This Holiday Magic. Celeste O. Norfleet

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and holiday decorations covered lawns and topped roofs. This was Baltimore, her hometown, a whole world away from the past two and a half years of her life. The city had been torn down, rebuilt, trashed, revitalized and torn down again so many times she’d lost count.

      Now everything that was once familiar looked foreign to her. The asphalt streets and concrete sidewalks were a far cry from the arid Serengeti desert and the lush greenery surrounding Mount Kilimanjaro. The cab drove past a sign pointing to the massive Johns Hopkins Hospital complex. She smiled, remembering her years there in med school and during her residency. They had been the best years of her career. She made a mental note to stop by to visit with her friend and mentor, Dr. Richardson. But right now her body needed rest.

      She closed her eyes and tried to relax in the tattered leather seat. The scents of the car’s pine air freshener and the driver’s musk and cheap aftershave assaulted her senses. Years ago the smell would have provoked stomach-wrenching nausea, but not anymore. She’d smelled worse—much worse. Her life was far different from when she’d grown up as the charmed daughter of a wealthy real-estate developer.

      She hadn’t spoken to her father in a few days, so he had no idea she was coming home. He didn’t expect her until after the holidays. She smiled. This was going to be the perfect surprise holiday gift for him.

      The cab turned the corner and drove down the quiet street. It stopped in front of her two-story town house, located just a few blocks from Inner Harbor. She smiled, looking up at her own private sanctuary. A gift from her father when she’d graduated medical school, it had been hers for five years, but she had yet to really live there.

      Janelle paid the driver, giving him a generous tip. He immediately hopped out, helped gather her luggage from the trunk and placed it up the steps by the front door.

      Now, barely half-awake, she unlocked the front door, turned off the security system and then immediately stopped. Her heart lurched as she slowly looked around. Something was very wrong.

      She must have been too tired to realize it. This wasn’t her town house. For one thing, this home had furniture. Hers didn’t, except for a bedroom set. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, realizing she’d just broken into someone’s home. She quietly stepped back and looked at the address number plate beneath the outside security light, then checked the front-door key still in her hand. It had opened the door with ease and her coded number had turned off the security alarm, so this had to be her home. She continued into the small foyer. That was when she heard the laughter and realized that she wasn’t alone. Her heart jumped.

      There was only one logical conclusion—squatters.

      The word leaped out at her like a snake from the bush. She tensed just thinking it. She was all too familiar with squatters. They were extremely common in many places in Africa. Mostly displaced refugees in fear of their lives, they moved into an area and took over completely. Some were compliant and assimilated with ease. Others were more fierce and forceful. They came. They usurped the resources. They stayed. Getting them to leave was nearly impossible. She continued looking around, knowing already that this was going to be a nightmare.

      She walked in and examined the living-room area more closely. There were no crates, wooden pallets, cushions or discarded debris on the floor. No empty alcohol bottles, no drug paraphernalia and no stomach-turning stench.

      Instead there was a huge television, beautiful Oriental rugs, stunning accent tables with lamps and very-expensive-looking mahogany wood furniture. None of which was hers. Her once-rigid and antiseptic living environment, devoid of personal effects, was now a family setting ripped from the pages of Architectural Digest. So, unless squatters had upgraded their game a thousand percent, there was something else going on here.

      She relaxed a bit, then took a few more steps into the room, noting a cartoon movie muted and frozen on the large flat-screen television. There was also a kid’s puzzle and a few children’s books scattered on the floor. The last thing she needed to deal with right now was a squatting family with children at Christmastime.

      “Who are you?”

      Janelle turned quickly and looked down, seeing a small child peeking around the corner at her. She was holding a doll and wearing pink pajamas with a sparkling little crown on her head.

      “You’re not s’posed to be here,” the child added. “This is my daddy’s castle.”

      “No, sweetheart,” Janelle said slowly, “I am supposed to be here. This is my home.”

      “Aneka, who are you talking to, child?” asked a female voice.

      “The lady with the bags,” the little girl said.

      “What lady with the bags?”

      “Hello?” Janelle called out to whoever was with the child.

      “Who the...?” There was a loud rush of movement and an older woman came hurrying out from the kitchen area. “Aneka, get over here now. Who are you? We don’t have any money and we’re not...” She stopped and looked more closely at Janelle.

      An instant later she smiled joyfully. “Well, I’ll be. Janelle, child, is that you?” The woman walked over, grinning from ear to ear, her arms wide-open. She grabbed Janelle in a huge bear hug. “Welcome home.”

      “Mrs. Ivers,” Janelle said, finally recognizing the older woman as her neighbor from across the street.

      “Well, of course it’s me. Who else would it be? Child, you scared me half to death. You’re a sight for sore eyes. It’s been almost a year since you’ve been home.”

      “Mrs. Ivers, what are you doing here?”

      “Me? Babysitting. What in the world are you doing coming in here this late at night?”

      “I live here,” she said with uncertainty as she looked around. “At least, I used to live here. It doesn’t much look like I do anymore.”

      “Well, of course you live here.” Mrs. Ivers’s smile widened. “Where else would you live? It’s so good to see you. You must be exhausted. But I thought you weren’t coming home until after the first of the year. At least that’s what your father told me.”

      “Mrs. Ivers, what’s going on? Why are you here with this little girl? Who is she and where are all my things?”

      “Oh, your father had everything moved out and put in storage about a month ago. I’m here babysitting Aneka while her father’s at work. He should be home soon.”

      “I still don’t understand. Who are these people, and why are they living in my house?”

      “Your father said it would be okay for the time being.”

      “My father?” she questioned. “Why would he say that? Why wouldn’t I mind my home being taken over while I’m away?” she added sarcastically as she pulled out her cell phone and called her father’s home. There was no answer. She called his cell phone. Again, no answer. She sighed. “He must be out to dinner or in a meeting.”

      “Things have changed, Janelle.”

      “What do you mean?” Janelle asked. Just then the microwave beeped. Mrs. Ivers turned and headed back into the kitchen. Seconds later the aroma of buttered popcorn filled the room. Janelle followed the scent and the little girl trailed after her.

СКАЧАТЬ