Death, Taxes, and Mistletoe Mayhem: A Holiday Novella (A Tara Holloway Novel)

by Diane Kelly

  The group launched into a discussion of their favorite Christmas traditions, which evolved into a conversation about holiday plans. While the majority planned to spend Christmas with their families, Chris had volunteered to work at the children’s hospital that day, allowing another nurse with kids of her own to be home with her husband and little ones.

  “How sweet of you,” Charlotte said.

  “Sweet, nothing,” Chris replied. “She’ll owe me once NASCAR season gets here. I’ve got tickets for every race at Texas Motor Speedway.”

  Charlotte and I exchanged knowing glances, neither of us buying Chris’s explanation. The guy was a considerate, caring sweetheart whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  Charlotte dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “My son loves watching NASCAR on TV. He drags out all of his Hot Wheels and drives them around the living room while the race is on.”

  “Who’s his favorite driver?” Chris asked, taking a slug from his bottle of beer.

  “Jeff Gordon,” Charlotte replied, “though he’s got a major crush on Danica Patrick.”

  A smile crinkled Chris’s eyes. “The boy’s a player, huh?”

  Charlotte returned the smile. “As much as one can be at four years old.”

  The waiter returned and set our food and drinks in front of us, inquiring who at the table might want a second round. Several lifted a hand or finger.

  When the waiter left, Charlotte took a sip of her beer and tilted her head, eyeing Chris across the table. “Megan told me you’re a pediatric nurse. Is that a tough job?”

  Chris shrugged. “Sometimes. But I was meant to do it.”

  “How’s that?” Charlotte asked.

  “Because of this.” Chris grasped the bottom of his sweatshirt and pulled it up to his chin, revealing a six-pack covered with downy blond hair and well-defined pecs.

  “Your muscles?” chirped one of the women from Macy’s, she and the other clerk breaking down into titters.

  “No.” Chris turned a little, revealing a long, thick scar on the inside of his left pec that had been hidden in shadow a moment before. He pointed to the scar. “This.”

  Apparently acting on an innate motherly instinct, Charlotte reached a hand out as if to touch the scar, to soothe Chris’s boo-boo. Seeming to realize that not only would touching his chest be inappropriate but also that he was too far away for her to reach, she redirected her hand and wrangled a nacho off the platter instead. “What happened?”

  “I had open-heart surgery when I was seven,” Chris said. “I had a heart defect that went undetected until I passed out on the playground at school during recess.”

  “That’s a big scar,” Charlotte said, concern in her voice as she stared at Chris, her forgotten nacho held aloft. “The recovery must have been difficult.”

  Chris shook his head. “The recovery was a cinch. It was the time beforehand that was awful. Seeing my parents all freaked out, knowing I was the cause of their worries, hearing the doctors whispering to my mom and dad in the hall.” He paused before adding, “Wondering if I was going to die.”

  Next to me, Charlotte emitted a soft, sympathetic squeak and her hand reflexively went to her chest. Thank goodness she’d just put the nacho in her mouth or she’d have covered herself in beans and cheese. She chewed quickly and swallowed. “No child should have to go through that.”

  Chris lifted a shoulder, looked away, then took a long pull from his beer bottle before he went on. “There was this great nurse, Nurse Juan, the first male nurse I ever met. Total goofball. He’d put his stethoscope on the kids’ foreheads and claim he could hear their thoughts. He did it to me once, said I was thinking it would be great to be an octopus so I’d have eight hands to play video games.”

  A smile played about Chris’s lips as he thought back. Charlotte smiled a soft smile, too.

  Chris shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter, his hands wrapped tightly around his beer bottle. “Before they took me away for surgery, Juan sat on my bed and told me a funny story he’d made up about a rattlesnake named Paco who shook his tail like a maraca and played in a mariachi band. He refused to finish the story before the orderlies came to get me. He said he’d save the ending for after my operation. He took my order for my post-recovery meal, too. Recommended the cheese enchiladas and green Jell-O.” Chris spun his beer bottle in his hands. “The way he acted so sure I’d survive made me believe everything would be okay. And it was. I came through the surgery with flying colors and went on to letter in track in high school. Ranked third in the state in the pole vault.”

  Impressive. Didn’t every woman dream of a man with a long pole who knew how to use it?

  “Did you ever tell Nurse Juan that he inspired you?” Charlotte asked.

  Chris nodded. “Invited him to my graduation from nursing school. My mom served cheese enchiladas and green Jell-O at the party afterward.” He chuckled. “Juan still works at the hospital, all these years later. He’s taught me his best tricks for calming the kids, getting them to take their meds, helping them fall asleep.”

  “Share your secrets, please!” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Some nights the only way I can get my son to bed is by threatening to serve him broccoli for breakfast.”

  Chris pointed an accusing finger at Charlotte. “The ‘veggie threat’ method is one of our patented techniques. I could sue you for using it without authorization.”

  She gave him a coy smile. “Would you consider an out-of-court settlement?”

  Blurgh. Why does flirting seem so cute and fun when you’re doing it, but so repugnant when you’re only a spectator? My Hippie Burger threatened to return from my stomach to launch a sit-in protest on the empty plate in front of me. On the other hand, the whole reason for this get-together was for Charlotte and Chris to get together. If I had to suffer through some nauseating flirtation, so be it. It was a small price to pay to spread Christmas cheer.

  As the night wore on, the others excused themselves one by one until only Charlotte, Chris, and I remained. I wasn’t entirely sure what to do at this point. I felt like a third wheel, yet I’d driven Charlotte to the bar and didn’t want to force her to end the night early. Fortunately, fate intervened.

  My cell phone bleeped with an incoming call from the station. I thumbed the button to accept the call. “Officer Megan Luz.”

  The one drawback to being part of a K-9 team was that there were only a few of us and I was essentially on call 24-7. The dispatch operator informed me that Brigit and I were needed for a building search. Officers were chasing a suspected drug dealer when he’d run into a neighborhood grocery store that was closing up for the night. The employees had managed to escape, but the suspect was still inside, refusing to come out or communicate. Brigit’s special skills were needed to sniff the guy out.

  I ended the call and stood. “Gotta go. Police emergency.” I turned to Chris. “Santa, would you mind giving Charlotte a ride home in your sleigh?”

  Chris looked from me to Charlotte, then back to me again, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “No problem. I’ve got it parked on the roof.”

  Chapter Twelve

  You Can’t Run, but You Can’t Hide

  Brigit

  If Megan thought putting a rubber stop under the closet door would prevent Brigit from accessing her shoes, she’d have to think again. It took Brigit only three quick swipes of her paw to dislodge the rubber stop and only one swipe at the lever-style handle to open the door.

  Sucker.

  When Brigit heard Megan clomping up the steps to the second floor of the apartment building an hour later, the dog had already chewed halfway through a strappy black stiletto. That would teach her partner to leave her stuck in this tiny place with nothing to do. After all, Brigit wasn’t some brainless basset hound who’d be amused chasing her own tail for hours on end.

  Megan bolted through the door, spotted the stiletto, and pointed a finger at Brigit. “Bad dog!”

  As far as Brigit was concerned, Megan could kis
s her furry ass. At least Megan hadn’t come home with meat on her breath. If she’d smelled like steak or chicken, Brigit would’ve dropped a turd on the carpet, too.

  Megan pulled off her street clothes, slipping quickly into her police uniform.

  Brigit leaped to her feet, her tail wagging at 500 rpm. She knew what the quick change of clothes meant. It was time for action. “Arf-arf!”

  Twenty minutes later, her partner pulled to a stop at a small store surrounded by cruisers, their bright lights twirling. Wearing her nylon police vest, Brigit hopped out of the car and trotted alongside her partner to check in with the officer in charge. Flanked by two male officers with their guns drawn, Megan led Brigit to the front door of the grocery store.

  Brigit sensed her partner’s brief hesitation before Megan unclipped the leash that bound the two of them. Brigit knew Megan worried about sending her K-9 partner into dangerous situations. It was almost enough to make Brigit regret chewing Megan’s shoe. Then again, it had been a damn tasty shoe. Genuine leather.

  Megan issued the signal and Brigit darted into the building.

  She put her nose to the floor. Sniff. Nothing.

  She raised her head to the air. Sniff. Hmm. Maybe something. Sweat, perhaps?

  Sniff-sniff. Bingo!

  Brigit followed the trail to a large box in the storage room, where the scent was concentrated. The man the cops sought was hiding inside. As much as she would’ve loved to tear into both the box and the man, Brigit had been trained to give a passive alert. She sat down facing the box and issued a command to her fellow officers to come cuff the idiot. “Woof! Woof-woof woof!”

  “Damn dog!” The man popped up through the top of the cardboard container like a jack-in-the-box and took a swing at Brigit. The dog jerked back, out of range. While Brigit would’ve loved to bite the man for his pugnacious behavior, such rogue action could result in dismissal from the force. The K-9 gig came with three square meals a day, a soft bed to sleep in, playtime at the park. No sense risking a return to the animal shelter.

  The force of his swinging fist carried the man forward and he toppled over in the box, falling to his knees on the dusty cement floor. A staccato burst of curse words followed. “Damn-shit-ow-shit-damn!”

  The officers with the guns rushed inside with Brigit’s partner on their heels. While the two men wrangled with the suspect in the box, Megan slipped the dog a liver treat and clicked the leash onto Brigit’s collar to shepherd her away.

  “Good girl!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Off Duty

  Tara

  On Saturday morning, I reviewed the paperwork that Nadine’s supplier had sent me. Aha! As expected, the records indicated that Nadine had placed only one order for the pieces of jewelry allegedly stolen. There was no way the jewelry could have been both stolen and sold to Gramercy Gems and Jewels. Nadine’s lies were as flimsy and transparent as a see-through nightie at Victoria’s Secret.

  At ten o’clock, I met up with Megan and Brigit at Chisholm Trail Mall. Megan and I had the day off and had decided to do some Christmas shopping together. I found an E-rated video game that my partner, Eddie, could play with his young twins, along with a pair of fingerless gloves that would allow Josh, the office’s geeky tech wizard, to keep warm while working his electronic gizmos. Megan found some great gifts at the bookstore. A primer on astronomy for a brother who was into stargazing, a fantasy novel for another who was into make-believe worlds and role-playing, and a cookbook featuring quick-and-easy soup recipes for her mother.

  Around noon, our stomachs began to growl and we aimed for the food court. We ran into Charlotte and her son at the entrance doors.

  “Hello, you two,” Charlotte said with a smile.

  We returned the greeting. She introduced us to her son, Cameron.

  “Hi!” The adorable kid clutched a plastic dinosaur to his chest as he smiled up at us. He had Charlotte’s blond hair and deep blue eyes. “Hi, doggie!” He reached out a hand to Brigit, not at all afraid of the dog even though she was twice his size. He giggled when she sniffed his hand. “Her nose tickles!” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a soggy, half-eaten graham cracker, and held it out to the dog, giggling again when she took it out of his hand and wolfed it down.

  I bent down to his level. “Are you ready for Christmas, Cameron?”

  He pumped his fists in the air, dinosaur and all. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  His enthusiasm gave us all a laugh.

  I held the door open while Charlotte led her son inside. “You seem in an especially good mood today, too,” I noted.

  “I am,” Charlotte said. “My Secret Santa gave me the perfect gift.”

  “What is it?” I asked, feigning ignorance. I knew exactly what her Secret Santa had given her. I also knew it had been delivered in a green envelope tied with red curling ribbon. Neener-neener.

  Charlotte grinned. “A ticket to the Big Black Tie Ball in Dallas tonight. Can you believe it? I bet the ticket cost a hundred bucks or more.”

  Actually, the tickets cost five hundred dollars per couple. I knew because I’d been the one to order them, though Megan had chipped in half the funds. The ball was a charity benefit for the Big Brothers Big Sisters program. Given that Chris liked kids and Charlotte could use a fancy night out, Megan and I figured the ball tickets would make a fun Secret Santa gift for them. A portion of the ticket price would be tax deductible, too, so it was a win–win. I only wished we could see the expression on their faces when Chris and Charlotte discovered they were seated next to each other at their dinner table. What a surprise that would be!

  “I splurged on a new dress,” Charlotte gushed. “Midnight blue with silver beading. It’s gorgeous. I can’t wait!”

  Megan and I exchanged discreet glances and grins. Looked like our present had been the hit we’d hoped for. The fortune cookie was right. Sometimes people fell in love; other times they needed a little shove.

  “Join us for lunch?” Megan asked.

  “Love to.”

  The four of us split up to order our meals, then met again at a table near the edge of the food court. We chatted while we ate. Though Cameron took two or three bites of his chicken nuggets, he fed most of them to Brigit. When he discovered she could snap them out of the air, he tossed the pieces to her. Snap! Snap! Snap! I wished my reflexes were that quick and agile.

  As we finished up, I pointed across the way to where Chris sat on his throne playing Santa Claus. “Have you told Santa what you want for Christmas, Cameron?”

  The kid glanced over at Santa, a look of trepidation on his face as he clutched his dinosaur to his chest. He shook his head.

  Charlotte tousled her son’s hair. “Santa’s a very nice man, sweetie. Give him a chance, okay?”

  Cameron’s apprehensive frown was less than promising.

  We tossed our trash into the can and walked over to the line of children waiting to see Santa. Fortunately, there was a brief lull and we had to wait only ten minutes or so.

  When it was Cameron’s turn, he balked, shaking his head vehemently as he glanced over at Chris. “No, Mommy. I don’t want to.”

  Chris opened his arms wide and gestured with his hands. “Come on up, Cameron!” he called in a friendly voice. “Your mother’s told me all about you.”

  Cameron stopped shaking his head but still looked wary. Brigit, on the other hand, had taken her leash in her teeth and was tugging Megan toward Santa’s throne as if the dog wanted to sit on Santa’s lap herself.

  Megan bent down and looked Cameron in the eye. “Will you go with Brigit?”

  Cameron looked at the dog, who gave a soft woof. Though the boy said nothing, he nodded and released his mother’s hand. He followed Megan and Brigit up the steps to Santa’s throne.

  Chris patted his right thigh and Brigit leaped into his lap, nearly knocking his throne over backwards. “Whoa-ho-ho!” Chris bellowed, wrapping his arms around the dog and leaning forward until the chair stabilized. “What w
ould you like for Christmas, Brigit?” He put a white-gloved hand on her snout and turned it to his ear, pretending to listen. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. A bone, a chew toy, and a ball to fetch. Got it.”

  Smiling now, his fears forgotten, Cameron stepped right up to the chair. Chris shifted the enormous dog to one side, making room on his other knee for the boy. Charlotte lifted her son onto Santa’s knee, giving Chris a soft, appreciative smile.

  Chris looked down at Cameron. “Other than that silly business about bedtime,” he said, giving Cameron a wink, “you’ve been an extra good boy this year.”

  “I pick up my toys,” Cameron said, “but I don’t eat broccoli.”

  “Broccoli? Ew!” Santa-Chris scrunched up his nose. “I don’t like that yucky stuff, either.” He leaned toward the boy and said in a stage whisper, “When Mrs. Claus makes broccoli for dinner, I hide it in my pocket and feed it to the reindeer later. Dasher loves it.”

  Bound now by their mutual aversion to cruciferous vegetables, Cameron opened up and told Santa everything he wanted for Christmas. Legos. The Play-Doh Fun Factory. A race track for his Hot Wheels. “The kind that goes round and round.” He made a circular motion with his tiny finger to illustrate a vertical loop.

  Chris glanced up at Charlotte, who lifted her chin in an almost imperceptible nod. He looked back down at the boy. “Consider it done, kiddo.”

  When Cameron finished, Megan called Brigit down from Santa’s lap. Once the dog had hopped down, Santa tickled Cameron’s belly and helped the boy down to the floor, too.

  Cameron ran the three steps to Charlotte. “Your turn, Mommy!”

  Charlotte smiled down at her son. “I’m too big for Santa’s lap, honey.”