The Christmas Thief (5 page)

About a half hour later, Tasha looked up to see Lorena perched on the roof’s peak. “Everything all right up there? I’m ready to go ahead and start nailing this down.”

“Sure is. I’ll do the same and be back down in a jif.”

Clambering up the gritty shingles came easily enough, but with the cold bursts of rain, moving across a plastic-wrapped roof was not so simple. Tasha bit her lip, thinking about Lorena up there in the dark. She sidled along the lower edge of the roof, careful to plant her hiking boots on the exposed outermost edge where she could get some traction. She then shot a look up to the peak, but Lorena was missing.

“Still doing all right up there?” she called out.

Nothing.

“Lorena?”

Still nothing.

On her haunches now, Tasha braced herself, intending to stand up enough to crawl up and over the peak—until Lorena’s voice sailed through the night.

“Whew! I think I’m done!” she hollered.

Tasha’s heart beat against the inside of her chest. “You scared me to death!”

Lorena chuckled. “You worry too much.”

Tasha sighed with a little groan mixed in. “Can I at least help you down now?”

“Don’t you dare. I’ve got this.” Lorena lowered herself to her hands and knees and inched her way along the roof’s edge.

“You sure I can’t help you?” Tasha called up to Lorena.

“I’m good.”

Tasha sucked in a breath. She watched Lorena continue to creep down the covered roof until she made it to a spot a few feet in front of her. Certain Lorena was out of danger, Tasha swung her legs to dangle from the roof. When her toes met the solid wood railing, she stood, continuing to hang onto the roof’s edge. With continued care, she hopped down to the deck and landed with a small splash.

Though the night had turned dark, she stood back and admired the glow of plastic sheeting covering her small home. A full force of relief flooded through her—her cabin was now hidden from any oncoming storm’s rage. Her home looked as cozy and protected as if nestled in a warm blanket. Once she had the roof repaired, she’d be able to put up Christmas lights and hang a wreath on the door.

She let out a sigh. A crackling sound drew her attention to the south edge of the roof. Thankfully, Lorena was almost down. “Careful,” she said.

“Are we really starting that again?” Lorena threw a whoop into the air while hanging onto the edge of the house, her foot searching for the wooden railing. “Like I said, I got this!”

Tasha gasped and rushed over, flailing her arms in the air. “Wait!”

But the warning call went out too late. As Tasha lurched forward to steady her friend’s wayward hiking boot that struggled to settle on the slick deck railing, Lorena stumbled, then fell, wrist first, into a harsh puddle of rainwater.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dr. Whitney tapped a pen on the metal tray at his side. He pointed at Lorena. “What you have there is a badly sprained wrist. You’re lucky.” Lorena’s longtime physician pursed his lips and shook his head. “Climbing on a roof in the pouring rain. That, my friend, is the definition of living dangerously.”

Lorena lifted her chin. “How else can you cover a leaky roof? We did a great job, didn’t we, Tasha?”

Tasha wanted to crawl under that rolling metal tray. Instead, she changed the subject. “What kind of treatment do you recommend, doctor?”

He shrugged. “Nothing too much you can do. Ice it for half-hour intervals until the swelling goes down, take pain relievers as needed, and keep it in a sling for at least two weeks.”

“Two weeks!”

Dr. Whitney peered squarely at Lorena through glasses resting low on his nose. “It’s a good thing I was on call tonight because I know how stubborn you can be. This is serious now. Two weeks!”

Tasha caught the doctor’s hand before he left the room. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Outside they skirted puddles of rainwater inconveniently arranged like a game of Whack-A-Mole. The dark night only further underscored the condemnation threatening to envelope Tasha. Lorena had gotten hurt because of her—because she had put her friend and boss in terrible danger.

Tasha attempted to guide Lorena by hooking an arm through her free one. Lorena chuckled and extricated herself. “I’m not elderly!”

Maybe if she hadn’t been so pigheaded ... so sure of herself ... Tasha turned and blurted, “I’m so sorry you got hurt, Lorena. Can you forgive me?”

Lorena slowed. “Hun, there’s nothing to forgive. If I’d only made sure of my footing before putting all my weight on it, well, we wouldn’t be here.” She chuckled lightly. “This is how Lorena learns.”

Tasha released a sigh. “Let’s get you home. You’re taking my room tonight—and I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, no—”

Tasha raised both eyebrows. “There will be no more discussion.”

“Well, then, yes, ma’am. Okay. Far be it from me ...” She gave Tasha’s elbow a squeeze. “Thanks.”

They rode in contented and sporadic conversation, the wet pavement of PCH faintly lit by the reflection of the half moon. More than once Lorena dozed mid-sentence. She had to be exhausted. Tasha blinked away another onslaught of guilt.

At the cabin, Tasha woke up Lorena and led the way along the flagstone path from the curb. She pulled out her key to unlock the door, when she stopped. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

“You mean my snoring even though I’m standing up?”

Tasha pressed her lips together, listening for two seconds longer. Nothing except the fierce crash of a wave at the base of the cliff. She slid a look at Lorena who stood by patiently. “Sorry. I’ll get you inside.” Tasha clicked open the lock and swung open the door, letting Lorena enter first. “Down the hall, first door on the right.”

She shut the door behind her slowly, her gaze sweeping over the darkness, and turned the lock with a click.

~~~

Rays of sunlight shimmered across Tasha’s eyelids, and she opened them to a view of that vast hill. She lay there for a few blessed moments, breathing in and out, taking in the wall of rich evergreen beyond her deck. She stretched her neck from side to side, working out the kinks after a night on her old lumpy couch, the one she had dragged back across the room in the middle of the night. Tasha tossed aside her cotton throw and padded over to the other side of the house—all thirty-some-odd feet of it—and peeked out the waterside window. The ocean churned and sputtered below as if still unnerved by the sudden storm from the night before.

A shadow caught her eye, followed by a startling knock on the door.

Frowning, Tasha smoothed down her hair. “Just a minute,” she called out. She grabbed her glass of water from the sink, swished the water around in her mouth, and spit it out. It would have to do.

She opened the door to find Marc towering in her doorway. He wore charcoal tweed trousers, a white dress shirt, a smoky gray tie—and a frown.

Tasha glanced down at her own hoodie, yoga pants, and fuzzy socks. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I’d have a visitor so early.” An image of Lorena and her damaged arm curled up under an old quilt appeared in her mind. She bit her lip. “I mean, other than the one who was here all night.”

Marc’s brows rose.

Tasha shook her head, her curls rustling against her ears. “Never mind. Would you like to come in?”

He pressed his lips together and looked at her, then slowly turned toward the neighboring lot, the one he had so boldly begun to annihilate whether she liked it or not. As he turned back to face her, she caught a glimpse of where his gaze had taken him. “Oh no ...”

“Did you see anything last night?” he said, his tone mildly un-neighborly.

“Not at all.”

“And you didn’t hear anything either?” The question sounded more like an accusation. He was still standing outside on her welcome mat when he glanced up at her roof and squinted into the morning sun. “Appears that someone was on your roof last night.”

She took another look at the gouges, deep and wide, that peppered his water-saturated lot. Even she doubted that the brief but heavy rain could have caused quite that much destruction. But as sorry as she felt for the mess on his property, she didn’t care to fill him in on any of last night’s adventures. “Someone really did a number on your land,” she said and tilted a look at him. “I wish I’d heard or seen something, but honestly, I never did.”

Marc let out a sigh of exasperation. He leaned one dress-shirt-covered arm onto the doorjamb and poked his head inside, his eyes snagging hers. His voice was low and controlled. “Be straight with me. I know you haven’t exactly welcomed my building plans with open arms. What’s it going to take to help you accept me?”

She stepped back, aghast at his insinuation. She had every right to be annoyed with the sudden disruption to her peaceful life, but to suggest that she’s somehow behind the destruction of his property?

A voice behind her sang out with much too much gusto. “Good morning!”

Marc jostled to peer over Tasha’s shoulder. His eyes widened. And when he noticed the sling hanging from Lorena’s shoulder, he shot another look directly at Tasha.

She wanted to dart underneath the dining table like a spooked cat.

“You have got to be ...” Marc pushed past Tasha into her house, examining Lorena’s pampered arm.

He swung a look from Tasha to Lorena and back again. “Tell me you two didn’t go up on that roof.”

Lorena tugged his tie, and snapped the fingers of her good hand in front of his face. “Hey. Hello. I’m right he-re.”

Tasha cut in. “Lorena, have a seat and I’ll make us some coffee. You want any, Marc?” She hoped he would decline.

Marc jumped in front of Lorena and grabbed a chair. “Let me get that for you.” The scrape of the chair’s legs against the hard, bare floor jarred the already tension-filled air in the house.

Lorena made herself comfortable, while Marc joined her at the table. Tasha bit back a sigh and took a third mug from the cabinet, setting it onto the counter with a harsh clunk. She braced herself for a tirade. You should have known better than this. What were you thinking—oh, that’s right—you weren’t thinking. And the one she looked forward to the most—why don’t you give up now before somebody gets hurt again—or worse!

She sneaked a peek over her shoulder. Lorena was shrugging off Marc’s concerns while he examined her bruised wrist, his mouth fixed into a grim line.

Coffee made, Tasha delivered the steaming mugs to the table, followed by sugar and two kinds of cream. She took a seat, the guilt of last night’s adventure clawing at her insides. Still, this was her home, and it was up to her to set the tone. No matter how much Marc Shepherd may want to chastise her, she would not allow it.

She sank into her chair and took a sip, eyeing Marc. “You’re dressed up today.”

“Yes. I have a lunch down the hill with the architects of a complex building project I’ll be heading up in the spring.”

Hence the rush on his own property. Tasha put down her glass. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. Guess we should talk about the mess next door.” She shook her head. “I wish I knew what happened.”

Lorena’s brow rose. “Something happened?”

Marc held up a palm. “Before we get to that, I have something to say about ... about this.” He gestured to Lorena’s sprained wrist. “And about this.” He pointed toward the platter-sized spot on the living room ceiling.

Here we go.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Oh?” Lorena said.

“For?” Tasha said.

Marc scowled and glanced away from them, as if formulating the right words to say. Tasha couldn’t imagine what he had to be sorry about, well, other than the fact that Lorena got hurt—they were all sorry that had happened. But it wasn’t as if he had anything to do with it.

He swung a look back at Tasha, his dark eyes boring into hers, the effect causing her to suck in a breath and hold it there. “I knew the condition of this roof, and I should never have left you here with the threat of an incoming storm. Friends don’t do that to friends.”

Is that what they were? Had they officially crossed over from polite-but-safely-detached neighbors to friends who chatted over mutual home repair projects? She took another sip of coffee, stalling a reply, his words throwing something unexpected into the mix of the morning.

“Well,” Lorena said, “I, for one, don’t think you have anything to be sorry about, Marc.”

Tasha shook off her confusion. “Lorena’s right. I should have had the roof checked before this. What can I say other than it’s been on my list?” She nodded toward the refrigerator where a legal-sized sheet of paper hung under a magnet.

“Now that’s enough, I’m telling you,” Lorena scolded. “Not one more word of remorse from either of you—or else.”

Marc’s mouth turned into a guilty smile, highlighting a dimple in his cheek. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Hush,” Lorena said, glaring this time.

Tasha cleared her throat. “We need to get back to figuring out what happened here last night. My guess is that someone with a heavy duty truck took last night’s soaking as an opportunity to carve up your land.” She sighed. “It must’ve happened when Lorena and I were at the hospital.”