but knocked over as the door was shoved open and someonea"or somethinga"rushed through into the hallway with a gust of wind-swirled snow in its wake.

"Stop where you are," Vic commanded.

"Put your hands above your head right now, or I'll shoot."

Everything in him prayed shooting wouldn't be necessary. Everything in him had also been expecting for years that a moment like this would come someday. Then he heard what sounded like a child's small whimper. "Please, mister, don't shoot us," it said. "Vic, it's Katherine."

Her voice was so shaky he barely recognized it. His left hand had been halfway to the light switch when she spoke. He flipped that switch now. The soft light from an overhead globe fell on the snow-covered bulk of Katherine in her long, dark coat. A small child peered out from behind her. The large, terrified eyes told him at once that the child was Sprite Bellaway. Those eyes were staring straight at the firearm Vic still held suspended in midair. He dropped the gun instantly to his side, snapping the safety on as he did.

"Katherine, what are you doing here?" was all he could think of to say.

"Sprite and I thought we'd come over and see if you've put up your Christmas tree yet."

She followed that bewildering statement by glancing pointedly down at the little girl then back toward Vic. It was then that he realized Katherine's eyes were almost as big as the child's and that they were filled with the same fear. That realization brought his fuzzy thoughts into perfect focus in a flash, and he recognized the Christmas-tree story as a cover-up to keep Sprite from guessing what was really going on. Vic wanted more than anything in the world to find that out himself, but he knew he had to go along with the cover story, at least for now.

"I put it up last weekend," he said.

If it hadn't been for the fact that he was pretty sure something very unfunny was happening here, he would have laughed at the expression on Katherine's face, momentarily changing from terror to amazement.

Obviously, she hadn't expected to hear he had a Christmas tree.

HerJook told him she wouldn't have been any more amazed if he'd said this was the three bears' cottage and they were all eating oatmeal in the kitchen.

"Let's go in the living room and take a look," he said, stepping toward the woman and child.

"Don't kill us," Sprite wailed and ducked behind Katherine.

"I wouldn't hurt you. I promise."

Vic took a step forward, but Sprite did not emerge. Katherine nodded in the direction of Vic's right hand. He was still holding the gun.

"This old thing?" he said, making his voice sound light and cheerful even though he was feeling like the biggest jerk in the universe.

"I was just play ing a joke with Katherine. This old thing couldn't hurt a fly."

Vic hated lying to kids, especially since that was what had been done to him the whole time he was growing up. He'd kissed his family goodbye because of it, and other things. Consequently, there was hardly anything he disliked doing more. Katherine's disapproving expression gave him no other choice right now. There was little he wouldn't do to erase that veil of disapproval from her usually bright, blue-gray eyes.

Vic moved toward the hallway stand where he kept the gun. He was vaguely aware that his own face must be wear ing a fairly goofy expression as he tried to portray himself as harmless to Sprite, who was now peeking out with one eye from behind Katherine. He was reaching for the drawer with the hidden niche when he hesitated.

n.o.body in the world other than himself knew about that compartment.

He kept it secret for safety reasons, other people's safety and his own. He glanced at Katherine, whose eyes held questions now as well as disapproval. He told himself he'd be a fool not to trust those eyes, that hid so little of what she was thinking and feeling.

Still. "Let's go into the living room and see that Christmas tree," he said.

Vic slipped the gun into the back waistband of his jeans and pulled his sweater down to cover the weapon. He knew Katherine was watching his movements with suspicion, but the caution he'd learned from years of be ing a Maltese told him he had to remain secretive. Meanwhile, Katherine and Sprite had begun to look overly warm in their snow-soggy clothes.

"Let me help you," he said and stepped toward the two of them where they still stood in his hallway.

Katherine backed hastily away, and the obvious rejection of that stung his heart as surely as if she had struck him across the face.

"I don't think she's ready for that," Katherine said, looking down at Sprite.

Vic had a feeling Katherine was also talking about herself.

"Okay," he said.

"Let's go into the living room, then. The two of you should get out of those wet things."

That apparently grabbed Katherine's attention because she began walking toward the archway into Vic's living room. She moved awkwardly with Sprite still attached to her coattail, but Vic didn't try to help this time. The memory of Katherine's rejection kept him at a distance as much as any practical consideration of encouraging Sprite's cooperation could ever have done.

"You do have a Christmas tree?" Sprite exclaimed. An instant later, she was darting toward the tall, green hemlock in the bay window of Vic's living room.

"She seems to have gotten over her fear," he said.

He always marvelled at the way kids could jump from one moment to the next sometimes, as if what came before had never happened at all.

"Yes, she's apparently forgotten all about it." Katherine's tone made it clear that she hadn't done the same. She stared at him as if she might be able to see straight through his body to the gun in his waistband. He guessed she might have more questions about that gun than he cared to answer.

"I'll take your coat and hang it up to dry," he said, reaching out a hand without stepping any closer to her. He didn't want to cause her to back off from him again.

"Give me Sprite's coat, too."

Katherine hesitated a moment before unb.u.t.toning her coat and handing it over to him, all without coming any closer to him. Instead, she went to Sprite, who was touching one of the metallic gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s Vic had hung on the tree and staring at the distorted image of herself in its shiny gold surface with obvious delight.

"I'm going to take your coat off now," Katherine said in a calm, careful voice as if she might be afraid of startling Sprite with anything more loud or sudden.

"Okay," Sprite answered and unzipped her jacket without taking her eyes off the ornament.

"I think she likes the tree," Vic said.

Katherine turned and handed him the damp garment. "Children react so strongly to new experiences."

She didn't have to speak sharply for Vic to hear the pointedness of her comment. He decided not to respond. He was in a no-win position here and he knew it. Anything he said was just as likely to dig him deeper in as it was to help him out. He draped Sprite's jacket over his arm on top of Katherine's coat and turned to leave the room.

"Are you going away Sprite asked, diverting her attention from the tree.

A little of the whine that he'd heard before had crept back into her voice and some of the fear was returning to her eyes. She might have forgotten the gun he'd held a few moments ago, but Vic would guess she hadn't forgotten how scared she was in general, scared enough to want as many protective adults around her at all times as she could get.

"I'll be right back, sweetheart," he said.

"I'm just going to hang your coats up where they can dry."

"Good," Sprite said, apparently rea.s.sured, and returned her attention to the tree.

The gentleness of his words to the child had inspired a similar softening in the way Katherine was looking at him.

His heart lightened at the sight. He hurried out of the room before she could pick up on the relief he was feeling. His reactions to her were way too extreme, considering the brief time they'd known each other. He knew, from long-ago sad experience, that wearing your heart on your sleeve is a good way to get shot down.

He took the coats to the small first-floor bathroom, picking up two hangers from the hall closet on the way. He hung the coats on the shower bar and smoothed out the damp material of both. Sprite's jacket was too lightweight for winter wear. Vic remembered noticing the same thing about Coyote's clothing that morning. Now, he was out in the storm somewhere. Vic would have liked to quiz Sprite for any information she might have on her brother's whereabouts, but she probably didn't trust Vic enough for that kind of questioning just yet. The incident with the gun had set him back several paces in the trustworthiness department, which reminded him of his intention to get that particular item back into its hiding place ASAP. He was on his way to the hallway stand when Katherine stepped through the archway from the living room.

"Did you find a warm place to hang our things?" she asked.

"Yes, I did." He examined her face and saw the flicker of fear that remained in her eyes. He lowered his voice and asked, "What's going on? What brought you and Sprite here at this time of night?"

From what he had figured out about Katherine so far, she didn't come across as the kind of person who would show up at somebody's door like this without calling first. What was going on with her? That question resonated in Vic's mind as she glanced furtively back toward Sprite before answering.

a "Somebody broke into my apartment," she said in a near whisper.

"Broke in?"

Katherine raised her finger quickly to her lips and shushed him. She glanced back again at Sprite who had sat herself down in front of the tree and was playing with Vic's miniature train set, one of the few mementos he'd been able to bear to keep from his childhood.

"She's not paying any attention to us," he said. His own voice dropped to a whisper now.

"Tell me what happened at your apartment."

"I don't know," she said, just a little tremulously. She'd managed to get rid of that tremor by the time she spoke again.

"All I know is that somebody came into my home and damaged something I value very much."

"What was that?"

Vic longed to cross the s.p.a.ce between them in a single, eager stride and take her in his arms, but he needed to know what she was talking about even more.

"They slashed a small portrait I keep on my mantelpiece." * She paused. Vic could see on her face the effort she was making to calm and control herself. He almost did take her in his arms then.

"It was a portrait of Daniel," she whispered before he could move toward her.

Vic stayed where he was. The slope of her shoulders and the angle of her neck as she clutched her hands in front of her and stared down at them told him she didn't want to be touched right now. She needed to be self-contained, at least for the moment, inside the grief he could feel emanating from her. He respected that need while his own heart ached for her pain. He waited for her to lift her head slowly to look at him again before he spoke.

"Do you have any idea who might have done such a thing?"

Vic asked that so gently he wondered, when she didn't respond right away, if maybe she hadn't heard him. Then, she reached into the pocket of the skirt he recognized to be the same one she'd had on all day.

"They left this."

She handed him a piece of paper that had been crumpled into a ball.

He smoothed it out and read the typewritten warning.

"This is about the kids," he said.

"Coyote and Sprite." They both glanced over at Sprite this time. She was lifting the toy-train cars one by one from the red felt skirt beneath Vic's tree and setting them up again, one after the other, in a line on the carpet. She was obviously way too engrossed to have noticed the mention of her name or her brother' s.