Advent Calendar - Day 12 Fiction by Meg Perry

 

Well, I wasn't kidding when I said our reader-writer friends are being extraordinarily generous with us this year. I appreciate it so much--and I encourage anyone reading along this season to also let these talented and kind people know that you're enjoying their work. 

Anyway, this morning we have fiction from Meg Perry! Meg is giving us a peek at what Tim and Jack from Cards on the Table have cooking this holiday season. 

Ha. Yes, I did. 

And we also get to touch base with Jamie and Kevin Brodie. So even better. 

Birds of Prey

 

The scent wafted to Tim’s nose as soon as he opened the front door. Jack was making his famous chicken wings again. He dropped his computer bag on the sofa and went to the kitchen, where he found Jack fiddling with their new air fryer. Jack glanced up and smiled distractedly. “Hey. Who thought this thing was a good idea?”

“As I remember, it was you.” Tim kissed him hello. “Why don’t you make ‘em the old-fashioned way and figure it out later?”

“I refuse to allow this hunk of metal to defeat me.”

“It hasn’t defeated you, it’s just temporarily stymied you. Where did you put the instruction manual?”

“In the drawer with the others.” Jack sighed. “I’ll read it later. How’d it go with the woman in Santa Monica?”

“Gwen Foresman.” Gwen was the features editor of the Santa Monica Banner, the primary newspaper that published solely for the residents of Santa Monica. “It went well. She liked my work samples, but she wants me to write an entire feature on something of my choice, then she’ll share it with the editorial staff and they’ll decide whether to hire me.”

“This is not a full-time job, is it?”

“Of course not. They’ll give me assignments and pay me by the story, assuming they like what I submit to them. But I have to think of something to write about. Quick. I’d like to get this finalized before the end of the year, and the end of the year is almost upon us.”

“Well, I might have an idea for you.” Jack spread the wings on a baking sheet and basted them with sauce. “I had an interesting conversation with the chief today.”

Jack was a homicide detective with the Glendale Police Department. An “interesting” conversation with Chief Roth wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “Uh-oh. And how does that have anything to do with me?”

Jack slid the baking sheet into the oven and straightened up. “The chief’s daughter is working for a PI agency in Brentwood. A queer PI agency.”

Tim’s brain was still trying to process the first part of Jack’s statement. “Wait. Fred Roth has a daughter?” Glendale’s police chief was a stern, forbidding sort. Tim couldn’t imagine anyone agreeing to procreate with him.

Jack chuckled. “Yeah. Her name is Avery. She’s about our age. She used to be a librarian, but she’s gone to work as a researcher for these PIs who market themselves to the LGBTQ community. And their office is in the Flats, almost in Santa Monica. Might make a good story to use as your feature.”

“Is Fred’s daughter…what? Lesbian?”

“I have no idea. Anyway, he was telling me about this agency because they’re looking for a new PI. As you can imagine, there aren’t many queer cops around who’d be instantly eligible to get licensed as a PI.”

Tim frowned. “Does Fred want you to leave the department?”

Jack laughed. “No! But he’s also trying to help his daughter out. He didn’t want to not tell me about the opportunity, in case I was interested. I’m not, but now I’m glad he told me for your sake. I know two of the three founding owners, because they were victim advocates with the DA’s office before they jumped ship to become PIs, and they used to help me out with our victims’ families.”

“Are they good people?”

“Absolutely. Kevin Brodie and Jamilah Daly. Kevin was LAPD homicide and Jamilah was with the Irvine PD before they became social workers.”

The thread of his potential story was already starting to sort itself out in Tim’s head. “And they’re both gay.”

“Jamilah is. Kevin’s the only straight one in the agency. There’s a third owner, a guy I know only by reputation, whose name is Rob Jones. He was LAPD too, with Homicide Special for ten years.”

“Huh. All these former homicide cops are content with infidelity cases and missing dogs?”

“The chief said they’ve worked several murders. Remember that Dodgers player that died last summer? They solved that one.”

“No shit.” Tim was intrigued. When he was intrigued by a story, it was easier to write. “I guess I’d better call first thing tomorrow to make an appointment with them.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jack pulled the wings out of the oven. “Let’s eat.”

 

The following afternoon at three, Tim parked on the street a block from his destination and walked to the address. He stopped for a moment to take in the building, a one-story Craftsman house with a wide front porch. There was a discreet plaque beside the front door that read Angeles Investigations.

He pushed the door open and went in. The reception area took up the entire front of the house. To the left was a seating area that featured a seven-foot Christmas tree decorated with a garland of red ribbon. The ornaments were small birds, perching on the tips of the branches.

On closer inspection, they were all birds of prey. Tiny hawks, eagles, owls, and ospreys, glaring balefully at Tim as if he was a field mouse. He turned in surprise to the other side of the room, where a blond man wearing a headset was smiling at him. “That’s…different.”

The guy’s smile widened. “Isn’t it cool? You must be Mr. North.” 

“Yes. Call me Tim.”

The man held his hand out to Tim. “Ryan McKinney. Welcome to Angeles Investigations.”

“Thank you.”

Ryan sat down. “Let me tell Jamilah you’re here.” He typed something, then squinted at his screen. “She’ll be right out.”

Before Ryan even finished speaking, Tim saw a tall, slender Black woman with short locs exit one of the offices down the hall and walk toward him. She held out her hand when she reached him. “Hi, I’m Jamilah Daly. Welcome.”

“Tim North. Thanks for seeing me on short notice.”

“No problem. Our business slows down around the holidays. Come on back.”

She led him to the first door on the right, which opened onto a spacious conference room. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? We have water, soda, and coffee.”

“Water would be great, thank you.”

“You got it. Be right back.”

Tim looked around as he waited. A hulking machine—copier? Printer? Probably both—rested in the far corner. A large watercolor of cliffs and a beach hung on the wall opposite the windows. The room was designed to be a neutral, calming space. Tim assumed that the PIs probably met with clients here.

Jamilah returned with a bottle of water and a big, blond man who instantly made Tim think of Jack—not in looks, but in demeanor. If Dennis the Menace were a 6’4” homicide detective, he’d look like this guy. His face was friendly and open, but his eyes screamed cop. He reminded Tim of the birds of prey on the Christmas tree.

The man offered his hand to Tim. “Kevin Brodie.”

“Tim North. Thanks for letting me interview you.”

“We’re happy to.” Kevin sat across from Tim. “How did you hear about us?”

Tim explained the chain from Jack to Fred Roth to Avery. “Is Avery a PI?”

Jamilah said, “No, she’s one of our two researchers. She’s still deciding whether she wants to get licensed eventually.”

“What do your researchers do?”

Kevin said, “A lot of PI work is done from a computer. Background checks, skip tracing, property searches, all that. Both of our researchers are former UCLA librarians, so they know how to dig for information.”

“Is that standard practice for a PI firm? To hire librarians?”

“Not that I know of. But it frees us up to spend more time in the field.”

“Jack said that you’re both social workers as well as ex-cops. How does that help you in this job?”

Jamilah said, “I think it gives us an edge in empathizing with our clients. It’s important that people tell us everything they know regarding their case, and Kevin and I are very good at getting people to tell us everything they know.”

“How did it come about that you wanted to serve the LGBTQ community?”

Jamilah shrugged. “Rob Jones—our co-owner in the agency—set that as his mission from the beginning. Our community has unique needs and nuances that other PI firms might not understand. We don’t limit ourselves to serving the queer community, but we’re here for them when they need us.”

Tim nodded. “What percentage of your cases come from our community?”

Jamilah and Kevin shared a look. Kevin said, “That’s a good question. We’ve never looked at that specifically, but just as a rough guess I’d say sixty percent.”

“That’s great. What kinds of cases do they bring you?”

“Everything. Infidelity, surveillance, missing persons, death investigations—anything you can think of.”

They talked for nearly half an hour about the PI’s backgrounds, about how the agency came to be, about what occurred during a typical day. Tim was opening his mouth to ask another question when another man entered the room. Mid-fifties, salt-and-pepper hair, cop eyes. He held out his hand to Tim. “Hi, I’m Rob Jones. Thanks for doing this story.”

“Thanks for allowing me the opportunity. I don’t have a guarantee that it’ll be published, but I think the paper will be receptive. Do you have any direct links to Santa Monica that I could mention?”

Kevin pushed back from his chair. “We do. It’s time for you to meet our researchers.”

 

Kevin led Tim out the back door of the building, across the parking lot, and into a two-car garage with an apartment above. Half of the garage had been converted into office space, using mobile cubicle dividers. There were two desks. One of them belonged to a woman whom Tim assumed was Avery Roth. The other was occupied by a guy who looked a lot like Kevin—nearly as big, hair slightly darker and longer. Kevin said, “Tim North, these are our researchers, Avery Roth and Jamie Brodie. Jamie lives in Santa Monica.”

Avery said, “Oh, you’re Jack Brady’s boyfriend! It’s great to meet you.”

“You, too. Do you know Jack?”

“Sure. I’ve spent a lot of time at my dad’s office over the years. I remember when Jack joined the force. Tell him I said hello.”

“I will.” Tim turned to Jamie Brodie, then winced as light from a window hit his eyes. He turned slightly, away from the light. “Where do you live in Santa Monica?”

“Mid-City, on 17^th Street.”

“You’re both librarians, right? How is this job different from the work you did at UCLA?”

Avery said, “It’s way more interesting!”

Jamie added, “And meaningful. Tracking down criminals is more useful to society than helping students earn advanced degrees in the social sciences. Although, I suppose, the students wouldn’t agree.”

Tim took a closer look at Jamie. “Were you a cop, too?”

“No.” Jamie gestured to Kevin. “But I lived with this guy when we were both single, and my husband is an ex-cop. I’ve kinda absorbed it by osmosis.”

Avery said, “Jamie has a history of stumbling over bodies. Even when he was a librarian, he helped the police with investigations.”

“No kidding? That sounds like another story idea.”

Jamie grimaced. “Nah.”

For some reason, that made Kevin laugh. Tim realized that he had one more question. “Who had the idea of decorating the tree with avian predators?”

Avery said, “That was all Jamie’s doing.”

Jamie shrugged. “It fits us. From a distance, we’re a tree with pretty birds. Up close, we’re something else.”

Something else, indeed. Tim said, “You’re right, it fits. Is there anything else you all would like me to include in the article?”

Kevin said, “Not that I can think of. Will we get to read it before you submit it?”

“Yes. I’ll write it this evening then send it to you for corrections. If you think of something else to include, I can add it then.”

“Perfect.”

Avery said, “Good luck. I hope we help you get this job.”

Tim smiled. “Thanks. It’s great to meet you all.”

Kevin said, “You, too. If we can ever help you out with anything, let us know.”

“Likewise.”

Tim said goodbye to Avery and Jamie and followed Kevin back to the main building. As he left the office, he took one more look at the Christmas tree.

Birds of prey. Like the tree, Angeles was more than advertised.

If he got this gig with the newspaper, Tim thought he might be visiting Angeles again.

 

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 11 (we've got fiction from Meg Perry!)

 Good morning, my dears! 

Something special this morning. Well, something MORE special. ;-) We've got one of our good friend Meg Perry's delightful crossover holiday codas! 

Grab yourself a cup of holiday cheer and enjoy! 

🎁🎁🎁 🎁🎁🎁 🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 🎁🎁🎁 🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 🎁🎁🎁 🎁🎁🎁

Holiday Coda by Meg Perry

It was two weeks before Christmas and Kevin Brodie had bought gifts for everyone on his list save one. He considered the problem as he showered; no solutions presented themselves. Time to call in an expert.

He fixed breakfast then set a bowl of oatmeal with raisins and apples in front of his wife, Kristen Beach, and slid onto a kitchen bar stool beside her. “What do you think we should get Jamie for Christmas?”

Kristen dug into her oatmeal with gusto. “Yum. Why ask me? He’s your brother.”

“Because you’re better at this than I am. As is true for so many things.”

Kristen smirked. “Our skills are complimentary, sweetie. You know very well that with Jamie, you can’t go wrong with books.”

“Right, but how do I know what he already has? If he sees something he wants, he buys it.”

“He almost never buys fiction for himself, just obscure history. Why don’t you check out that mystery bookstore in Pasadena that he likes so much?”

“There’s a mystery bookstore in Pasadena? What’s it called?”

“Um.” Kristen picked up her phone and searched. “Cloak and Dagger Books. In Old Town.”

“Cloak and Dagger? Cute.” Kevin regarded his oatmeal with a frown. “I’m gonna be up that way to meet with a couple of clients tomorrow. I guess I could stop in.”

Kristen grinned at him. “There you go. Like it was meant to be.”

Kevin fought to not roll his eyes. “Uh huh.”

 

It was just after 10:30 the next morning when Kevin stepped into Cloak and Dagger Books. He was greeted by the scent of balsam and the voice of Bing Crosby. “I’ll be home for Christmas…”

Melancholy. But also, one of his dad’s favorites. And Jamie would be home for Christmas. Maybe it was a sign.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the shop, but he could faintly hear two voices—one male, one female—arguing through a closed door at the back. He went to the counter, which displayed the latest Robert Crais novel next to an antique jar full of candy canes. Was there a bell to ring? Yes, there was. Kevin gave it a good whack and nearly sent it skittering off the polished mahogany counter. He grabbed it and set it back in its spot just as the door in the back burst open and a young blond woman hurried through it. She didn’t exactly slam the door behind her, but it was close.

Her name tag, in the shape of a cat wearing a festive Christmas collar, informed him that her name was Natalie. She pasted a bright smile on her face. “Hello! Welcome to Cloak and Dagger! How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a Christmas present for my brother.”

“Wonderful! What kind of mysteries does he like?”

“Usually, he goes for British police procedurals.” The cover of the Crais book caught his eye again. Jamie was homesick as hell… “You know what? Anything that you have by a Los Angeles author. Like this one.” He tapped the stack of Robert Crais volumes. “Or Jonathan Kellerman, or Michael Connelly, or…” He couldn’t think of others except for Raymond Chandler, who was long deceased.

Natalie wasn’t deterred. “I know exactly what you mean. Would your brother object to gay mystery?”

“Not at all. He’s gay.”

“Perfect! I’ll be right back.” Natalie zipped around the counter and disappeared into the stacks of books.

Kevin was reading the blurb of the Crais novel, thinking he should buy a copy for himself, when a deep voice said, “Kevin Brodie?”

He jumped a little, startled, and turned to see who was speaking. A big, blond guy not unlike himself, around the same age, who looked vaguely familiar. Kevin scanned his memory and thought, Oh. Yeah. He said, “Lieutenant Riordan, right?”

The man advanced and held out his hand. “Just Jake. I’m not with LAPD anymore.”

Kevin shook Jake’s hand, wanting to ask him why he’d parted ways with the police department but deciding against it. None of his business. “No kidding. I left two and a half years ago.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Where are you now?”

“The DA’s office. I’m a licensed social worker and victim advocate.”

Jake kept his face carefully neutral. “What are your thoughts on our current DA?”

Kevin had no idea what Jake’s politics might be but decided to tell the truth. “She’s not a fan of victim advocacy.”

“Ah.” Jake seemed to be battling with himself internally about something. A moment later, he said, “Listen, I want to thank you for welcoming Kate like you did.”

“Kate? Oh. Right.”

Kate Keegan was a former homicide detective and Jake’s ex-wife. He’d left her for a man with whom he’d gotten involved during a case. Kate had transferred from LAPD’s North Hollywood division to West LA for a short while; after a couple of months, she’d gotten a job as a small-town sheriff in Vermont. As far away from Jake Riordan as she could get.

Kevin had made Kate feel as welcome as possible under the circumstances. Unfortunately, the circumstances were such that Kate never could relax into the West LA family. When she’d gotten the Vermont job, Kevin had secretly breathed a sigh of regretful relief.

He said, “Kate was a pleasure to work with. I hope she’s doing well now.”

“She is.” Jake didn’t seem to want to say any more about that.

Kevin decided to throw caution to the wind. “What are you doing now?”

Jake looked slightly embarrassed. “I went private.”

“How’s that going?”

He shrugged. “It’s going. It’s tough in a one-man operation.”

“I’m sure.” Kevin asked the other question that his overwhelming curiosity couldn’t drop. “What are you doing here?”

Before Jake could answer, the office door opened, and a blond toddler boy in overalls and a striped shirt charged out. He slowed momentarily at the sight of Jake and Kevin, then shifted into a higher gear and barreled toward the front door, which was just swinging open to admit another customer.

Kevin was faster than Jake or the kid. He grabbed the boy by the back of his overalls and swung him up into his arms. The boy stared at him in shock. Kevin said, “Hi.”

The kid wiggled. “Go out.”

“You can’t go by yourself, bud.”

Jake said, “Larkin, where’s daddy?”

Larkin pointed a stubby finger at the office. “S’eep.”

Jake growled. “Excuse me for a sec while I take care of this.” He strode toward the office; when he reached it, Kevin heard him say, “Angus, goddamnit, wake up.”

Larkin giggled. “Bad word, Unka Jake.”

Uncle Jake? Kevin said, “Don’t tell anyone.”

Larkin shook his head vigorously. “No tell.”

Kevin heard Jake having a forceful discussion with another man. Larkin’s dad, apparently. He was starting to think about turning Larkin over to Uncle Jake and escaping this circus when Natalie reappeared, almost staggering under an armload of books.

Larkin sang out, “Mommy!”

Natalie’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry.” She dumped the books on the counter and took Larkin from Kevin. “He’s not supposed to be in here. Where is everyone?”

Kevin said, “I think they’re in the office.”

Natalie shot a glance at the office, where Kevin could only see Jake’s back. She sighed. “Well, let me show you what we have. The latest from Robert Crais and Michael Connelly, of course.”

“Of course.”

She separated a stack of five books from the others. “This is a series that takes place mostly in LA about two FBI agents. One’s a profiler and one’s an art specialist. And this one is about two writers, one of whom is an ex-cop. It’s set mostly in San Francisco.”

“Sounds good. I’ll take ‘em.”

Natalie stared at him in disbelief. “All of them?”

“Yes, please.”

She regained her composure quickly. “Wonderful! I’ll include one of our tote bags. On the house!”

“I appreciate that.” Kevin handed over his credit card. He was impressed by Natalie’s skill at handling the transaction with a squirmy kid on her hip.

He was signing the slip when Jake returned, closing the office door behind him. “Nat, want me to take Larkin upstairs for a while?”

“That would be awesome.” Natalie tucked a candy cane into the loaded tote and handed Kevin his receipt with an explanation. “The babysitter didn’t show up.”

“That sucks. Thanks for all your help today.”

“You’re welcome. Come back soon!” Natalie bustled away to talk with another customer.

Kevin turned to Jake, who was now holding Larkin. “Good to see you again, Jake. Good luck with the PI business.”

“Thanks.” Jake shifted Larkin so that he could shake hands. “Good luck with the DA.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He said goodbye, hefted the complimentary tote, and headed out the door. When he turned left on the sidewalk, he caught a glimpse of Jake lifting Larkin over his head. Larkin was laughing with glee.

Kevin said it out loud this time. “Uncle Jake? How the hell did that happen?”

He’d probably never know.

Holiday Fiction from Meg Perry!

 

Woohoo! Meg Perry to the rescue!

Dear Merrymakers, the talented and generous Meg Perry has once again contributed a delicious morsel of festive fiction to the Advent Calendar. This year her series regulars Jamie Brodie and Pete Ferguson decide to get away for the holiday, and guess where they decide to visit? ;-) 

Small World

 

“I want to go to New England.”

My husband, Pete Ferguson, and I were sitting on our front porch in New Mexico, adult beverages at hand, watching the sunset. A warm spring breeze was ruffling my hair; my feet were propped on the porch rail, and contentment was spreading through my veins along with the Glenfiddich.

I’d never felt less like going anywhere.

I said lazily, “Sure. We’ll go sometime.”

“I mean this December.”

I turned my head to look at him. He had a dreamy, pie-in-the-sky expression on his face that I recognized well. It usually meant trouble for me in the end.

“We’re going to be in North Carolina in December.” We were spending the holidays with my entire extended family. Even my German cousins were coming.

“We can go to New England the week before. It’ll be perfect timing. We’ll be on the East Coast anyway, and we can recover from jet lag before we join your family.”

“It’ll be cold.”

“No colder than it would be if we stayed here.”

I wasn’t too sure about that. “It might snow.”

“Yes!” Like that was a good thing. “Just picture it.” He spread his hands in front of him, panorama-style. “A quaint New England fishing village, decorated for Christmas.”

“We decorate for Christmas.”

“Twinkling lights, hot cocoa by a fireplace…”

“We can have cocoa by the fireplace here.”

“Strolling along the harbor, enjoying the ocean breeze…”

“More like a gale-force wind, that time of year.”

“Watching boats come and go, eating fresh lobster…”

He had me there. I couldn’t remember the last  time I’d eaten fresh lobster I. s it still in season in December?”

“I bet it is. What do you think?”

“I think you should stop sniffing the candles at the Hallmark store.” 

He laughed. “It’ll be romantic.”

I sighed deeply. “We’ll have to drive to LA first to leave Ammo with Ali and Mel.” At the sound of his name, our yellow Lab thumped his tail on the floor.

“So, we do that a week earlier than we’d planned to.”

There was clearly no point in arguing. I said, “Okay. I’ll look at flights. Tomorrow.”

He beamed. “It’ll be great!”

Uh huh.

 

One week before Christmas, we flew from LAX to Boston. I’d been shocked to locate accommodations in the off-season in a quaint seaside fishing village, a bed and breakfast in a place called Pirate’s Cove - seriously - on an island off the coast of Rhode Island. So, once in Boston, we picked up our rental SUV - with four-wheel drive in case of snow - and headed south.

Getting to the island required a ferry ride from Newport. The “ocean breeze” was frigid, and the ferry rocked in the whitecaps on the bay. By the time we disembarked at Pirate’s Cove, we were both tinged with green.

Our B&B was a place called the Seacrest Inn. It did look inviting as we drove up. A lit, fully decorated Christmas tree stood in one window; the other windows glowed with light à la Thomas Kinkade.

Ours was the only car in the parking area.

The door opened as we hauled our bags from the trunk, revealing a woman wearing an apron. She waved at us. “Welcome! You must be Pete and Jeremy.”

I said, “Yes, ma’am. I go by Jamie.”

“I’m Nan Sweeny. I’m so delighted that you’re here! Come in, get out of that cold wind.”

We trundled into a reception area with a crackling fire. Overstuffed chairs and sofas were scattered around the room; the decor was strictly nautical. Nan said, “You must have had a long day! Did you fly into Providence?”

Pete was raptly taking in the Christmas tree with its lighthouse ornaments and the jars of sand and seashells. I said, “No, Boston.”

“Oh! It’s a lovely drive through the country, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, you have to call me Nan.”

“Yes, ma’am. Nan.”

She giggled. “Let me show you to your room.”

The room was up a flight of stairs and at the end of a cold hallway. She opened the door and waved us in. “Each room has its own thermostat, so you can set it however you like. I thought you might appreciate the warmth.”

The room was toasty. It would be too warm to sleep, but I said, “We do. Thank you.”

Pete was peering out the window. “There’s a lighthouse out there!”

“Yes, that’s the North Point lighthouse. You’ll have a wonderful view of it in the daytime. Are you early or late risers?”

I said, “Tomorrow, probably late.”

“How does breakfast at eight sound?”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you. Where’s the best place to get supper tonight?”

“Oh, that’ll be the Salty Dog pub. It’s on Main Street in town.”

 

The stiff wind off the harbor was bitterly cold, but the interior of the Salty Dog was warm and inviting. There weren’t a lot of patrons. The man behind the bar waved at us. “Welcome! Sit anywhere you like.”

“Thanks.” We chose a table near the fireplace. A college-aged girl appeared at our elbows as soon as we were seated. “Hi! I’m Libby. What can I get you to drink? We have hot mulled cider.”

I said, “Ooh. That.”

She laughed. “I’ll be right back.”

Pete perused the menu while I scanned the room. A few clumps of people who had to be locals were scattered about. Another male couple was seated to my left. I shared a glance with the guy facing me - then he did a double take and stared.

I narrowed my eyes at him. He looked away.

Libby reappeared with our cider and took our orders. Once she was out of earshot I said, “There’s a guy to your right who’s staring at me.”

To his credit, Pete didn’t immediately look over. “Which one? The dark-haired one?”

“No, the other one.” The guy had light brown hair. He was wearing jeans and an Aran sweater, but his demeanor screamed cop. “I think he’s law enforcement.”

Pete grinned. “Well, you do look suspicious.”

I sipped my cider. “Here he comes.”

The guy stopped a couple of feet away from our table so that he wasn’t looming over us. Considerate. He asked me, “What’s your last name?”

I crossed my arms and scowled at him. “Who wants to know?”

Recognition dawned on his face. “Brodie.”

Whaaaat? “Who the hell are you?”

“Sorry. Jack Carson. I’m the police chief in Pirate’s Cove, but I started my career with LAPD. I knew a guy, a homicide detective at West LA Division, who looks a lot like you.”

Pete was chuckling. I said, “Kevin.”

“Yes. Kevin Brodie. You must be brothers.”

“We are. I’m Jamie. This is my husband, Pete Ferguson.”

Pete said, “I was ten years on the street with LAPD. Kevin was my partner for a while.”

Carson shook his head in disbelief. “What are the odds? Is he still at West LA?”

I said, “No. He’s a social worker with the DA’s Victim Services now.”

Carson looked like he thought that was crazy. “Has anyone broken his marksmanship record at the academy?”

“Nope. Would Kevin remember you?”

“He might. I was homicide, too, but at Wilshire. We’d see each other at West Bureau meetings.”

“I’ll tell him we ran into you.”

Pete asked, “How’d you end up here?”

Something flickered in Carson’s eyes. “Long story.” He turned to his dinner companion, who’d come up behind him. “Turns out, our New Mexico visitors are actually from Los Angeles.”

“No kidding.” The dark-haired man was incredibly good-looking. “I’m Ellery Page. How on earth did you stumble across Pirate’s Cove?”

I said, “You have the only seaside B&B in all of New England that’s open in December.”

Page laughed. “I’m sure. Several of our other businesses stay open all year, too. I own a bookstore just down the street. You’ll have to stop by.”

I was sure that my face had lit up like - well, a Christmas tree. “What kind of bookstore?”

“A mystery bookstore. It’s called the Crow’s Nest.”

Of course, it had to be a mystery bookstore. I hoped I didn’t sound snarky. “This place has all the ingredients for a cozy mystery series.”

Page and Carson shared a look. Carson said, “Yeah, well. Tell Kevin I said hello.”

“I will.”

Page said, “I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow.”

“Absolutely.”

The two men pulled on coats and left, wishing a good night to everyone in the room. Our lobster rolls arrived, and we dug in. I said, “Mm. This is good.”

“Yep. Are you glad we came yet?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”