“Then we’ll find him—and his money.” Dane flashed a look at her. She recognized misplaced anger when she saw it. It was the kind that was meant for himself, the kind that covered up pain.
She stared him down. It was the only thing that would quell him. He stayed silent. They stared at each other in that challenging who’s-going-to-blink-first contest for a few beats until Cap interrupted.
“Well you two are as merry as a couple of turkeys the night before Thanksgiving.”
She laughed. It helped her breathe and helped her break Dane’s spell. He had her wound too tight. But she couldn’t blame it on him. She had to handle it or—or what? Leave. She put her empty eggnog glass down on the rustic wood coffee table and stood.
“Sorry, Cap. We’ve disturbed your evening long enough. We’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
Cap stood and walked with her to the door, an arm draped over her shoulder, light and warm and friendly. Dane had walked ahead. She watched his back. Silent and hard and tense and showing nothing. Not since she’d mentioned her lack of funds. She had to stop throwing that in his face. It was unfair. Especially since he repeatedly tried to offer her money. And she repeatedly turned him down. But this wasn’t about money. Not really. What was it all about? Hell if she knew.
Dane drove her home in silence. They reached her place within five minutes. She opened her door, got out, and walked up the short path to her front door. Didn’t glance back although she heard the hum of the Jeep’s engine waiting and watching out for her in the silent night. She let herself inside. No warm words about seeing each other the next day. No goodnight kiss.
The scent of stale beer and Christmas tree mingled in a friendly swirl and surrounded him as Dane stepped inside The Lucky Parrot at the unholy hour of nine am. It was day two of their three-day search for Santa. He held the door for Shana. She shot him a suspicious scowl.
“Don’t throw me off with unfamiliar chivalry before I’ve had my coffee,” she said and walked past him to the bar. She called out, “Got any coffee?” to whoever might be out back.
Tom Jones appeared, wiping his hands on his apron as if he were doing his own dishwashing.
“It’s you two. Like bad pennies.” He smiled. “Coffee coming up for the lady. Does your mean-looking partner want a cup too or will that spoil his mood?”
Shana laughed.
“I’d love a cup. Merry Christmas.”
The man pointed at him. “You don’t fool me. You want something besides coffee.”
“Sure. Information.”
“I don’t know anything. Same as the others.”
“You know who was missing from the empty chair,” Dane said.
The man turned away and busied himself with making the already made coffee.
Dane could wait him out. He finally turned and served them two coffees in plain white mugs. Shana lifted hers for a long swig without waiting for it to cool. She’d pretend it didn’t burn. Lucky Parrot man slid a glass of water in front of her. She took a sip.
Dane listened to the silence and realized the waitress wasn’t in. He had a flash of insight and decided to go for it.
“You saying you don’t know the empty chair?”
“I ain’t saying a thing.”
“That’s okay,” Shana said. “We’ll find out anyway.” Her ability to catch on and play along always gave him a jolt of pleasure. Or it could have been the over-done coffee.
“Where’s your waitress—Marylu?”
“I got work to do.” The man gave the counter a quick swipe of his cloth and turned to go into the kitchen. Dane let him take a step.
“Your waitress is the missing chair,” he said.
Shana shot him a glance and Tom Jones spun around.
“How did you know?”
Tom Jones had capitulated with unusual speed and looked more than taken aback—more like relieved. But Dane took in the triumph of the moment because he could feel the awe emanating from Shana. She sat a foot away on his right and he could feel it, savored it, saw her tempting mouth open and then shut in his periphery. The pleasure swept through him and renewed his hope. Hope for what, he wasn’t exactly sure. But damned if it wasn’t there. Hope for his tired soul.
“Where is she?”
The man shook his head. But he stayed where he was, facing them from behind the bar.
“What happened?”
“She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“It’s okay, Tom,” Shana said. “You can tell us where she is. We only want to talk to her.”
The man studied Shana for a moment while Dane beamed—on the inside, carefully hidden from Shana’s view. He would share his pride later.
Tom shrugged. “At home—crying her eyes out. They had a fight. She had a crush on him.”
“On who?” Shana asked.
“Santa,” Dane said.
Shana turned to him in open disbelief. “What is your deal? Did you write the script? Why are we bothering to investigate? Why don’t you just tell us all where the Missing Santa and the money is and call it a day?”
She sounded angry. She adopted her usual scowl, only super-sized. She hated admiring him. She had more professional jealousy stored up than a barracks full of regulars back in the day. He grinned at her. She rolled her eyes and turned to Lucky Parrot man.
“How old is this guy?” she asked. Boom—a shot right at Dane’s Achilles heel. She played the age card. Indirectly.
“Good one,” he said in a whisper. He watched her mouth quirk up in a tiny semblance of a smile.
Tom said, “Maybe fortyish.” He looked at Dane. “Your age.” There was a hint of accusation in his voice. Ouch. Double shot.
“But he was good looking,” Tom added. “Although you’d never know it when he dresses up like Santa—he looks old and fat then.” Tom had a gleam in his eye.
Dane knew something was up, but kept his look bland.
“So her heart is broken by Santa and she’s home crying?” Shana didn’t hide her skepticism.
The owner of The Lucky Parrot must have sensed his luck running out and he clammed up again. Dane thought he saw a slight nod of his head.
Dane asked, “Who is the other woman?”
Shana turned in her chair to face him. “How the hell do you know there’s another woman?”
Dane enjoyed her frustration. She turned to look for confirmation from the Lucky Parrot proprietor.
Tom shrugged. “I don’t know who she is. Marylu said she saw them together and she confronted him at the last game as soon as she got there and he admitted it and a big fight ensued until she walked out and then things settled down into the game. I figured she’d get over it.”
“No idea about the other woman’s identity?” Shana said.
“No, but Marylu might know who she is—or at least what she looks like.”
“Give us Marylu’s address—we’ll talk to her.”
Tom nodded with less hesitation this time as he wrote something on a scrap of paper and handed it to Dane.
“You think this has something to do with Poker Santa’s disappearance?” Shana asked.
“Never know,” Dane said. But he did know. It was definitely about the woman. He’d bet his last Glock on it.
Shana eyed him. He’d swear she could read his mind. He thought of making a friendly wager on it with her, but she seemed to be taking the missing person more seriously. Which meant she was thinking Rusty Gates was in danger. Dane knew—with that deep down inexplicable certainty he had bout these things—that Rusty the Santa was missing because he wanted to be missing and he was okay.
They drove to the address on the paper. He knew where it was. Marylu DeLuzio lived on the outskirts of town toward Oak Bluffs in a cramped neighborhood of small worn houses. Dane hadn’t been to this neck of the woods in a while.
“I’ve never been around here,” Shana said. He heard the disconcerted note in her voice. “You have been?”
“I’ve been everywhere on the island.
”
“Of course. I forgot your all-knowing legendary status. It apparently includes omniscient knowledge of Martha’s Vineyard.”
He wanted to pull her in for a squeeze, to thank her for putting up with him, for making him feel good. They weren’t on that page now. There were too many words and feelings mixed up between them yet.
He stopped in front of the small house and they walked up the short dirt path to the door and knocked. Shana stood next to him, almost touching, almost side-by-side. After several beats while he watched Shana’s breath puff from her mouth in small white clouds, the door opened. Dane discovered she lived at her Mom’s house when an old and worn version of Marylu appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. DeLuzio I presume,” Dane said. He gave her his lady-charmer smile to erase the wariness. It worked.
Mrs. DeLuzio told them Marylu was out but she looked worried. Maybe that was why the woman opened the door wider and gestured them inside.
“She was supposed to help make decorations for the church Christmas party and craft fair. Damn girl. It’s in two days and we still have a lot to do. We’re running out of time.”
He knew how the women felt. They were all running out of time. He looked around at the shabby decor and figured they the DeLuzios were one of the needy families. He saw Shana noticing the same thing.
“You called her friend’s house?” Shana asked.
“Sure. All three of them. That’s all that’s left here on the island. The rest of us are old people and a few families with little kids. Not a lot of us stick out the winter. Only us chickens without the scratch to get out of town and stay somewhere else.”
“Island fever?” Dane asked.
“I guess.”
“What about your daughter? You think she left the island?” Dane pushed.
The woman looked taken aback and put a hand to her chest. Dane tensed, prepared to catch her if she toppled. The blood had drained from the woman’s face.
“I… I never even thought—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shana said. “Routine question. She’s probably out shopping or—”
“She ain’t shopping. We got no money,” Mrs. DeLuzio said.
“Maybe she has other friends—”
“Maybe she went out to look up that woman Santa was two-timing her with.” Dane knew he was being a jerk, partly by the look Shana gave her and partly because it was his job to be the bad cop.
“How did you know about him?” Mrs. DeLuzio looked more surprised than offended.
Dane shrugged. “You know who the other woman is?”
“No. Marylu was upset about it but she didn’t share details if you know what I mean.”
“We’ll see what we can find out about that. You sure you don’t remember her saying anything at all about the woman?”
Mrs. DeLuzio shook her head. “Only that she was older. Marylu kept calling her the old lady. That’s it. Maybe she didn’t know her name either.”
“Thanks for everything. Call us when your daughter returns,” Shana gave her a card. She paused then added. “I noticed you have some ornaments—do you think I could buy a couple from you?”
“Sure help yourself.”
Shana went to the kitchen table where a basket held an assortment of wood and felt ornaments. She picked up two of them and handed the woman a twenty-dollar bill.
“Wait a sec and I’ll get you some change.”
“I don’t need change. Merry Christmas,” Shana turned and strode out the door before the woman could say more. Dane winked at the flustered older woman and followed Shana outside.
Out front they got back in the Jeep. Seemed like they lived in the Jeep.
“Remind me not to complain about our bank account anymore,” she said.
“Sure.”
“You ever feel the Christmas Spirit or are you one of those scrooges?”
He gave her an enigmatic look.
“You should know the answer.”
She rolled her eyes. She ought to know—but when it came to Dane she was blind as a bat to all the normal things you learn and know about people. She didn’t trust herself to know a thing—didn’t trust him to show her anything real. At least not most of the time. She remembered Elena, the fatal attraction from his past. He’d shared that. Sometimes she wished he hadn’t. Sometimes she thought he didn’t like that he’d let himself be vulnerable enough to share that pain with her. But it could never be undone now.
The question was, would they ever be able to work past it?
“Next up we check out the business cards. We’ll visit the realtor, Rita Lane,” Dane said. He thought the name sounded made-up, but what were the odds?
They pulled up along the curb in front of the realtor’s house—a classic gray-shingled Cape Cod that probably looked pretty dressed up in colorful lights. Right now with the lights out, it matched the ominous color of the impending winter sky.
“Does it feel like snow to you?” Dane asked. He knew very well Shana probably had no idea what snow in the air felt like.
“Really? You think so? That’s the one thing I was looking forward to being stuck here—I mean staying state-side for Christmas—having snow and one of those white Christmases they sing about.”
Dane pulled the keys from the ignition and without timing it, they opened their doors at the same time. He smiled to himself. Snow could be fun. It might be nice. But before he reached the neat flagstone walk way leading to the red front door decked out in unlit white lights, the door opened and a red-headed tornado of a woman popped outside rushing headlong in their direction. What were the chances?
“Rita Lane?” Dane spoke loud but friendly.
“Oh—” She stopped short and looked at Dane. A saucy smile popped onto her face and he could feel Shana’s eye roll as she joined him. They met Rita mid-way on a blue square of slate.
He adopted the friendliest manner he had, which he knew still had a modicum of danger lurking and he also knew this was somehow attractive to the Ritas of the world. It annoyed the Shanas, but so far, it hadn’t repelled his Shana completely.
“I’m Dane Blaise, a friend of Jim’s over at the grocery store—”
“Really? I wonder why we never met—I wish we had. You’re a treat to the eyes, Mr. Blaise. But you caught me as I was leaving for an important appointment.” She started forward past them.
“I was wondering if you’ve seen Rusty Gates lately?” Dane spoke with a hint of menace.
Rita stopped and looked at him for a beat, and then grinned. “Not lately, I’ve been looking for that bad boy. We’re … seeing each other. Why do you ask—nothing is wrong is it? He’s okay, isn’t he? Is he in trouble—”
“It’s all right Ms Lane,” Shana said. “He’s probably gone home for the holiday, but he forgot to mention his plans to Jim—”
“Oh, is that all. Well, I’ll be going then. Merry Christmas.” Rita rushed past them to her car—a late model Lexus and got in.
“You’re not going to let her leave with out getting more out of her are you?” Shana put her hands on her hips.
“What do you want me to do? Tackle her?”
“You could have flirted.”
“Not here. Not now. Not with you here.”
She let out a puff. “She knows something.”
“No kidding, girlie. Not only that, but I’d bet my left nut she was not on her way to a real estate appointment.”
“Let’s follow her.”
He shook his head. “We need to talk to the Reverend. About the missing money. And exactly how much we’re talking about. Jim said he’d be at the church until four pm.” He checked his watch. “Let’s get on it.”
A few flakes teased the air without making it to the ground. Dane shivered. It would be unusual, but it could happen—the white Christmas. He followed Shana back to the relative warmth of the Jeep.
“Let’s go talk to the minister at the church.” Dane put the car in gear and pulled into the empty street.
“This is the kind of church that would look wonderful with snow—I can see it now. Having snow for Christmas would almost make it worth staying here—I mean instead of going home. For the holidays.” Shana turned a pretty shade of pink, but even her beautiful peachy blush didn’t distract him from her point. They once again stood outside in the cold under the darkening skies. The only upside were the small colorful lights twinkling in a meek attempt to cheer the early nightfall.
He looked away from her and toward the church. “Yeah. It’s a regular Norman Rockwell poster waiting to happen.” The white clapboard needed paint. The lawn was brown and patchy and the cement walk where they approached the only still nice feature of the building—the imposing brown polished wood double door entry—was cracked.
“You’re incorrigible.” She said it with a smile. He could tell without looking as she swatted at his arm. He felt the singe of affection. He made up his mind about her Christmas gift. The fact that he wanted to get her a gift at all broke all kinds of rules for him—the rule about ignoring convention first. He didn’t have the emotional energy to contemplate the rest. But the gift would not be him, all wrapped in a bow at midnight in his bed at the beach shack like he’d wanted. That would have been more a Christmas gift to himself.
He sighed and pushed through the heavy wood door with the big green wreath into the spotty candlelight inside the church. The smell of Christmas greens hit him with a fond slap of memory. There was green garland everywhere festooned with red and gold bows.
“This is gorgeous. The party will be wonderful.”
“You haven’t been inside? I thought you—”
“No. I’m not a churchgoer exactly.” She turned that peachy pink again. This time he smiled at her and pulled her into his side while his heart hammering picked up the pace. Not from carnal excitement, although there was always some of that, but from excitement about surprising her with his gift.
She didn’t stiffen as she came up against his side, soft and yielding, but she was surprised. He’d been wanting to do this—to claim her—since he’d arrived at her door two days ago. For some reason, now he felt it was okay.
Beachcomber Santa: a Beachcomber Investigations Novella Page 4
