Christmas Coda 69 Adrien English and Jake Riordan

 Adrien and Jake from The Adrien English Mysteries.

This coda follows the events of "A Funny Thing Happened" (the little coda in Fatal Shadows The Collector's Edition). I hope to release the expanded short story version of that coda later this month. Fingers crossed! Anyway, you might want to skip this if you haven't read the coda/shortie.

Or not.

Christmas Coda 69 – Adrien and Jake

 

“Married?” Lisa squeaked.

My mother is not a squeaky woman. I’m not sure I’d ever heard that particular songbird note from her before.

I said quickly, “It’s not like it was planned or anything.”

“But it was planned. The plan was that you were waiting until we could all be together.”

I glanced automatically at Jake. His tawny eyes gleamed in the firelight. We were back at the ranch, as they say, sitting in front of the fireplace, having a bottle of celebratory champagne, and test-driving the unexpected delight of finding ourselves well and truly hitched.

“Right. Well, that’s true. But the opportunity presented itself—”

“Darling, you got married without us. You do realize that?”

Jake made a sound that fell somewhere on the scale between snort and scoff, and shook his head.

It was funny, but there was real hurt in Lisa’s voice and, of course, I didn’t want to hurt her. But yeah, that comment did say a whole lot about Lisa. And probably me as well.

“I do realize that,” I said patiently. “And you’re right, it wasn’t the plan—”

“Plans change,” Jake remarked.

I gave him a warning side eye. “But since we had this opportunity—and after what we’ve all been through these last months, we didn’t want to wait.”

“You can’t just get married.” My mother spoke with sudden dark suspicion. “One of you had to have the wedding rings with you. That makes it premeditated.”

 I felt a twinge of guilt, which was ridiculous, I know. Especially since I hadn’t been the one carrying our rings around in his breast pocket.

Well, you know what I mean.

“I…”

Jake put his hand out. “Let me talk to her.”

I opened my mouth, but really, that was just too good to pass up. I mean, how endearing. Not the part where he imagined he was running interference for me. Though, yes, sweet. But I mean the part where he thought he would succeed where so many had smashed to pieces on the reefs.

I handed my phone over and sat back to enjoy the show.

“Hey, Lisa. It’s Jake. This is really my fault. Adrien was just as surprised as—”

“Oh?” Her tiny long-distance voice chirped, “Was he unconscious? Did you marry my son against his will?”

I laughed at his expression, leaned over, clicked settings, pressed the speaker button.

“You have a very evil laugh,” my husband muttered.

My husband.

“What? I didn’t catch that,” Lisa objected.

“Me again. You’re on speaker now, Lisa. First, I’m sorry. I know you wanted to be there. I wanted you there. Of course. But it really did feel right. The moment presented itself and we both felt it was right.”

“We waited a hell of a long time for it.” Jake’s voice was quiet; those words weren’t intended for her. They might not have been intended for me.

Lisa said, “But you do understand why I wanted so much to see my only ch—son married? Do you really feel that’s so unreasonable?”

Jake looked at me and cocked an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” I said. Then added unwisely, “Anyway, it was just the wedding. We’re still going to have a little—”

“Big,” Jake corrected.

“Medium-sized reception with everyone who matters to us.”

“The wedding is the important part!”

I sighed. Jake took the phone back, said, “Lisa, you’re making Adrien feel terrible on his wedding night.”

“No, don’t,” I said.

He gave me a quick serious look, and waited for Lisa’s response.

It took a couple of moments.

“Adrien, darling, you know I don’t mean it. I do understand. I just—I was a little disappointed, that’s all.” Her voice wobbled. “After all, I was there at the very beginning.”

Jake grinned silently, it was a kind of feral grin, but he said quite kindly, “We know.”

“But of course I’m very happy for both of you. You know that, darling. You know that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. To be happy, I mean. And if it’s with Jake…”

Jake made a soft sound of amusement.

“I do know,” I said quickly. “And I’m very happy.”

Jake said as solemnly as if we were reciting our vows all over again, “Lisa, I give you my word I will love, honor, cherish, and protect Adrien with all my heart till my dying breath.”

I wiped the corners of my eye, glared at him.

His face softened, he leaned in and kissed me.

When we parted at last, Lisa was talking about setting dates for the reception.

“Okay-dokey,” I said. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

We said our goodbyes, then Jake refilled our champagne coupes, raised his glass, which sparkled in the firelight.

“Here’s to you, Mr. Riordan.”

We clinked glasses and I said, “And to you, Mr. English.”

 

Advent Calendar Day 25 (Holiday Snippet Sagas - 4)

 

Holiday Snippet Sagas - 4

 

AND THEY ALL LIVED HAP—OR DID THEY?!

 

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Coda 66

 

Christmas Coda 65 - Miles and Linley from Stranger in theHouse

 

 

Miles told himself—repeatedly—he did not expect Linley to be waiting to meet him at Montréal–Trudeau International Airport.

Even before that unplanned and prolonged layover in Detroit, Lin had been sounding a little impatient, a little irritated during their increasingly infrequent phone calls. Lin had a very different temperament than Miles. He did not like delays or interruptions or uncertainties. He did not like people “who did not know their own minds.” Lin was…sort of highly strung. But it wasn’t that. Or it wasn’t just that. Miles recognized the signs of “relationship fatigue.” Having had a lot of experience with being dumped, he knew what to look for.

Not that he had been looking for it. Just the opposite. He’d been hoping he was wrong, but he couldn’t pretend it was a complete surprise that Lin seemed increasingly distant when they did manage to connect.

He’d known the last time he had to delay his return to Montreal, it was liable to be the final straw.

Long distance relationships were challenging at the best of times, and, anyway, Miles had never understood what it was Lin saw in him—unless it was simply that Miles was the complete opposite of Giles. He didn’t know much about Giles beyond the fact that he and Linley had been together for five years and that things had not ended well between them. Oliver had once told him he thought Lin was still bitter about the breakup, but Lin had always brushed off the twin topics of Giles and their breakup as not worth discussing.

Anyway, it was not a surprise to find the airport lounge empty when Miles finally staggered off the plane at three in the morning. In fairness, there wasn’t anyone waiting to greet most of the other passengers either.

It was not a surprise, but his heart sank.

When you want something so much, it doesn’t matter how often you warn yourself not to get your hopes up, you just can’t help…hoping.

Even without the emergency landing and the endless layover it had been a difficult flight, feeling, as he did, that he was probably making a huge mistake.

That was one of the most troubling things. Until Lin had become part of Miles’s plans for the future, Miles hadn’t had all these doubts and uncertainties. He’d been excited to begin the adventure of his new life. But once Lin was part of the equation…

Yes, that was it. 

Once he’d started picturing Lin as part of the future, then the idea that Lin might after all not be playing a role in that lovely dream, had dimmed his excitement, doused his enthusiasm. Made him question all of his decisions.

It didn’t help that somewhere between Detroit and Montreal he’d caught a chill.

So maybe it was just as well Lin wasn’t there to witness Miles, red-eyed, red-nosed, and sniffling—he was not crying, but he might as well have been—stumbling around the airport trying to find his luggage.

His luggage that had apparently taken a detour after Detroit.

“Miles!”

Miles was absorbing—trying to absorb—this latest bit of bad news when he heard someone shouting his name.

He turned, blinking in the hard, unforgiving overhead lights, and there was Linley.

Linley. Tall and elegant in jeans and a brown leather bomber jacket. Like the only living thing in the entire airport terminal. His hair was as black as a raven’s wing and his eyes were the rare, surreal blue found only in Tom Thomson’s work paintings. Miles had never seen anything as beautiful.

“Lin,” he croaked, as Linley reached him, giving him that automatic buss on each cheek. Linley’s face was cold and he smelled of Proraso and a winter’s night.

“I had a flat tire on the way over.” Lin sounded like he still couldn’t believe it. His expression changed, his fierce, blue gaze raking Miles’s face. “What’s the matter?”

“They’ve lost my luggage.” Miles realized then that Lin mistook the watery eyes and colorless face for a different kind of distress. “I think I picked up a bug.”

Lin blinked. “Qu'est-ce que tu dis?”

And Miles, who was never much for prevaricating, blurted out the truth. “I was starting to think we missed each other.” He didn’t mean it to come out sounding so wobbly with relief, but he really had figured Lin had cut his losses.

Or maybe he was feverish.

Linley frowned at him, but then decided to take action and try to locate Miles’s luggage.

That was almost amusing, watching his misplaced confidence that he would prevail where all others failed, slowly fade.

In the end, it was Miles who drew Lin, still protesting, away from the kiosk and out into the bitterly cold night.

It was starting to snow as they climbed into Lin’s Jaguar XJ, and the snow made everything—despite lost luggage and feeling a little feverish and overtired—feel magical and special. Like maybe everything would turn out all right after all.

Lin turned the key, flicked on the heat, and Christmas music warbled from dashboard stereo. The carol was in French.

Lin gave a funny laugh. He translated, “For over four thousand years, we were waiting for this happy time.” He leaned over and kissed Miles, so sweetly, so tenderly, not at all like that brisk official buss in the airport. He whispered against Miles’s mouth, “I thought you’d never get here, Miles.”

“Me too.” Miles smiled into that kiss.

Linley reluctantly let him go. He studied Miles, lightly stroked his cheek. “So many delays, so many excuses.” He shook his head.

“They weren’t excuses,” Miles protested. “They were reasons, legitimate reasons, Lin.”

Linley, his face shadowy and stern in the glow of the dashboard lights, murmured, “So many other and greater priorities.”

Which… Miles could see how it could look that way, feel that way.

He said simply, truthfully, “There was nothing I wanted more than this.”

Linley considered, nodded curtly, and put the car in gear.

 

 

They talked on the drive to 13 Place Braeside in Westmount, but their conversation was desultory, trivial: how was your flight, have you eaten, how’s the weather, how pretty the city is at night, how pretty the holiday decorations, how pretty the snow…

Afterwards, Miles remembered none of it, waiting in tense anticipation for the moment he saw the house again. It felt surreal when they passed through the ornate wrought-iron fence and the house swung into view, a red ivy-covered Jacobean stone mansion with a distinctive turquoise-green oxidized copper roof. All the lights were blazing—Christmas lights twinkled in the trees and along the edges of the sharply slanted rooftop.

They passed beneath the stately porte cochère and Linley parked in the grand front exterior courtyard. No need to get the luggage. For that night at least, Miles’s worldly goods consisted of the clothes on his back. They went up the long walkway, snow-covered and dappled with shadowy lamplight, and Linley unlocked the massive custom-made, artisan-carved double-wood doors. The doors swung open onto the elegant foyer with its ten-foot ceiling, marble floor, and a wood-burning fireplace upon whose long marble mantel sat a pair of blue and white ginger jars with a phoenix motif.

Miles turned to Linley. “You got them back. The ginger jars!”

Linley nodded, his expression softening at Miles’s surprised delight. “Yes.”

Miles looked to his right, down the gleaming hallway to the steep, curving Spanish style marble staircase and he could see a small mountain of battered boxes as well as a couple of crates. The things he had packed months earlier.

This was really happening. It had happened.

He sniffed, touched his hand delicately to his nose, and Linley said, “Miles, are you feeling quite all right?”

“I think I might have a little cold,” Miles admitted. “It’s not Covid. I’ve had it and this isn’t that.” Still, he shivered at the memory of the arctic blast of airplane air conditioning that had seemed to hit him from every direction during the endless flight.

Linley immediately took charge, helping Miles out of his coat and boots, putting a supporting—unnecessary, but surprisingly comforting—arm around Miles’s shoulders as he guided him upstairs.

Upstairs to the master suite that had once been Capucine’s and was now…completely, totally, utterly redecorated?

Oh yes, it was the same set of rooms, but it was not the same set of rooms. 

All trace of Capucine—her clothes, her furniture, her art, her…artifacts…everything Miles had not had the nerve to touch, had been removed. The room had been repainted in soothing tones of oyster and pearl and dove gray. The furnishings were luxurious but masculine. All that remained of the rooms he remembered was the luminous green-gold light streaming through tall bay windows—and the glossy hardwood floors.

“I’m delirious, aren’t I?” he asked Linley. “I’m still sitting on that plane with a high fever and a runny nose and…”

Linley wrinkled his own elegant nose. “No. Oliver and I realized how unfair it was to have left you to deal with the flotsam and jetsam of Mother’s life.”

“But where did the furniture come from?”

“Everything here is from Braeside. Except the painting. That’s from my own collection. Call it a housewarming gift.”

Until that moment, Miles had not noticed the painting over the fireplace. In fact, he had not even registered the fireplace. The oil painting was a very large study of the Monterey coastline.

“Is that Louis Hovey Sharp?”

Linley smiled. “I thought you’d like it.”

“It’s beautiful.” Miles wasn’t sure why there was a lump in his throat. That was tiredness and, well, the wind in his ears as he plummeted off the cliff after taking that final leap.

Linley studied him for a moment. “You need a hot drink and an early night. Why don’t you get into bed and I’ll speak to Agathe.”

He turned and Miles said quickly, “Lin, wait.”

Lin waited, his expression inquiring—and maybe a little wary?

“Can we talk for a minute?”

“Of course.”

Miles swallowed hard, put his hand on Linley’s arm. Linley looked down at his hand, then covered it with his own.

He repeated more gently, “Of course, Miles.”

Miles said, “You’re right. I was starting to get cold feet. A little. I thought—was afraid— you’d changed your mind. About us.”

Linley’s brows drew together in a forbidding line. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s hard to tell on the phone, but each time we talked, you sounded more…faraway.”

“I was faraway. I didn’t enjoy it. I wanted you to come back. But you kept inventing reasons for why you couldn’t.”

Miles tried to clarify. “You didn’t just sound faraway, you sounded distant. You sounded cold.”

“No.”

“Yes. To me. Yes.”

Linley continued to scowl, but then he sighed. “It’s not always easy to show what you feel. I didn’t expect…you. And then it happened and then I was losing you. I thought.”

Miles had not intended to do this, certainly not here and now, but suddenly, it was all pouring out in a less than coherent stream of consciousness. “It’s just that I never could quite understand, so it was hard to believe. It all felt like part of the dream of this house and this life. And as much as I wanted to believe that it was real and I could have it all…it seemed, felt more likely that you would change your mind. That you had already changed your mind.”

“No.” Linley repeated firmly, “No. Miles. Look at me.”

Miles gazed into Linley’s blue eyes. Read the intensity, the sincerity.

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Do you believe in Fate?”

“No. But I believe in love. I love you.” Linley  rested the back of his hand against Mile’s forehead. He shook his head. “You should really be in bed. You don’t want to miss Christmas.”

Miles ignored that. “What happened between you and Giles?”

Linley looked taken aback. “You want to talk about Giles? Now?”

“You always change the subject. You were together for years. What went wrong?” 

“I’m not sure what to say. I change the subject because it was over so long ago. And it was painful. But if you want to know, Giles and I were perhaps too much the same. Too ambitious, too focused on the idea of us as a power couple on the Montreal art scene. We were so successful, it took time to recognize we didn’t have much else to talk about.” He grimaced. “There was no softness, no tenderness between us. In the end, we were nothing more than business associates with benefits.”

This was not at all what Miles had expected. He said, “I’m sorry.”

Linley’s smile was rueful. “Yes, you are. And that’s one of the things I love about you. With you, it was different from the first. I like you. You’re smart and funny and talented. But you're also kind. And honest. I find myself wanting to protect you, cherish you.” He drew a sudden, sharp breath. “Which is why, when it seemed you had changed your mind, all this made me feel foolish, naïve.” He nodded at the bed, the fireplace, all the beautiful little touches that made this room as much a haven as a place to sleep.

The room was a gift to Miles. A gift and a promise.

“I haven’t changed my mind.” Miles let Linley draw him into his arms. “I’m not going to change my mind. I love you too.”

Linley’s head bent for another kiss, but Miles drew back a little, saying, “You should know, I’m probably contagious.”

Lin’s lean cheek creased in a smile. He said, “Oh, you’re definitely contagious, my love,” and kissed him.

 

  .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Coda 64

 

Austin and Jeff from

  A VINTAGE AFFAIR

(Note there is an earlier Character Interview from 2013)

 

Nine Days Before Christmas

“Ernest?” Jeff repeated in disbelief. “You want to spend Christmas with Ernest?”

Ernest was Austin’s ten-year-old brother, so this was not as ominous a pronouncement as it could have been. Or at least, Austin wouldn’t have thought so. But Jeff did seem to be taking a dim view of the situation. Dimmer than expected.

“It wouldn’t have been my first choice—”

 “It’s our first Christmas together.”

Austin sighed. It was, and he too had been looking forward to all the sweet, silly, and sexy moments they’d been planning. Counting on, really. They didn’t have a lot of free time, let alone free time to spend together, and the first Christmas with someone special was…special.

As was the first Christmas without someone special.

“It’s Ernie’s first Christmas without Harrison. The girls are going on a cruise with the stepmoms, so he’d either have to stay on campus or come to us.”

The “girls” were Austin’s four sisters. The five stepmoms…well, it was complicated. Jeff knew exactly how complicated. It was disappointing and a little exasperating that he was taking this so, well, badly. Austin couldn’t help feeling like he was having to contend with the emotional needs of two ten-year-olds.

“Maybe he’d prefer to stay at school.”

“Come on, Jeff. No. He doesn’t prefer to stay at school.

“Ernest hates me,” Jeff said, and suddenly his attitude made a lot more sense.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Austin protested. Although, in fairness to Jeff, over the past nine months Ernest’s opinion of Jeff had seemed to steadily decline. “I think he’s just…”

“Jealous,” Jeff finished. “He sure as hell is.”

He sure as hell was, and that had a lot to do with the fact that Austin had instinctively tried to fill the void left by Harrison. A void he hadn’t even been sure needed filling—Ernest was always so emotionally contained, so self-sufficient—but yes, he did seem to expect, rely, on all the extra time and attention Austin spent on him. Which meant he’d also come to resent Jeff when Austin wasn’t available. Even when Jeff had nothing to do with it.

“Jeff, he’s a little kid and he’s been through a lot—”

“I realize that.”

“I love him and I’m not going to leave him to spend Christmas alone.”

“I know.” Jeff added grimly, “And so does Ernest.”

Austin stared. “Please don’t make me choose between my little brother and you.”

Jeff’s expression twisted. He pulled Austin over and kissed him. “I’m not asking you to choose, sweetheart. Just don’t let Ernest guilt you into going into outer space with him.”

 

 

Five Days Before Christmas

“Where the hell have you two been?” Austin backed out of the way as Jeff—mostly Jeff—and Ernest carried the eight-foot Fraser fir through the white portico of the elegant brick Colonial Revival house on Chatham Rd.

“Shopping for Christmas trees,” Jeff panted, wrestling the tree upright. “Wasn’t that the idea?” 

Austin barely managed to save the table lamp in time. “For three hours?”

The spicy scent of pine tree filled the large room, mingling with the scent of the fireplace and cinnamon apple candles.

“We went shooting,” Ernest informed Austin.

“You…”

Jeff protested, “Hey, I thought we were keeping that to ourselves.”

Ernest gave his ar-ar-ar laugh, sounding like a demented sea lion, but then he turned to Austin, eyes bright, cheeks pink and admitted, “It was great.”

Austin swallowed everything he’d been about to say, and managed a doubtful, “Was it?”

“Jeff says I show a lot of promise.”

He’d been to the range a couple of times with Jeff, so it wasn’t that he feared for Ernest’s safety. If he feared for anyone’s safety, it would be Jeff’s.

He glanced at Jeff, who drawled, “Then we went for a couple a beers. Since Ernest was buying.”

Ar-ar-ar barked Ernest.

Jeff winked at Austin.

 

Later, much later, after pizza for supper, after the tree-trimming, after the cocoa and popcorn viewing of Elf, and once Ernest was safely tucked up with his springer spaniel Buzz in the guest room, Austin climbed into bed beside Jeff, who was looking mighty pleased with himself as he studied the mid-century watercolor painting of Ballineen that hung over the fireplace.

“Thank you,” Austin said. “I mean it. You went way above and beyond.”

Jeff turned his head, his expression was wry. “Naw. No thanks necessary. I’m going to win that mini mad scientist over if it’s the last thing I do.”

“I think he had a really good day.”

“I think he had a great day,” Jeff said. “My day wasn’t so bad either. And my night—”

“Your night’s going to be fantastic,” Austin assured him.

He was joking, of course, but Jeff said seriously, “All my nights with you are fantastic.”

Of course that led to a kiss and then another. But Austin had to pause proceedings long enough to ask, “Does Ernest show promise on the firing range?”

Jeff met his eyes and started to laugh. He shook his head. “Worst shot I ever saw in my life. He’s terrible.”

Austin started to laugh too.

“I thought he was pulling my leg at first.” Jeff’s tone was almost awed. “I thought, nobody could be that bad. I know blind men that are sharp shooters compared to your brother!”

They were still laughing when they kissed, and Austin realized that those special Christmas moments  often happened at the least likely times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 18 (Holiday Snippet Sagas - 3)

 

Holiday Snippet Sagas - 3

 

WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT????

 

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

 

Adrien English and Jake Riordan

“Thanks for not giving me away today,” I told Chan.

My heart had nearly stopped when I ran into Jake’s former partner at LAPD, Detective Paul Chan, in conversation with Mrs. Andrews at the Christmas Castle business center that morning.  

Chan, to his credit, hadn’t batted an eye as I’d handed Mrs. Andrews the invoicing report.

“Don’t thank me,” Chan said grimly. “I’m pretty sure it was the wrong thing to do.”

“No, it wasn’t. Because you know that anything I find out, I’ll report straight to you. I’m pretty sure we’re looking at industrial espionage.”

Chan looked heavenward—well, ceilingward, since we were in Cloak and Dagger Books—as though seeking strength. “Adrien—”

“Listen, I can be of help. You know I can. I’m not constrained by the—”

“Law?” Chan shook his head. “Yeah. Say no more. Seriously. You’re going to cost me my badge.”

I swallowed the rest of my argument and waited, trying to pushing down my apprehension, because I knew what he was about to tell me.

Chan said, and I could see he wasn’t enjoying it any more than I was, “It’s been four days. You know what that means in a missing person’s case. You know it’s not looking good.”

“I know.”

“Jake would not want you putting yourself in harm’s way. That is the last thing he’d want.”

“Yep.”

Chan studied me, muttered, “I should plug on this undercover op of yours right now. Before you get yourself killed.”

I studied him right back and said, “No, you shouldn’t. Anyway, if it’s still a missing person’s case, what’s a homicide detective doing snooping around the Christmas Castle?”

Chan opened his mouth and then closed it.

 

 

Christopher Holmes and J.X. Moriarity

 

“What took you so long? What happened? Are you hit?” I demanded.

J.X. looked at me in bewilderment as he handed over the hot buttered rum it had taken him seemingly hours to make. “Hit? You mean shot? No. Why would I be shot? No one’s been shot so far.”

“Then where the hell have you been?”

“I was looking for the rum.”

“It took you forty-five minutes to find a bottle of rum?”

“It’s not our house. I don’t know where they keep the rum. Not in the kitchen, that’s for damn sure.”

I rested my face in my hands—I had to juggle my cocktail to do it, but I have experience with these things. “I thought for sure you’d been shot.”

“But why? The deaths have all been disguised to look like accidents. We’ve had one person crushed beneath a falling chandelier, one person impaled on a spiked gate, one person drowned by falling through the ice over the koi pond—”

I raised my head to glare at him. “Because that woman is crazy!”

J.X. eyed me warily. “Which woman? Mrs. Smith?”

“As if that was her real name! But anyway, no, I don’t mean Mrs. Smith! I mean the lunatic writing this…this thing.”

J.X. looked blank, which, to be honest, he often does while I’m busy solving all the crimes that come our way. He said finally, “Kit, honey, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on.” I tried to temper my exasperation. “Have you never noticed how many of her main characters get shot? The art crimes guy, the other FBI guy, both the Diplomatic Security Service guys.”

“Yeah, but the one was just a flesh wound.”

“She even shot Adrien English, for god’s sake—and his boyfriend, the cop!”

“Jake, you mean? He was at our wedding. It’s not like you don’t know his na—”

“My point is that if she’s willing to shoot Adrien English, what chance do we have?”

J.X. was silent for a moment. “Okay, well, nobody actually died, right?”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m telling you, it’s only a matter of time before she plugs one of us…”

 

 

Taylor MacAllister and William Brandt

Where the hell was MacAllister?

Will checked his watch again. Already five minutes past Taylor’s If I’m not back by… Will’s heart sank.  

“Christ, MacAllister,”

This had been a lousy plan from the beginning. He should have shot it down the minute Taylor proposed it. Even if he’d managed to get out with the statue, there was no guarantee—none—that Escobar would be willing to trade a chunk of marble for David Ruiz. The son of an American diplomat was always going to be worth more than stolen artifacts to the people Escobar regularly did business with.

Sweat broke out on Will’s forehead as another minute ticked by.

Come on. Come on.

No way was he leaving MacAllister. The question was only did he continue to wait or did he go in after him?

When was the last time going in after him worked well for either of you?

Pretty much never.

But one of these days Taylor was going to get his over-confident ass in a jam he couldn’t get out of and then… Then he’d still not be grateful Will hadn’t trusted him to get himself out.

 Another excruciating minute ticked by.

Somewhere inside the fortress, a dog began to bark. Then another.

Will whipped the infrared night vision field glasses up and peered at the entrance of the fortress barbican. A dark figure sprinted down the stone walkway.

Taylor was too far away to see Will, though he had to know he was still out there, still waiting.

As Will watched, Taylor raised his head and mouthed something. One word. “Run!”

 

 

 Elliot Mills and Tucker Lance

 

“Is anybody in this damned town not lying to us?” Elliot swallowed a mouthful of pumpkin spiced stout.

The pub was small and cozy and cheerfully decorated for the holidays. Though no one appeared to be paying any attention to them, he couldn’t get over the feeling that their every move was being watched. Not that there had been so many moves, and the moves they had made had all led straight to dead ends.

Tucker wiped foam off his mouth, shook his head. “Nope. I think we can assume they’re all in on it.”

“In on what? No way are you going to convince me that the people of this town are deliberately, knowingly, aiding and abetting a serial killer.”

Tucker shrugged.

“Try again,” Elliot invited.

“Not that, no,” Tucker conceded. “But turning a blind eye, yes.” Elliot opened his mouth to object, but Tucker cut him off. “Yes, because nothing else makes sense.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make sense either.”

“No, and I agree, but at the same time, it’s just not possible that nobody around here has noticed what’s going on.”

Elliot said bleakly, “You realize what you’re suggesting, right? The sheriff has to be involved as well. He would have to be on it.”

“Well? You’re the one who walked out of his office and said, he’s lying.”

“You didn’t agree.”

“I do now.” Tucker’s blue gaze traveled unemotionally around the crowded room. “The question is, what’s their motive? What’s the reason behind the conspiracy of silence? It would have to be pretty damned important.”

Their eyes met in sudden, startled realization.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 10 (Holiday Snippet Sagas - 2)

 

Holiday Snippet Sagas - 2

 

OUR STORIES CONTINUE…

 

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

 

Adrien English and Jake Riordan

 

“Mr. Knight, Mr. Knight!” Mrs. Andrews sounded genuinely alarmed, which made two of us. “What are you doing here?” She was out of breath as she reached me—which she did in record time, given her age, weight, lady-like pumps, and the uneven terrain she had to cover.

That answered one question. The security cameras mounted in the surrounding trees were indeed operational. Operational and closely monitored.

I gave her what I hoped was a disarming smile. “Oops. You caught me. I’m sorry, Mrs. A. I just wanted to sneak a peek. I used to come here every year with my family when I was a kid.”

Yeah. No. Once and only once did Lisa allow me to drag her down the muddy paths and through the pine forests of Upper Ojai’s North Pole Village. Her idea of a magical holiday destination was Jolly Olde London Town. I think we did Paris a couple of times and maybe Braunschweig once, as well, though I was too young to remember. Still, I did remember my eight-year-old self being mightily impressed by fifteen acres of life-sized gingerbread houses and chalets, singing elves, a miniature train, and a reindeer petting zoo.

Mrs. Andrews continued to look worried and distressed. As worried and distressed as someone who looks like a stylishly updated Mrs. Santa Claus can look.

“But…But how did you get in here?”

I said blithely, “Oh, I scaled the fence.”

“You…”

We both gazed at the twelve-foot-tall chain length fence for a moment.

She said in that same troubled tone, “It’s clearly posted: No Trespassing.”

“It is. I know.”

“Trespassers will be prosecuted. That’s what the signs say. Very clearly.”

 “Does this mean I’m fired?” I didn’t have to fake it. I was truly hoping not to be fired. I’d only been working in the Christmas Castle’s business center for the past two days, and though it was clear to me that all was not kosher in tech-millionaire Robin Pavel’s Winter Wonderland theme park, I had only suspicions, nothing concrete.

And zero idea as to what had happened to Jake.

“Well… I don’t want to fire you,” Mrs. Andrews said. “You’re such a helpful, conscientious young man. It’s difficult to find people like you these days. But this kind of thing is really not okay.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise. My curiosity got the better of me.” My gaze went automatically to the ruins of what had once been Ginger Goodwitch’s Christmas Kitchen.

After a moment she said, “Perhaps, I can… Perhaps we can keep this between ourselves. But really, this kind of thing can’t ever happen again. Mr. Pavel is very…unforgiving about employees who don’t follow the park rules.”

“I understand.”

She made a little shooing motion, and I preceded her back down the trail to the gate.

Mrs. Andrews continued to scold—kindly but firmly, “The rules exist to keep you safe. This area is particularly hazardous. All those old buildings should have been razed years ago.”

 I was nodding, but I wasn’t listening to her. My ears strained the crystalline air for something beyond the sound of our footfalls, the wind rushing through the pines, and the occasional song of a distant wren.

   

 

 

Christopher Holmes and J.X. Moriarity

 

“Happy?” J.X. asked.

“Happy?” I echoed. “Happy our host has been murdered? No. I can safely say I’m not happy! What a thing to say to me!”

“Okay, okay.” J.X. took a prudent step back as I snapped up straight from my slumped position on the side of the old-fashioned bathtub. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

The Band-Aid he still held was now positioned at the end of my nose—he was probably tempted to paste it across my mouth.

I glared past the Band-Aid to my apologetic-looking ministering angel.

“You know I tried to get Morty to go to the police!”

“You did, yeah. At least twice.”

“But?” I winced as he very gently taped the Band-Aid over the cut above my eyebrow.

J.X. said at last, reluctantly, “But we stayed. You—we—kept sleuthing. If we’d left, if we’d refused to have any part of his crazy catch-a-killer-for-Christmas plan, he’d have had to—maybe—go to the police.”

“So it’s my fault Sir Mordecai is dead?” I couldn’t help it, my voice cracked on dead. But, in fairness, it’s kind of-of…lowering to think you’re to blame for getting someone killed. And also, I was still pretty shaken from nearly being crushed to death under the opera house-sized chandelier that had taken out our host. I was not crying. I never cry.

But J.X. must have thought I was crying, because he groaned, “Kit, honey. Hell, no, you’re not to blame! Of course, I’m not saying that. You know I’m not saying that.”

It did help quite a bit that he hauled me into his arms, crushing me to his manly chest, and nuzzling my eyes—dry, for the record—mouth and even ears. Why the ears? In the hopes I might eventually start listening to him? Who knows. Anyway, it was comforting. All of it.

“There’s only one person to blame for this tragedy and that’s the person who killed Sir Mordecai.” J.X. was still going full throttle. Murder really does offend his sensibilities.

I nodded, sighed.

“I’m sorry if it sounded like I thought this was your fault. It’s just the shock of that thing headed straight for you. I thought for sure—” J.X. shook his head as though words had finally failed him.

 

 

 

Taylor MacAllister and William Brandt

 

“We barely made it out. You want to go back?” Not much surprised Will these days. But this? This was not what he had expected.

“I sure as hell do. Don’t you?”

“Want to go back to the home of the notorious Mexican drug lord who tried to disappear us less than forty-eight hours ago? No, MacAllister, at the risk of disappointing you for Christmas, I don’t.”

Taylor had that infuriatingly blank look he got sometimes when he was pretending to give Will his complete and undivided attention but, in fact, already had his mind made up and was planning accordingly.

“We signed up for this job,” Taylor said. “No one twisted our arm. Arms.”

Will gave a disbelieving laugh. “Except our client turns out to be as big a crook as the guy he sent us after!”

“True. Moving forward, we definitely need a better grade of client. In the meantime…”

Will swore quietly. “In the meantime, you want to attend this Christmas Ball?”

Taylor nodded.

“You’re serious.”

Taylor nodded again.

“You’re one hundred-thousand percent serious about this?”

Taylor said calmly, “Keep ‘em guessing, Brandt. Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Since when do you listen to what I say?” Will studied Taylor, shook his head. “It’s a Christmas Ball, MacAllister. You caught that, right? It means fancy dress. You know, black tie. Maybe even white tie. I mean, look at us.”

Taylor cocked his head, studied Will, still damp from the shower and clad only in Levis, sitting on the motel bed across from him. He grinned that little sideways grin that always got to Will, even…how many years was it now? There were never going to be enough, that was for sure.

“You look okay to me, amigo.”

“Gracias,” Will said sourly.

Taylor’s grin widened. He covered Will’s bare foot with his own. “Don’t fret, Cinderella. We’ll find you something to wear to the ball.”

 

 Elliot Mills and Tucker Lance

 

“Are you hit?” Elliot demanded.

Tucker shook his head, wiped the snow off his face. “You?”

“Not for lack of trying.” Elliot’s heart was thundering in his chest. That had been way too close for comfort.

They were hunkered down behind a low stone wall, breath steaming in the bitter cold—and that final crack of the rifle still hanging in the air.

As the sounded faded into the twilight, they exchanged looks. Tucker’s lip curled.

“These people have no sense of humor,” Elliot complained.

“They do seem a little touchy.”

The seconds ticked by. The ground grew a little colder. The twilight grew a little darker.

Elliot considered. “I think we can assume we’re asking the right questions.”

“But are we asking the right people?”

“Hm.”

Tucker said, “I’m starting to think everyone in this fucking valley has something to hide.”

No arguing with that. Elliot reached for a dead branch, pulled his knitted ski cap off and hung it on the end of the stick. He raised the cap slightly above the top of the wall.

Nothing happened.

He raised it a little higher.

Nothing.

He met Tucker’s gaze. Tucker moved his head in negation.

“We wait till it’s dark. No way can you go dashing through the snow with that knee.”

Elliot shrugged. “It’s holding up okay.” He lowered the stick, pulled his wool cap over his ears, which were already starting to tingle with the cold.

Tucker said, “We can wait half an hour.”

Elliot grimaced, but didn’t waste his energy arguing beyond pointing out, “Those were warning shots.”

“Maybe. Or whoever is out there has lousy aim.”