Page 53 of Claimed
Chapter Seventeen
Atall, slender man wearing casual pants and a thick navy-blue cable-knit sweater stood in front of us. He asked who we were, and Jasper gave him the name of his contact at the FBI. Harold Hollander opened the door immediately.
The two men, grandson andgrandfather, studied each other. The moment was very odd, as if Harold—who was quite handsome with his piercing blue-green eyes, supple lips, and hair grayed at the temples of his angular face—were staring at a picture of himself from nearly forty years before, and Jasper was seeing into his future.
“Who are you?” Harold asked. The question seemed to escape him involuntarily. He clearedhis throat.
“Who is it, Harry?” a woman asked from somewhere in the house. She was close, and I could hear her moving closer.
Then a beautiful woman with almond eyes, a swan’s neck, and long limbs arrived to stand by her husband’s side. The woman, who appeared to be in her early sixties—as did her husband—looked into Jasper’s eyes then slapped a hand over her mouth and gasped againstit.
Jasper’s expression was unreadable. “I’m Jasper Walker Christmas.”
Harold frowned as if he were chewing on a lemon. “Christmas?”
“Yes. I’m Amelia Christmas’s son. You may know her as Doris Hollander. Your daughter.”
Marie had not yet moved her hand away from her mouth. She had bent over and was sobbing into her palm.
The inside of the Hollanders’home looked like the houses of people my parents used to take advantage of. Trinkets were set on shelves along with framed photos of young kids and adults, all having their unique rendition of Jasper and his grandfather’s gorgeous eyes. It was clear the couple had had more children. Amelia/Doris had more siblings as well as niecesand nephews.
As we all sat at the table, I found myself wondering what all of Jasper’s discovered relatives would think when they saw him. He was not your ordinary human being. He was like a gladiator in the world of mere men. In a sense, that was what his sick father had striven to make him.
The air was thick and full of tension. Marie was making coffee, and Harold was still checkingout Jasper. It was as if he couldn’t take his eyes off the grandson he never knew existed.
“Are the two of you married?” he asked Jasper.
“Not yet,” Jasper replied.
I hid my surprise. He hadn’t even proposed to me. We had communicated that we never wanted to leave each other’s side, but he hadn’t been bold enough to put it in terms of that life-alteringMword.
Haroldglanced at his wife as though he was looking for her to join him and provide him some comfort.
“My father’s name is Randolph Christmas. Have you ever heard of him?” Jasper asked.
Harold’s eyebrows ruffled and then released.
“Randolph Christmas of Christmas Industries,” Jasper continued.
Marie sat down close to her husband and linked arms with him as the coffee brewed.
“I didn’t know him personally, but I know of him.” Harold turned to his wife, who kept shaking her head. “Are you saying that man had our daughter?”
Jasper’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You didn’t know?”
Harold showed us another of Jasper’s facial expressions when he pursed his lips and glared at his grandson. “No, I did not know. If I knew where my daughter was, I would’ve calledthe authorities. And if I knew that man had my daughter”—he pounded the table with the tip of his finger—“I would’ve killed him with my bare hands.”
Jasper looked at me, puzzled, and then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his mother’s diary. “I want to read you something.”
My eyes expanded. I hadn’t even known he’d brought the diary. He started reading what he’d read tome that morning, the part where Amelia or Doris accused her parents of being paid off by Randolph Christmas.
“That never happened. My daughter was not for sale!” Harold bellowed.
I touched Jasper’s arm, signaling to him that I had something to say. “Could you tell us what happened on the day your daughter went missing?”
“Yes,” Marie said, gazing at the table as she nodded.“After school, Doris went to a friend’s house and never came home. The girl’s name was Penelope Donaldson. She said…”
Harold raised a hand to stop her from speaking. “It was the ceremony, honey.” His tone was filled with regret.
