All for a Little Christmas

by Olivia Hardin

  All for a Little Christmas

  (A Rawley Family Romances Short)

  Olivia Hardin

  Copyright © 2016 by Olivia Hardin

  All rights reserve. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Dedication

  To Father Daleo.

  Chapter 1

  I heard the door behind me open and close, and I glanced up to make sure it wasn’t a customer. No, it was just my partner coming back with a bag that I was sure contained something greasy and delicious from the burger place across the street. The backwards reflection of our names on the door, Pollard & Guillory, made a shadow on the wall in front of me, and I took a few moments to stare at it. I still marveled a little from time to time that I’d actually done it. I’d retired from the force and decided to become a private investigator.

  With a sigh, I lowered my head again and continued hunting and pecking on the laptop in front of me. I figured I was probably one of the slowest typist in all of history. But who the hell cared? Time was mine now, and I could waste it however I wanted.

  “What are you doing there, Bob? Christmas cards?”

  I only grunted, glanced at my address book, then back at the computer screen.

  “Bit late for that, isn’t it? Christmas is tomorrow.”

  “So they get ‘em after Christmas.”

  My officemate leaned over my shoulder and peered at the screen. “Please don’t tell me you’re typing labels for those? What kind of Christmas spirit is that?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s the day before Christmas, and I’m just now getting these in the mail. They’re lucky they’re getting anything from me anyway.”

  “Bob, seriously, you need a wife. I mean, I never have to worry about stuff like this. Claire takes care of all of it for me.”

  Continuing to type, I made a grunting sound in the back of my throat.

  Pollard sat his ass onto the edge of the table and opened the paper sack he’d been holding, unwrapping his burger and taking a huge bite. Still chewing, he added, “You should ask Eva to marry you.”

  I finished the last address then hit the print key before standing and smacking him in the arm with the back of my hand. “We’re not even dating.”

  “But you should be. I mean, how old are you, Bob? Fifty-one? You should be married by now.”

  “I’ve been married. Once was enough.” I shot him the “cold, dead look” and hoped he would drop the subject. My first wife had termed that phrase early on in our marriage. She’d started it as a funny endearment. In the end, she wished I was dead.

  “Bob, first marriages suck. It’s just the way it is. But second marriages. Man, that’s the ticket. But you shouldn’t wait too long. Time’s tickin’ away.”

  “You’re sixty-two, and you just got remarried last year.”

  “Yeah, but I waited too long, Bob. I mean, any longer and I wouldn’t have been able to attract a great gal like Claire.”

  “Whatever you say, oh wise one.”

  He pursed his lips and rolled his eyes at me, then turned to the mini-fridge and grabbed a diet soda. I grabbed my labels off the printer, then sat down to get them ready to go in the mail. When the phone rang, I ignored it. Pollard was closer, and I was busy. He didn’t seem in any hurry to grab the cordless receiver from its cradle.

  “Pollard and Guillory. Well, merry Christmas to you, too, Eva! How the hell are things at the department? You on duty tonight?”

  I didn’t pause in labeling my envelopes, but my attention was drawn to the caller on the other end of the phone. Eva Lipton was a detective sergeant at the station from which I’d retired. The truth was, we’d gone out for coffee a few times since I turned in my badge. I knew she would have liked to try for something serious, but I was pretty much terrified of commitment after the way my first marriage had ended. Even after fourteen years.

  Still, Eva was an attractive woman with a particularly incredible rack that I’d admired since the day she joined up. In those early days, she’d worn her hair cut short in a sort of bob. Now her thick raven locks were long and wavy, trailing almost to her ass when she wore them in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. That seemed to make her even sexier.

  “Guillory! Wake up, man. It’s for you.” He set the phone onto the table and shoved, sliding it in my direction.

  I raised my hand and shot him the bird, then picked up the phone. “Hey, Lipton, what’s up?”

  “You on a case at the moment?” There was something about her voice that made my blood heat up. Not just in this moment, but any time the woman breathed two words to me.

  “Nah, pretty quiet around here.”

  “Well.” She shifted the phone around. “I’m on my way St. Paul’s, and I wondered if you have time to come down here.”

  “To church?” I’m ashamed to say I strangled a little on the word. I hadn’t been to church since … I hadn’t been in a long time.

  “It’s a robbery call, but there’s someone there who asked for you.”

  Chapter 2

  “Hope Sheffield,” I said, tucking the receiver onto my shoulder. “You’re back in town.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, then a tenuous breath. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

  “Oh, Eva Lipton. Sorry, I don’t think we formally met back when you were still living here. I worked with Detective Guillory.”

  “I hope nothing’s happened to him.”

  I snorted a laugh, hoping she hadn’t heard me. “Nah, he’s alive and well. Retired from the force just after your case.”

  Another pause, and I could just about imagine her thoughts. She was wondering whether Guillory had been pushed out of law enforcement because of her. He hadn’t, but to admit that would require more of an explanation than I thought it was my right to give.

  Only a handful of people knew the story about what Guillory had done for her. It had all begun over two years ago, when Sheffield’s best friend, Justine Taggart, had gone to prison. Taggart’s infant daughter was placed into her parents’ custody, despite Justine’s allegations that her father had sexually molested her.

  Sheffield had hatched a crazy scheme to kidnap the baby and then fake their deaths to throw the cops of their trail. But Guillory had a sixth sense about things, and he knew they weren’t dead. So he’d kept searching. And the same intuition that told him they hadn’t died also warned him that there was more to Sheffield’s story than met the eye. He’d eventually enlisted his friend Johnny Pollard to help him. The investigator had tracked down Taggart’s long-lost sister.

  So when Guillory had finally found and arrested Hope Sheffield, he also had a name, address and phone number for the only witness who could possibly help her get out of the hefty charges she was facing. And he’d handed that information over to her attorney.

  If not for Robert Guillory, Hope Sheffield would be calling from the Texas Department of Corrections instead of St. Paul’s Cathedral.

  “So what can we do to help you, Ms. Sheffield?”


  The woman cleared her throat. “Rawley. It’s Rawley now. I was married last year.”

  I knew that, but to me, the woman would always be Hope Sheffield. “They said you were calling from the church downtown?”

  “Yes, we’re in town for the holidays, and we were here for Mass. But there’s been a theft, and I was hoping Officer Guillory might be able to help. It’s not a big thing, at least not in monetary value. But it’s something that means a lot to the church.”

  “Well, you’re in luck, Mrs. Rawley. You’ve reached us in a moment of calm before the storm. I’ll be right down there.”

  ~oOo~

  The church was adorned in colors of red, green and yellow in honor of the coming holiday. Banners hung from the pillars, each bearing different names for the God-child come to earth. Oh, Emmanuel. Oh, Yeshua. Oh, Wisdom. There were strings or greenery adorning all of the windows, and as I approached the altar area of the church, I saw a man and woman standing in front of a large Nativity scene. My heels clicked on the floor, and two pairs of eyes turned to me.

  “Detective Lipton, thank you so much for coming.” The priest smiled, putting his hand out to me. I shook it, inclining my head. “I’m Father Andrew Bertaut. I believe you know Mrs. Rawley.”

  Sheffield looked different than the last time I’d seen her. She’d been very pregnant, and her hair had been dyed. And she’d looked pretty terrified by her situation, too, though who wouldn’t have been with the type of charges she’d faced. Now, however, she had a poised strength about her that was unmistakable.

  “I wouldn’t say we know each other.” She shook my hand.

  “If you’ll step right over here, Detective.” I followed Father Bertaut towards the scene of the birth of Christ. The pieces were large; the figures that were standing were nearly three feet tall. Clearly they were old, with the paint chipping and faded. The shepherd standing behind the stature of Mary was missing part of his cane, and one of the Wise Men stood a little off-center because his base had been broken. But the most distinctive thing about the scene wasn’t what was there, but what wasn’t.

  The infant Jesus was missing.

  “When did you notice this?” I asked, crouching low and examining the place where the child should have been. The manger was filled with hay, and I doubted there would be any fingerprints, even if I were to call in a team for forensics. During the call, I’d been given details about the scene. It was a ninety-dollar duplication of the scene of Bethlehem. Parishioners had taken a collection to purchase it over eighty years ago, and although it was old and worn, it was beloved by the members of the church. They took great care in putting the scene up each year for the celebration of Christ’s birth.

  “I discovered it just after the six thirty Mass.”

  “Was it there before?”

  Bertaut shrugged, peering down at his feet. “I don’t know. I didn’t look before Mass. But it was there last night. I’m sure of that.”

  I pulled out a pad and began jotting down notes. “How late do you keep the doors unlocked?”

  A gentle grin played out on the priest’s face. “All night.”

  “Hmmm.” I glanced behind me at the empty pews. “So a thief could have just walked in at any time.”

  “Indeed. We welcome thieves.”

  “And kidnappers,” Sheffield chuckled, cutting her eyes to Father Bertaut with affection.

  “Did anyone else notice whether it was there before the six thirty?”

  “Yes, one of the altar boys, Cecil, says he’s sure it was there before. His mother’s supposed to bring him back here to talk to you in just a few minutes. She had to run a quick errand.”

  “What do you think it’s worth, the statue?”

  “Only a few dollars…” He paused and leaned to the side to look behind me. “We could easily get a new one, but it means a lot to the people. It’s the only Jesus many of them have ever known. It just wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Well, hello there,” Sheffield exclaimed.

  I presumed it was Guillory finally arriving, and I turned with a smart comment on the tip of my tongue. That died the moment I looked at him. It had only been a little over three weeks since I’d seen him. Coffee and bagels three weeks and two days ago to be exact, though who was counting?

  Today he had on a pair of loose, well-worn jeans and a black sweat shirt. He was the epitome of casual relaxation. He’d grown a bit of a beard since that day in the coffee shop, and it suited him. The grey peppered in his hair carried down to the hair on his face, and it made him all the more attractive to me. And then there was the beautiful little golden-haired girl holding his hand as he walked into the door. My heart melted in a very un-police like way.

  Sheffield bent into a crouching position, putting out her arms. The child’s face split in a huge smile, and she ran to her mother, leaping into her arms.

  “Ah, here is Cecil now, too,” Father Bertaut remarked, touching my shoulder. I grudgingly turned my eyes from the others to the young altar boy. “Come this way where we can sit down.”

  I followed Father Bertaut to the sacristy, the room where the priests would change into their vestments for service. He motioned the boy to sit while his mother stood guard right behind him.

  “Hi, Cecil.” I knelt down to face him. “Thanks so much for coming back around so I could talk to you. Father Bertaut said you saw the stature of the child Jesus this morning after the six thirty service.”

  “Yes, ma’am, at least I think I did. I’m not sure I looked, but I think it was there.” He was a clean-cut kid, about ten years old. There was a spattering of freckles across his face, and his two front teeth looked too big for his face.

  “If you didn’t look, why do you think it was there?”

  He shrugged, glancing up to his mother. She nodded her head and put her hands on his shoulders. “Go ahead, Cecil.”

  He cut his brown eyes back to mine. “Aw, I don’t know why. It’s just a feeling I got. I would have known if Jesus wasn’t there so I think he was.”

  “I see.” I nodded, with a gentle expression. “And after the six-thirty, did anyone stick around? After most everyone left the church?”

  “Some of the women. They always stay long.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Raising his shoulders again. “I don’t know. Women always take longer. Girls talk a lot, even to God, I guess.”

  I sucked my lips into my mouth to hide a smile. “Anyone else?”

  “Mr. Can Man was still here when I went to put out the candles and hang up my surplice.”

  “Cecil…” Father Bertaut’s tone was chastening, and the boy lowered his eyes, cheeks pink.

  “Sorry. Mr. Collins was still here. The boys call him Mr. Can Man ‘cause he’s always collecting cans to take to the recycle place. Carries ‘em around in a big cart sometimes. The name just slipped.”

  “I understand, Cecil. So was Mr. Collins still here when you got finished putting up your surplice?”

  He nodded. “I saw him leaving from the side door of the church with a bundle in his arms.”

  My interest was definitely peeked now. “A bundle? How big?”

  Cecil put his hands out in front of him about twelve inches apart. I glanced up at Father Bertaut, and his brows were pinched together in a serious frown. Thanking Cecil and his mother, I took down their contact information and let them leave. As Father Bertaut and I walked back out into the church, I turned to him.

  “Do you know Mr. Collins’ full name?”

  “Yes, he’s a member of the church. Douglas Collins. It’s hard to believe he’d take the statue though.”

  My eyebrows raised. “The kid said he collects cans. He must be down on his luck. Can’t be too difficult to believe.”

  A sad smile crossed the priests face. “There’s no doubt Mr. Collins has been down on his luck, for many years in fact. But he’s a faithful member. It is very hard to believe.”

  As we got close to Sheffield and Guillory, his eyes caught
mine. He continued watching me even as he opened his mouth, speaking to the woman and her little girl. There were little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, which meant either he was enjoying the conversation or maybe, just maybe, he was glad to see me. He put out his hand to me and I shook it.

  “Guillory, glad you could come out.”

  “Good to see you too, Lipton. So I hear we’ve got another kidnapping.”

  Sheffield laughed, switching her daughter to her other hip. “Let’s hope this one has a happy ending, too. Now come on, Michelle. Let’s go find Daddy and sister. I bet they’re starving.”

  Chapter 3

  Tough guys generally avoid emotional situations. I like to think of myself as a tough guy. When Eva called me, I should have known this would prove to be one of those situations. But I’m a tough guy, and we don’t run, so here I was.

  I saw Brennan Rawley as soon as I stepped out of the car. He had his younger daughter Melody on his shoulders while he crawled along the ground after Michelle, his adopted daughter. Both girls were screeching and laughing as their daddy made growling sounds and pretended to be a wild animal. I put my hands in my pockets and watched them a moment.

  Funny to think of where we’d all been a few years ago. Me searching for Hope Sheffield, now Rawley, with the intention of arresting her for Michelle’s kidnapping. It was a damned good thing I had strong instincts, or it might have been the biggest mistake of my career.

  When Brennan Rawley noticed me, he grabbed Melody’s legs to hold her, then sat up, a smile playing on his face. “Detective Guillory. Good to see you again.”

  I snorted and shook his hand, holding onto it and helping him to his feet. “Bet there was a time you thought you’d never say that.”

  “You’re not wrong there. We truly appreciate what you did, you know. Back then I could never have foreseen we’d be where we are now, but it’s such a relief not to be in hiding anymore.”

  I could only imagine. “So where’s that wife of yours?”