"Wish I could," Algae said cheerfully. "But you two have seen my face. So no Christmas for you this year. Now." He swung the gun in Jack's direction. "I'll ask you once more, old man. Who would be willing to pay to see you again? I want a name."
"Is the turkey ready?" Jack asked. "I smell cranberry sauce. Did you make the stuffing?"
The gun wavered slightly. "Huh?"
"Grandpa's coming to dinner this year," Jack said. "He's bringing presents. I love presents. Don't you love presents?"
"I never got no presents," Algae said. "I hate Christmas."
"Everybody loves presents," Jack said. "Presents, presents, presents." He did a little soft shoe, subtly moving deeper inside the bay, farther away from Maizy and me. "See, I'm a good dancer," he announced. "Elsie wouldn't go to the cotillion with me Saturday night 'cause she said I couldn't dance." He slid a sideways look my way, and his eyes flicked to the door.
He didn't have to flick twice. But if he thought I was going to leave him there, he really was a crazy old coot. I'd figure out something, even if I had to run Algae down with his stolen El Camino. I edged minutely toward the opening. Maizy inched along with me, still squeezing my hand.
"Nut job," Algae muttered. "What, you think you're Fred Astaire now?"
"He's the Grinch," Maizy whispered in my ear, her voice thin with terror. "He steals Christmas."
"Not if I can help it," I said grimly. "Move!"
We turned and broke into a dead run.
And ran straight into the entire police department in strategic positions outside with a couple dozen guns pointed our way. A few of them gave us the sign to keep moving, but I didn't need it. I had no plans to stop, maybe ever. I ran through the front gates, right past my parked car, and kept on going.
Maizy could drive.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It turned out that Algae was actually Ulysses Wertz, and Ulysses Wertz had a rap sheet as long as his leg. He'd just managed to add a charge of kidnapping to his resume, so we wouldn't be seeing Algae again anytime soon.
The next morning, Maizy and I were sitting at Curt's kitchen table, letting him feed us pancakes and bacon and toast while we tried not to reminisce about the weekend's events. "Pete plans to stop by to see you after the holidays," Curt said as he poured me a glass of orange juice. "For now, he plans to enjoy Christmas with his dad. Thanks to you two." He glanced at Maizy, who had changed her hair from blue to red for the occasion. It looked good on her. "I can't believe you were involved in all of this," he told her. He looked at me. "You, I believe."
Nice knowing he held me in such high regard.
"You know," he said, "it's a damn good thing you had to park the car outside the Silver Bells gate. Cam said that's how the patrol cops suspected something was going on in there since it's closed for the holidays."
"I drove," Maizy said proudly.
"Come to think of it, they did remark on the lousy park job." Curt smiled at her. He grew serious when he looked at me. "Pretty stupid of that low-life to hold Jack in his own storage unit. Poor old guy."
"His brother wanted no part of it," I said. And I didn't know about Jack being a poor old guy. He'd put on a pretty convincing performance, but I suspected it was only a convenience, and he was still sharp as a tack. I was counting on it.
"He needed our help," Maizy said, munching on a piece of toast. "It was cool. I got to drive and everything. Maybe next year I'll get a car for Christmas. A car would be cool. All my friends have—"
Curt pushed an envelope across the table. "Merry Christmas, kid."
She let out a very teenaged squeal. "Thanks, Uncle Curt! I'll save this to put towards a car. I swear I won't buy any more belly rings or anything. I already know what I—" She stopped abruptly, and her eyes got big when she shook a key out of the envelope. "What's this?"
"What's it say?" Curt said, grinning.
Her hand was trembling with excitement. "It says Honda."
"How about that." He held up a second key. "So does this one. But the envelope says Maizy. Guess that means they're yours."
Maizy flew out the back door, shrieking.
"You bought her a car?" I asked him. "Really?"
He shrugged. "I got to thinking maybe she's not seven years old anymore."
I grinned. "You got to thinking that."
"Maybe I got a little nudge." His eyes met mine. "Thanks for the nudge."
I nodded. "So what'd you get her?"
"Cam and I went in on a used Civic. She's earned it. And Cam wants to keep her out of that deathtrap you own."
"I expect we'll be seeing a lot of Maizy around here now. Does that mean I get a Honda, too?"
"Depends if you're naughty or nice," he said, his eyes setting on mine in a very naughty way.
"Uncle Curt!" Maizy yelled from the driveway. "It's beautiful!"
We heard an engine roar to life, and we bolted for the door to save Maizy from herself. But when we got to the driveway, she wasn't in the car. She was standing at its hood, staring into Jack Angelino's backyard, where the four bucks were standing motionless, staring back at her. Curt and I drew to a stop, and I heard Curt's sharp intake of breath. "I'll be damned. Have you ever seen anything like that?"
Maizy and I traded grins. "Yep," I said.
"Lots of times," Maizy added.
As if they had heard us, the bucks suddenly bobbed their heads in unison a few times, turned, and sauntered off together into the trees. Maybe I was imagining it, but it felt like a thank you to me, and my eyes suddenly started stinging.
"Huh." Curt turned to go back in the house and noticed my watery eyes. "What's up with you?"
"Menopause," Maizy said. "Her emotions go haywire. It happens to old people."
"Watch it with the old stuff," I told her. "You'll get there, toots."
She giggled and gave me a hug. "Merry Christmas, Jamie."
A horn blew from the curb.
"That's your dad," Curt told her. "You go on, now. You can keep your car here until you get your license. That way I know I'll be seeing you again."
"You'll be seeing me lots," she promised. She threw herself at him, and he wrapped her in a bear hug and kissed her cheek. "Merry Christmas, kid."
We watched her hurry to a Prius waiting at the curb. Cam was behind the wheel, looking like Goliath in a little red wagon. "I thought your brother drove an Explorer," I said.
Curt chuckled. "Maizy and her environmental conscience. He was so happy she wasn't hurt that he was ready to give her anything she wanted. He sold the damned thing."
"Good." I smiled. "He could've fed a village for what he put out in gas every month."
"Yeah, I heard that, too." He looked down at me. "Well, all's well that ends well. Almost."
I got a funny hitch in my pulse. "Almost?"
"Jack made me promise something. Come on." He took my hand and we headed over to Jack's house. Curt found the spare key and let us in the back door. The house was empty and quiet but also warm and welcoming now that I knew Jack was safe.
"What are we doing?" I asked him. "Jack's not here. We don't have any reason to be here either."
"I promised him," he said. "We have to go downstairs. He said he left us a gift."
The basement was almost as we'd left it. The Christmas tree was still there, but its lights were on and twinkling and beautiful. The train set was still there, too, but now it was running, the little engine's horn tooting, warning bells clanging, and the tiny village alive with motion and light.
"The toys are gone," I said. "How'd he finish the toys so fast?"
"There were cars here all last night," Curt said. He grinned, showing his dimples. "He must've had the elves do it."
That funny tingle ran up my spine again. I wasn't quite ready to joke about that yet. I took a look around and noticed a stack of paper on a box near the train station. "That wasn't there before. Someone must have forgotten it last night."
"I'll get it to Jack." Curt picked it up and flipped through it.
"Huh. This is weird."
I strained to get a look. "What is it?"
"A list of names." He frowned at it. "These people are from all over. Jack's got a hell of a mailing list."
My heart started pounding. It wasn't a mailing list. It was Santa's naughty-or-nice list. And I bet I knew where I'd fall on that list. Wait until Maizy heard about this. I could hardly wait to tell her. This was more than beyond-the-veil stuff. This was beyond the veil and around the bend. "Is this what Jack wanted us to see?" I asked, my voice strangely high.
Curt turned his frown to me. "What's wrong with your voice?"
"Nothing. I'm just excited about Christmas," I said. "Ho, ho, ho."
He stared at me for a second before he shrugged. "That must be it." He pointed to the single gift-wrapped box that had been on the table the last time we'd been there. Still no name tag, but Curt opened it anyway and looked inside. "What's this?"
I reached inside and pulled out the contents. "It's a sprig of mistletoe," I said. "Jack left us a sprig of mistletoe?" I felt heat creeping up my neck and into my face. "What was he thinking?"
"Same thing I was thinking." Curt took the mistletoe and held it over his head. "It's like he read my mind."
Lot of that going around.
"You had to have mistletoe to make your move?" I said. "Chicken."
"I didn't have to," he said. "But it helps. Get over here. My arm's getting tired."
"You romantic fool," I said, but I got over there. And when I got there, I stayed awhile, and to all, it was a good night.
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
From her first discovery of Nancy Drew, Kelly Rey has had a lifelong love for mystery and tales of things that go bump in the night, especially those with a twist of humor. Through many years of working in the court reporting and closed captioning fields, writing has remained a constant. If she's not in front of a keyboard, she can be found reading, working out or avoiding housework. She's a member of Sisters in Crime and lives in the Northeast with her husband and a menagerie of very spoiled pets.
To learn more about Kelly Rey, visit her online at: http://www.kellyreyauthor.com
BOOKS BY KELLY REY
Jamie Winters Mysteries:
Motion for Murder
Motion for Mistletoe (holiday short story)
Motion for Malice
Motion for Misfits (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)
Motion for Madness
and coming soon...
Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Brash Blonde
by Gemma Halliday & Kelly Rey
CHRISTMAS, SPIES & DEAD GUYS
a Gianna Mancini Mysteries short story
by
JENNIFER FISCHETTO
"He's gonna find out who's naughty and nice…" I sing while half-twerking, half-chicken dancing into the living room. Not that I can twerk, although I do have the booty for it. But when I find myself grooving to the beat, who knows what my body will do? Thank goodness I'm the only one home.
But just in case a television camera crew has broken into my apartment ready to catch my most embarrassing moments, or my pervy neighbor two floors down has learned to scale the side of the building and is on the balcony with his iPhone, I take a quick glance around. Whew! It's just me and our Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
My roommate-slash-cousin, Claudia, spent last night at her parents' house. Tomorrow's not only Christmas Day but also her wedding, and she wanted to stay in her Barbie Princess childhood bedroom one final time, because tonight will be the last time we share this apartment together too.
I blink several times to keep back any tears. I'm not usually sensitive, but this has been an emotional week on many levels. Not only do I still have to find a new roommate before my savings runs out in February, but I also have to miss my favorite holiday with my family in New York because I agreed to be Maid of Honor. It sounded like a badge of honor when Claudia first asked me, but now all I can think about is how I won't be singing carols off-key and getting tipsy off eggnog with my brother and sister.
I reach for my cell phone on the coffee table and glance at the four, small boxes wrapped in shiny red paper with sheer gold bows under the otherwise-empty, spindly tree. Claudia and I decided to not exchange gifts this year. These presents are from her to the rest of the bridal party. She insists that me being her Maid of Honor is gift enough. I agree since she also added wedding planner to my title, and she turned into a Bridezilla a couple of months ago. Although that's not too far from her normal diva attitude.
I dial the ten-digit phone number I've known my entire life and shut my eyes. I should savor this moment. In a couple of hours, the apartment will be loud and alive. Instead of a bachelorette party with strippers and money-filled G-strings, Claudia wants her friends over for a drunken slumber party.
There's a click on the other end. I take a deep breath and put on a smile, as Ma says, "Hello. Merry Christmas Eve."
I snort at her exuberant greeting. "Hey, Ma."
"Gianna, honey, is that you? I was just telling your father I wish you were home. It won't be Christmas without you."
A boulder lodges in my throat. "Me too, Ma." This will be the first Christmas I've ever spent without my parents and siblings. It sucks.
I couldn't say no when Claudia asked me to be her Maid of Honor. I was thrilled. Two years ago, I moved to Connecticut to share an apartment with her, to be two single girls in the city. Okay, it's not Manhattan, I've never tasted a Cosmopolitan, and there hasn't been nearly enough sex, designer handbags, or Manolo Blahnik shoes, but we've shared everything over the years. I was even there the first time her now fiancé, Henry, asked her out. But when she announced her big day would be on Christmas, I nearly ran away screaming.
I'm not a big holiday person. I think Halloween should be a national event, and I shouldn't have to work on my birthday, but the rest are kinda eh. Except Christmas. There's something about the lights and tree and Santa Claus that still leave me feeling like a kid. Every Christmas Eve Ma would make us hot cocoa, and we'd sit by the fireplace with a plate of the chocolate chip cookies we'd baked for Santa. We didn't actually light the fireplace when we were kids. I was too afraid Pop would forget to put it out and Santa would burn. But as an adult, I'd shed my fear, and Pop would throw on a log. And, yes, even now, at age twenty-five, I'd still sip my hot cocoa, usually spiked with Bailey's Irish Cream, and stare at the multicolored tree lights as if it was the most spectacular thing I've ever seen.
But not tonight.
No, instead I'll be listening to Kimmy and Bess giggle about guys and paint each other's toes. While I do appreciate a good mani-pedi, they live life on a constant level thirteen. It can be exhausting.
"Are you okay, honey?" Ma asks, cutting into my thoughts.
I sigh and realize I’m twirling the sterling silver moon and stars charm bracelet Ma and Pop gave me for Christmas years ago. "Yeah. I just wish I was with you guys." I'm happy Claudia and Henry are tying the knot. He's really great for her. But did she have to pick a major holiday?
"I know. We would've come but…" Her words trail off. I've heard her reasons a thousand times in the past six months, so I totally understand. It's not a random day. It's Christmas. My parents go all out on this day, and there's Alice, my niece, to think about. Claudia has a no children rule on the guest list. Is my sister just supposed to attend this shindig and leave her daughter with friends on Christmas?
I'll admit that part pisses me off. Claudia's never been one to think of others though. Sometimes I wonder how I lasted two years with her.
My phone buzzes, but I refuse to cut this call short. Whoever it is will have to wait.
"So, are you making smelts this year?" It's a stupid question. The teeny tiny fish, tossed in a light coating of breadcrumbs and baked, are served every Christmas Eve. Along with Baccalá, a salted fried cod; spaghetti with tomato sauce; stuffed squid; a tortellini salad with jumbo shrimp, calamari, and veggies; and toss
ed salad. Ma cooks enough to feed a small country. It's okay though because my brother eats plenty, and now that he doesn't live at home, Ma has him take most of the leftovers with him.
As she rambles about the menu, I glance at the clock. It's nearly six, and I need to pick Claudia up soon. Kimmy and Bess are scheduled to show up around eight, and in case they're early, I don't want to be stuck here without my cousin. But I just don't want to hang up.
"Do you think Aunt Angela is mad that your father and I aren't coming tomorrow?" Ma asks. This is the third time she's asked in the past month, so she must be feeling guilty.
"No. She totally understands. She said so. And I believe her."
Aunt Angela is the youngest of the three sisters. Ma is the middle. The eldest, Aunt Stella, died some years ago, but unluckily for me, I still see her almost daily.
Yep, I can see and communicate with ghosts. It all started after a small accident when I was eight. I climbed onto a shelf in the walk-in freezer of our family owned deli, slipped, fell, and hit my head on the floor. I died in the ambulance for one minute and thirty-two seconds. And when I woke up, I could see the dead. It was freaky as heck at first, but I got used to it.
Other than the dead, only a small group of people—Ma, Pop, my sister and brother, and a couple of others—know I can see ghosts. It wasn't like I could hide it from my immediate family. Especially when I was eight. Besides, we're way too close to keep that kind of secret. As for Aunt Stella, I don't know why she refuses to move on, but when Aunt Angela, Uncle Franco, and their kids decided to move up here to Connecticut, Aunt Stella figuratively packed her bags and called shotgun. She refuses to even discuss moving into the light.
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