had said they’d had to install a satellite because the service was so bad when she first moved here. Impossible to have a business these days without access to internet. Jolie arched her back and rolled her shoulders just as her phone beeped for what seemed like the millionth time. She should have turned off the ringer but she supposed she’d left it on as a sort of punishment.
“Fine,” she grumbled, picking it up and quickly scrolling through the messages. Ten from her mother. Two from her father. All with the same message.
Call me.
Or...
Call your mother.
Leaning back in her chair, she dialed her mother’s cell and waited.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. Why haven’t you called me back?” she asked by way of a greeting.
“I’m...” Jo gazed about the large room. The log walls made the space feel warm and rustic, and they were complemented by Southwestern accents: rugs, pillows, throws. “On assignment,” she finished absently.
“Well, I need to firm up the meal for the twenty-fifth. Your father wants halibut this year, so if you could bring a pilaf or risotto and a salad... Your brother is bringing the wine. We’ll eat at two and then I’m on call at the hospital from eight to eight.”
Jo squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not—”
“Oh, and no gifts this year. We’re donating to Oxfam in lieu.”
“—coming.”
Silence.
Finally, “Excuse me?”
Taking a couple of deep breaths first, Jo said, “I won’t be there.”
“Why not?” Her mother’s tone was not disappointed or hurt. Just curious.
“I’m on assignment,” she repeated. “So, I won’t be in Chicago for Chris...for the twenty-fifth.” As theirs was an atheist household, Jolie’s parents did not approve of using the word Christmas. Instead they called it “the holiday,” “the twenty-fifth”—anything but “Christmas.”
It’s disrespectful to celebrate a day that honors the birth of someone or something we don’t believe in was the explanation she’d received when she was eight years old.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why can’t you say?”
Yeah, Jo. Why can’t you say? “I’m investigating something.” She surfed through news articles on the web, hovering over the link to one about a trial involving alleged members of an organized crime ring. Clicking on the article, she skimmed while her mind made up a tall tale to tell her mother. “It’s a big story. Organized crime. If I can be the first to break it, my career will take off.”
“You should talk to your brother. He’s prosecuting a case right now involving organized crime.” Her mother’s tone was emotionless, which made it impossible to determine if she was trying to be helpful or making an assumption that Jolie needed the assistance of her brother.
“Look, Mom, I’ve got to go.” She paused. “Tell Dad I said hi.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Let me know how the story goes.”
“Sure thing,” Jo said, but her mother had already hung up.
She sat for a minute, staring blindly at her screen before finally snapping the laptop shut. What had compelled her to lie? Why hadn’t she just told her mother she was spending the holidays with friends or that she wanted to know what it was like to really celebrate Christmas?
Sighing, Jo pushed herself to her feet and went to open the blinds that covered the French doors leading out onto the deck. It was the reason Gloria had said this was the best room—next to hers and Dillon’s on the second floor, of course. This one had direct access to the deck and the brand-new hot tub.
She rolled her shoulders again, groaning because her neck and upper back were stiff and sore from the tension of driving through a blizzard at night. Falling flat on her ass probably didn’t help either.
Relaxing in a hot tub would be wonderful. Too bad she hadn’t thought to bring a swimsuit.
She unlatched the lock and pushed the sliding door open before stepping out onto the covered portion of the deck. Though she couldn’t see past the edge because of the inky blackness and falling snow, from the pictures on the internet, she knew the view from here would be spectacular. She closed her eyes, envisioning the picturesque scene she would wake up to tomorrow: forests and fields with mountains in the distance. A pond out front, surrounded by snow-covered trees.
Idyllic.
Jo opened her eyes. The soft whirring of the hot tub’s motor drew her close. She flipped the lid and steam rose up to greet her.
Go ahead and use it, if you’d like. Nothing like a hot soak on a snowy night, Gloria had said.
Jo trailed her fingers through the hot water. Oh, it would feel so good...
She glanced up at the house. The lights that should have been shining through the French doors and windows off the main floor had all been extinguished. Her hosts must have gone to bed.
She was the only one up. The only guest.
“Why not?” she whispered to herself, pulling her sweater over her head and dropping it on a nearby table. Next she pulled off her leggings and socks, followed by her underwear. She squealed softly when the cold air caressed her naked skin, and scurried up the steps of the tub. She stepped in gingerly while covering her bits before sinking beneath the water.
“Ahhh,” she sighed, letting her head fall back against the headrest. “This is the life.”
If her mother could see her now, she knew exactly what she’d say. Hot tubs are breeding grounds for bacteria.
She laughed softly to herself. Then her smile faded as she considered the lie she’d told. Why had she done it? It probably had something to do with the fact that her family thought her career choice was a waste of time.
You can’t make a living as a writer, her father had chided when she’d told him she was taking creative writing at college.
So, she changed majors and went into journalism.
Unfortunately so far, even with a journalism degree, her father had been right. Since graduation, the only writing gigs she could get were for online publications—for pauper’s pay—and freelance travel articles. Which paid only marginally better, and that wasn’t saying much.
Jo was determined to prove her family wrong. All she had to do was break a big story—kind of like the lie she’d told her mother this evening—and she’d be taken seriously as a journalist. The problem was, she had no big story. No leads.
Nothing.
