Mistletoe Justice. Carol J. Post

then shook his head. The entire bag was now a wadded, twisted mess. If he left it like that till morning, the kid would go through the weekend looking as if he’d just crawled out of bed.

      Conner pulled out a shirt and folded it, then removed a pair of shorts. When he reached for another item, he hesitated. He had uncovered the corner of a book.

      He glanced at his nephew. Kyle wasn’t a reader. He knew how to read, but he didn’t do it for pleasure. And since school was out all next week, he’d told Kyle his homework could wait till later. No way was he getting a jump on it. He was a major procrastinator, unless it involved video games.

      Conner pulled out the book, then drew his brows together. Kyle with a diary? It was hard enough to get him to do his assignments. He’d never keep a journal.

      Which meant the book had probably belonged to Claire.

      Anticipation surged through him. During that quick phone call the night she disappeared, all she’d told him was that she’d found something. She hadn’t given him much to go on. Maybe the details he needed were in her diary.

      He opened it to the first page. Definitely Claire’s handwriting.

      “No!” Kyle’s scream reverberated through the room. Before Conner had a chance to prepare, Kyle leaped up and slammed into him, knocking him onto the bed. “That’s Mommy’s. You can’t have it.” He snatched the book and held it to his chest as tears welled up in his eyes.

      “It’s okay, buddy.” Conner kept his voice low, soothing. “I was just straightening your clothes.” He lifted a hand and smoothed back Kyle’s hair. “I won’t take it without your permission.”

      Kyle calmed, then swiped at his eyes, as if embarrassed to be seen crying. “You promise?”

      He held up a hand. “Scout’s honor. But I’ll read it to you, if you’d like.”

      Kyle shook his head. “I don’t need you to read it. I can read it myself. We’re learning cursive.”

      Conner frowned. He wasn’t surprised. The private school he’d put Kyle in had a good reputation. And his sister’s handwriting was impeccable. He’d have to try another tack.

      “Will you let me read it? Mommy wouldn’t mind. She was my sister, you know.”

      He cringed at his choice of verbs. No matter how he tried to cling to the hope that Claire would one day walk back into their lives, he still found himself thinking of her in the past tense.

      Kyle didn’t seem to notice. “No, it’s a special book. Just me and Mommy can read it.”

      Without waiting for a response, Kyle climbed back into bed and slipped the diary under his pillow.

      Conner sighed. If he was going to get a look at what Claire had written, it was going to have to be after Kyle went to sleep. Unfortunately, tonight Kyle would probably outlast him.

      For the next hour, Conner drifted in and out while Kyle watched TV. Then he awoke with a start. He’d fallen into a heavier sleep, even started to dream. He sat up and looked over at Kyle. The bedside light was on and the TV still played, but Kyle was fast asleep.

      He stood and circled around to the other side of Kyle’s bed. He was sprawled out in the middle, his head between the two pillows. The scowl that usually marred his face during his waking hours was gone in sleep. He looked at peace, as if his biggest worry was whether Santa would bring him that favorite toy for Christmas. As if heartache hadn’t so recently touched his young life.

      When Conner started to slide his hand under the pillow, guilt pricked him, and he pulled back. Kyle had made him promise he wouldn’t take it. Well, he wasn’t taking it. He was just borrowing it.

      But if Kyle caught him, he would never trust him again. He would probably even hate him, at least temporarily. Conner frowned. He’d be less likely to get caught if he could slip another book under the pillow in its place. He had only one with him, a spy thriller he’d thrown in at the last minute. It was close to the same size as Claire’s diary, just a little thicker. It was even a hardback.

      He retrieved it from his bag, then crossed the room to again stand beside Kyle’s bed. His heart pounded as he pulled Claire’s diary from under the pillow and slid the thriller in in its place.

      After tiptoeing around to his own bed, he arranged the pillows behind his back. Claire disappeared May 20. There was probably no reason to go back to the beginning of January. He put his thumb at the one quarter point and opened the book. His gaze fell on the left side, April 1.

      Claire’s perfect handwriting filled the page. She was upbeat, happy. Wiggins hadn’t come in to work that day. And she had spent the evening planning Kyle’s birthday parties. Two of them. Saturday would be the party with his friends at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Then Sunday would be dinner with Mom and Tony and Uncle Conner. She ended the entry with “My sweet baby boy—he’s the joy of my life.”

      Conner’s heart twisted. No wonder the book was so precious to Kyle. Even though everyone believed his mother had walked away from him, the proof that she loved him was right here in black and white.

      He continued to read, flipping page after page. Claire struggled with depression. That was no secret. She’d taken the brunt of the abuse from each of the men who had occupied their home, as well as the perverted affections of father number two. The latter, she’d kept buried until a few weeks before she disappeared.

      But she was doing well, even though she was working for a tyrant who got some sick thrill from humiliating her. In reading her journal entries, it seemed two things were keeping her going—her love for her son and her hatred for Wiggins.

      Throughout April, there was no hint of what she’d found that put her life in danger. Finally, he came to an entry that made him sit up a little straighter. May 5, two weeks before she disappeared, an irregularity showed up on the bank statement. She didn’t go into detail, but it involved a large cashier’s check for the supposed purchase of a piece of equipment, money she was sure ultimately went to Wiggins.

      Between May 5 and May 20 were several more entries about how she was spying on Wiggins, listening outside his door, even sneaking back after closing to eavesdrop on meetings. Her last entry was on May 19. Something was going down the following night. Then she’d have everything she needed to have Wiggins put away.

      That was the last entry. May 20, she never made it home.

      He closed the diary and slid from the bed. Kyle suddenly turned on his side, slipping his hand under the pillow. A soft word escaped his mouth—“Mommy.”

      Conner froze, afraid to breathe. But Kyle didn’t wake up. Several minutes passed before Conner was ready to try to switch out the two books.

      Once finished, he made his way back toward his own bed with a sigh. Kyle was going to have to part with the diary. The evidence inside wasn’t much, but maybe it would be enough to warrant an investigation into the accounting records of P. T. Aggregates and Rupert Wiggins personally.

      After changing into some gym shorts, he slipped into bed and turned off the light. He didn’t know much more than he had before. He didn’t have details. And he didn’t have any proof.

      But one thing was certain. Something happened the night of May 20. Claire witnessed it.

      And it likely got her killed.

      * * *

      Darci tipped back her head, letting the sunshine warm her face. Voices filled the air, shouts and squeals of happy children. Jayden’s wasn’t among them. She drew her gaze back to the cluster of playground equipment. Children of all sizes swarmed over its surface. Her own little guy was climbing the stairs to one of the slides, silent as always.

      She sighed and turned toward Hunter Kingston, who sat next to her on the bench. For the past several minutes, he had listened without commenting as she told him everything that had transpired over the past eight days. As of last night, she had another bit of information to add. After trying for two