Advent Calendar Day 25 (Holiday Snippet Sagas - 4)

 

Holiday Snippet Sagas - 4

 

AND THEY ALL LIVED HAP—OR DID THEY?!

 

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Adrien English and Jake Riordan

 

“But how did you know Mrs, Andrews was the one selling secrets to the Chinese?” Detective Burke looked from me to the closed door of Jake’s hospital room.

“It didn’t make sense that Robin Pavel would be selling off his secrets to his biggest competitors. That’s beyond eccentric. And if it wasn’t Pavel, well, nothing happened in that place that Mrs. Andrews didn’t know about it.”

“But the Andrews woman couldn’t have disposed of two bodies on her own, let alone overpowered Lieut—Mr. Riordan.”

“No. She’s the brains. Boris the Elf was the brawn.”

“Boris the…” Detective Burke hastily consulted his notebook. “Boris Golo. Head of Security at Winter Wonderland theme park? Is that who we’re talking about?”

“That’s the guy.”

“This is the second victim in the mine shaft outside the site of former North Pole Village amusement park?”

“Wishing Well.”

“What’s that?”

“Not a mine shaft. A Wishing Well.”

“He fell down a Wishing Well? The EMTs said—”

“He didn’t fall. He was pushed.”

Burke repeated doubtfully, “Golo was pushed? You know that for a fact?”

“I pushed him.”

Burke threw another uneasy look at the firmly closed door behind me. He put his notebook away. “Maybe you better start at the beginning.”

“Can it wait? I’ve been through this twice already, and I’m a little tired.” To put it mildly.

“And it’s Christmas,” Burke said. “And we’ve both got places we’d rather be, but I still need to hear it from you.”

“He’d already shot at me twice. He was going back to the well to make sure Jake was dead. I managed to sneak up behind him and push him in. It’s not like I could have taken him in a fair fight.”

“No.”

“Elves like Boris don’t fight fair anyway.”

“Uh…”

I scrubbed my face with my hand. “Sorry. I’m just really tired.” I nodded back at the door. “Can I just hear what the doctor has to say?”

Burke sighed. “Yes. How’s he doing?”

“He was conscious, so that’s good. He has a broken leg for sure. Maybe a broken shoulder? Concussion. He’s dehydrated.”

“It’s kind a miracle he made it at all.”

I said shakily, “Yeah. A Christmas miracle.”

 

 

When the doctor left, Jake reached his good arm out to me, said groggily, “No, baby. Don’t look like that. Come here.”

I went over to the bed, cautiously moved into his half-hug—luckily his injured shoulder was dislocated, not broken—put my head on chest. I was past words, almost past thought. Just…so grateful, so glad to have him back. I had been so sure there was no last-minute Christmas miracle in our future.

He mumbled, “I thought I was dreaming when I saw you leaning over that wall. Or that heaven had a really weird doorway.”

I snorted. “Heaven? Sure about that?”

He grunted, peered blearily at me. “Are you wiping your eyes on my gown?”

I nodded. Dabbed my eyes again.

“Hey. No. Shhhh. I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I know.” I shook my head, cleared my throat. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live.”

I shook my head. “You were so lucky, Jake. We both were.”

He smiled faintly, clumsily brushed his knuckles against my cheek. “I am lucky. And this wasn’t even the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I took his hand in mine, kissed his scraped and bruised knuckles. “No?”

He whispered huskily, “Not by a long shot.”

 Christopher Holmes and J.X. Moriarity

 

“That’s it,” J.X. said. “That is the last time you try one of those drawing room reveals. If you ever so much as even suggest it again—”

“Denouement,” I corrected which, given that my better half pronounced “the” as “thee,” I shouldn’t have. He was clearly upset. “Anyway, it worked, didn’t it? Miss Scarlet confessed.”

“Her name is Scarlatti. And yes, she confessed, after she shot you!”

“This little scratch,” I scoffed—just as if I hadn’t been shrieking like a wounded banshee when Miss Scarlatti fired her pearl handled derringer at me.

J.X. stuttered, “Th-that’s rich considering the way you were coming unglued last night at the very idea—”

“Well, hell yeah, I was! What normal person wouldn’t? But I—we—did solve another case. That’s…something. Not in time to save our host, which I know you’ll be glad to hear I feel pretty horrendous about, but at least she’s not getting away with it.”

 “Kit, I’m not glad to hear you feel horrendous about anything. I love you. If that lunatic had killed you…”  J.X. shook his head as though even the idea robbed him of words, robbed him of breath.

Which you have to admit is pretty gratifying.

“But she didn’t.” I put my hands on his shoulders, gazing into his eyes, which were dark with emotion. “I’m still here, still ready to irritate and exasperate you every chance I get.”

“I can’t joke about it.”

I said softly, “And the reason I’m still here is because you were here to knock her arm up and spoil her aim.”

He opened his mouth, but I headed him off. “And to push her down in a very ungentlemanly fashion, not at all like you, and tell her some very uncomplimentary, but totally deserved, things about her life choices.”

J.X.’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. He locked his arms around my waist, pulling me close. “I do love you.”

“You must. To put up with me. If it helps, I love you too. More than anything in the world. I know I don’t say it enough. Let alone show it enough...”

Our mouths brushed in a kiss light as snowflakes—then locked on.

When we could speak again, I said, “I promise that next Christmas will be everything you want it to be. No murders—old or new—no trips to snowbound pirate villages, no accepting invitations from eccentric millionaires, just…hearth and home and family and friends.”

He gave a little laugh, murmured, “I doubt that, but I appreciate the sentiment,” and kissed me once more.

 

 

 

 Taylor MacAllister and William Brandt

As the plane doors closed behind David Ruiz, Taylor muttered, “I still think we should’ve have let Escobar keep him.”

Will snorted. “You say that now, but you’d have felt bad about it later.”

“Would I though?”

“Maybe not.” Will thumped Taylor’s shoulder lightly. “Anyway, mission accomplished.”

“Mission accomplished.” Taylor sounded weary. Well, they were both tired. Tired, bruised and banged up, and had had their worst suspicions about their fellow man confirmed.

On the bright side, their bank account had never been healthier.

Will said, “What do you want to do? Grab the next flight home or head back tomorrow?”

Taylor glanced at him. Their gazes lingered for a moment. Taylor smiled faintly. “What do you want?”

“We should probably head home.”

Taylor sighed. Nodded. “Yeah. Probably.”

Will studied him, said, “But what I’d like is a couple of days on a sandy beach with a cold beer and my favorite person in the world—and a couple of nights where no one bursts through our hotel room door.”

“That does sound pretty good.”

“It’s not like we can’t afford it,” Will said.

“True.”

“I mean, yes, it is Christmas Eve.”

“It is,” Taylor agreed. “But the person I’d be rushing home to spend Christmas with is right here and right now.”

Funny how nothing made Will happier than making Taylor happy. And he had a pretty good idea of how to do that.

“What do you say we book ourselves a couple of nights in that hotel on the beach? The office is closed for the week anyway.”

Taylor looked thoughtful, almost skeptical. “You sure you’re not going to regret this?”

Will threw his arm around Taylor’s shoulders, gave him a quick, hard hug. “Hey. I have some regrets in my life, but one thing I never have and never will regret, is spending time with you.”

“Hm.”

“So? What do you say? It’ll be like a little mini second honeymoon.”

Taylor offered that slow, sweet grin that never failed to pierce Will’s heart.

Will said softly, “Merry Christmas, MacAllister.”

Taylor settled more comfortably into Will’s arm. As they watched the plane carrying David Ruiz home grow smaller and smaller in the sky, he said contentedly, “Merry Christmas, Brandt.”

 

 

 

 

 

 Elliot Mills and Tucker Lance

 

“Confederate dollars.” Tucker shook his head in disgust.

They were playing chess in front of the fire in the lobby of the all but deserted Cathedral House Inn. It turned out the inn was not a huge holiday destination—which, after the adventures of the past week, suited Elliot and Tucker just fine.

“Well, they’re not entirely worthless,” Elliot pointed out. “Collectors will pay for them. A twenty-dollar bill is currently worth just under a hundred bucks, and that chest was full of a hell of a lot of twenty-dollar bills.”

“Even so.”

“Even so,” agreed Elliot.

“On the bright side.” Tucker paused to sip his mulled wine, and Elliot snorted at his slight shudder. Tucker was not much for mulled wine, but it was Christmas Eve and they were belatedly doing their best to have the vacation they had originally planned.

“On the bright side, we caught a serial killer.”

Tucker said grimly, “I don’t know if we can really take credit for that. It’s not like the solid citizens of this county didn’t suspect what was happening in their own backyard. They were willing to sacrifice the occasional tourist to keep the feds from getting involved in their little treasure hunt.”

“You can’t blame everybody for the actions of a few.”

Tucker said grimly, “When good men do nothing…”

Ellery shrugged. No denying that one, but so much of modern life was lived online, people were surprisingly blind to what was happening in their own backyard.

A cell phone buzzed.

“Is that you or me?” Tucker was already checking his phone.

“Me,” Elliot said, and then, phone to his ear, “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

Tucker studied him as Elliot listened to Roland’s faraway voice. His brows drew together when Elliot said stammered, “I-I mean, if that’s what you…I’m a little…very happy for you both. Of course. Congratulations! Yeah, yeah. Merry Christmas to you both.”

When he put his cell phone down, he stared at Tucker.

“Did your father actually go and marry Detective Upson?”

Elliot nodded. “Her name’s Julia.”

“Well, I figured that was coming.”

Elliot stared. “You did?”

Tucker shrugged. “They’ve been pretty much inseparable these last months.”

Were they? He thought over the last year and reluctantly admitted to himself that, yeah, Upson was slowly becoming a regular fixture at his father’s place. And, as unlikely as it was, Upson—er, Julia—did seem to make Roland happy. He seemed calmer and more contented since she’d entered his life.

“I didn’t think my dad would actually ever remarry.”

“You’ve said plenty of times, he wasn’t really cut out for bachelor life.”

“I guess so.”

“And Upson…must be a glutton for a punishment.”

Elliot scowled. Tucker’s smile was sour. “I mean, I don’t get it, but she does seem crazy about your old man.”

Elliot nodded. “I just want him to be happy.”

“Of course you do,” Tucker said. “And I just want you to be happy. So why don’t we go upstairs and I’ll make you very happy.”

Elliot grinned. “You just don’t like losing at chess.”

“No, I don’t. And I hate mulled wine.” Tucker leaned over the board, knocking several of the pieces over. “But I’ll tell you what I do like.” He whispered a few details, eyes fastened on the way Elliot’s throat moved, the way his cheeks warmed, the way his eyelashes flickered.

Elliot moaned softly, revealingly.

“Upstairs. Now,” Tucker was gruff, not to be argued with, and Ellery was already on his feet and moving toward the staircase on legs that were just a little wobbly. It felt like a long time, too long since Tucker had given him the kind of attention he so craved, so needed.

They left the chess board and fallen players in the shadow of the flickering firelight.

 

Ellery Page and Jack Carson

“What are you smiling at?” Jack climbed into bed, navigating the black puddle of a gently snoring Watson, and landing beside Ellery in the nest of down comforters and feather pillows.

“I was just thinking that as much as I enjoy reading about guys solving mysteries and having adventures, it’s kind of nice curling up in a soft, warm bed with your favorite dog and your favorite—”

“Cop?” Jack teased.

Elliot grinned. “Definitely Watson’s favorite cop.”

“Ha. Anyway, it’s not like you don’t have your own share of adventures and mysteries.”

“True.” Jack held his arm out and Ellery shifted over. “This is the part I like best though.”

“Me too.”

Ellery leaned his head back, studying Jack with affection. “Merry Christmas, Jack.”

Jack said softly, “Merry Christmas, Ellery.”

Watson opened one eye, sighed, and went back to sleep.