Iced by Carol Higgins Clark Page A

party.” Yvonne smiled. “I wish Kendra and Sam and your parents and even you had been here for it.”
    Even me. “Why, thank you,” Regan managed to say. “I’m sure it would have been a delight.”
    “Really,” Lester said. “When you think that at the party itself everyone had a wonderful time.”
    “Especially Santa,” Yvonne said and burst into gales of laughter, soon joined by her husband.
    “Cookie, you’re so funny,” Lester choked.
    Am I missing something? Regan wondered. I thought these two were upset about the theft.
    “We’re sorry, Megan,” Lester offered as he struggled to regain his composure.
    “It’s Regan, honey,” Yvonne said and the two of them started laughing again. When the hearty sounds of her mirth subsided, Yvonne said, “Regan, we’re reading a book on stress management. It says that if you laugh at your troubles, they won’t get the best of you.”
    “When did you start reading it?” Regan asked.
    “This morning,” Lester sputtered.
    My timing is impeccable, Regan thought. It must be great to be so rich that you can laugh at the loss of a million-dollar painting. Maybe she ought to get a copy of the book for Louis. It would be a lot more helpful than tissues. “Was the painting insured?” she asked.
    Lester’s laughter stopped on a dime. “Of course!”
    Bingo, Regan thought. It’s a lot easier to yuk it up when you know there’ll be an insurance check winging its way to you.
    “All of our friends love our Christmas Eve party,” Yvonne said. “A bunch of them have been calling asking if they’re in any of the pictures of the party we handed over to the newspaper. I understand they’re going to do a big spread on it.” Yvonne’s eyes widened. “It’s amazing how much publicity we’ve gotten.”
    “Do you have any pictures with Santa?” Regan asked.
    “Not a one. He was in and out of here so fast....” Yvonne answered.
    “Which was a relief,” Lester said. “Last year he hammed it up so much, stopping to pose for pictures with every last guest. We had to practically use physical force to get rid of him. This year we left instructions with Bessie to let him do his thing with the kids and then get the hell out.”
    “Darling.” Yvonne looked at him.
    “Sorry.”
    “Bessie was in charge of everything.”
    “As usual,” Lester added.
    Yvonne ignored him. “She’s sick of talking to people, but let me get her in here. BESSIE!” She paused. “BESSIE!”
    “WHAT?” Bessie shouted back from down the hall.
    She must be very good at cleaning, Regan mused. She’s certainly not here to give the children French lessons or offer tips on gracious living.
    “Please come here,” Yvonne called.
    Bessie reappeared with an annoyed expression. “I was just getting out the vacuum. If I’m going to be gone for a few days—”
    “Could you please get the children and bring them in here? I think we should all talk to Regan at once.”
    “Oh, all right,” Bessie said begrudgingly and started down the hallway. “JOSH! JULIE! Your mother wants you!”
    “Regan,” Yvonne warned. “The children still believe in Santa Claus. Please be careful of what you ask them.”
    “We’re trying to keep up the myth that Santa is alive and well and not a slimy . . .”
    “Darling.”
    Lester closed his mouth and turned to Regan with a big smile. “Do you know how Santa spells his last name?”
    “I think I do,” Regan said.
    “C-L-A-W-S,” Lester said and started to chuckle. “I just made that up. Santa Claws.”
    Regan laughed. “Not bad.”
    “Not bad? I think it was pretty good, myself.”
    I have to get a copy of that book, Regan thought.
    One of the many doors in the house slammed and two lively brown-haired, brown-eyed children ran into the room. Their skiwear obviously hadn’t been bought at the local Ski Shack either. They jumped up and joined their parents on the endless couch, cuddling up and getting a few tickles from Lester before things calmed