Christmas Coda 73

 

Kyle and Adam – MURDER IN PASTEL

“New York City!” I echoed right on cue.

Adam said, “Have you ever been?”

“Well, no.” I didn’t add that I’d never had any desire to go. I especially didn’t have any desire to go around the holidays. I asked reluctantly, “I guess you want to go?”

“I think it would be good to get away from Steeple Hill for a bit.” He said seriously, “I think it would do you good.”

I shrugged. It had been six months since, well, everything I thought I’d known had been turned upside down. Painful revelations. Hard truths. Followed by probably the happiest six months of my entire life. I truly loved Adam. He truly loved me. And that was as much of a happily ever after as anyone could hope for.

I didn’t see the relevance of a change of scenery.

Adam said slowly, “You don’t like the idea?”

“You know me. I like home and hearth.” I listened to myself and added hastily, “But if I was to go to New York, I’d want to go with you.”

Adam’s eyes tilted up when he smiled. He said ruefully, “That’s a very tactful non-answer.”

I did a little belated soul searching. For the past six months our lives had revolved around me. What was good for me. What I wanted. Adam was so generous, so kind, it was too easy to take all that unselfishness for granted. To take advantage.

I said with a firmness I did not feel, “My answer is, I think you’re right. I think it would be good for us to get away. I think it would do both of us good.”

He looked surprised, which confirmed my suspicion that I was turning into a selfish asshole. “Is that the official answer or your real answer?”

I shook my head. “O ye of little faith. Are you booking this trip, or am I?”

 

 

Wisely, Adam booked our trip. Otherwise, we’d have spent five days in a nice hotel room enjoying room service, streaming movies, and fucking like minks.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Adam’s idea of Christmas in New York was a little more ambitious and a lot more romantic, given that it also entailed the fucking like minks part, but included exploring Greenwich Village and the High Line, trips to The Met and MoMA where I got to see others responding to my father’s paintings in person.

“What do you think?” Adam asked after the crowd thinned and we stood in front of a moody study of the beach below Drake Trent’s cottage. The dock was still intact in the seascape. I stared at it as if waiting for the cracks to appear.

“I don’t remember this one.” It was one of this older works, probably painted during the time I’d been hospitalized.

Adam was still looking at me, still waiting for something more.

I said, “It’s…quiet. It feels sad, like he was…”

I had never thought of my father as anything but strong and self-sufficient. Most of his work felt restless and fierce. But there was something lonely and melancholy in this moody swirl of clouds and waves and shifting sand.

“He was afraid he was going to lose you that summer.”

I smiled faintly. “I don’t think all that stormy weather would be over me. Unless he was worried about having to stick close to home.”

Adam raised his brows, but didn’t argue.

He really did try to think of everything. We paid a visit to the New York Public Library, as well as fitting in a shopping trip at the Strand Bookstore with its legendary “18 miles of books”—a mile of which I’d have been willing to bring home if I could have fit it into our luggage.

“Tell me if any of this gets to be too much for you,” Adam had said seriously. That was the night we arrived, when we were having dinner at our hotel. “I don’t want you to push yourself because you think I’ll be disappointed if we don’t do everything this trip.”

“Yeah, of course,” I promised.

Thanks to the new medication regimen and the drastic reduction of attempts on my life, I was feeling better than I had in months. Maybe years.

I did want the trip to be everything Adam wanted. But I also knew the main thing Adam wanted was for me to be glad we’d made the trip.

Imagine my surprise when it turned out I was glad.

I don’t know how I’d feel about New York at any other time of year, but in winter, at least during Christmas, it was kind of magical. And that was even before it snowed. Every street, from Fifth Avenue to small neighborhood blocks, was lit up like, well, you know. Stars twinkled overhead, glittered in windows, flashed and sparkled in trees and bushes, all of it reflecting and glowing on the snow. Nothing like Steeple Hill. Not the lights. Not the snow. Not the feeling of excitement crackling in the hazy air.

Yes, the air felt different. Smelled different too. The ordinary city smells masked by the more pleasant scents of roasted chestnuts and candied nuts, the piny smell of the fresh Christmas trees for sale lining sidewalks, the mouthwatering aromas of cinnamon rolls and gingerbread cookies drifting from cafes and bakeries.

Every day there was some new little adventure. We wandered the market stalls at Bryant Park Winter Village, we drank cocoa and watched ice skaters, we gawked at the holiday window displays at Macy’s and Saks Fifth Avenue with all the other tourists, we listened to the street musicians and carolers, and we even did that most cliché of cliché things and went for a horse-drawn carriage ride in Central Park.

Which, it pains me to admit was pretty fun.

“Like Elf,” Adam said, grinning.

“Or The Lady from Shanghai,” I said.

“Your other favorite Christmas movie!”

So, yes, we did all the things.

I loved it. And I loved it more because Adam loved it. Sometimes I couldn’t help remembering that Adam had met Brett in New York. And that he had perhaps, probably, done all these things with Brett too.

But did that make it any less special?

 

 

At night we returned to our lovely suite in our lovely hotel, and curled up in our nest of blankets and pillows and talked.

Talked and kissed and made love and talked some more.

We talked about the usual things: Vince and Jenny’s divorce, about Jenny’s new boyfriend, about Joel’s new boyfriend, about Micky’s decision to buy a retired circus donkey, which had turned into two circus donkeys—both of which apparently moonlighted as escape artists. We talked about Adam selling his house in San Francisco and moving to Steeple Hill. Living in Steeple Hill year-round. Permanently. We talked about the upcoming trials.

We talked about things we rarely talked of. Brett. My Father. The past. The future.

On Christmas we had dinner at One if by Land, Two if by Sea, an historic 18th-century carriage house in the West Village. The building had once been owned by Aaron Burr, and according to legend, Burr and his daughter Theodosia haunted the place. There was no sign of them that night, though. No ghosts of any kind. By then, I think we had talked our own ghosts out. Anyway, the restaurant was charming and intimate with exposed brick walls, fireplaces, and grand chandeliers, and meal—and the wine list—were superb.

Adam and I toasted Cosmo and we toasted the future and we toasted to Adam’s upcoming exhibition in the spring.

No question about it. It was the best Christmas ever.

That night, as we lay in each other’s arms, watching the huge moon meandering past our window, drifting through the night like an untethered balloon, I whispered, “Are you happy, Adam?”

He opened his eyes, and I could see their colorless shine as he studied me. “Yes.”

There was a childish, insecure part of me that wanted to ask that stupidest of questions: happier than you were with him?

I didn’t ask it. But Adam said quietly, reflectively, “I didn’t know it was possible to be happy like this. To be so happy, you actually know that you’re happy.”

I made a thoughtful sound. I saw the brief gleam of his teeth as he smiled. “Are you happy, Kyle?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wish we’d stayed home for Christmas?”

I smiled, pressed my smile softly to his smile, and whispered, “I’m happy that we’re spending Christmas together in New York.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’m even happier because we share the word home tonight--and all the rest of the year.”

“All the rest of our lives,” Adam said.

 

 

Advent Calendar December 20

 

The eighteenth day of Christmas! 

GULP.

Thank heavens I finally (yesterday) finished all my Christmas shopping. I think. Not counting those last minute panics--the gardener! The mail person! The pool guy!

Anyway.

For your holiday enjoyment we have the second of Byron Beach's codas featuring Griff and Pierce from Stranger on the Shore. 

As I mentioned last week (wait..was it last week? I'm losing track of time!) Anyway, this coda takes place a decade after the book ends. It's really lovely. I know you'll enjoy it!

A Pirate Christmas Eve

 

"I missed you, Louis Lane," Chloe sighed, using the nickname she'd fondly given Griff. "You really didn’t have to pick me up, but I guess you wanted to flaunt this...vintage beauty?"

 

"Hey, she's a classic," he defended, casting a sidelong glance at Chloe, who raised an amused brow. “And you know I wanted to see your flawless beauty” laughed Griff “But she is pretty sweet.  Nicky helped me polish her up just yesterday - all for you.”

 

“God you are so sexy when you get all blue collar, but don’t go giving my nephew ideas about becoming a mechanic, because I know he wants to be either a pirate or a lawyer – assuming there’s a difference.”

Shaking his head, Griff expertly navigated his cherished '63 356B Porsche coupe, in Irish racing green, onto the Highway, the subdued hum of the engine echoing his current mood. Every bolt and weld of this car held memories from discovering it in a dusty old barn out in Montauk while he was his research on his second book to restoring it with loving precision.

“OK, spill, how on earth did YOU, get talked into a Pirate’s Christmas Eve party?” inquired Chloe “I would have bet big that you’d never agree to this kinda thing ever again, after the wedding debacle.”

“Uhhhh, please don’t mention that day” groaned Griff

“Hey, you might have suffered, but that family photo is the best; it’s my screen saver” Chloe cheerily answered “and I still laugh every time I see that look you have, glaring at the camera, ready to deck the photographer – so priceless. Oh god, and Pierce, looking like he’s about to panic, yet his mom and Jarrett are smiling like Reagan has returned.”

“And, as I remember, you look perfect in that pic.” Said Griff

“I do don’t I?  That was a great dress, and even better Mom and Marcus were fully plastered, and Muriel looked constipated, but come to think of it, that’s how she always looks”

”I do love seeing Jarrett smiling, I miss him.” Griff said softly as Chloe put a hand on his arm “Well, life is a learning experience, I figured out that despite mostly being Superman, Pierce is powerless in the face of his mother. She has that kryptonite vision that can bend him to her will.”

“Yeah, yeah I get that, but that still doesn’t explain how Honey Mather talked you into this Christmas Eve extravaganza – at your house?” Chloe said shaking her head in mystery.

Griff sighed, “Kids change everything – She and Diana joined forces with Nicky, and it was all over.  I get that ‘Daddy please’ look and suddenly I have a Pirate ship with a 14-foot Christmas tree mast in my living room and every child in Nick’s kindergarten coming over for a Christmas Eve treasure hunt, oh and we must have something for the parents, and gifts for everyone and ‘Just a small four-person jazz combo’ and on and on...”

Griff gripped the wheel tighter and pressed down on the accelerator as Chloe started crying from laughter.

As he reached for Chloe's luggage, a familiar, teasing tune emanated from inside her carryall. The mischievous gleam in Chloe's eyes said it all.

"Really? Pirates of the Caribbean?"

"Every pirate deserves a sword," Chloe retorted with mock innocence.

Griff snorted. "Designed to drive his dads mad, no doubt." But he couldn't help the fond shake of his head as she sashayed past with laughter on her lips.

The house burst with reunion upon their entry. "Chloe!" Nick's enthusiastic shout drowned out the playacting roars of his pint-sized pirate friends. Before Griff could properly react, he felt the little whirlwind that was Nick darted past him, zeroing in on his beloved aunt. As he did, Griff looked to Pierce, who silently acknowledged they were no match for Chloe's allure.

Chloe, ever the dramatic, swept Nick into her arms, leaning in with a whispered promise of a "special gift." The resulting gleam in Nick's eyes, as the sword's tune echoed again, had Griff murmuring to Pierce, "She's diabolically genius."

The bubbling hum of Nick’s excited chatter enveloped him. “I’m Captain Kringle, and we have a Christmas ship! Everyone’s got eye patches, Aunt Chloe. And there’s an actual parrot! And everyone got presents - that Gramma bought so they are good” Nicky said with a side look at Griff  then continued in his explanation, “We have Christmas cookies in lots of colors and cake and a log thing Auntie Diana brought and, and, and we are going to have a battle and kidnappings and a huge treasure hunt, and Auntie Diana said we can replay it all again on Christmas Day.”

But amidst the innocent exuberance, the word 'kidnapping' jarred Griff. True crime wasn’t just a genre Griff dabbled in; he'd penned two bestsellers that dissected the darkest recesses of the human psyche. Yet, that single word unraveled him, rekindling old fears, that had been smoldering ever since Nick had turned four. They smoked and flared, gradually building as Nick began leaving home in the mornings for school. It was as though an old scar was being ripped fresh, the familiar tension reawakening.

Feeling Pierce's grounding presence — a gentle touch, the whisper of his breath by Griff's ear. "Everything okay?" There was a layered concern in Pierce’s soft query, a lifeline pulling Griff from his spiraling thoughts.

Griff took a moment, then relaxed subtly, leaning into Pierce’s embrace. Their bond, fortified over the years, remained steadfast. To Griff, Pierce was always the sanctuary amidst the storm.

Nick’s youthful enthusiasm acted as a counterpoint, pulling Griff back to the present. "Daddy, it's going to be so epic!" The innocent in Nick's voice made him feel all the chaos might be worthwhile. He ruffled Nick's hair, the gesture carrying more weight than words. "I bet it is, buddy."

Taking in the spectacle of their transformed home, Griff felt a wave of annoyance. The family room, patio, and living area had transmuted into a curious blend of Christmas and pirate wonderland. Family gatherings of such magnitude were not Griff’s forte He'd imagined a simpler, humbler upbringing for Nick, away from the spectacle of grandeur. But when Diana and her mother, Honey, kept telling Nicky stories of Jarrett’s legendary Christmas Eve parties, and then painted a vivid picture of what a Pirate’s Christmas Eve could be, and Griff knew resistance was futile. Now, they were playing host to a boisterous mix of twenty children and sixty adults, all decked in comically unique pirate-inspired Christmas attire. The chorus of 'Yo ho yo ho' from Nick’s sword, was punctuated by a horn, heralding the treasure hunt's beginning.

“It'll be a week before everything’s back to its place,” Griff muttered under his breath.

Perceptive as always, Pierce leaned in, whispering, "Arrr laddie, a couple of days and the tide will recede. We’ll be sailin’ on smooth seas by Boxing day."

Griff smirked, nestling into Pierce’s hold. “Only Superman could convince me of that right now,” he retorted playfully. But there was the truth in that jest.

Pierce keeping to the pirate theme asked. “How about a drink me husband? A little pirate grog to calm the stormy seas?”

“A beer would do the trick,” Griff replied, distracted by the flurry of children fanning out across the yard, their little feet in search of buried treasure. Pierce returned, handing him a chilled mug of Blue point Brewery’s Winter Warmer. Griff looked around, taking in the boisterous environment, and whispered, “Thanks,” planting a soft kiss on Pierce’s jaw.

As the enthusiasm of the treasure hunt mounted, it was Nick at the forefront of the marauding pack, wielding his singing sword like a seasoned buccaneer. As every clue was revealed, a renewed wave of excitement rippled among the young adventurers.

Chatting with his mother-in-law, the ever-elegant Honoria 'Honey' Mather, Griff inquired, “So what treasures await these young pirates?”

Honey beamed, “I've got delightful chocolate doubloons, candy jewels, honeycomb pieces of eight and these exquisite silver horns. They'll be over the moon.”

“You have out done yourself; Jarrett would be proud of this bounty fit for young buccaneers,” Griff replied, chuckling.

As he took in the scene, Griff observed clusters of tiny pirates pursuing their mission with zeal. But amidst the frenzy, Nick's familiar grin was conspicuously absent.

“Nicky seems to have made quite a few friends at the Country Day School. How's he liking it?” Honey asked, pulling Griff’s attention back into the conversation.

As his gaze darting around looking for Pierce, Griff answered, “He's makes friends easily and is loving the activities. So far, it's just been half-days, but starting in March, he'll attend three full days a week.”

Honey's continued chatter became a mere hum in Griff's ears as anxiety began its familiar ascent. Unable to spot their son among the bustling crowd, the din of conversations faded. He turned, silently seeking out Pierce with a questioning, worried glance. “Have you seen Nick?” he mouthed, barely concealing his rising panic.

Pierce’s eyes softened. “Give me a sec, love,” he murmured, slipping through the patio doors.

The minutes seemed to stretch, amplifying Griff’s anxiety. When Pierce finally returned, he was carrying Nick’s sword, his expression was a puzzle Griff couldn't decipher. “Diana and Chloe are scouring the gardens. I... I haven't spotted him yet. I found this in the driveway.”

“He's gone, Pierce!" Griff's voice broke, a pitch higher than he intended. Demons from his own past were clawing back – the haunting memory of his own kidnapping wrapping its cold fingers around him.

Pierce's voice was controlled, yet Griff could hear the fear. "We'll find him. We will"

The ensuing minutes were a whirlwind of frantic searching, with every corner and hideaway of the property being scoured for any trace of Nick. Griff's heartbeat echoed in a pounding parental dread. This couldn’t be real; someone was playing an awful prank.

Suddenly, a muted commotion arose from the garage. Griff ran outside and peering through the half open door there at the wheel of Griff’s beloved Porsche, Nick sat low in the driver's seat, his youthful imagination having swapped pirate escapades for visions of roaring racetracks.

The weight that lifted from Griff's chest was overwhelming. As he met Pierce's gaze, without words, they pulled Nick and each other close. Amid the chaos, this was their grounding moment; a realization that the love they shared, this bond, was the true treasure.

Pierce's voice floated through the dim bedroom, a gentle warmth, “Captain Kringle crashed rather quickly tonight, didn’t he?” He moved closer, the ambient light catching the sheen of his black silk boxers. A sight Griff had seen countless times over the years, but it still made his heart race with wonder.

“It's been a day of adventures,” Griff murmured, the edges of fatigue blurring his voice. “Maybe next year we can go away for Christmas?  Just the three of us?”

Pierce cocked an eyebrow, playful challenge in his eyes. “As long as you are the one who tells my mom, I am all for it.  After today you look as tired as I feel”

Griff chuckled, flicking back the duvet. “Come here, Superman. Looks like you’ve got one more Gotham citizen needing rescue.”

As Pierce slid into bed, he drew Griff close, his fingers sketching circles of comfort on Griff's back. “You alright?”

The exhaustion in Griff's eyes spoke volumes. “I’m getting there.”

Pierce looked into his eyes sensing what he was thinking, “That incident today... I can't imagine what it triggered in you.”

Griff swallowed, but in a resolute firm tone explained. “It’s not as though I am plagued by fears, but the party, it was a lot, and it put me a bit on edge. But ever since Nick turned four I started thinking about my parents; and then when he started school -  it’s like looking in a mirror. The innocence, the fear of what might come."

Pierce sighed, his embrace tightening. “I wish I could shoulder that burden for you. But know this, Griff – Nick is safe, he’s protected.”

Griff shook his head. “It’s not really about safety, it’s more about pressure. Every damn reporter spins a tale about the ‘lost Arlington heir.’ But none of them get it. None of them see how many people were ripped apart by that story.”

Pierce adjusted their position, so they were face to face. “Maybe it's time you tell it. For you, for Nick.  I know you put your book aside years ago but someday you should lay claim to it, it’s your story!”

Griff's voice was soft. “But becoming a father has changed the story. I can feel the anguish my parents must’ve felt losing their Brian. And not just them, I also can see the heartbreak and fear Alice experienced.” He paused, inhaling deeply, letting Pierce’s familiar scent soothe him. “But I am worried. I know how the press works; I don’t want to activate the tabloids. Or laying us bare.” Looking up a Pierce, Griff continued ‘This isn’t just my story, you and Nick are a part of it too, I don’t want to do anything that could damage this, us, our family.”

Pierce brushed a kiss on Griff's forehead, a gentle reassurance. “Your words are a gift they are your power and your truth. I believe in you and I’m right here, every step.”

Feeling the weight of the day ebb, Griff nestled against Pierce. “Thank you, you and Nicky…. love...” he couldn’t finish.

As his mouth found Griff’s, Pierce softly voiced “Merry Christmas my love.”

Deep in the night, comforted by Pierce’s heat, Griff felt a weight on chest lift, his breath ease. Under the canopy of love and trust he realized he was ready.

 

Advent Calendar Day 15

 

Yikes. Ten days until Christmas. TEN.

TEN. DAYS.

And then the New Year begins. 

Please let it be a better, healthier, happier year than 2023. Please let me do more writing and less...everything else.

Anyway! We've got another very special treat from one of our longtime talented and generous friends and contributors. MEG PERRY IS BACK IN TOWN. In a manner of speaking. ;-) 

Of All the People
 

“I don’t want to go.”

Adrien ignored him.

“I hate socializing.”

Adrien gave him side-eye.

“It’s a fucking waste of time. I should be working on the Adams case.”

Adrien cleared his throat. “Did or did not Mary ask you to attend in her place?”

“You know she did.”

“Does or does not Mary sign your paychecks?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re starting to sound like a lawyer.”

“Just reminding you of the facts, sweetheart.” Adrien picked up his wallet and keys. “I have to go. Natalie and Angus are both working today, and someone has to be there to make them behave.”

Jake sighed. “Fine. I’ll see you tonight.”

Adrien kissed him. “Yes, you will. Try not to grump at everyone today.”

“Only if you promise to not work through lunch.”

“Deal.” Adrien was out the door with a wave.

Jake waved back then went to finish dressing, muttering to himself. “I fucking hate socializing.”

 

The Los Angeles District of the California Association of Licensed Investigators was holding its annual holiday mixer at the Radisson Hotel in Chatsworth. Jake would never have chosen to attend if his boss, Mary Brannigan, hadn’t essentially told him to go. He couldn’t imagine that it would be worth his time. Why the hell did PIs have to network? Weren’t they all in competition with each other?

Not to mention, he was well aware that several of the local PIs were LAPD alumni. He didn’t particularly want to interact with any of them, and he figured the feeling was mutual.

The only good thing about this event was that it was close to home.

He picked up his name badge at the door and entered the vast meeting room. The mixer seemed to be well under way. Tables were lined up along three sides of the room, with every sort of brunch-style food imaginable. There was a waffle station and an omelet station. Some of the attendees were seated at the round tables scattered through the center of the room; some were standing in groups and talking as they ate. Each table had a miniature Christmas tree as a centerpiece; the serving tables were strung with red and green plaid ribbon.

Jake got a cup of coffee and a donut and moved to the side, his back to the wall, surveying the scene. He didn’t see anyone he knew, which produced a mix of emotions. He was happy to stand here, eat a donut, then leave without having to explain himself to anyone he’d known in his previous life. But Mary would expect him to report back on who he’d met and what he’d learned.

He was mulling over his choices - who was he going to approach, and how - when he did see someone he knew.

Two someones.

His immediate thought was, What the hell are THEY doing here?

He supposed he’d better go find out. At least it would give him something to report back to Mary. He pushed away from the wall and headed for their table.

 

Rob Jones spotted Jake Riordan as soon as Jake leaned against the far wall. He’d heard that Jake had become a PI, after his complicated exit from the LAPD, but he’d never expected to see him again. Rob and Jake had briefly crossed paths a couple of times, while Rob was at Hollywood Division and Jake was at North Hollywood, and their interactions hadn’t been particularly pleasant.

He saw the moment that Jake noticed them then headed toward them. He thought, Shit. He said to Kevin Brodie, “Incoming, your three o’clock.”

Kevin glanced over and said, “Oh. Huh.”

Across from Kevin, Jamilah Daly said, “Who’s that?”

Jake was getting close enough to be within hearing distance. Rob said, “Tell you the whole story later.”

“Hm. Intriguing.”

The three of them stood up as Jake approached.

 

Jake wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get. He knew Rob Jones didn’t like him. Kevin Brodie was another matter altogether. He didn’t recognize the woman with them, a tall Black woman, probably in her forties, with short locs. Whoever she was, she’d definitely been a cop. She was studying him with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, her arms crossed.

Rob, Kevin, and the woman were all wearing matching polo shirts. That detail was the last that Jake had time to process as he reached the table.

Kevin held out his hand to Jake. “Hi, Jake, good to see you again.”

Jake shook his hand. “You, too. It’s been about a year, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I saw you at that bookstore in Pasadena.” Kevin moved his head slightly toward Rob. “You remember Rob Jones.”

“I do.” Jake held out his hand. “Rob.”

Rob shook his hand. “Jake.”

Kevin said, “This is our partner, Jamilah Daly. Jamilah, this is Jake Riordan, formerly of LAPD Homicide.”

“Ah.” Jamilah shook his hand. She had a firm grip. “Good to meet you, Jake. Why don’t you join us?”

Jake hesitated for a second, then thought, Sit down, you coward. He pulled out the remaining chair and sat. “Kevin, I thought you were working for the DA’s office.”

“I was, until June. After we quit, Jamilah and I joined Rob to form a new PI agency. We opened the doors August first.”

Jake squinted at Kevin’s shirt. “Angeles Investigations? Where’s your office?”

“Brentwood.”

Jake blinked. “Nice.”

“We like it.”

“How’s it going?”

“We’re staying busy. We’ve solved two murders already.”

Jake gritted his teeth. He hadn’t solved a murder since Adrien “hired” him to figure out who killed Jay Stevens. He’d been a PI now for a year and a half and hadn’t gotten near a murder investigation. He didn’t expect he ever would again. And here were Kevin Brodie and Rob fucking Jones, the two best homicide detectives the LAPD had ever produced, with an office in Brentwood and two murders in five months. He said tightly, “Congratulations.”

Rob must have been smirking inside, but it didn’t show on his face. He said, “Thank you.”

Jake thought, Enough with the dick measuring. He asked Jamilah, “Were you with LAPD?”

“No, Irvine PD.”

“Ah. Who’s the chief down there now?”

“Drew Gilbert. Do you know him?”

“I don’t think so.” Jake took a second look at the thin ribbon of color beneath the Angeles Investigations logo on Jamilah’s polo shirt and realized what he was seeing. “Wait a minute. Are you advertising yourselves as an LGBTQ agency?”

Rob said mildly, “Yup. Except for Kevin, that’s what we are. He’s our token straight.”

Kevin and Jamilah both chuckled at that. Jake asked, “Does that mean… Is that working for you?”

Jamilah said, “It sure is. I think every infidelity case in the queer community is coming to us.”

Jake was stunned. All the years of hiding, all the lies, all the self-recrimination, still having to tiptoe around his employers and his own family - and here was Rob fucking Jones being out and proud and prospering as a result. He said weakly, “That’s great. Really.”

Kevin said, “There was a niche waiting to be filled.”

“Apparently.” Jake checked his watch. He didn’t think he could take too much more of this kind of chat. But he’d definitely learned something to take back to the office. “I need to go. Jamilah, I’m glad to meet you. Kevin, Rob, good luck for your continued success.”

Kevin said, “Thanks. If we can ever help you out, let us know.”

“I will.” Jake nodded goodbye and left. He made the effort to stroll casually, even though internally he wanted to flee.

He thought, Rob fucking Jones. Of all the people.

 

Jamilah watched Jake go then turned to Rob and Kevin. “Okay, let me guess. He was a self-loathing closet case while he was with the LAPD.”

Rob said, “Got it in one. While he was on the force, he made life particularly uncomfortable for gay suspects and victims. Then he dumped his wife, who was also a cop, for a man. The guy was a suspect in one of his cases whom he’d been seeing during the case. It blew up in his face and he quit the department.”

“That’s sad.”

Kevin said, “It is sad. He seems happier now, though.”

“Really? He didn’t seem particularly happy to me.”

Rob said, “He’d rather be working homicides again, and it didn’t thrill him to learn that we still are.”

Jamilah shrugged. “Most PIs don’t. He must know that.”

“I’m sure he does.” Rob pushed his plate back. “This is a mixer. You two ready to go mix?”

Jamilah hopped to her feet. “Yes. I want to meet the other women PIs that are here.”

Kevin said, “Absolutely. Let’s go.”

Rob followed them into the crowd, thinking, Jake fucking Riordan. Of all the people.

Advent Calendar Day 13

 

Today we are lucky enough to have an offering from the always delightful and talented Natasha Chesterbrook. I was doubly thrilled to see Natasha chose Cosmo and John from Bedknobs and Broomsticks for the holiday treatment. 😀😉 I especially love the POV she chose!

Bedknobs and
Broomsticks

 

“Ow! Goddess above.” rubbing his knee Cosmo backs out of the closet and scowls at me as if I’d tried to cause him bodily harm while sitting perfectly still here in the hallway.

“Pye, surely you remember where we put it?” he hisses.

Raising a paw, I ignore him and proceed to groom. Hiss at me will you!

Life with Cosmo is always a bit chaotic but even hundred-year-old familiars can get used to anything if their witch is … well, their witch.

I’ll admit there was a time in the last couple of years after Cosmo had sworn off all magic that I thought I might have to move on. A witch’s familiar is a link to the magical realm and their constant companion. With his vow, I’d felt as useful as a chocolate teapot at an English tea.

And his whirlwind romance and marriage to the mortal John – or as I like to think of him, The Comish – seemed to seal my fate as unneeded, even if I wasn’t unwanted.

But then things took a turn.

A series of seemingly never-ending adventures over the last six months, both magical and mundane, happened including more than one attempt on Cosmo’s life. In fact, one home invasion was thwarted by my own heroics. I try not to boast.

“Ha! Found it!” Cosmo’s exclamation of joy from the closet is short-lived as it is quickly followed by a loud thump and the tinkling of breaking glass. “Blessed be!” he wails. That must be the box of those hand-blown glass Christmas ornaments he bought at an estate sale back in October.

He’s determined to start the yuletide season with a bang – which is exactly what it sounds like he’s just done. But why the fuss? One small spell and the baubles will be good as new. Or better still, if he wants to avoid The Comish’s disapproval, Bridget is more than willing to make the repairs.

***

Cosmo holds up a glass tumbler, its pale green contents swirling about inside. An ill-timed sneeze might have betrayed my opinion of such a concoction, but he chooses to ignore me in favor of concentrating on finding the perfect Yuletide elixir – or cocktail, in the mundane world. It reeks of rum and desperation. My all too sensitive nose is having none of it.

“Don’t be so picky. You’ll still get your special treat of Tuna Tartare. This is just for John and me. I want it to be our new Christmas tradition.”

One sip later and he is pouring the remainder down the drain. 

***

I bat the ribbon curls across the floor enjoying how they rolled and skittered away. I may have more than a century of magical experience behind me, but one never gets too old for this kind of fun.

“Ow!” Cosmo’s cry halts me in my tracks.

Around him lay the detritus of his endeavor to create the perfect holiday wreath, a combination of evergreen branches, pinecones, cinnamon sticks, dried fruit and garland. The glue gun is clearly his undoing. He stands there holding his finger with a forlorn look on his face.

It’s the same one he wore after the disaster that was the gingerbread house. Cosmo maybe a magnificent witch with a penchant for solving mysteries but he will never be tapped to solve a housing crisis. Or a baking crisis for that matter.

***

We are in the guest room looking for the perfect hiding place – well, one of us is anyway. Certainly, I know every nook and cranny of this abode and can give Cosmo a list ranked in order by comfort and fit. However, he isn’t looking to hide a Russian Blue cat but a large, gayly wrapped box. I don’t see why all the bother. The Comish would hardly be the sort to peek before the big night. That’s more Cosmo’s style.

Not that The Comish will be hiding romantic gestures in the attic eaves. His idea of gift giving perfection is a pair of handmade Italian leather boots, or a trip to Milan for a fitting of said boots. Practical, generous and elegant.

Now Cosmo is standing on a stool in an attempt to reach a high shelf above the wardrobe. Foreseeing the outcome long before it is met, I do not stick around for the tears.

***

“What exactly were you thinking?” The Comish asks gently.

They sit on their gray velvet couch with Cosmo’s foot resting in his lap and a towel full of ice pressed to a swollen ankle. Cosmo fiddles with the bandage on his burnt finger.

“Aren’t hideously ornate wreathes and hiding presents for Christmas what everyone does?” Cosmo sounds lost.

The Comish sighed, “Well, maybe on TV but this is just you and me. You could have just put my gift under the tree.”

“I want our first Christmas to be perfect. To include all those traditions you grew up with.”

“We’re spending it together. It doesn’t get more perfect than that. Anything else is just dressing.”

It doesn’t sound in the least romantic but Cosmo melts like always when given the Comish’s unvarnished but absolutely sincere truth. The towel of ice slips to the floor but I doubt they notice what with the kissing and all.

I leave them to it as I am sure the lump in my throat is only a leftover bit of tuna. Yes, tuna. No doubt about it.

Joyeux noël!

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 11

 

I'm so happy to have our witty and talented friend Haldis back in the Advent Calendar this year! 

Haldis wrote, "Your question about which Christmas songs for which character on yesterday's advent post got my little brain whirling away singing at me, and it wouldn't shut up..."

Guess what earworm of a song got her thinking? 😂

Enjoy this delicious little peek into the lives of Kit Holmes and his better half... 

All I Want for Christmas

I finished the final sentence of the latest chapter, saved the document, and sat back with satisfaction. It took some doing, but I finally figured out how to get poor Miss Butterwith and Mr. Pinkerton out of the corner I had backed them into.

            It felt good to be writing again. Well, mentally and emotionally anyway. Physically, not so much, as my back threatened to spasm. Maybe I could talk J.X. into giving me a message. Though truth be told, he never needed much convincing,

            Over the soft sound of Christmas music, I could hear the clatter of dishes, so I figured J.X. was in the kitchen. I left my office and was wandering down the hall when the volume of the music went up. Considerably. That song was playing. You know the one.

The smell of sugar cookies hit me before I came around the corner, but that was from the scented candle burning merrily on the table, not from any baking.

 J.X. was in the kitchen making a peanut butter sandwich, bopping and swaying as he sang along. He resorted to humming as he sucked some peanut butter off his thumb.

            “mmm mmm mmm underneath the Christmas tree. There is just one thing I need…”

            J.X. could move, no doubt about it. And he had a rather nice singing voice. I leaned against the wall and just enjoyed the show. There may even have been little hearts in my eyes.

            And then J.X. looked up and saw me. He gave me one of his mischievous grins that never failed to make my knees go weak. He never paused in his singing as he danced over to me holding out his hand. I took it and he spun me around once before pulling me in close.

            I could feel his warm breath as he whispered in my ear, “’All I want for Christmas is you’.”

            Well damn, I thought, as Mariah hit the high notes, I might just have a new favorite song.

Advent Calendar Day 5

 

Good morning! As promised, we have fiction to share from one of our generous and talented friends, Byron Beach. Those of you who belong to my Patreon will recognize Byron as the guy who posts all those interesting and insightful comments about the stories, as well as sharing snippets from his own work.

Today we have a quickie coda for Griff and Pierce from Stranger on the Shore. This is actually a prequel to a coda we're going to get next week.

Here's how Byron explains it:

A Pirate's Christmas Eve takes place ten years on. Griff and Pierce have a son named Nick ( after Nick Carraway - from Gatsby). It deals with Griff finally being able to start his book about the kidnapping.    But to do this I felt the need to write a set up one, Wisconsin Reunion, this takes place one month after the events in the book and it is about Griff's feelings of giving up his old life and the impact of his new one.  

Wisconsin Reunion takes place one month after the events in the book and it is about Griff's feelings of giving up his old life and the impact of his new one.  

WISCONSIN REUNION

Griff stood, lost in a quiet contemplation of wealth and waiting. Did those with deeper pockets truly spend fewer moments in idle anticipation, or was this languid drag of time universal? The hum of activity at Dane County Airport painted a picture of mundane comings and goings, and amid it all, he tried to pinpoint Pierce's potential flight. Though Pierce had hinted at touching down around 11:30, the board displayed no New York arrivals fitting that bill.

 

He retrieved his phone, thumb skimming their recent texts, looking for a flight reference. Yet he consistently found himself sidetracked, captivated by the blend of playful and intimate messages they'd exchanged. Like Pierce's light-hearted note on mastering the art of blueberry pancakes in preparation for their shared Sunday mornings. He’d chuckled at that text more times than he'd care to admit. And that snapshot of a pale blue tie, patterned with sailboats and anchored with a gleaming oar tie clip.  That pic was now was his screensaver, a soft reminder of their bond.

 

Leaving Long Island behind a month prior, Griff had sought a respite, asking the Arlingtons, and Pierce, for room to breathe and recalibrate. They had understood, giving him the space, he yearned for. But soon, the weight of longing nudged Griff to send a single heart emoji, only to receive in return an image of Pierce's favored cologne bottle. That simple exchange bridged the miles between them. And now, after weeks and myriad messages, they were on the cusp of a long-awaited weekend together.

 

Griff glanced again at the arrival board, Would Pierce even appreciate the simplicity of Janesville? What would he make of Griff's circle of friends? Alvin, his cousin and a ghost from the past, flashed through Griff's thoughts. Their paths, and outcomes had diverged so starkly when it came to the Arlingtons. Shaking his head, Griff tried to shove the dark thoughts aside. He was just about to dial Diana when the familiar and intoxicating scent of Pierce's cologne enveloped him. Before he even saw him, a warm breath brushed his neck.

"Hello, handsome stranger."

 

The ambiance momentarily shifted, and in the next second, Pierce was there, embodying the elegance of a bygone era, as though they were characters from a 1930s black-and-white film meeting at a train station. Griff leaned in, nestling his face in the curve of Pierce's neck, the familiar embrace evoking a swell of emotions.

 

Their lips met in a gentle, longing kiss. Drawing back, the playful twinkle in Pierce’s eyes was evident. “Such a reception,” he quipped.

 

Griff smirked, “Didn't want to risk you getting lost. Imagine where you might have ended up.”

 

Pierce shot him a teasing look. “I had your bedroom in mind, to be honest.”

 

A light blush warmed Griff's face. “Easy there. Luggage first, plans later.”

 

Swinging his modest bag with a flourish, Pierce’s grin grew. “I always pack with intent.”

 

Navigating their way to the car park, Griff felt a flicker of self-consciousness. Pierce had never been a passenger in his vintage Karmann Ghia. Despite its meticulous engine rebuild, it was, a bit dented and rough on the outside, a far cry from the sleek lines of Pierce's Boxster. Yet, this car was Griff’s, an emblem of his identity, or at least, the identity he once held dear.

 

“Ready to indulge in some bona fide Wisconsin delicacies?” Griff queried, hoping to divert his own attention.

Pierce's lips curled into a teasing smile. “My appetite is insatiable today.”

 

Griff chuckled, yet he could feel the weight of an impending conversation. He was purposefully evading the topic of their accommodations. Much as he tried, Griff could not imagine Pierce, with his polished leather bag and black silk boxers, in his studio apartment, with its stunning view of the Janesville mall. Taking a steadying breath, he shared, “I've reserved a room at the Edgewater in Madison. It's central, and the view of Lake Mendota is breathtaking. Thought you’d like it.”

 

Pierce gave him a thoughtful glance. Instead of delving deeper, he offered, “If you're there, it's bound to be special.”

 

Once on the main thoroughfare, the drive to Madison unfurled before Griff. A route he had traveled innumerable times suddenly appeared fresher, every detail accentuated, thanks to his new co-pilot.

 

Pierce’s penetrating gaze was hard to miss. Meeting those amber eyes, Griff sensed an undercurrent of both humor and inquiry. "Been keeping yourself engaged? How's the book shaping up?" Pierce’s question, subtly touching on the Arlington mystery and Griff's newfound heritage, hovered in the air.

 

Griff hesitated momentarily. "I’ve been pulled into a different direction lately. I'm uncovering some unsettling truths about the foster care system," he ventured, adeptly sidestepping the topic that still felt raw. "There are allegations of fraud and manipulation, especially in institutions that house numerous children."

 

The seriousness in Pierce's demeanor was unmistakable. "It's a disturbing and I've heard all too often. Vulnerable children, compromised by the very guardians meant to shield them. It's grievous how these stories get buried."

 

Griff's expression softened into a playful smirk. "You do have a knack for defying my perceptions, huh?" he teased. Beneath their light-hearted exchange, Griff felt a bond, a shared empathy for the less fortunate.

 

“I thrive on defying your expectations," Pierce said with a sly twinkle in his eyes, "and I plan on keeping it that way for quite some time. But speaking of defying expectations, this car of yours...”

 

"What's wrong with my car?"

 

Pierce chuckled softly, letting his fingers trail over the dashboard. "Absolutely nothing. I rather admire it. From the outside, it might seem a bit, um, seasoned, but its performance? Absolutely athletic. The interiors, efficient, direct, honest and devoid of any unnecessary pretense, much like its owner."

 

Griff shot Pierce a wry look, "I've always believed in maintaining what's important."

 

Pierce's response was a contemplative hum, his fingers now coming to rest on Griff's thigh. "So, how's work been since you got back?"

 

Griff's grip on the wheel tightened momentarily. "For the most part," he responded feeling a hint of tension in his voice "Things have been... different. People treat me like I've become a character from a story, not the colleague they've known for years."

 

"You had to expect some change, right?" Pierce ventured.

 

"I get it, I do. But it's the silence that gets to me most. Friends tiptoe around the Brian thing, never addressing it outright, yet there's this underlying assumption that I should suddenly play the magnanimous heir or always have a solution ready. And then there’s Marleen in finance. We used to exchange laughs, had this easy camaraderie. But these days, she pores over every detail, questions every expense, insisting on repeated documentation. It's as though she’s suddenly skeptical of every move I make. She even held up my paycheck, demanding I use my 'true' name on a W9 – as if my identity has become this big question mark. It's exhausting."

 

Pierce, leaning slightly closer, seeming to choose his words with care. "Griff, your return has rewritten the story for everyone. It's unsettling terrain for all involved. But if you ever need any help, especially with paperwork, just-"

 

"I appreciate the offer," Griff interrupted, softening his tone. "But I need to find my way through this. On my own." Seeking a change of topic, he ventured, "How about some food before we check in?"

 

A playful glint returned to Pierce's eyes. "Let’s drop my bag at the room and then get something to eat. If we get settled in that room, I suspect we’ll find other... diversions."

 

As he pulled into the circular entry of the Edgewater Hotel, Griff's chest tightened, and not just from the splendor it represented. The hotel, grand as it was, embodied the tug-of-war Griff felt inside.

 

The hotel was elegant and the nicest in Madison. He had been here often, but always to interview some official and always on an expense account. But today, accompanying Pierce, it was as if he was seeing it all anew. Every tiny imperfection, be it a slight mark on a baseboard or flowers past their prime, seemed to stand out starkly. He couldn't help but wonder, would Pierce view these details with a critical eye? Would this setting seem less than luxurious to him?

 

His apprehension deepened as he handed his credit card to the receptionist. Those recent, unreimbursed expenses weighed heavily on his mind. His worst fear materialized when the clerk uttered, "I'm sorry, sir. Your card seems to have been declined."

 

Before the weight of embarrassment fully settled, Pierce, ever the picture of poise, intervened. "Let me handle this," he offered, laying his own card on the gleaming counter. The card's significant weight and emblem signaled privileges Griff was unaccustomed to. And then, the kicker: "Could we possibly upgrade to a lakeview suite, if available?"

 

Though Pierce’s intention was purely to ease the situation, Griff couldn’t help but feel a blow to his pride. He wasn't prepared to lean into the Arlington privilege, an unchecked bounty that didn't demand effort or accountability. Yet, as they moved toward the elevator, Pierce's reassuring wink reminded Griff that the quality of their room wasn’t what mattered in the grand scheme of things.

 

Stepping into the luxurious suite, Griff's spirits plummeted as he spotted Pierce removing a thick bundle of legal papers. The juxtaposition of the intimate setting with formal documents made him feel suddenly trapped, caught between the pull of romance and the tug of independence.

 

“Now, Pierce? Really?”

 

Pierce appeared genuinely taken aback. “I assumed you’d want to get these out of the way?”

 

Frustration clouded Griff's mind, tension palpable in the air. Struggling to maintain composure, he challenged, "Did you fly out here solely to pressure me into these signatures? What's your actual agenda?"

 

Pierce's face betrayed a flicker of hurt, possibly even regret.

 

“Which hat are you wearing today, Pierce? Lawyer or lover? Because you can't be both.” Griff’s heart thudded, fiercely protective of the boundaries he was trying to establish.

 

Pierce, attempting to defuse the tension, raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Griff, my only reason for being here is you. I genuinely believed getting these documents settled would offer you some closure."

 

Meeting Pierce's gaze, feeling the depth of their shared history his heart started to race. "I need some air," Griff murmured, turning quickly, and making his way toward the exit.

 

Pierce was quick on his heels, their steps echoing in the Edgewater's opulent corridor. "Listen, Griff, I'm here for you, not paperwork. You are the one I cherish." Planting a gentle kiss on Griff’s lips, he playfully added, “How about a proper lunch date? That's what decent boyfriends do, right? Admittedly, I'm still getting the hang of it."

 

Griff's breathed, took a moment wanting to make things work, "I guess we both could use a little boyfriend practice."

 

The streets of Madison welcomed them with a radiant splash of sunlight, casting a warm glow on their path. As the fresh air enveloped Griff, it seemed to whisk away the weight bearing down on him.

 

Wanting to open up and slowly finding the words, Griff began, "Pierce, learning that I'm Brian Arlington... it didn’t grant me clarity. Instead, it's cast a shadow over everything I once knew. It's as if every memory has been tainted."

 

Pierce's gaze met Griff's. "Your foundation has been shaken. I understand."

 

Interrupting, Griff pressed on, "I grapple with identity every day. Is the name on my driver's license a façade? Even considering a new name feels like I'm turning my back on my history." He paused, taking a breath. "I don’t expect you to have all the answers. In fact, I don’t want you to."

 

Pierce tightened his embrace around Griff. "All I can offer is to stand by your side, in whatever capacity you need."

 

Returning the gesture with a tender kiss, Griff smirked, "You’re scoring major boyfriend points, Mather. Keep this up, and you might just find me permanently attached."

 

Pierce entwined his fingers with Griff's, a sense of longing in his gaze. "I wish you'd come back with me to Syosset, even if just for a day.  I know Jarrett would love to see you. It would lift his spirits immensely."

 

Griff nodded seriously. "I care about Jarrett and I do want to properly get to know my grandfather," he affirmed. "It's just finding the time isn’t that easy. I've already been off work for over a week; taking another so soon is not feasible."

 

Pierce's eyes twinkled with a golden hue, a fervent hope simmering in them. "What if we made it just a flash visit,, even, say, tomorrow? We could share a leisurely lunch there. It's about a 90-minute flight; you’d  back by early evening."

 

Griff's eyes widened, momentarily overwhelmed. "Tomorrow? Pierce, it's a bit whirlwind, don't you think? Even assuming I could secure a flight on such short notice, it's just too much to juggle at the moment."

 

A bashful grin spread across Pierce's face. "Actually, about the transportation..." he hesitated before admitting, "I might have borrowed Jarrett's Gulfstream."

 

A bubble of laughter escaped Griff, the surrealism of the situation finally dawning on him. "So let me get this straight: here I am, barely scraping by with maxed out credit cards and a bank balance that wouldn't impress a squirrel, and now there's a private jet at our disposal? Its….Its, well its absurd.”

 

Pierce's laughter echoed Griff's, a hearty sound that reverberated with genuine joy. "You are singular Griff. The poorest rich man or the richest poor man I know, yet unfailingly yourself through it all."

 

Griff straightened up, "Alright, counselor, for this arrangement to work," he gestured grandly between them as if encapsulating their shared universe, "I have some stipulations."

 

Pierce raised an eyebrow in jest, playing along. "By all means, let's draft a mutually beneficial agreement."

 

"First order of business, I require an attorney whose scent doesn’t derail my thoughts whenever they enter a room and does not have skin which I need to explore every inch of."

 

Pierce smirked, "The attorney bit, I can find you someone else in my office. As for my resisting the urge to explore you – that clause is void."

 

Griff, playfully rolling his eyes, landed a swift peck on Pierce's lips. "Second, I'm game for visiting Jarrett tomorrow, I truly miss him. However," he held up a finger, "YOU are covering our exorbitant parking fees at Dane County Airport. Their rates border on criminal."

 

"I reckon that's well within my designated boyfriend duties," Pierce quipped.

 

"Thirdly," Griff drew closer, his voice softening, "I love you." He sealed his words with a gentle kiss on Pierce’s smiling mouth.

 

"Fourth – If you ever drag me to a country club luncheon with individuals named Bunny or Skyler and they solely prattle on about yachting..."

 

Pierce raised his hands in mock surrender, "In their defense, they occasionally delve into equestrian discussions, but point taken."

 

"And lastly," Griff said earnestly, "Before any move to Long Island, I need to secure a job. I need my work; there are stories out there begging to be told."

 

As Pierce's embrace enveloped him, his deep voice whispered reassuringly, "There's an abundance of news outlets that would vie for your talent, and countless tales awaiting your voice. But the only narrative that I care to hear is the one we're writing, together."

 

Griff's smile radiated genuine warmth, the weight on his heart significantly lighter.

"On that note” said Pierce, “let's make lunch quick. Because I have some... conditions of my own to lay out once we get back to the hotel"

“We could do room service?”

Pierce smiled, grabbed Griff hand and ran.