Silent Night by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

with candy-cane paper: an outfit from The Gap—leggings and a polo shirt; crayons and a coloring book; some furniture for Gigi’s dollhouse. Everything, even the two pieces of the Gap outfit, was in separate boxes so at least it looked as though Gigi had a stack of gifts to open.
    She tried to avoid looking at the largest package under the tree, the package that Gigi thought was their gift for Santa Claus.
    Finally she phoned Aika. Aika’s grandchildren always went home to sleep, so she was sure she could come over and stay with Gigi in case the cops arrested Cally after she told them about Jimmy and the little boy.
    Aika answered on the first ring. “Hello.” Her voice was filled with her normal warmth. If only they’d let Gigi stay with Aika if they put me in prison again, Cally thought. She swallowed over the lump in her throat, then said, “Aika, I’m in trouble. Can you come over in about half an hour and maybe stay overnight?”
    â€œYou bet I can.” Aika did not ask questions, simply clicked off.
    As Cally replaced the receiver, the buzzer from the downstairs door resounded through the apartment.
    *   *   *
    â€œThe switchboard’s on fire, Mrs. Dornan,” Leigh Ann Winick, the producer of Fox 5 Ten O’Clock News told Catherine as, carefully avoiding the floor cables, she and Michael left the broadcast area. “It looks as though everyone in our viewing area wants you to know that they’re rooting and praying for Brian and your husband.”
    â€œThank you.” Catherine tried to smile. She looked down at Michael. He had been trying so hard to keep up his spirits for her sake. It was only when she had listened to his on-camera plea that she had fully realized what this was doing to him.
    Michael’s hands were in his pockets, his shoulders hunched under his ears. It was exactly the same posture Tom unconsciously fell into when he was worried about a patient. Catherine squared her own shoulders and put her arm around her older son as the door from the studio closed behind them.
    The producer said, “Our operators are thanking everyone in your name, but is there anything else you’d like us to tell our audience?”
    Catherine drew a deep breath, and her arm tightened around Michael. “I wish you’d tell them that we think Idropped my wallet, and that Brian apparently followed whoever picked it up. The reason he was so anxious to get it back is that my mother had just given me a St. Christopher medal that my father wore through World War II. My father believed the medal kept him safe. It even has a dent where a bullet glanced off it, a bullet that might have killed him. Brian has the same wonderful faith that St. Christopher or what he represents is going to take care of us again . . . and so do I. St. Christopher will carry Brian back to us on his shoulders, and he will help my husband get well.”
    She smiled down at Michael. “Right, pal?”
    Michael’s eyes were shining. “Mom, do you really believe that?”
    Catherine drew a deep breath. I believe, Lord, help my unbelief . “Yes, I do,” she said firmly.
    And maybe because it was Christmas Eve, for the first time, she really did.

15

    S tate Trooper Chris McNally tuned out as Deidre Lenihan droned on about just seeing a St. Christopher medal, and how her father was named after St. Christopher. She was a well-meaning young woman, but every time he stopped for coffee at this McDonald’s, she seemed to be on duty and always wanted to talk.
    Tonight Chris was too preoccupied with thoughts of getting home. He wanted to get at least some sleep before his kids got up to open all their Christmas presents. He also had been thinking about the Toyota he had just seen pull out in front of him. He’d been thinking of buying one himself, although he knew his wife wouldn’t want a brown one. A new car meant montly payments to worryabout.