Lee McClain - Secret Christmas Twins

Erica thought of the stash of money Kimmie had given her. She’d spent more than half of it on the cross-country drive; even being as frugal as possible in terms of motels and meals, diapers didn’t come cheap. “I can afford some.”

Questions lurked in his eyes, but he didn’t give them voice.

Teddy rocked back and forth and got himself on hands and knees again, then crawled—backward—toward Mistletoe, who lay by the gas fire. Quickly, Jason positioned himself to block the baby if needed.

Mistletoe nuzzled Teddy, then gave his face a couple of licks.

Teddy laughed and waved his arms.

“Not very sanitary,” Papa commented.

“Oh, well,” Erica and Jason said at the same time.

From the kitchen came a buzzing sound and Erica realized it was her phone. She went in and grabbed it. An Arizona number. She walked back into the front room’s doorway and clicked to accept the call.

“Hello,” came an unfamiliar voice. “Erica Lindholm?”

“That’s me.”

“This is Ryan Finnigan. An old friend of Kimmie Stephanidis. Do you have a moment to talk?”

She looked at the twins. “Can you watch the boys?” she asked the two men.

Jason looked a little daunted, but Papa nodded and waved a hand. “Go ahead. We’ll be fine.”

She headed through the kitchen to the dining room. “I’m here.”

“I’m not only an old friend, but I’m Miss Stephanidis’s attorney,” the man said.

“Kimmie had an attorney?” Kimmie had barely been organized enough to buy groceries.

“Not exactly. The medical personnel who brought her to the hospital, after her overdose, happened to find one of my business cards and gave me a call. I went to see her, and we made a will right there in the hospital. None too soon, I’m afraid.”

She was glad to know that Kimmie had had a friend near and that she’d been under medical care, and said so.

“I did what I could. I was...rather fond of her, at one time.” He cleared his throat. “She let me know her wishes, and I was able to carry those out. But as for her estate...she’s left you her half of the Holly Creek Farm.”

“What?” Erica’s voice rose up into a squeak and she felt for the nearest chair and sat down.

“She’s left you half the farm her family owns. It’s a small, working farm in Western Pennsylvania. The other half belongs to her brother.”

“Half of Holly Creek Farm? And it’s, like, legal?”

“It certainly is.”

She sat a moment, trying to digest this news.

“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” the lawyer said after a moment. “Do you have any questions for me, off the top of your head?”

“Did Kimmie...” She trailed off, peeked through the kitchen into the front room to make sure no one could hear. “Look, is this confidential?”

“Absolutely.”

“Did she leave any instructions about her children?”

“Her children?”

“I take it that’s a no.” Oh, Kimmie, why would you provide for them with the farm, but not grant me guardianship?

“If Kimmie did have children...the most important thing would be that they’re safe, in an acceptable home.”

“Right. That’s right.” She didn’t want to admit to anything, but if he’d been fond of Kimmie at one time, as he’d mentioned, he would obviously be concerned.

He cleared his throat. “Just speaking hypothetically, if Kimmie had children and died without leaving any written instructions, they would become wards of the state.”

Erica’s heart sank.

“Unless...is there a father in the picture?”

“No,” she said through an impossibly dry mouth. Kimmie had told her that after abandoning her and the twins, the babies’ father had gone to prison with a life sentence, some drug-related theft gone bad.

“If there’s no evidence that someone like you—hypothetically—had permission to take her children, no birth certificates, nothing, then any concerned party could make a phone call to Children and Youth Services.”

“And they’d take the children?” She could hear the breathy fear in her voice.

“They might.”

“But...this is hypothetical. You wouldn’t—”

“Purely hypothetical. I’m not calling anyone. Now, even if the state has legal custody, if you have physical custody—and the children in question are doing well in your care—then the courts might decide it’s in the best interest of the children for you to retain physical custody.”

“I see.” It’s not enough.

“None of this might come up for a while, not until medical attention is needed or the children start school.”

Or early intervention. Erica’s heart sank even as she berated herself for not thinking it all through. “If it did come up...would there be some kind of hearing?”

“Yes, and at that time, any relative who had questions or concerns could raise them.” He paused. “It seems Kimmie had very few personal effects, but whatever there is will be sent to her family as soon as possible.”

Her hands were so sweaty she could barely keep a grip on the cell phone. “Thank you. This has been very helpful.”

“Oh, one more thing,” the lawyer said. “You’ll be wanting to know the executor of Kimmie’s will.”

“It’s not you?”

“No. I’m happy to help, of course, but if there’s a capable family member, I usually recommend that individual.”

Erica had a sinking feeling she knew where this was going. “Who is it?”

“It’s her brother. Jason Stephanidis.”

Chapter Three

The next morning, Jason padded down the stairs toward the warmth of coffee and the kitchen. Noticing a movement in the front room, he stopped to look in.

There was his grandfather, in his everyday flannel shirt and jeans, staring out the window while holding a ceramic angel they’d set on the mantel yesterday. As Jason watched, Papa set it down and moved over to a framed Christmas photo of Jason and Kimmie as young kids, visiting Santa. Papa looked at it, ran a finger over it, shook his head.

Jason’s chest felt heavy, knowing there was precious little he could do to relieve his grandfather’s suffering.

But whatever he could do, he would. He’d been a negligent grandson, but no more.

Mistletoe leaned against his leg and panted up at him.

He gave the dog a quick head rub and then walked into the room just as Papa set down the photograph he’d been studying and turned. His face lit up. “Just the man I want to see. Come get some coffee. Got an idea to run by you.”

“Yeah?” Jason slung an arm around his grandfather’s shoulders as they walked into the kitchen. He poured them both a fresh cup of coffee, black. “What’ve you got in mind?”

Papa pulled a chair up to the old wooden table and sat down. “Got someone coming over to do a little investigating about our guests.”

“You, too?” Jason was relieved that he wasn’t the only one who felt suspicious. In a corner of his mind, he’d worried that it was as Renea had said: he couldn’t trust, couldn’t be a family person. “I can’t figure out why Kimmie left the farm to her. What were they to each other?” As executor of the estate, he needed to know.

The mere thought of there being an estate—of Kimmie being gone—racked his chest with a sudden ache so strong he had to sit down at the table to keep from falling apart.

“I’m thinking about those babies, for one thing,” Papa said unexpectedly.

“What about them?”

“Something’s not right about them, but I don’t know what it is. So I’ve got Ruthie Delacroix coming over this morning. There’s nobody knows as much about babies as Ruthie.”

Jason remembered the woman, vaguely, from visits home; she’d always had a child on her hip at church, and he seemed to recall she ran a child care operation on the edge of town.