Page 9 of This Christmas

“She hates that Max has been paying her lawyer fees all these years,” Faye added, her tone softer now, as though even in public she didn’t want it overheard. “She swore that she’s going to pay him back every penny. She’s been paying him what she can every month. I know that she won’t take another dime from anyone who offers. But…” Her voice cracked with frustration. “She can’t handle a million-dollar suit on her own. She didn’t even get a dime in the divorce. I don’t see how Ted believes she’s got anything.”

“He knows she’s broke. That’s what he wants. Her broken or, worse, crawling back to him,” Nate said. “It’s not about the money. I don’t think it’s ever been about money. Or Charlotte. It’s about making her suffer. He only became the DA after their divorce, yet he’s claiming she’s caused his career to suffer. What about her life? You said she was in school when they met?”

“Yeah. After they got engaged, he made her quit school and refused to allow her to get a job. After they married, she had to ask for money for groceries. Then, Charlotte came along and…” She dropped off.

Nate exhaled slowly. “She knows she doesn’t have to do this alone.”

“She has to try,” Faye added. “I don’t think she’ll trust anyone easily again. She has to prove she can do this, to herself and to her daughter.”

The words made something in Joe’s chest shift, though he couldn’t say why. He took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly, cataloging every detail. Ally Wilson was surrounded by people who seemed ready to circle their wagons around her.

It made his job trickier. Maybe even dangerous.

The couple’s conversation changed to the holiday festival in a few weeks, and he blocked the rest of their conversation out. Half an hour later, they left, along with most of the other customers.

Joe finished his third cup of coffee, dropped a few bills on the table for a tip, and pushed to his feet. As he left the bakery, Faye’s words echoed in his mind and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, once again, he was on the wrong side.

Instead of getting back in his car, he grabbed his camera and headed down the weathered path that led to the beach.

The tide was low and the air was thick with salt. The sound of gulls cut through the morning mist. He headed to the right when he hit the wet sand and made his way toward the lighthouse, slinging his camera over his shoulder.

He moved like a tourist, unhurried, casual, camera always up. He snapped shots of driftwood, the rocks near the base of the cliff, the endless gray stretch of the Pacific. Nothing suspicious there. He’d done this kind of cover hundreds of times.

The lighthouse stood proud above the fog, white and stoic. The attached house was quiet except for two horses that grazed by the barn.

He could picture Ally inside, maybe making breakfast, maybe going through emails from her lawyer. His gut twisted at the thought for some reason.

He zoomed in through the lens, took a few wide shots of the property. Habit. Documentation. But his heart wasn’t in it.

When he turned to head back toward his car, something small and fast collided with his leg.

“Whoa there,” he said, instinctively catching the little bundle before it toppled over.

A girl looked up at him. She had long brown hair that was in two braids, and a dusting of freckles across her nose. Her eyes were so bright they almost startled him.

“Sorry!” she said, breathless but smiling. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

How was this kid only five?

He blinked. “Are you okay, kid?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded solemnly, then peered at the camera hanging from his neck. “Are you a photographer?”

“Something like that,” he said, crouching a bit to her level. “You out here taking pictures too?” He motioned toward the little camera strapped around her neck. It was bright pink with ponies on it, the kind that parents gave their kids.

She nodded her head and her braids bounced. “Mama says I can’t take her camera anymore after I dropped it in the sand last time. It still works, but the button’s sticky.”

Joe couldn’t help it, he chuckled. “That’ll happen.”

“My uncle Max just sent me this one.” She held up the bright camera. “It takes pictures that go on my mama’s computer. I’m Charlotte,” she announced proudly, sticking out a tiny hand to shake his.

He hesitated a beat before shaking the small hand. “I’m Joe.”

“Nice to meet you, Joe.” She tilted her head then squinted at him, studying him in that open, fearless way kids do. “Do you live in town?”

“No, I’m just passing through,” he answered easily.

Before he could ask where her mother was, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Down the sand about ten feet, near the base of the stairs that led up the lighthouse, Ally Wilson sat on the edge of the lowest step. She was still as a stone and had obviously been watching them.