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.

 

Christmas Coda 68 - Barry and Mike from HALLOWEEN IS MURDER

 

Christmas Coda 68 – Barry and Mike from Halloween isMurder

 

“Krampus,” Barry repeated.

“Right.” Mike’s pale green eyes were watchful. Maybe he heard it in Barry’s voice. Heard that finally, finally Barry had had enough.

After three years of hunting monsters, who wouldn’t have had enough?

Oh right. Mike. Mike hadn’t had enough. Mike, it seemed, would never have enough.

Barry said shortly, “And that’s its real name? Krampus? Or is that an alias?”

Mike frowned. “I briefed you on all this.”

Yep. He sure had. Here it was Christmas Eve, and they’d spent half the evening talking about a pagan German Hel-spawn—literally, the son of Hel, Norse God of the Underworld--nickname “claw.”

So much for the holly-jolly mood with which Barry had started the day.

“Pals around with Santa,” Barry said in a bored voice. “Except his job is to punish the naughty kids.”

Mike’s weathered, blunt features were always a little difficult to interpret, but reading between the lines, he looked affronted. Or at least as affronted as a monolithic slab can look. “What’s got into you, Fitzgerald? We’re not talking about lumps of coal, you know.”

Barry dropped his head in his hands and groaned. “Mike. For the love of God.” He raised his face and stared into Mike’s astonished eyes. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“I know it’s Christmas Eve,” Mike snapped. “That’s the point. This is the one night of the year when we get our shot at him. Last year we had the Delano job. The year before that, you insisted we had to stake out the Ford place—”

“Paying jobs, Mike. Commitments we made to real live people. Human people.”

Mike, relentless, as a gear shift stuck in drive, plowed on. “And the year before that—”

He stopped.

Barry glared at him, waiting for him to say it, almost willing him to say it, because that really would be the end. If Mike regretted spending that night, their first real night together, the sweetest, the happiest, the best night of Barry’s entire life—if Mike regretted spending that night with Barry instead of chasing monsters, then it really was the end.

And maybe it would be easier that way. Easier than hanging on, hoping that eventually, one day there would be time for them.

 Because after three years, a nice fat bank account, and a whole hell of a lot of unbelievably weird nights, it was pretty clear that day was not coming any time soon.

Barry understood. He really did. Mike was a man with a mission. A mission and an obsession. Barry understood the mission and sympathized with the obsession. But he didn’t share it. Either of them. Yes, he was glad, even a little proud, to be able to take some of the credit for ridding the world of yet another creature of the night. And some of these supernatural capers paid well. Unbelievably well. Some, like tonight, were pro bono. Anyway, the money wasn’t the point.  

The point was…

Well, it was hard to say what the point was. Not because Barry couldn’t articulate it, but because he wasn’t sure anymore of how Mike felt. About them. About him. Maybe for Mike it really was just about having someone to hunt monsters with.

As if reading Barry’s thoughts—part of his thoughts, Mike said, “I don’t remember you kicking about the dough.”

“The money’s good,” Barry agreed evenly. “The money’s great. Money isn’t everything.”

Mike snorted. “You don’t say, Socrates.”

Barry felt himself turn as red as Rudoph’s schnoz. He opened his mouth, but for once he wasn’t sure what to say. Sure, he was irritated and disappointed, but that was any partnership. He, well, he loved Mike. And he’d been riding along for the last three years thinking, assuming, Mike loved him too. Not that Mike had ever said so. Not in so many words. He’d said things that Barry took to mean the same thing. But sometimes, you needed to hear the words. Even a tough guy—semi tough guy—like Barry sometimes would have liked to hear the words. Needed to hear the words.

Before he could settle on a less embarrassing way to put that into plain and simple syllables, Mike said shortly, crisply, “If you don’t want to go tonight, just say so. We’re wasting time.”

Barry’s head snapped back as if Mike had slapped him—that was what it felt like, for sure—his eyes narrowed, and he said flatly, “No. I’m not coming tonight. I’m going to my sister’s and celebrate Christmas Eve with my family, the way we used to do.”

Mike absorbed it. Nodded once. Curtly.

“You’re welcome to come too. Celebrate together.” If Barry sounded stiff, it was because it was obvious that, after telling him that it was a waste of time hearing him out, Mike was about going to decline his invitation with all the graciousness of a sledge hammer.

Sure enough, Mike’s lip curled sardonically. “Thanks. I’ve got a previous date.”

Barry rose from behind the desk, saying bitterly, “You know, Mike, it’s not like we’re ever going to run out of monsters.”

Mike had tensed when Barry stood up, but he said coolly, “Sure. See you the day after tomorrow, I guess?”

“I guess so.” Barry didn’t even care that his voice shook with all that dumb pointless emotion that Mike didn’t share, didn’t even notice.

Mike stared at him stonily for a moment, then walked out of the office. The door shut silently behind him.

Barry dropped down in his chair, rested his face in his hands, worked through the last five minutes. He didn’t think he was in the wrong. But at the same time, Mike had this…this calling. This slayer vocation heritage thing that went back generations. It probably wasn’t fair to spring it on him the way Barry had. He should’ve warned Mike earlier that he was, not wavering in the mission, but that he wanted some kind of a life—a life with Mike—outside the mission.

Not that Mike had seemed particularly interested in that part of the conversation.

Anyway, it didn’t matter because he couldn’t let Mike tackle this Krampus guy alone. He’d give Mike tonight, and of course tomorrow they’d be recovering from tonight, but maybe he could pitch the idea of taking some time off for New Year’s. Or maybe even Valentine’s Day?

His natural resilience reasserted itself, and Barry was on his feet again. He grabbed his hat and coat and was out the door, flying down the stairs after Mike. He was praying Mike hadn’t left without him; he didn’t want to be traipsing all over Mt. Wilson on his own—but when he reached the sidewalk outside their office building, he spotted Mike leaning against his Chevrolet, arms folded like he was counting down the minutes.

He straightened up when he spotted Barry. The hard white moonlight illuminated his face, but it was like looking at a statue. The Colossus of Rhodes maybe.

Barry reached him, said sourly, “I guess you think you know me pretty well.”

“I wasn’t waiting for you,” Mike said.

“No?”

“I was thinking.”

Barry’s brows shot up, but for once he kept the wisecracks to himself.

“You’re right. We’re never going to run out of monsters.”

“Well, it’s not like we can’t give it our best shot,” Barry said bracingly. Mike could be moody. He didn’t want him getting depressed about his family legacy.

As he studied Mike’s somber face, it came to him that it was now or never. He drew in a breath, said the thing that had been weighing on him for months.

“Look. It’s just... It's six years we’ve known each other, Mike. I just want some time for us. Business is good. The money is good. It just seems like maybe there could be time to build something. For us. Together.”

It got a little choppy at the end, because Mike was staring at him like they hadn’t been properly introduced.

Finally, finally, Mike spoke.

“Then you meant it?"

"Uh, yeah. Which part?"

"About celebrating together tonight?” If it had been anyone else, Barry would have said there was a note of uncertainty in Mike’s low voice.

“Hell yes, I mean it. Of course you should be there. Aren’t we…”

“Are we?” Mike asked.

“Aren’t we?”

These two lunk heads probably could have gone on like that for another five minutes, but Barry caught something out of the corner of his eye: a distant bright light skimming through the stars and gliding over City Hall. What was that? A plane? No, the trajectory was wrong. A slow-motion shooting star?

“Hey, there goes Santa Claus,” he joked.

But Mike continued to gaze at him in that dark, troubled way. “It’s just that your mind always seemed to be on the job.”

“Because your mind was always on the job. And that was okay when I was thinking we were working toward being able to have a life together. A real life. Sleeping late on weekends and having barbecues in the backyard and maybe going fishing sometimes.”

“You never said any of this before.” Mike sound ever so slightly accusing.

“I didn’t think I had to say it. And then I didn’t think the time was right. I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear it.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to hear it? We’re together every night. Including the nights we're not working,” Mike protested. 

“Yeah, but we’re not talking!”

Mike laughed. Barry laughed too, a little uncertainly.

Was it going to be okay after all? Did they both—

Mike reached out, cupped the side of Barry’s face, whispered, “You should have said. I thought you were getting tired of all of it. Of me.”

Barry shook his head. “No. No, I want more you. Less monsters. That’s all. That’s all I ask.” He pulled Mike’s palm from his face, kissed it. “I love you, Mike.” He smiled shakily, tried to kid, “And what would you like for Christmas?”

Mike pulled him into a bone crushing embrace, whispered against Barry’s ear, “I love you. How do you not know? I always have. I always will.”

High, high above, something sparkled and flashed across the night sky before disappearing from sight, quick and bright as a twinkle in the eye.

 

Advent Calendar Day 18

 I get a little bit sentimental at Christmas. I don't know about you. I think it's natural once you're past the I-Can't-Wait-To-See-What-Santa-slash-My-Boyfriend-Got-Me age. 

Anyway, just a sweet picture this morning.

Advent Calendar Day 17

Is it just me or do those elves look pretty worried about something?

Okay, today's musical offering is an actual YouTube channel's playlist titled A GOOD FOUR HOURS OF
THE BEST CHRISTMAS SONGS. 

Your mileage may vary. However, they do have some truly quirky oldies in there, and it's pretty festive vibe overall. Not a bad choice of background music while you do all your last minute wrapping/cleaning/cooking stuff. 

Advent Calendar Day 16

 Hooray for Saturday! 

I mean, it's been over thirty years since the weekend was actually relevant to my work schedule, but still. Somehow the weekend still feels special. And Monday still feels nervewracking. Some habits never die, I guess.

Anyway, today we have another cartoon for you. Hector's Hectic Life is brought to you from post war 1948. It has a very different vibe from our two earlier offerings, I think. Marlowe and Spenser found it too too outre, but what do they know? 

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 14 - Another Giveaway

 

BRRRR. The high desert can be chilly this time of year. Although I have to admit, the days have been relatively warm overall. But the nights? BRRRR. Perfect weather for cuddling up with a good book or a good man. Or a good woman. Or even your favorite dog. Both mine are short-hair and are always chilly this time of year. I can't sit down that they're not snuggled next to me.

So those of you who have followed me for any length of time know that one of my holiday traditions is watching The Thin Man movies with my husband. Crime fiction brought us together and it has continued to be a link in the chain to that block of the cement tied around our waists.

HAHAHAHAHAAHA. I'M KIDDING.

Well, not about the holiday tradition part. We really do watch The Thin Man every Christmas Eve. Admittedly, now days we frequently fall asleep about halfway through, but that's more about Nick and Nora getting older versus any criticism of the film. The film--particularly the first film--holds up very well. Maybe better than the book itself, to be completely honest. 

Anyway, our giveaway today is open to Canada, the UK, and Europe as well as the US. I'm giving away three 15 oz. Thin Man-inspired coffee (or tea or cocoa or soup or whatever you like) ceramic mugs from my wee little shop on Etsy. 

All you have to do is share one of your favorite winter holiday traditions. It can be a tradition that you've shared before on the blog; that's okay. Nobody's keeping a list (let alone checking it twice).

One week from today, the Office Elf will stick her little hand into my cyber top hat and randomly pluck out three lucky winners. And I will list their names/handles in the comment section below.

(HEY, PLEASE DON'T POST YOUR ADDRESS IN THE COMMENT SECTION. Just a reminder. You'll privately email that info.)

I hope you're enjoying the Advent Calendar and that you're having a really lovely holiday season thus far! 

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!

 

 

Christmas Coda 67 - Skylar and Rory from 44.1644° North

 

Christmas Coda 67 – Skylar and Rory from 44.1644° North

 

I couldn’t tell how the phone call was going until Rory repeated blankly, “Four days?”

Like he’d never heard of such a thing.

I tried to read his face. It was such a nice face: everything exactly where it was supposed to be, from those keen gray eyes to really his beautiful smile. He wasn’t smiling right now, though. He was frowning.

And yet, from where I was sitting—which happened to be the other queen-sized bed in Rory’s hotel room in Bozwin, Montana—it almost sounded as if the answer to his question was yes.

Which seemed too much to hope for.

And yet, I couldn’t help hoping…

Long distance relationships are tough. How do you get to know each other, really know each other, from opposite sides of the country? Sure, there was Facetime and texts and even the quick occasional reunion at hotels and motels, but... 

“Well, yes,” Rory said quickly. “I just didn’t think—” He caught himself, said crisply, “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.” And then, clearly in afterthought, “Merry Christmas.”

I felt happiness light inside me like the shining star at the top of a Christmas Tree.

Rory slowly put his phone down, stared at me, said, “I’ve got four days off.”

Four days. Four whole days. Breakfast, lunch and dinner together for four whole days. Not that I cared about food when there was so much more on the menu.

I grinned, moved from the extra bed to his, wrapped my arm around his shoulder and squeezed. “See, you never know unless you ask.”

Rory shook his head. “Jason must be staying with him.”

“Maybe they’re spending the holidays together too.”

We were going to spend the holidays together!

Rory automatically shook his head as though that were impossible, but then said slowly, “Yeah. You could be right.”

Jason was Rory’s boss Sam’s, boyfriend. They were also trying to make a long-distance relationship work. Although Sam, being the chief of one of the FBI’s BAU units, was able to finagle more time for his relationship than a mere field agent like Rory. It probably helped that Jason was also in the FBI.  

Rory turned his face to mine and we smiled into each other’s eyes. “So, you’re staying too? Right? That was the deal.”

“Yep. I’m going to cancel my flight right now.”

“And your family’s not going to mind that you’re changing your holiday plans spur-of-the-moment?”

“I assume I’ll be greatly missed.” I couldn’t stop smiling at him. It was just… In almost an entire year we’d never managed to grab more than forty-eight hours together at a time. The idea of four whole days—including Christmas—was almost too much to believe. Four days of just us. It almost made it better that we were in the middle of nowhere—well, that we were both strangers in town. Everyday would be a little adventure we would share together.

“I’m sure you will.” Rory was serious.

It was, well, we tended to keep things light when we were together because when time is limited, you're careful not to do anything that might upset the fragile equilibrium. But he said it so sincerely. The way he said it turned it into one of nicest things anyone had ever said to me

I got equally serious. “I’m sure they’ll be very happy for me. They know how much—well, they know.”

Rory’s face slowly creased into smile. “What do they know?” he asked softly.

My laugh sounded nervous even to me. I said vaguely, airily, “Oh, you know.”

Rory nodded, leaned into me, found my mouth. He kissed me, whispered, “Yes, I do.”

 

* * * * *

“You're a closet romantic,” Jason teased.  

He was relaxing in bed, head comfortably propped on his crossed arms, studying Sam’s profile as Sam set his cell on the nightstand. Sam glanced up; his expression sardonic.

“You think that was sentiment? Giving Torr a couple of days off? He’s more than due some PTO.”

“I think it was a nice thing to do.”

Sam grimaced, shook his head, and reclaimed his place in the nest of pillows and bedclothes, reclaimed Jason, with a muscular arm wrapped around Jason's waist.

Jason considered the snow falling softly outside Sam’s bedroom window. He was secretly hoping they might get snowed in together, although that would require a Christmas miracle. He said thoughtfully, “I think Rory really likes the professor.”

“Mm.” Sam sounded unenthused at the idea of anyone really liking anyone.

Jason made a faint sound of amusement. Wry amusement, for sure.

Sam said, “You’re always saying BAU isn’t for everyone, West. Torr’s an excellent agent. When you find good people, you do what you can to keep them happy.”

“Ah.”

Sam’s lashes lifted, he regarded Jason for a long moment. His hard blue stare softened. His stern mouth twitched into a funny little smile. He tipped Jason's chin up and kissed him.

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.