Secret Santa by Cynthia Reese Page A

her mind. And she didn’t like where her thoughts were headed.
    She knew of her dad’s financial struggles over the years. Not only was he a small-town family-practice guy—that in itself was not the road to fabulous riches—but he’d been saddled with debts from her mother’s shopping sprees and counseling over the years. Apparently, from what Lige had said, her dad had continued the practice of borrowing money to bail the practice out of the red.
    But if he’d had a hundred grand in a safe deposit box, why had he needed to borrow money at all? Why hadn’t he used it? And where had the money come from if he’d been paying off the second mortgage on her parents’ home and a mortgage against the practice?
    These same questions had robbed her of sleep the night before. She’d called her mother and hinted around about whether her dad had kept a secret slush fund, but her mom had seemed absolutely clueless. No, the only thing to do was to ask either Jed Cannady, the family’s lawyer, or Floyd Lewis, the CPA who’d done their taxes and helped with the practice’s books.
    She’d get the truth then.
    At the community center, cars filled the parking lot and crowded along the grass shoulders of the driveway. Lights blazed in the big front windows. At first Charli couldn’t figure what could be going on. It was a weeknight and the Brevis supper hour.
    Then it occurred to her—the community cantata. Neil had told her about it, invited her. She couldn’t imagine her dad actually singing in the choir, though he was a good singer. He just wasn’t one to take direction from anyone, except maybe her mother.
    On a whim, she parked the car and made the hike across the grass to the front steps of the center. The lobby was filled with people crowding around a long table laden with sandwiches and snacks. She hadn’t expected this—she’d hoped to slip in the back to hear them rehearse. Charli turned to leave.
    “Charli Prescott!”
    She stopped. Flora Smith, the bubbly choir director Charli recalled from cantatas past, strode up to her. “Oh, Charli! I’m definitely in need of another good alto! Neil was telling me—”
    Now Neil slid in beside the woman and smoothly interjected, “How interested you were about your father’s participation. I did tell you Charli had said no.”
    “Oh, yes, he was so wonderful!” Flora trilled. “And of course we have room for you this year! Even if you did miss last night’s first rehearsal. If you’re worried about being rusty, don’t—we’ll have you shaped up in no time!”
    Charli’s feet itched to take her out of the crowded room. She opened her mouth to make excuses, but didn’t know what to say. The last thing she wanted to do was join the community choir and sing Christmas music. She opened her mouth to politely and firmly say no, knowing that would invite a flood of protests from Flora.
    Neil interjected. “Maybe Charli should watch a bit of the rehearsal before committing herself—you know, Flora, it is a big commitment.”
    Flora didn’t look happy about it, but at that moment, someone called her attention away. She nodded and hurried off.
    “Did I get you off the hook?” Neil asked.
    Charli looked past Neil in search of Flora. “Where’d she go? I need to tell her definitely no, or otherwise it will be like water torture.”
    “Stay. Watch us. You might change your mind.”
    She glared at him. “I won’t.”
    “So...what are you doing here, then?” he asked.
    Good question, she thought. His pointed question served to cool her irritation. What am I doing here?
    “Just curious.” After all her protests that she wanted to be alone, Charli didn’t want to admit that an empty house wasn’t something she was looking forward to.
    Behind her came a clatter of noise, and Neil put a hand on her arm to steer her away from someone loaded down with more trays of food. He pulled her into a quiet alcove that served as a coat-check area.
    A tug against her throat