Lori Wilde - Mistletoe & Mayhem

Irene frowned thoughtfully. “What is it?”

“A snare trap,” Jodie replied. At the bemused expressions on the sisters’ faces, she continued. “It’s some kind of guerilla warfare thingamajig that they use in the jungles. Clyde Heffner, the student who downloaded it for me, is coming over this evening to help me rig this up in the attic. The next time that prowler starts poking around up there, he’ll find himself hanging by his feet from the ceiling.”

Leaning closer, the two sisters studied the diagram.

Sophie turned it upside down. “It looks very complicated.”

“Do you think it will work?” Irene asked.

“They work out in the woods. Clyde uses them to trap game.”

“I hope no one ends up hanging from their necks,” Irene fretted.

“I say we go for it!” Sophie said. “I, for one, do not want to end up murdered in my bed.”

“Well, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that anymore,” Irene replied as she began to refill her teacup. “And Jodie won’t have to build that thingamajig, either, now that Mr.—Ouch!” Wincing, she broke off and shot her sister an apologetic look.

Jodie glanced from Irene to Sophie. “Why won’t we need it?”

They stared back at her uncomfortably for a moment.

“We…that is…how about some lemon?” Irene asked, offering a plate.

“I’m not having tea,” Jodie said. “Why don’t we need my snare trap?”

“We were going to tell you this evening as a sort of surprise.” Pausing, Sophie cleared her throat. “Irene and I have also come up with a Plan B.”

“It’s not nearly as complicated,” Irene said.

Jodie pocketed the diagram and leaned back in her chair. “You had your committee meeting for the Mistletoe Ball today. And then you were supposed to be at the newspaper office placing an ad for a handyman. What else did you do?”

Irene beamed a smile at her. “We’ve taken in a boarder.”

“But you’ve already got one—me,” Jodie said.

“You’re not a boarder. You’re like family,” Irene said. “And this is different. Mr. Sullivan’s a carpenter and an electrician. When we got to the newspaper office, he was in line ahead of us, placing an ad to get work as a handyman. We got to talking, and we ended up hiring him. The best part is he needs a place to stay, and he agreed to accept room and board as part of his wages.”

“It was fate,” Sophie said. “We decided to go for it.”

“You’re inviting a perfect stranger to live under the same roof with you? Don’t you realize how dangerous that is?” Jodie asked.

“He won’t be living under the same roof,” Sophie explained. “We offered him the apartment over the garage.”

Irene coughed delicately, then leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. “We explained to him that there was only one bathroom, in the house, and that until we add on another…well, there might be certain…lack of privacy issues. He said the garage would be fine with him.”

“But he’ll still be living on the property with you—with us—and we don’t know anything about this man. He could be a serial killer!” Jodie said.

“I have references.”

The voice. Jodie was sure she recognized it. What were the chances of two different strangers in town speaking in the same low, gravelly tone? Absolutely none, she decided as she turned and found herself looking into the laughing eyes of the man from Hank Jefferson’s store.

“Jodie, this is Shane Sullivan, our new handyman,” Irene said.

“I’ve been looking forward to this introduction, ma’am.”

Shane? Oddly enough the name suited him. He looked like a lone cowboy, and he probably talked to his horses in just that tone, Jodie thought. Except this was Castleton, New York, not some fictional Western town she’d read about in seventh grade. “Your name is Shane?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Pull up a chair,” Sophie said. “We were just telling Jodie about you.”

“See,” Irene said as Shane snagged a chair and straddled it. “He doesn’t look like a serial killer.”

“Ted Bundy didn’t look like one, either,” Jodie said.

“Right you are,” Shane said. “Everyone who knew him described him as charming.”

“Except for the women he killed,” Jodie pointed out.

Shane grinned at her as he pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “Right you are again. I can’t blame you for being cautious. But these are the references I mentioned.”

Jodie glanced at Irene and Sophie and read the determination in their eyes. It was going to be two against one, and it was their house. Reluctantly, she took the envelope from him just as Nadine arrived at the table.

“Your cappuccino will be right up, Jodie. Albert said to tell you he’s having a little trouble foaming the milk. And what can I get for you?” Fluttering her hands, Nadine aimed the question and her smile at Shane.

“A cappuccino sounds great. I haven’t indulged in one since I left California.”

“Ooh my, California. I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ll have to tell Albert we’ve got a connoisseur out here waiting to taste his cappuccino,” Nadine said before she hurried away.

“There’s only one letter in here,” Jodie said as she unfolded it.

“I can get more,” Shane replied easily.

Frowning, Jodie skimmed the paper. “The Kathy Dillon who signed it, is she the same Kathy who’s married to Sheriff Dillon?”

Shane nodded. “She’s a cousin. We haven’t quite pinned down whether it’s two or three times removed.”

“Well, then there’s no problem,” Irene said, patting her curls. “If Kathy Dillon can vouch for Shane, we won’t need those other references, will we, dear?”

Jodie stifled a sigh as Irene began to explain to Shane their plans for the house. She would call Kathy, but she knew the Rutherford sisters had won the battle. Battle? Why was she thinking of it in those terms. She glanced at Shane Sullivan again, wondering what it was about him that had made her feel so…what? Hot and cold, all at the same time? She couldn’t be…no, she really couldn’t be attracted to him. That was just not possible. Lightning could not possibly strike one person twice, at least not in the same year.

She was just suspicious of him. That’s what it was. Because he just didn’t look like a handyman—unless it was the kind of “handyman” a mafia boss might hire as a bodyguard.

“Is there some reason you’re staring at me?” Shane asked softly.

Jodie glanced quickly at Irene and Sophie, but they were heatedly debating the question of how many guest rooms they were eventually going to have.

“I wasn’t staring,” she said, leaning a little closer to him and keeping her voice low.

“It felt like staring to me,” Shane said.

“Who are you really?”

“Shane Sullivan. We were just introduced, weren’t we?”

“No one is really named Shane.”

“What was that, dear?” Irene asked.

“Nothing,” Jodie said, fixing a smile on her face as she turned her attention back to the sisters.

“Isn’t it time for you to get back to the library, dear?” Irene said. “Mr. Sullivan will be all settled in by the time you get home from work.”

Jodie glanced at her watch. She was due back at the college library in five minutes. Nadine arrived just as she rose and picked up her package.

“I brought your cappuccino to go,” Nadine said, handing her the lidded paper cup. “I know you’re never late.” Then she turned to present a foaming cup to Shane. “I hope it’s the way they make it in California.”

As Jodie made her way through Albert’s, she could hear Nadine’s laughter blend with that of the Rutherford sisters. So Shane Sullivan was a comedian as well as a…what? Whatever he was, she was sure he wasn’t a handyman. In the archway to the next room, she turned back. He was facing Irene and Sophie, and they were leaning forward, their attention riveted on him.