A Holiday to Remember

A chorus of cheers greeted the question.

“In the dark? Absolutely not.” Jayne shook her head. “You can play in the snow tomorrow.”

“There are lights all around outside,” Yolanda pointed out. “It’s practically daylight out there.”

“Yeah, those lights shine in my window every night.” Monique had finally allowed hunger to win, and had taken her place at the table. “I should know.”

“The best sledding hill doesn’t have lights,” Jayne told them. “There’s a little bowl on the other side of the woods, off the hiking path to Hawk’s Ridge. We call it The Nest. Girls usually try to see who can go down one side the fastest and then come up the other side the farthest.” She shrugged. “Of course, if you’d rather settle for the tame little bumps around here instead of spending several hours in The Nest, that’s up to you.”

“Masterful strategy,” the man beside her murmured.

The girls around the table debated for a few seconds. “The Nest sounds cool,” Yolanda announced. “How early can we leave?”

“How early do you plan to get up?” Jayne pushed back her chair and stood. “While you’re deciding, let’s get the kitchen cleaned up. Dishes to the sink, paper to the trash and the leftovers in the fridge. Monique, you’re washing.”

“I know, I know.” Rolling her eyes, the girl went to the sink and began running water. “Get over here and help me, Haley. You didn’t do much with dinner, either.”

“I opened the soup cans,” Haley protested. But she found a dish towel and prepared to dry the wet dishes.

“Wipe the table down,” Jayne reminded them, “while I—”

A big fist closed around her upper arm. Chris Hammond had gotten to his feet. “I need to talk to you.” His set face matched the steel in his tone…and his grip. “Now.”

Sarah came up on Jayne’s other side. “Ms. Thomas? Are you okay?”

“I’m not going to murder or rape her,” Chris Hammond said irritably.

Pale blond hair and light blue eyes might give the impression that Sarah would be timid, but she didn’t flinch in the face of Chris Hammond’s temper. Jayne put her free hand on the girl’s arm. “I’m fine. There’s something Mr. Hammond and I need to get straightened out. I’ll show him where he can sleep tonight and be back here in a few minutes.”

As she stepped past him, the grip on her arm fell away. Jayne walked down the hallway to the private door of her office without looking back, certain he would follow. She motioned him inside, then shut the door and leaned back against it, refusing to let him believe she was scared of being alone with him.

Although, in truth, she was terrified.

“All right, Mr. Hammond, you’ve got what you want—complete privacy with no possible intervention from the police, the girls or anyone else. What in the world do you have to say to me?”

Chapter Three

Chris took his time examining the office. More wood paneling and a wall of bookshelves surrounded a huge desk with brass handles. Leather armchairs and a brocade sofa faced each other on an Oriental carpet. Original oil paintings and velvet drapes at the windows bespoke money and prestige.

“Very nice,” he said crisply, turning to face the headmistress again. “Looks like a cushy job. One you wouldn’t want to lose.”

“Yes.” She didn’t dress to impress, which suggested she was very comfortable with the power she held. Posed with her shoulders against the door, wearing navy blue slacks and white sneakers, a navy sweater and white turtleneck, she looked casual and confident. But he could sense the tension in her body.

“Is that the reason you won’t tell the truth?”

“What truth? What could I possibly be lying about?”

Chris set his jaw. “Your name, for starters. Not Jayne Thomas, but Juliet Radcliffe.”

“I have never heard that name before in my life. And it certainly isn’t mine. You have me confused with someone else.”

He sat on the edge of the big desk. “So where do you come from?”

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “About fifty miles south. My grandmother lived near Nantahala. She raised me.”

“Not your parents?”

“Our house burned down when I was seven. They were killed trying to bring out my little brother.”

“That’s quite a tragedy.”

She gave him a dirty look. “Don’t be so sympathetic.”

“Sorry. But I don’t understand why you would make up a background like that when you’ve got a legitimate past to call on. With me.”

She took a step forward. “You have to believe me. I’ve never heard of Juliet Radcliffe.” Her voice had softened, lowered, as if she were pacifying a wild animal. “You and I met for the first time yesterday.”

“Charlie says different.”

“Charlie?” She stared at him with a puzzled look. “Your grandfather? How would he know?”

Chris took out his cell phone. “Not much quality in these gadgets, but you get a general idea. I snapped your picture yesterday in town. Charlie said he would have known you anywhere.” He pushed a few buttons and called up the photo, then held up the phone screen for her to see.

She gave it a brief glance. “Charlie, the ‘old mountaineer’? At least he’s got the excuses of age and bad eyesight. You, I’m afraid, are just plain wrong.” Turning her back to him, she reached for the doorknob. “Now that we’ve got that settled, I think the best place for you to sleep is—”

“The hell we have.” Chris strode forward, grabbed her forearm with his good hand and pulled her around to face him, while shutting the door with a single kick. Then he gripped her other elbow, ignoring the spear of pain through his shoulder. “I learned every inch of your body when we were seventeen.”

She stopped struggling and stared at him, mouth open.

He nodded. “You have a birthmark on your left hip, red and shaped like a boot.” Her gasp made him smile. “Oh, yeah, I’ve seen it. I’ve kissed it. Want to tell me now that I’m plain wrong?”

Before his next heartbeat, the lights went out.

IN THE ABSOLUTE BLACKNESS, the girls started screaming.

“Dear God.” Jayne whirled, felt for the doorknob and flung open the panel. “Sarah! Monique!” Out in the dark hallway, she started running. “It’s okay, girls,” she called. “Everything’s okay.”

“No generator?” Chris Hammond asked from behind her.

“There is. I don’t know why it’s not kicking on.”

Outside the kitchen, she ran into a bumbling, sobbing huddle of teenage girls. Stretching out her arms, she touched as many of them as she could reach. “Calm down, everybody. We’re okay. Everybody is okay. Our eyes are adjusting. We’ll be able to see soon. Shh. Shh. Just relax.”

Gradually, the sobs were replaced by sniffles. Jayne herded the girls into the library, where embers glowed red in the fireplace.

“We’ve got plenty of flashlights,” she told them, “one for each of you, at least. Thousands of batteries. We’ll build up the fire and be warm and cozy.”

“What happened?” Taryn’s voice still quivered. “Why did the lights go out?”

“I don’t know.” Jayne carried a plastic tub of flashlights and batteries from the storeroom into the library.

“Isn’t there a backup generator?” Sarah started handing out the torches. “Doesn’t it switch on automatically?”

“That’s the plan.” Jayne stood back as the girls began playing with their lights. “I don’t know why it didn’t work.”

“Can’t we call somebody to come fix it?”

At the window, Jayne looked out into a white curtain of snow. “I don’t think anyone can get out from town tonight.” She picked up the nearby phone and was relieved to hear the dial tone. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow morning.”

Red-haired Haley raised her hand. “Ms. Thomas, who’s taking care of the horses? If Miss Ruth Ann can’t get here, are they going to starve in the snow?” A computer genius with a history of anorexia and several arrests for hacking into business systems, Haley had started riding lessons this fall.

“We’re lucky in that regard. Ms. Granger had already planned to spend the vacation with her husband and daughter in Ireland. She left our horses with different friends in the area to be cared for with their animals. They’re fine.”

“Whew.” Haley sat back in her chair. “I’m glad.”

As the girls relaxed, Jayne had the chance to realize Chris Hammond wasn’t in the room. With her flashlight clenched in suddenly clammy fingers, she checked the kitchen, the storerooms and even the men’s restroom without finding him.

For a few moments, she stood in the hallway outside the library, considering Hammond’s strange disappearance. Where had he gone? Why?

A sudden gust of cold wind swirled around her legs. The beam of her torch showed Jayne that the outside door, locked as usual, was propped open a few inches. Chris Hammond had left the building. Would he come back? With a weapon this time? She didn’t know him, had no reason to trust him.

Maybe she should call the sheriff’s office. They might need help up here, after all….

In the next minute, the door opened all the way and the man in question stepped inside. The beam from his flashlight hit her square in the face, then dropped immediately.

Jayne kept hers high. “Where have you been?”

“Do you mind?” He brought his hand up to shield his eyes.

She didn’t move. “Why did you go outside?”

“I thought I would find and check out the generator, see if I could get it running.”

“Oh.” She lowered the flashlight. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I can’t tell. When’s the last time you needed it?”

“Never, in the three years I’ve been here. But we get yearly maintenance from the company.”

“Then you’ll have to ask them what went wrong. It’s dead out there, though. No chance of power for tonight.” He pulled the door firmly closed behind him. “What about water?”

“We’re supplied by the town reservoir, so we should be okay. If that water failed, we could switch over to the original Hawkridge supply, from a lake high in the mountains. We won’t have to melt snow to drink.”

His teeth flashed in the dark. “And are we taking cold showers?”

“Our water heaters are gas, so we’ll have hot water for showers and washing up. Thank goodness.”

“Things could definitely be worse.” He tilted his head and looked at her quizzically. “So, do you still suspect I’m an ax murderer?”

“Yes.” Without smiling, Jayne turned and went back into the library. The girls had settled around the fireplace, thanks to Sarah’s brilliant discoveries—marshmallows and coat hangers.

“Are there chocolate bars and graham crackers?” Taryn licked white goo off her fingers. “We could make s’mores.”

Jayne didn’t want to take on another project tonight. “We’ll look for those tomorrow in the daylight.”

A general protest rose from the crowd around the fireplace, expanding to take in the weather, the lack of power and entertainment options and the miserable state of their adolescent world in general. The whines and complaints came at Jayne as only the most recent coating on a snowball of stress and tension that had been rolling downhill for the last two days, growing larger with every moment and now barreling straight at her.

She dropped into the nearest chair, her hands clamped tight together. In a minute she would regain control.

“Hey, girls! Shut up!” The shout actually echoed in the large room. Through the silence that followed, all eyes turned to the source of the command.

“That’s better.” Standing just inside the library door, Chris Hammond surveyed each of them in turn, one eyebrow lifted in sardonic question over those steel-blue eyes. “Is this a bunch of five-year-olds? You sound like it.”

Resentment flared on several faces. Yolanda opened her mouth to speak.

Chris held up a hand. “No excuses. This is far from the worst place you could be holed up during a blizzard. From what I heard at dinner, most of you chose to stay at school over the holiday.”

Yolanda’s mouth shut.

“Right now you’re warm, there’s food and drink and you’ve got company. You could be in the Middle East, holed up in a cave, looking for an enemy you can’t see even in the daytime. No fire allowed, only water to drink, and freeze-dried food from a bag for Christmas dinner.”

“Have you done that?” Taryn asked, curling one of her frizzy brown pigtails around her finger.

“I’ve traveled with the soldiers carrying the guns. My weapon of choice is a camera.”

A photojournalist, Jayne thought, as her hands began to relax. Interesting.

“Can we see your pictures?”

He dragged a ladderback chair near the fire. “Didn’t bring my camera on this trip.”

“Do you work for a newspaper?”

“I usually freelance—I come up with projects and then look for an editor who’s interested.”

Beth Steinman, whose expensive and stylish haircut branded her a resident of Manhattan, asked, “Have you ever published pictures in the New York Times?”

“Three articles last year.”

“Wow.”

“How about the L.A. Times?” Selena Hernandez represented the West Coast at Hawkridge.

“I just sold them a piece, and they asked for more.”

“Cool!”

His genuine smile was just as nice as Jayne had expected. “I have a blog, too. I post pictures and articles on The View from Here.”

“So we could find you online?” The girls sat up in excitement, then all fell back to their usual slumps. “No electricity, no Internet.”

“Something else to look forward to when the power returns.” Jayne got to her feet. “With the heating off, we’ll have to sleep near the fire. We’re going to the dormitory now so each of you can change into pajamas, robes and slippers. A scarf or a soft hat might be a good idea—you’ll stay warmer if you sleep with your head covered. Then you can bring sheets, blankets and pillows back down and we’ll get set up for the night.”

The predictable protests ensued.

“So early?”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“I stay up till midnight, at least.”

“I can’t sleep without my tunes.”

Jayne held up her hands for silence. “We’ve got a school full of books,” she reminded them. “Also games, puzzles, paint kits…you can choose whatever you want to do.”

The walk through the dark halls by flashlight and the pajama-clad procession back to the library, dragging bedding and stuffed animals, only seemed to drive the energy level higher. A pillow fight erupted and threatened to soar out of control until Jayne pointed out what could happen if flying pillows caught fire. Hunger struck next, and no one seemed to be satisfied with cold candy, cheese and crackers. The absence of a microwave oven brought tempers and tears almost to the breaking point.

Without thinking, Jayne glanced at Chris Hammond, standing at the door observing the chaos. He nodded once, then gave another of those shouts, which again created instant silence. With a hand motion, he turned the room back over to her.

She cleared her throat. “Okay. If you can all settle down, get your bed made, such as it is, and sit on it, I will make hot chocolate for everybody. But you have to be calm. Cooking on the fire isn’t easy.”

“You can cook on the fire?” Beth looked skeptical.

“As long as people aren’t wrestling and throwing things nearby.”

“Then what?” Taryn always managed to ask the hardest questions.

Yolanda threw her pillow on the floor. “Yeah, how are we gonna get to sleep without TV or music?”

“As I said, there are books—” Jayne began.

“Or,” Chris Hammond offered, “I could tell you a story.”

“A STORY?” Yolanda, the tall girl with a boyish haircut and espresso skin, glared at him. “You think we look like little kids?”

Selena from L.A. snorted. “I hate those stupid fairy tales.”

But the blonde, Sarah, asked, “What kind of story?”

He settled into the chair near the fire. “It’s not a fairy tale, by any means. Not even fiction. This is a true story.”

“About who?”

He lifted his eyebrow. “What about Ms. Thomas’s instructions?” In the scurry to get their bedding straightened out, the girls didn’t notice his sarcastic emphasis on her name.

The headmistress did, but chose to ignore him as she carried a stockpot of milk to the fireplace and set it on a three-legged iron stand above a small pile of coals she’d raked forward, out of the blaze.

Then she sat on the hearth, too, legs curled underneath her, to stir the milk as it heated. Gradually, the girls quieted down on top of their blankets and turned their attention back to Chris.

“So?” Monique, the troublemaker from dinner, glared at him with a skeptical curl to her lips. “What’s this story about?”

“A boy,” Chris Hammond told them. “And a girl.”

A raspberry sound effect greeted his announcement. “Hansel and Gretel?” That was one of the quieter girls whose name he didn’t know, a redhead with green eyes.

“I don’t like fairy tales.” Selena began rubbing lotion into her hands and arms.

“Are they vampires?” The one with pigtails clutched a pink stuffed rabbit. “I like vampire stories.”

“No, not vampires.” He rolled his eyes. “And not zombies, either. Or demons or whatever other unnatural, unreal creatures you pretend stalk the earth.” Bloodsucking sounded tame compared to some of the horrors he’d seen humans perpetrate on their own kind. “Just a boy and a girl.”

“So what’s the big deal?”

He hadn’t expected this to be such a hard sell. “Well, they grew up together. Had lots of adventures. Fell in love.” More derisive sound effects. “Then he killed her.”

The girls gasped. Chris glanced at the headmistress, saw her sitting upright, motionless, staring at him. Good. He’d gotten her attention.

The redhead broke the silence. “Why’d he do that? How?”

“That’s part of the story. If you want to hear it, you have to settle down.”

Mumbling and grumbling ensued, as the seven girls tucked and rolled themselves into their makeshift beds on the plush Persian carpet near the fire. Chris shifted a little in his chair, trying to get comfortable; between bruises and scrapes and a pulled shoulder, every inch of his body hurt in one way or another. He could hardly wait to lie down, even on a bare floor.

First, though, he would tell his story. Their story. The Juliet he knew couldn’t hold out against the truth spoken aloud. This Jayne mask she was wearing would crack at some point as she relived their time together. Then he would corner her, in front of seven witnesses, if necessary, and get the answers he needed.

“So,” he began, “they met the first time when they were thirteen years old.”

The pink rabbit person popped her head up. “What were their names?”

“Juliet,” he said. The headmistress narrowed her eyes, and he thought for a second she would stop him from telling the story.

When she didn’t say anything, he looked at the girls again.

“Juliet and…” Yolanda prompted.

“And…” What name could he use for himself? What would impress these girls?

“Romeo?” Monique snorted. “That’s so lame.”

“Nobody’s named Romeo these days,” Selena added. “Except dogs.”

“Chase,” Chris decided. “Juliet and Chase.” He thought it sounded like a soap opera couple. But when no protest greeted the announcement, he continued. “It was three days before Christmas….”

His grandfather had sent him to the general store for nails to fix a fence. Chase thought he’d get a bag of chips and a soda with the change from the ten dollar bill Granddad had given him.

Juliet was just wasting time, prowling the store aisles because she was tired of sitting around at her grandmother’s house, pretending to read.

It was just her bad luck that Chase glanced over as she dropped the candy bar in her coat pocket. Juliet didn’t even realize she’d been caught until he spoke into her ear from behind, “Gotcha!”

She jumped and looked around to see if anybody had heard him. “Shut up!” she hissed. “Keep your mouth closed and I’ll give you half.”

He shook his head. “Shoplifting’s a crime.”

“Like he’ll even notice it’s gone.” She nodded toward the man at the counter, who just happened to be a good friend of Chase’s granddad.

“Why don’t you just buy it?” She was pretty, which accounted for what he said next. “I’ll buy it for you.”

“That’s no fun.” She turned and started walking toward the door, pretending to look at the dish towels and pots on the shelves.

Chase watched her go, arguing with himself even while he noticed her long reddish hair shine in the light coming through the high windows. On the one hand, he should tell the store manager. That was the right thing to do. Only problem was, he’d look like a wuss and she’d hate him forever. At thirteen, he wasn’t sure which was worse.

While he was still debating, Juliet slipped out the door without a glance in the manager’s direction. He didn’t even notice her. She’d gotten away with stealing.

When Chase brought his nails and chips and soda to the counter, he found himself talking to Mr. Fletcher, the manager, who’d known him since he was about three years old. And he started feeling guilty for letting the girl get away with her crime. A thirty-five cent candy bar was no big deal. Still, Mr. Fletcher was a nice guy.

At the last minute, he said, “I almost forgot—I bought that girl a candy bar. A Snickers. Add that in.”

He left feeling more like Galahad than that Quisling guy they’d talked about in school.

Once out on the sidewalk, he looked around and saw her slouched on a bench just up the street, slowly eating the candy bar. Chase went to sit beside her, opened his chips and took a swig of his drink. But he didn’t say anything.

Finally, she said, “You bought it, didn’t you?”

He just nodded, pretending to finish chewing a chip.

“Wuss,” she told him.

From the floor in front of the fireplace, the seven Hawkridge girls groaned.

Chris grinned. “You can’t win when it comes to girls.”

Monique snorted. “Get on with the story.” She glanced at the headmistress’s disapproving face. “Please.”

“Right. So then…”

She gave a sideways glance. “What do you do around here for fun, anyway?”

“Besides shoplifting?”

Juliet jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

“There’s plenty to do in the snow.” He glanced up at the sky—it had been a warm winter and they were only wearing sweaters. “Not much if there’s no snow.”

She sighed and raised her arms in the air. “Why am I here? What possible point is there to Christmas in this hick town?”

He finished his chips, balled the bag and tossed it toward the trash can, praying for a basket. But the bag bounced off the rim and fell on the sidewalk. Feeling his ears heat up, he retrieved the trash and dropped it in the container.

As he sat down again, though, he managed to casually turn his body toward her and prop his elbow on the back of the seat. In a few minutes he would stretch out his arm behind her shoulders. If he was really lucky, some of that shiny red-brown hair would brush his hand.

“I’m Chase,” he told her.

“Juliet.” She crushed the candy wrapper and pitched it at the trash can, where it landed without a sound.

“Are you from around here?” he asked, to distract from his hot, red cheeks.

“No way. I live in New York.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. If he’d had his arm stretched out, he could have caught some across his palm. “Manhattan, where there’s shopping and music, plays and people and a hundred things to do.”

“So why’d you come to the mountains?”

“My grandmother. She’s sick and she said she wanted to see me before she dies.” Juliet rolled her eyes. “She never wanted to see me before. I barely know the old bat, but I’m forced to spend a whole week trapped in the middle of nowhere.” Head bowed, the girl sat and sulked.

Chase took the chance to lay his arm across the back of the bench. “I’m here for the whole winter break. Got here on the twentieth and I’m stuck for three weeks.”