Deadly Holidays (A Deadly Trilogy Christmas Novella)

by Alexa Grace

  "Is it the B&B?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "Does the idea of turning our home into a bed and breakfast still bother you?"

  "Who said it bothered me?" he asked defensively.

  "I did. I can tell it bothers you. What concerns me is that you're not talking to me about it."

  Tim moved the car up to the order window and handed a young girl Jennifer's order. She rang it up Tim handed her the cash, then pulled up to the pick-up window, where he retrieved the warm paper bag filled with food and handed it to Megan.

  Pulling the car back onto the highway, he headed toward his daughter's house, but soon turned into a small park by a lake and stopped the car.

  Tim yanked off his seatbelt and turned toward Megan and said, "Okay, Megan. I admit it. The whole bed and breakfast idea bothers me. I mean we're talking about our home. It's not just a house. It's where we brought up Jennifer, and had more than thirty years of family dinners."

  "I know," she said quietly.

  "Megan, I'm not sure I'm ready to open my home up to strangers."

  "I thought you agreed that turning it into a bed and breakfast would help finance our retirement."

  "That's another thing that's bugging me. I'm fifty-freaking-five years old, and not even close to leaving my job as Sheriff. You know more than anyone how hard I had to work to get to where I am. Why are you so eager to turn me out to pasture?"

  "Sweetheart, I never said that. I was just thinking about our future."

  "Okay. Sorry I got so worked up," Tim said, as he kissed Megan on the cheek. "I love you, Meg. Always have. Always will. Any chance we can table the bed and breakfast discussion for a couple of years?"

  <><><>

  Frankie sat in Bea Holden's formal living room, and was having a claustrophobic experience. The elaborate holiday decorations, covering every inch of the room, were closing in on her. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her wrist to check her watch, noting it had been fifteen minutes since she'd arrived and the Holden maid had told her the Mrs. would be right down. She'd seen Arthur Holden's Mercedes in the driveway, and half-expected him to pop into the room in a rage at any moment.

  Finally Frankie heard high-heeled footsteps, and Mrs. Bea Holden, wearing a long, flowing red-plaid taffeta shirt with a black velvet top, swept into the room. An ornate necklace of pearls and diamonds circled her neck.

  "Cheers!" Mrs. Holden called out, continuing her fake British accent as before. She sat on a chair near Frankie, and poured hot tea from the china teapot into a small gold teacup. She sipped daintily from the cup with her pinky finger extended, then continued, "Before we get started, I simply must thank you for a most delightful evening."

  Confused, Frankie said, "I don't understand."

  "It seems when my Arthur could not reach his attorney, he called me around midnight to come bail him out of jail. Of course, I told my husband I would be right there, so he'd spend a minimum amount of time in that wretched place. I hung up the receiver, then spent the next seven hours in the most blissful sleep. I finally rescued poor Arthur at nine o'clock this morning." Mrs. Holden said, her mouth quirking with humor.

  "Oh," uttered Frankie.

  "It was all I could do to hold back my laughter when the guard brought Arthur out, dirty, disheveled, and filled with embarrassment," she said as she smiled comfortably to herself. "In the car on the way home, he tried to tell me some poppycock story, but now that you're here, I'm eager to hear what really happened from you." She set her teacup on the table.

  "Well, it was after I'd followed him to..."

  "Photos first, dear," Mrs. Holden interrupted, holding out her hand for them, wriggling her fingers.

  Frankie opened her file and withdrew the dozen photographs she'd taken. Before giving them to her client, she warned, "Mrs. Holden, some of the photos here may upset you."

  "Not likely," the older woman returned in a low voice with her hand outstretched. "Hand them over."

  Mrs. Holden laid the stack of photos in her lap and picked up the first one, which was her husband knocking on his girlfriend's door. "Odd," she said, "I know Arthur's friends and where they live. This house wouldn't fit into one of their garages. Poker night, my arse!"

  She threw the photo on the coffee table, and then plucked the next one from the stack to view. Frankie braced herself for an explosion when she noticed this was the photo of the buxom twenty-year old love interest thrusting herself into the arms of Arthur Holden.

  "Well, this explains a lot," Mrs. Holden began, as Frankie held her breath. "No wonder my husband spends so much for medical treatment for his aching back problem."

  She glanced quickly at Frankie, then back at the photo. "Lovely Santa-Helper outfit, don't you think? Wonder where she got it? Sluts-R-Us?"

  Frankie held back a grin, still expecting the woman to explode with rage.

  Mrs. Holden threw the photo onto the table, picked up the rest of the stack and began thumbing through each one. When she came to the pictures of Frankie's beaten SUV, she stopped and stared at Frankie. "What in the world happened to your vehicle?"

  "Once your husband caught me following him, he came out slugging. In this case, he used a baseball bat to destroy my SUV."

  "Well, that bastard. What was he thinking?" Mrs. Holden arose from her chair, left the room, and returned moments later, dangling a pair of car keys from her index finger.

  "Did you happen to notice the brand-new black Mercedes parked in the driveway when you arrived?" she asked with a tone that was cold and exact.

  When Frankie nodded, Mrs. Holden handed her the keys.

  "I purchased that car with Daddy's money not even two months ago. It's now yours. My attorney will take care of the title transfer."

  "Oh, Mrs. Holden, I can't accept..."

  "But you will because you will not deny me this pleasure. Arthur loves that car, and I cannot wait to tell him it is no longer his to drive."

  "I don't know what to say," said Frankie.

  "You've done a wonderful job—quick, resourceful, and effective. You've enabled me to end a mediocre marriage to a man who is about to experience a nuclear-bomb to his finances. I'm so looking forward to it." She said as she withdrew a white envelope from her pocket. "This is a check for your services. I added a bonus for Arthur's arrest and overnight stay in jail. Good show, my dear."

  In the Mercedes, which Mrs. Holden insisted she drive home, Frankie turned on the ignition for some heat, then opened the envelope to slide out the check inside. It was written out for three times the amount on the invoice that was still in Frankie's briefcase. She stared, tongue-tied and amazed, until finally tears clouded her eyes and ran down her cheeks and neck.

  Slowly she slipped the gear into drive. Once on the road, Frankie pulled her cell phone out of her purse to punch her husband's number.

  "Hi, baby. Can you meet me at home in thirty minutes? I have something to show you. We have some celebrating to do, and I know just how I want to do it."

  <><><>

  While Jennifer and her mom set glasses, plates and utensils on the dining room table, Tim glanced at Jennifer's open laptop. Before they arrived with the food, she'd been looking at a local news web page. In the center of the page was Shawn Isaac's elementary school photo, which was a haunting reminder that he hadn't been found.

  Tim had been to his office earlier that day to attend the daily briefing Lane gave the deputies before they started their shift. Many of them looked down when Lane announced Shawn had not been found. The officers who had children were really taking it hard. After all, it could have been one of their own.

  Tim's mind wandered back to five years earlier, when Jennifer had been missing. He'd gone through a special kind of hell before she was found. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't thank God for her return.

  Megan called him to the table, and the three sat around Jennifer's dining room table, eating barbeque, pulled-pork sandwiches, baked beans, coleslaw and cornbread.

  Jennifer
eyed her parents and said, "It looks like you'll be gaining two grandchildren soon."

  "I'll be damned," said Tim, his eyes glowing with enjoyment. "So you are carrying twins? I knew it!"

  Jennifer's face split into a wide grin. "No, Dad, I'm not having twins," she began. "One of your grandkids will be an infant; the other is five-years-old."

  Confused, Megan asked, "What are you talking about, Jennifer?"

  "As soon as Shawn Isaac is found, he will become Blake's and my son."

  "Now, Jennifer, I know you think a lot of this little boy," Tim began. "But just because both his parents are dead doesn't mean you'll be able to adopt him. Adopting isn't easy. I know people who have waited years to adopt a child."

  "I just don't want you to set yourself up for disappointment and heartache," added Megan. "Just focus on that little one you're about to give birth to."

  Jennifer cleared her throat and said, "Eve Isaac came to see me a few weeks ago. She told me she had a premonition that she wouldn't live through her estranged husband's domestic battery hearing."

  "Oh, my God. That's terrible," said a shocked Megan.

  "Why did she tell you this? I mean, you and Eve Isaac weren't close friends," Tim remarked.

  "Eve asked Blake and me to take Shawn after her death. She'd already seen an attorney and had all the legal papers taken care of," said Jennifer. "I promised Eve if anything happened to her that we'd take custody of Shawn and raise him as our own."

  Megan put her hand on Jennifer's shoulder and said, "It's admirable you want to keep this promise. But have you really thought this through? You'll soon have an infant to care for. Do you really want to take on the responsibility of a five-year-old, too?"

  Jennifer slammed her napkin on the table, her eyes filled with anger. "Seriously, Mom? Do I really want to adopt this little boy? Yes! Do you hear me? Yes! I love Shawn and so does Blake. He is the most amazing little boy. Blake and I can give him all the love, support, family and home that he could ever wish for. Shawn is going to be our son, and our baby's big brother. Nothing is going to change that."

  Megan wrapped her arms around her daughter, drawing her as close as she could a pregnant woman who was nine months along. "Hush, Darling. It's going to be alright. Shawn will be found and brought home to you."

  Unless we don't find him alive, Tim thought, as he quickly rose from the table and hugged them goodbye. He grabbed his coat and headed outside to his car to think. This was the third day Shawn was missing. How likely was it that they'd find him alive?

  <><><>

  The county prosecutor's office holiday party was one the staff looked forward to all year. Held at Anne and Michael Brandt's home, the event was formal and the evening included a cocktail party, with a lavish meat and seafood dinner.

  Dressed in an elegant black velvet cocktail dress that hugged her curves, Anne looked beautiful. But then, thought Michael, Anne was beautiful, with shoulder-length, auburn hair with streaks of gold, and the pale, soft skin he loved to touch. Earlier as she'd straightened his tie, lust hit him so hard his knees weakened, and it took impressive control on his part to not carry her to their bed right then and make love to her.

  Anne went through the motions of having a good time, but Michael knew her heart wasn't in it. Her perpetually bright smile didn't fool him. There was sadness in her eyes that he hadn't seen in a long, long time. Something was wrong. And Anne being Anne, she was holding whatever was bothering her deep inside.

  Michael watched her as she stood near the gaily decorated Christmas tree talking with the mayor, who was telling one of his usual, long-winded stories. Anne nodded as if she were listening, but her eyes wandered the room until they settled on their children, Michael Jr. and Melissa, who were sitting on either side of Harley on the staircase, stroking the dog's soft fur.

  She bit her lip to stifle a smile, making Michael realize that she longed to join them. Setting his champagne glass on a nearby table, he started across the room to save her from the mayor, when he noticed she'd pulled out her cell phone. Since when does Anne carry around her cell phone? She'd never been one of those people whose cell was super-glued to her hip. In fact, half the time, she didn't even know where it was. Why would she accept a call during a holiday party?

  Anne lifted a finger to excuse herself, and headed toward the back of the house. Hands in his pockets, Michael slipped into the hallway to follow her. Finding her peering out the kitchen window as she talked on her cell phone, he eavesdropped as he leaned against the doorframe.

  "Listen, I can't talk long. It's Michael's holiday office party and I have to go back," said Anne.

  A moment passed as the person on the other end made a statement.

  "No. That's not going to happen," she blurted, then lowered her voice and continued. "Michael doesn't suspect a thing. I'm not telling him anything until after the holidays."

  Another moment passed before Anne whispered, "Love you, too."

  Michael's body stiffened as the icy fingers of shock seized his heart. The jolt of discovery slammed into him. The woman he loved more than life itself had a lover. Worse than that, she was waiting until after the holidays to leave him.

  <><><>

  Sitting in his office, Blake glanced from his computer to the window where the light was fading. It would soon be dark. Seventy-two hours had passed, and there was no sign of Shawn.

  He'd spent the day researching John Isaac's family tree to see if there was a relative who could have abducted Shawn. He'd found that John literally had no family. His mother had died of brain cancer, and his father had died after a fight he lost in prison. There were no brothers or sisters, nor were there aunts or uncles he could find.

  Although a deputy had been assigned to search hospitals and morgues, Blake contacted them again. But none of the facilities had admitted or received a five-year-old boy in over a year. And every sexual predator in the county had been interviewed, to no avail.

  As part of the Amber Alert, the television media ran continuous ticker tape messages across the bottom of the screen urging anyone who had seen Shawn to call the sheriff's office. The few calls they'd received were checked out. None of them panned out. “Missing” posters could be seen in every shop, restaurant, gas station and grocery store, and were nailed to every wooden light post and tree. There wasn't a person in the county who wasn't looking for Shawn Isaac.

  Blake opened his notepad to review the notes he'd taken during the interviews he'd done, praying that some piece of information he hadn't noticed before would pop out to help him find this little boy.

  Blake re-read his notes and stopped when he got to the page describing his questioning of Billy Collins. It still bothered him that the five-year-old wouldn't meet his eyes when he answered a question. The kid wouldn't meet his eyes and fidgeted with his fingers, as if he were anxious about something. And once he'd answered Blake's questions, he acted thrilled his mother asked him to go to his room. In fact, he couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

  Did he fear Blake because he was a police officer? Or was he lying because he had information about Shawn?

  It was worth a second visit to Billy's house to find out.

  <><><>

  December 24

  Sometime during the night, Shawn awakened to howling wind that blasted so hard against the house, it shook the glass in the attic window. He crawled out of his sleeping bag and dragged it with him to the window, where he wrapped it around his body for warmth as he gazed outside. There was more snow than Shawn had ever seen blanketing the neighborhood, drifting up against the houses, covering some of the festive colored lights that twinkled beneath. Rubbing his freezing hands together, he watched as a truck, its wipers struggling to clear the windshield, crept by in the foot of snow that had filled the street.

  Tree branches heavy with snow bent toward the ground. In the moonlight, the snow shimmered as snowflakes continued falling from the sky, blowing diagonally across the window. At times it was snowing so hard, Shawn co
uldn't see even the closest house.

  Shawn leaned back against the wall and looked around the attic illuminated by the moonlight. Filled with loneliness, he wished Billy could stay in the attic with him.

  Shawn closed his eyes and pretended he was at Detective Blake's house. He was sitting close to Mrs. Stone on the sofa and she was reading to him. He loved to sit close to her while she read out loud. With her arm around him, her body was warm and she smelled like flowers. And when she read, she acted out the characters so the story came to life.

  Shawn remembered the time he'd scraped his knee while playing catch with Detective Brennan in their backyard. Shawn didn't cry, but Detective Blake picked him up and gave him the biggest hug. Then he carried him inside piggy-back style to put some medicine and a bandage on his knee. After that, Mrs. Stone gave him a chocolate chip cookie with some milk. He thought Mrs. Stone must be the nicest and most beautiful woman in the world.