The Heart of Christmas. Brenda Novak

her party or at their weekly coffee date. Her friends were wonderful, but they’d been so close for so long that nothing was off-limits.

      “I only have a few more minutes,” she told him, “so we should get on with this.”

      They talked about what Unsolved Mysteries had discovered when they came to town, which was virtually nothing as far as forensic evidence was concerned. Then they discussed the bits and pieces of information that had been recorded in the journals of various people who’d known the Hatfields at the time. These mostly contained venomous recriminations against John Hatfield, who was wealthy and austere and not particularly well liked. Although Eve couldn’t say there were any solid leads in those journals, she’d kept copies of everything she’d come across relating to the history of the B and B. She even had a laminated photocopy of a newspaper from the late 1800s that regurgitated the story, and a box of research material Unsolved Mysteries had given her when they were done with the shoot.

      She went to her office to get the box but she couldn’t find it. So she’d brought back only the things she’d collected over the years.

      “I can’t imagine where I put the stuff Unsolved Mysteries left,” she told Ted.

      “But you’ll find it for me?”

      “I will. I’ll check the attic when I have a minute.”

      He accepted what she did have. “You seem to go back and forth on this, but, for the record, do you think the inn is haunted?” This had always been a difficult question for Eve. She didn’t want to commit herself because, crazy though it sounded, sometimes it did seem as if Mary’s spirit lingered. She told him about the drapes moving without being touched, about various doors closing and other noises she’d heard when there shouldn’t be anyone else about. One time, she was positive she’d heard someone moaning in the basement. That had been chilling. Unless there was something she absolutely had to get, she never went down there alone.

      “I honestly don’t know. But I feel angry with whoever killed Mary and I hope justice will, somehow, some way, prevail, even at this late date,” she told him.

      “Do you think the father did it?”

      “I think Mary’s mother believed he did.”

      His eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

      “She wouldn’t speak a word after Mary’s death.”

      Ted leaned forward. “I’ve never heard you or anyone else say that before.”

      “I just found out about it. It was in an email I received a few days ago from a couple who come here every summer—a historian and his wife who once had family living in the area. He stumbled across a letter from his great-great-grandmother dated several years after Mary’s death. It refers to Harriett Hatfield and her enduring silence, and he thought I might be interested. According to this letter, Harriett became a hermit and would scarcely go out after that, which is probably why more people didn’t mention it. They didn’t really have any contact with her.”

      “Her silence and withdrawal could be a reaction to her grief,” Ted suggested.

      “True, but she could also have been an abused wife, rebelling in the only way she could without risking her own life.”

      “It’s something to consider.” He stood and slipped his phone in his pocket. “That’s it for today. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

      She gave him a weak smile. “You know where to find me.”

      “Are you looking forward to going out for your birthday tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.

      A trip to San Francisco didn’t sound as enjoyable as it had before last night. Although she’d get to see Baxter, who used to be part of their group but moved to the city two years ago, she’d had about as much of turning thirty-five as she could take. Still, she lied to protect his feelings. There was nothing to be gained from making her friends feel sorry for her. “I am.”

      “You don’t sound too enthusiastic.” He stopped her as she opened the parlor doors. “Are you planning to tell me what’s going on?”

      He knew her even better than the rest of their friends did, since they’d once been lovers. But that was exactly the reason she no longer felt comfortable confiding in him. “No. Thanks, anyway.”

      “Regardless of what you might be feeling right now, Sophia and I care about you,” he said. “We all care about you.”

      He was referring to their entire circle. “I appreciate you saying so.”

      “Hmm...a polite dodge.” He retained his hold on her arm. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

      “No. But answer me this. If you were going to leave Whiskey Creek, where would you go?”

      He dropped his hand. “You’re thinking of moving away?”

      “Probably not forever.”

      “Probably? God, Eve, I hope this has nothing to do with me. I thought we’d gotten past last year, but...you seem angry again.”

      She wasn’t angry so much as frustrated with her loneliness. And the Christmas season only made it worse. “This isn’t about you. It’s just time I figured out what to do with the rest of my life.”

      “Has that been in question? I always thought you’d spend it here, with us.” He gestured at the B and B. “I can’t imagine anyone else running this place. You do such a good job.”

      Cheyenne approached before Eve could respond, a look of wonder on her face. “The baby’s really active!” she said, and pressed their hands up against her belly.

      Eve could feel the child’s foot. Or maybe that was an elbow jutting out. “Oh, wow,” she breathed. “That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

      “I can’t wait to...” Ted’s words drifted off as she glanced up at him, but that sudden catch told her what he’d been about to say. He couldn’t wait to have a child with Sophia.

      “This kid is strong.” Cheyenne filled the awkward silence. “Just like his daddy.”

      She meant his daddy’s brother, who was also her sister’s fiancé, but she would never admit how she’d gotten pregnant. She didn’t want Dylan to face the fact that he couldn’t give her a child, which was why she’d performed the artificial insemination without his knowledge. Other than Eve, only Presley and Aaron knew how she’d gotten pregnant, because they’d helped facilitate it.

      “You’ve been talking like it’s a boy the whole pregnancy,” Ted said, “but Dylan wants a girl. Do you know something you haven’t shared with us?”

      “No,” Cheyenne said. “It’s just easier to refer to him as one or the other, and flip-flopping feels weird.”

      Eve could have stood there indefinitely, marveling at the baby’s movements. Creating life was such a miracle, a miracle she longed to experience herself.

      She wanted a baby—but she didn’t want to have one on her own. Suddenly she sucked in her breath.

      “What is it?” Cheyenne asked.

      Eve pulled her hand away, but she couldn’t answer immediately. Something was going through her mind, something that hadn’t struck her before and filled her with concern.

      “Eve?” Ted said.

      “I’m fine,” she mumbled, but she wasn’t so sure. This morning Brent Taylor had pointed out the condom wrapper on the floor when he told her they’d used protection. But there’d only been one, and she was positive they’d made love more than once. She definitely remembered that much. And yet...when she’d thrown away that wrapper, she hadn’t noticed any others.