A Cold Christmas Read Free Page A

the bottom step, hugging the banister. Never before had the dim lighting down here bothered her. There were only two bare ceiling bulbs sending fingers of light into the darkness spreading under the entire house. Junk was piled everywhere: boxes, old furniture, a rusted bicycle, broken toys, a doll buggy, a crib, a desk—maybe that could be cleaned up for Zach—file cabinets, chairs, a dining table. A good place to hide something, she thought. Like a body.
    Tim banged away, said it needed two new pieces, and banged some more.
    â€œMommy!”
    The edge of panic in Bonnie’s voice had her racing up the stairs. In the kitchen, the little girl stood in the center of spilled orange juice that soaked the front of her clothes, dripped off the table, and puddled in a widening circle around the dropped jug.
    â€œGo change your clothes,” Caley snapped.
    Bonnie’s bottom lip trembled and tears filled her eyes.
    Oh, God. “I’m sorry, love. It’s all right.” She gave the child a one-armed hug, kissed her, and patted her on the fanny. “Get something dry on. It’s all right.”
    Nothing was all right. She’d just yelled at her baby, she had orange juice all over the kitchen, and she had a weird guy in the basement. Tears prickled at her eyes.
    â€œI’ll take care of it, Mom,” Zach said.
    â€œZach—” Hang on, don’t snivel. “You are a great kid. Thanks.”
    She found Bonnie in the bedroom, shivering so hard she couldn’t manage the buttons on her shirt. Caley peeled off the wet clothes, slipped a dry sweatshirt over the little girl’s head, gathering pale hair loose from the neckline, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. She carried Bonnie into the living room, sat on one end of the couch, and wrapped a quilt around both of them. She hummed softly. Adam, still mesmerized by television, sat on the other end.
    Horses galloped across the television and guns blazed. Struggle as she might, she still dozed.
    Gradually muscles, tensed to protect her from the cold, began to relax as warmth crept in like soft spring air.
    She dreamed.
    God, with a mass of fuzzy white hair and the repairman’s eyes, put her in an elevator and pressed a button labeled HELL. The elevator descended. When it reached bottom, the doors opened to gigantic, roaring, leaping flames. Hands grabbed her arms and legs, swung her back, and pitched her in.
    â€œMom! Mom, wake up!” Zach shook her shoulder. “We got a problem!”
    â€œAdam?” She shot up. “Bonnie?”
    â€œThey’re fine. In the bedroom. Mom, the furnace won’t turn off.”
    â€œTurn it down.” She slumped back against the lumpy couch.
    â€œIt is down. It doesn’t matter. It keeps roaring.”
    She untangled herself from the quilts and got to her feet. Hot hot. The room swayed. It had gotten dark while she dozed. Somebody had turned on all the lights. Adam, maybe; he didn’t like the dark. She headed for the basement.
    â€œMom, he’s gone.”
    â€œGone,” she repeated stupidly.
    â€œWake up, Mom. We have to do something.”
    She shook her head, then wished she hadn’t.
    â€œCall them.” Zach handed her a bill. She owed six hundred and eighty-five dollars.
    â€œCall. I’ll open windows.”
    She punched in the number on the invoice and, rather shrilly, explained the situation to the male voice on the other end of the line.
    â€œIt’s the blower,” he said, superior male to ditzy female. “Takes several minutes before it shuts off.”
    â€œIt’s been several hours and nothing has shut off.”
    â€œI’ll send someone out first thing in the morning.” Bored unworried voice.
    â€œNo,” Caley said. “ Right now. He just left. Get him back here.”
    Pause. “I’ll try his pager.”
    She slammed down the receiver, used ticking seconds to track down a number, then called