Lena’s Lucky Charm: Love in Holiday Junction, Book 2

by Franklin, Tami

  “That's right, she's not!” Lena stood up and slipped on her coat.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to get back to the shop. Mrs. Katswopis has a date tonight.”

  Vi stood and grabbed her own coat. “Really? With who?”

  They gathered up the cups and dropped them in the trash on the way out the door. “I have no idea. She wouldn't tell me.”

  “Huh,” Vi said as they emerged onto the sidewalk. “Goes to show it's never too late for a little romance.”

  Lena had the sneaking suspicion she wasn't talking about Mrs. Katswopis, but she let it pass. “I'll see you later, okay? Thanks for listening.” She leaned in and gave her friend a quick hug.

  “Always. See you tomorrow night.”

  “Right.” Lena grinned at her. “I have a feeling this whole parking thing is going to be much easier to resolve over a Guinness float.”

  “I'll take your word for it,” she replied with a wince.

  And as she waved goodbye to her friend and headed back to the shop, Lena felt optimistic for the first time since she laid eyes on Gage Turner. Sure, he was a bit of a tyrant, but Lena had won over worse. When she was a kid, she'd conned Old Mr. Landry into letting her and her friends use his swimming pool. And he hated kids.

  She simply had to set aside her personal feelings about Turner, and not let her past experiences ruin her chance of fixing this little problem. If she could get him to loosen up a bit, he'd see that HJ wasn't a place where you always had to go by the book.

  Kill 'em with kindness. That's what she'd do.

  * * *

  That night, when Lena walked all the way through the alley to where she'd parked on Chamberlain to head home, she noticed something strange, but it took her a while to figure out what it was. She looked at the dumpster, tucked away next to the back door of the shop, at the overhead lights, humming in the darkness, the empty asphalt, where her car should have been parked. Everything was in its place, so why did she feel like something was off?

  Then, as she stepped out of the alley onto the sidewalk, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye, and slowly, she turned, gasping aloud when she spotted it.

  The No Parking sign was no longer leaning against the wall by the dumpster. Instead, someone had removed the broken bottom of the sign and re-set it in fresh, new concrete at the entry to the alley.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered as she walked over to examine it more closely. She nudged the sign with the toe of her shoe, and it held firm, the concrete already hardened. She was tempted to push harder, see if she could knock it over again, but Lena wasn't sure if that might actually land her in jail.

  She knew Turner was behind it, of course. He had to be. But what she was going to do about it, she still wasn't sure.

  Lena had to be smart about this. Not fly off the handle in a fit of pique, no matter how irritated she might be at the moment.

  This called for a hot bath and a glass of wine, she thought as she continued to her car. Then she'd make a plan.

  * * *

  On Friday night, Gage pulled into the parking lot behind the Shamrock, an Irish pub on the north edge of town, and inhaled deeply. He was a bit nervous, if he was completely honest. He'd managed to convince the town council that he didn't need a formal welcome party, but was unable to avoid this informal gathering. He was lucky that the mayor had agreed to keep the guest list small—only council members, the cops in his department, and a few business owners he'd be interacting with regularly.

  Gage frowned, noticing that there were no empty parking spaces, and a sinking feeling took up residence in his stomach.

  He ended up having to park two blocks away, and as he walked back to the pub in the drizzly rain, it brought back memories of his meeting with Lena McKenna the previous day. Maybe he'd been a little too harsh with her. Walking in the rain was definitely no fun.

  But rules were rules, and unless the Council changed them, it was his job to enforce them. Gage didn't know why Lena couldn't understand that. Still, he felt a little bad about losing his temper with her. He'd have to figure out a way to mend fences, he supposed.

  He rounded the corner and the front of the Shamrock came into view, golden lights glowing warmly from the wide windows. A wooden sign hung over the sidewalk, a large four-leaf clover curled around the pub's gold-painted name. The windows were decorated with green bunting and more shamrocks, and a painted rainbow arched over the double front doors, dipping into a pot of gold to the right of the entrance.

  Gage wondered if the pub always looked like that, or if it was especially for St. Patrick's Day. If there was one thing he'd learned about Holiday Junction, it was that the town took its name very seriously. He'd balked at decorating the police station for the holiday, but although he'd kept the leprechauns out of the office itself, he still had to walk under a shower of shamrocks hanging from the ceiling of the City Hall lobby.

  He paused before pulling the door open, swallowing thickly when he saw how many people were inside.

  It was more than a few business owners. A lot more.

  Gage squared his shoulders, a rush of warm air and loud music meeting him as he stepped into the pub. The place was packed with groups of laughing people, the crowd at the bar three deep as they raised frosted mugs of various shades of beer over their heads. He spotted Andrews and Susan Kinney, a rookie from the station, standing near the window and made his way over to them, a little self-conscious.

  “Evening, Chief,” Andrews said, sipping from a glass of stout so dark and thick that it looked like you could chew it. “Glad you could make it.”

  “So much for a small get together,” Gage muttered. “Who are all these people?”

  Kinney smiled. Her light brown hair was up in a ponytail, rather than the tight bun she favored while working. It made her look younger. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt that read: Irish I was a Little Bit Taller.

  “Pretty much everybody,” she said. “HJ is always up for a party.”

  “Great.” Gage had to fight not to shrink into himself. He'd come to Holiday Junction for a little peace and quiet. This wasn't exactly that.

  “Hello, Chief.” A middle-aged woman with bright red lipstick stroked a hand down his arm. “I’m Veronica Chase.” She held out a hand and he shook it, cringing a little as the strong scent of her perfume hit him.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he replied.

  Another woman all but shoved Veronica aside. This one had a sharp, black bob and wore a strapless black dress and sparkly shoes. Gage thought it a bit formal for a small town pub, but what did he know about fashion?

  “I’m Angela Warren,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “We just wanted to welcome you to Holiday Junction.”

  “Well, thank you—”

  “I’m sorry, ladies, but we need to speak to the chief for a moment,” Andrews said, pulling Gage aside. “Police business, you understand.”

  “But—” Angela’s fingernails scraped against Gage’s sleeve, making his teeth grind.

  “Sorry!” Kinney said brightly as the two officers flanked Gage, leading him through the crowd to the other side of the bar.

  “What in the world was that all about?” Gage asked.

  “We probably should have warned you,” Kinney replied, peering around him to make sure they weren’t followed. “Seems you’re, well. . .” She glanced at Andrews.

  “Fresh meat,” he said with a nod.

  Gage coughed. “What?”

  “You’re an eligible bachelor,” Kinney said with a shrug. “And when one of those land in town, the sharks start to circle.”

  “Sharks?” He glanced back toward the two women, swallowing thickly. “You mean—”

  “I’m afraid so.” Andrews winced. “Kinney and I are happy to play interference. Unless you want the single ladies of Holiday Junction lined up at your door?”

  “No!” Gage said, horrified. “No, I don’t—�
�� He shook his head. “I’m not interested in that. At all. So, yeah. Interference would be much appreciated.”

  “You got it,” Kinney said.

  “And we don’t—” Gage cleared his throat, embarrassment heating his face. “I’d rather change the subject, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure thing.” Andrews slapped him on the shoulder. “Let me get you a drink, Chief.”

  “Gage,” he corrected. “When we're off duty, it's just Gage. And something I can see through, please?” He nodded toward Andrews' glass.

  He grinned and headed in the direction of the bar.

  “Callahan's going to be sorry he missed this,” Kinney mused. Arthur Callahan was the oldest member of the force, just shy of fifty. He seemed all right to Gage, if a little set in his ways.

  “I'm surprised he volunteered to be on duty,” Gage replied, slipping off his coat and hanging it on an empty hook on the wall. “I thought I'd have to draw straws or something.”

  “Nah, Callahan would love to be here, but he knows what he can handle,” Kinney said, pushing up the sleeves of her shirt. “Tonight, I guess he needed to be somewhere else.”

  Gage nodded. Callahan had been open about the fact that he was a recovering alcoholic, three years sober. Gage appreciated his honesty, and his strength. During his years on the job, he'd encountered many fellow cops with drinking problems, and worse. It wasn't always easy to get them to admit the problem, let alone get help. Callahan was dealing with his demons, though, and Gage had no problem with him as long as he did his job. So far, he was.

  Andrews came back over and handed Gage a frosty mug of some kind of lager. “Brace yourself,” he said. “The mayor's spotted you.”

  “Perfect,” Gage replied, and he drained half his beer in one, long gulp.

  The music cut off and Mayor Kendricks stepped up to a small stage in the corner, amidst a variety of instruments set on stands or leaning against the wall.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please!” he shouted out, clapping his hands. “Attention, please!”

  Eventually, the laughter dwindled to a low murmur and the mayor nodded approvingly. He was a tall, thin man with bony shoulders and elbows, a pointed nose and chin, and slicked-back white hair. He wore dark gray from head to toe—a button-down shirt, trousers, and a bulky, cable-knit sweater that dwarfed his skinny frame. He smiled briefly and raised his hands.

  “Thank you,” the mayor said. “You all know why we're here tonight. After an exhaustive search, the town council has finally hired a new Chief of Police. He heralds from the city streets of Chicago, and I'm confident his experience will ensure the safety and protection of the law-abiding citizens of Holiday Junction for many years to come.”

  A smattering of applause began, but the mayor held up his hand, stifling it. “Please extend a warm, Holiday Junction welcome to our new Chief of Police, Gage Turner!”

  The applause started up again, this time led by Mayor Kendricks. Gage smiled and waved, feeling more than a little stupid, but the mayor gestured him forward. “Come say a few words!”

  Gage fought back a wince, but approached the stage, smiling at the people applauding and clapping him on the back. They quieted when he stepped onto the stage and stood next to the mayor. He pointedly avoided looking at the two women who’d approached him, but could see them waving out of the corner of his eye. He scanned the crowd, his smile falling a bit when he spotted Lena McKenna on the other side of the room. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest as she watched him with a slight frown. A tall, mountain of a man stood next to her, glaring in Gage's direction.

  Neither one was applauding.

  Gage tore his gaze from them and held up a hand to quiet the crowd.

  “Thanks so much, Mayor Kendricks,” he said. “And thanks to all of you for coming out tonight. I really appreciate the welcome.” His face heated as they clapped again, and he yearned for the quiet of his little rental house out in the middle of nowhere.

  “I only hope to serve this town to the best of my ability,” he said. “To ensure that each and every resident of Holiday Junction feels safe in their homes, that our businesses are protected, and that the law is enforced to everyone equally.” He couldn't resist a glance at Lena, who glowered at him.

  He cleared his throat. “I hope to get to know you all in the coming days. I'm excited about becoming a part of this community, and thank you again for welcoming me with such open arms.” He didn't look at Lena again, just stepped down from the stage and started shaking the hands offered to him. It was a good twenty minutes before he made his way over to Andrews. He and Kinney were talking to a man and a woman—a couple, if the fact that they were holding hands was any indication.

  Andrews placed a hand on his shoulder. “Chief—I mean, Gage,” he said. “This is Kade Rivera. He teaches math at the high school. And Violet Chalmers, the music and drama teacher, and retired Broadway star.”

  Violet blushed and shook her head. “He's exaggerating,” she said as Gage shook her hand, then Kade's. “I spent a little time in New York as a struggling actress. Emphasis on the struggling.”

  “Vi's mom owns Chalmers Chapters, the bookstore in town,” Kinney said. “Lou's around here somewhere. I'm sure you'll meet her at some point.”

  “Heard you're renting the old Smith place,” Kade said, taking Vi's hand once again as he sipped his beer. “You settling in all right?”

  “Can't complain,” Gage replied. “It's a nice town. Quiet, for the most part.”

  “Must be a big change from Chicago,” Vi said, sipping a glass of red wine.

  Gage laughed. “Yeah. So far, crime around here's been pretty much limited to littering and parking tickets.”

  Vi choked on her wine.

  “You okay?” Gage asked, as Kade patted her back.

  She nodded. “It's just . . .” She drew in a deep breath. “Lena McKenna's a friend of mine.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “She mentioned she came to speak to you about her parking situation.”

  “That she did,” Gage said, inadvertently glancing toward the wall where he'd seen Lena earlier. She wasn't there. “Lena's not my biggest fan, I'm afraid.”

  Andrews snorted. “That's putting it mildly.”

  “Oh, man,” Kinney said with a mild gasp. “That means no ice cream for you.”

  All four of them looked at him with what he could only describe as pity in their eyes.

  “It can't be that good,” he said.

  Vi patted him on the shoulder. “It's probably best that you tell yourself that,” she said sympathetically.

  “Speaking of Lena,” Kade said, pointing with his drink toward the stage. “You're going to enjoy this.”

  Gage turned to see Lena and the big guy from earlier on stage, Lena tuning up a guitar, the man holding a bodhran. An older woman with brown hair blew a few notes on a flute, and a gray-haired man with piercing blue eyes held a concertina between his large hands. Gage recognized the beefy man with a comb over who sat on a chair near the bodhran player as Boomer Benedict, who worked at the mayor's real estate brokerage. Gage had met him not long after he moved to town. Boomer flicked a pair of spoons on his knee, making a clicking sound.

  A couple of mics had been moved to the front of the stage, one in front of the big man, the other before Lena.

  “Who's that?” Gage asked. “The guy with the drum?”

  “That's Braden,” Vi replied. “He owns the Shamrock.”

  The guy—Braden—said something to Lena that Gage couldn't hear, and she laughed, shoving his shoulder. Gage frowned, annoyed somehow for being left out of the joke.

  Braden tapped the mic. “All right all, settle down,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “We thought we'd play you all a little something. A preview of what to expect at the Cèilidh on St. Patrick's Day.”

  “Cèilidh?” Gage murmured to Andrews.

  “It's a big Irish party,” he replied. “Braden hosts
it here every St. Patrick's Day.”

  The big man stepped back from the mic and nodded at the older woman, who tapped her foot and began to play a quick, upbeat tune on her flute. After a few moments, the two men joined in with the drum and the concertina, Boomer clicking along merrily with the spoons, and Lena picked out a countermelody on the guitar before she started to strum in earnest. She grinned at Braden—what kind of name was that anyway?—and stepped up to the mic.

  She sang, her voice a high, clear soprano that brought forth images of rolling green hills and blue summer skies. Gage knew Lena didn't have an accent when she spoke, but she sang with a subtle lilting brogue, and Gage could easily picture her in a turn-of-the-century pub in the Irish countryside. He got lost for a moment in the sound of her voice, the joy on her face. She practically glowed as the words tripped off her tongue, and without even realizing it, Gage took a step toward her. Then Braden joined in on the chorus with a low harmony, accented by the beat of his bodhran and the spell was broken. Gage startled a bit and took a sip of his beer, suddenly self-conscious.

  The music thrummed, gaining speed and volume. Braden stomped his foot in time, and the crowd clapped along, some joining in to sing loudly, if a little off-key. When the song came to a vibrant end, the audience cheered, and the band took a little bow. Braden threw his arm over Lena's shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

  Gage turned away, almost running into Vi.

  “You okay?” she asked, watching him closely.

  “Yeah, sure,” Gage replied. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  He escaped to the restroom, feeling unsettled . . . and having absolutely no idea why.

  Lena watched Gage head back toward the restrooms, seemingly unaware that Angela Warren and Veronica Chase trailed after him. When he disappeared down the hallway, the two women stood off to the side, lurking like vultures, waiting for him to reemerge. Lena almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  Lena stepped off the stage and made a beeline to Vi.