A Mom for Christmas. Joan Kilby
Sara said but with obvious reluctance. “It’s not as though it’s a secret. Everyone in Whistler talked about your cousin’s death for years afterward. The case still divides the town. The coroner’s inquest came back with a finding of death by misadventure. But although some people swear he’s innocent, others are equally certain that…well, her death was no accident.”
Nicola stared at the woman, hoping she wasn’t hearing correctly. “You mean,” she said carefully, “Aidan had something to do with Charmaine’s death?”
Sara Winston’s worried gaze met Nicola’s scrutiny and she chewed her lip. “Aidan is a wonderful father and a supportive member of the school community. He—”
Her next words were cut off by the ringing of the school bell. “I’m sorry,” Sara said, rising. “You’ll have to excuse me. The children will be coming in any second.”
A door banged open down the hall and suddenly the air was filled with chattering, laughing kids and the drumming of booted feet on linoleum.
Nicola moved closer to be heard above the noise. “If Charmaine’s fall from the mountain wasn’t an accident—”
“Some say she was pushed,” Sara whispered.
Nicola felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Her ears rang with echoes of the school bell. “Who would do such a thing?”
Long seconds passed while Sara Winston hesitated, clearly wishing she’d never started this conversation. At last she said, “Aidan was the only one there.”
Chapter 3
Nicola had no chance to respond to the implied accusation. Children, red-cheeked and damp with snow, were pouring into the classroom, shrieking with high spirits.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to go,” Sara said above the din. “It was nice to see you again.”
“Thanks for filling me in.” I think.
Nicola waved goodbye to Emily who was already surrounded by her friends and pushed her way through the surge of grade ones. Sara’s shocking declaration rang in her ears louder than the metallic clang of the school bell. Charmaine’s fall was no accident.
That made Aidan a murderer.
Nicola stepped outside onto the concrete steps and shivered violently as the freezing air and the implication of Sara’s words hit her simultaneously.
No, she thought in a violent rejection of the very idea. Aidan had been deeply in love with Charmaine and she, with him. They had a brand-new baby and a bright future. Why would he kill her?
Nicola continued on her way back to the truck. Gossip was rife in the aftermath of dramatic events. People said all sorts of things without any evidence just to make life seem more interesting. Charmaine’s letters were a testament to Aidan’s devotion; proof of his adoration abounded in every line.
Still deep in thought Nicola started the engine and pulled out onto the road. A horn blared and she snapped into alertness to see a car coming straight at her. She swerved to the right at the last second and June’s big vehicle fishtailed across the road, coming to rest with the front wheels embedded in a barrier of plowed snow.
“Stay on your own side of the road!” yelled the man in the red sedan whose car she’d almost hit head-on. He blasted his horn again as he went past.
Shaken, Nicola leaned on the steering wheel, bent head resting on her arms while her heart pounded furiously. She had to be more careful.
A rapping at her window made her lift her head. The blond woman, Emily’s aunt Angela, was outside, peering in anxiously. Nicola rolled down the window.
“Are you all right?” Angela said. “That guy was a jerk.”
“I was on the wrong side of the road,” Nicola admitted. “But thanks.”
“I’m Angela, Emily’s aunt. Forgive me if I’m being nosy, but are you a friend of Aidan’s?”
Nicola smiled. “Not exactly. I’m Nicola. Emily’s mom, Charmaine, was my cousin and best friend when we were younger. I’m staying with my aunt for a while and offered to look after Emily while June helps on some committee.”
During this speech Angela’s bright blue eyes had widened. “I know who you are. You’re the one who went to Australia.” She glanced over her shoulder at a car trying to get past. “You’re sticking out onto the road so we’d better not stand here yakking. How about getting together sometime soon? We never see much of Emily’s other family.”
“That’d be nice. What do you suggest?”
“Come for dinner tomorrow. Say, seven o’clock.” Angela pulled out a card from her purse. “Here’s the address.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you then.”
Angela waved goodbye and picked her way through the clods of snow to her car. Nicola checked the rearview mirror and put the Suburban into Reverse. Its wheels spun, emitting a high-pitched whine. She shifted into four-wheel drive and tried again. The wheels caught and she backed jerkily onto the road. Chanting keep to the right, keep to the right under her breath, Nicola shifted into Drive and headed into Whistler.
She spent the day browsing the shops and taking photos of the picturesque village with its pedestrian-only streets decked out in pre-Christmas splendor. Later that afternoon she picked up Emily from school without mishap and drove south of Whistler, a short distance to Aidan’s single-story log house on the shores of Alta Lake.
Nicola put the key Aidan had given her in the lock and opened the door to inviting smells of savory cooking, cedar and a wood fire. She hung her coat on a hook by the door and helped Emily out of her boots and snowsuit then followed the little girl to the great room whose high, wide windows overlooked the frozen lake.
Separating the living and dining areas was a large aquarium filled with colorful tropical fish. Facing the windows on the opposite wall was built-in shelving containing a TV, books and skiing trophies. A stone fireplace with an airtight insert was surrounded by an odd collection of mismatched furniture—a big comfortable-looking recliner, a cozy love seat and a carved French walnut settee covered in ivory damask of the type favored by June, and presumably Charmaine.
Above the mantel hung a studio portrait of Charmaine. Her perfect features and lustrous long blond hair sparked a familiar upwelling of envy and admiration. Ridiculous, Nicola thought, to feel jealous of a dead woman but there it was. At the same time, she wished Charmaine were here, filling the house with her infectious laughter and outrageous schemes for fun.
Emily crouched before the fireplace, hands up to the feeble warmth given off by the barely glowing embers. “It’s cold.”
Nicola pulled the heavy drapes shut against the gathering dusk, tucking in the voluminous lace curtains that had grown dusty through neglect. Then she took a handful of kindling from the basket by the fireplace and levered open the stove’s door to throw them in. A few healthy blows with the bellows and the kindling crackled into flames. She stacked a couple of larger logs at angles and shut the door.
Emily inched closer and sat on her heels, holding her hands in front of the heated glass.
Nicola got out her Nikon single lens reflex and perched on the settee. The couch was hard, as if it had been stuffed with horse hair, and so high Nicola’s feet barely touched the floor. Moving to the love seat, she sank into the soft cushions and began to rewind the film she’d shot that day.
“Were those your mother’s?” she asked Emily even though she could tell at a glance the crystal figurines ranged along the mantelpiece were pure Charmaine. There was a prancing unicorn, a ballerina balanced delicately on one pointed toe, a pair of leaping dolphins in a spray of blue crystal water and many other dainty and fragile designs.
“Yes,” Emily said, nodding solemnly. “Daddy says we have to take care