Beachcomber Santa: a Beachcomber Investigations Novella

by Stephanie Queen

She laughed a soft happy laugh. He let the joy of this moment run through him and enrich him and sooth him. Funny thing that it happened—that holiday moment he’d been longing for—the minute they walked into the church.

  “Let’s find the reverend. He’s probably in the basement.”

  “Basement? Why would he be there?”

  “That’s where the recreation hall is—where they’ll be having the party tomorrow night. I’m told that’s where we’ll find Reverend Hall. Decorating.”

  “Maybe we can help.”

  He laughed. “Don’t get carried away. I’m not a decorator. No plans to be one.”

  “Not even for the church party?”

  “I’m doing my part for the church party.”

  They walked to the front right corner of the church and into the corridor where they found the stairs leading down to a banquet-sized room.

  As he’d figured, the church’s minister, Reverend Hall, stood on a step stool hanging a mistletoe dead center in the festive room.

  “Can I help you with that Reverend?” Shana disengaged herself from Dane’s hold and rushed to the man’s side.

  “Oh Hello. Didn’t hear you come in. Can I help you?”

  “We’re here to help you. About the missing Santa—Rusty Gates. We’re looking into his whereabouts,” Shana said and helped the man down from the step stool.

  Dane stood back and watched. He knew he was smiling. For real. He was in church. He figured it was okay to be unmasked. For the moment.

  Reverend Hall looked past Shana at him and stretched out a hand accompanied by a welcoming smile. “I know you. You’re Mr. Dane Blaise. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  That was enough to instigate the mask back into place on his face. Dane put out a hand and shook Reverend Hall’s with a nod. He ignored Shana’s questioning glance. After a beat her puzzled smile faded into a scowl. Dane kept the sigh to himself. He’d had his moment of holiday bliss. He’d have to be happy with it.

  He glanced up at the mistletoe and tightened his resolve to stop wanting and concentrate on giving.

  “I understand Rusty was collecting funds for the church party as Santa over at the Vineyard Haven Grocers. How much did he collect for you?”

  The reverend’s smile evaporated, but he didn’t scowl or frown. He looked flustered. Shana’s scowl at Dane deepened. He must be doing his job right.

  “Did Rusty turn in any of the money he collected so far—before he went missing? It’s important for us to know. We need to know if we’re looking for someone with a little cash or someone with no money.”

  “Oh. I see. Technically, no. He didn’t turn any of the money in yet. But I have faith that he will—he would never take it. He was excited to be contributing. He’d collected quite a bit.” Reverend Hall’s smile returned in spades as soon as he started talking money.

  “How much?” Dane felt Shana restrain herself from belting him.

  “Rusty said he had over two-thousand dollars for us—for the church party—for the needy families and children.” Reverend Hall looked around at the plentiful decorations. More evergreen garlands than the church upstairs.

  “The place looks beautiful,” Shana said. “It smells wonderful.”

  The reverend beamed and nodded. “We’ve had a record-breaking amount to spend on Christmas gifts for the needy. Lots of gifts for Santa to hand out.”

  “What happens if Santa doesn’t show?” Dane watched the reverend’s smile disappear again. He was very good at his job.

  “I don’t know. Rusty wouldn’t do that. He’ll be here. Or he’ll send us the money. I can’t imagine—unless something terrible has happened. But I checked with Captain Lynch and he said there hasn’t been anyone in the hospitals or shelters on the island that fit’s Rusty’s description.”

  “Or in the jails,” Dane added. He may as well go for broke in the Mr. Reality check department.

  “Of course he’s not in jail,” Shana put in and stood bodily in between Dane and the reverend as if to block out his negativity and cynicism. Dane mentally gave an eye-brow raise. He was doing tremendously well at his job today. On a roll in his bad cop role.

  “He might have left the island. Either voluntarily or not.” Dane let that thought settle on both of them. He needed to unsettle the Christmas spirit-induced rose-colored glasses Reverend Hall seemed to be wearing, unless they were cemented in place.

  “I’m not worried. He’ll be here,” the Reverend said. Looks like they were indeed cemented in place. Shana looked at him with a do-something-nice panicked look. Evidently, she didn’t want to disappoint the good Reverend.

  “No need for you to worry—I’ll be your Santa for the Christmas party. And I guarantee that you’ll have your two grand. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the kids and the needy.” Dane felt his chest tighten and his heart thud like a kettle drum too big inside him.

  “That’s very kind and generous of you, Mr. Blaise. I’m very grateful to you. I hope you find Rusty in time and everything works out. Somehow I know it will.” Reverend Hall looked between him and Shana and gave him a wink.

  Dane glanced at the mistletoe and then because he couldn’t avoid it, he met Shana’s astounded stare. He wanted to grab her and get out of there now. The place was bending him in ways he hadn’t bent in too many years—since he’d learned better. But he was strong enough to take a few hits. He took a deep breath and asked the next question.

  “One more question before we go, Reverend. Who else is helping with the Christmas party?”

  “Oh we have a committee. Mrs. Lane is in charge. Maybe you know her—Rita Lane? She’s in real estate. I rely on her heavily.”

  “What kinds of things does she do? Buy supplies and gifts?”

  “Yes, good deduction. I’d heard you were a cracker-jack investigator.”

  Shana coughed her cover up for a scoffing laugh. Dane held in a smile.

  “Where did she get the money? She get anything from Rusty?”

  “I don’t know what you mean?” the Reverend said. “Why would she? As far as I know, Rusty was going to give the money to me directly. That was the agreement. That’s why I gave Mrs. Lane the church credit card. She’s done a wonderful job. So far.” The reverend looked around the mostly decorated hall again. He and Shana looked around as well.

  “I knew Rusty from a while back, you understand. Before he … had trouble. He’s a decent man. He wouldn’t take the money, but someone might take it from him. I hope he hasn’t come to harm.”

  “Don’t worry, Reverend. I think Rusty has good survival instincts,” Dane said. He took Shana’s hand then, in spite of her reluctance.

  “Time to go—we’ll see you tomorrow night at the party,” Dane said. Then he dragged Shana who felt like she was kicking and screaming on the inside, to the nearest exit.

  Chapter 6

  “You’re full of surprises—you’re going to dress up as Santa?” The question burst from her as soon as they were in the clear from the church.

  “Of course. You don’t think Rusty is going to return for the party do you?”

  She examined him closely as they stopped at the end of the walk. He watched speculation and curiosity and something like wistfulness flit across her face. He admired her bravery at allowing herself to be so readable, so vulnerable. Finally, she shrugged.

  “You’re thinking Rusty is in hiding?” she said. “Someone is after him from a poker game gone bad maybe?”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t share his theory about Mrs. Real Estate Lady. He knew Shana would think him cynical. He was cynical. But he was right. He had a gut feeling on this. But he didn’t want to let it spoil the Christmas-inspired warmth growing between them.

  “I suppose we ought to go back and talk to Mrs. Real Estate Lady again—she definitely knows something,” Shana said. “She was too reluctant to talk to us.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  They hopped back in the Jeep and Dane drove them back to Rita Lane’s house about a m
ile away, but there was no one home. She was still out at her unlikely appointment. They prowled around and looked in windows to make sure.

  “Looks like she lives here alone,” Shana observed.

  “Looks like Mrs. Rita Lane is a single woman—no jealous Mr. Lane chasing Rusty out of town.” He figured his implication would raise her hackles. She scowled, but said nothing.

  They stood in front of the realtor’s house outside the Jeep, not getting in. The air had warmed some from the day before.

  “Any ideas where we look for a realtor and a waitress on a summer vacation island in the winter?” Shana stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. It was one of his favorite of her poses. He contemplated her while he ran through the possible answers to her question.

  “Where’s the one place you would go on the island if you live in Vineyard Haven and you had no money?” Dane asked.

  “I give up. I’m not a local—I’m an outsider, remember?”

  How could he forget? She hadn’t tried to be anything but an outsider until now when she knew she couldn’t go back home to Sydney for the holidays. It wasn’t like him, but he refrained from calling her on it. She continued her scowl and waited a few beats for him to answer. He was far more patient than she.

  “So what’s the answer, or was that a rhetorical question and you’re waiting for divine inspiration?”

  “I have the answer.”

  “And you want me to pry it from your stingy mind?”

  “Something like that.” He took a breath and made the leap. “I can be persuaded.” He wagged his brows. She laughed. It was the low sexy flirty laugh—the one he’d heard only in his dreams of late. His pulse gave a blip at the appearance of her smile.

  “You’re one of the easiest men I know.” Her words held knowing confidence, even for her. If he were a wolf—and he’d been accused of being no less—his fur would have bristled uncomfortably. As it was, he squirmed on the inside and tensed his facial muscles to maintain his easy smile.

  Her eyes glittered. The saliva gathered in his mouth, but he didn’t gulp or lick his chops. He shifted his stance to lean closer. With his heart gathering speed as if she were prized prey and he was readying to pounce. He reached a hand out and took a length of her hair into his fingers, letting the silkiness run through them. How he resisted clutching a fistful of her tresses and pulling her to him—like he would have done months ago—he had no idea. Maybe he did. Pride. She’d accused him of being easy.

  He was doing his damnedest to defy her. The effort sent uncomfortable waves of vibrating tension through him. He finally spoke in as normal a voice as he could muster with the major constriction of desire lodged in his throat.

  “You want me to be hard, girlie?”

  She smiled. But he noticed the flinch of excitement or at least awareness in her eyes.

  “You’re always hard, Mr. Legend.” Her soft throaty voice rolled through him like a tsunami of virulent heat. He hadn’t stood a chance.

  He clutched her hair and tugged, moving closer. She leaned, not resisting, but not collapsing into him either. Either way, they got close. Close enough for him to breath in her scent and feel her warmth and softness against him in spots. Key spots. This time he squirmed for real. She laughed her throaty laugh again.

  “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart or you’ll find out exactly how hard I am.”

  “I’m not worried. I know how to handle you.”

  He lowered his arm, caressing her back all the way down to her perfect, round firm backside and pressed her in. His gloves were off. He threw off the strain of reigning himself in. She could handle him. She’d have to handle whatever she’d unleashed. He would let her stop him. He would make her stop him.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind as he lowered his mouth to nuzzle the soft thudding pulse in her neck he wondered how she so easily undid the iron self-control he’d prided himself on. Pride was over-rated. All the warmth and charity he’d felt when they were in the church was replaced by raging heat.

  He breathed her in like he’d been in outer space and this was his first breath back on earth. She smelled like sugar and chocolate. Like cookies and something else—that Shana je ne sais quoi factor. The scent that sunk into his lungs and his mind and sang through his veins like he was a big bass violin being played deep and hard. Very hard.

  “Come to the church Christmas party with me.” The words came from deep down. Not from his head. His chest tightened. Too late.

  She stirred, but he held her close. He didn’t want her to see his eyes. Didn’t want to see hers.

  “Sure.” She paused and he felt her heart thud next to his. “You mean like a date?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first.” He bucked in defiance.

  “I don’t count the undercover dates last summer. They weren’t real.” She pulled back and looked up at him. He drew on his mask.

  “They felt real enough to me. Hell, call it whatever you want. We’ve been together—”

  “I know. Fine. Okay. It’s a date.” She smiled to soften her defiance.

  They were a prickly pair. Like two cacti trying to mate. He smiled a genuine smile at that thought.

  “Spend Christmas with me,” he said.

  “Okay. We can have Christmas together. I’ll make a turkey dinner like my mum makes. We can invite Cap. It’ll be fun.” She sighed and leaned into him, hiding her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her longing more than the trepidation pounding in his veins. She softened in his hold.

  He hoped like hell he hadn’t started something he couldn’t finish. He thought about his Christmas gift to her and wondered if it was more than he could give. Or if he dared take more than she could give.

  He shoved aside the uneasiness and held onto the moment of her softness in his arms until she spoke.

  “I want us to have a good Christmas, Dane.”

  Her words tickled the skin behind his ears. He felt the heat and moisture of her breath. What she said finally reached his brain a few pulses of blood through his veins later. Whether it was her words, or his uneasiness, he felt the snap all the same.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” He stood up straight. He held onto her. Still felt her soft curves against him, in his hands.

  “Don’t worry. Roll with it. Let us be whatever we are to each other. Close. Dear.” She looked up at him. Her green eyes intent on him and as far as he could tell, serious as the plague.

  His first goddamned instinct was to pull away. To shut down. She knew him. She certainly knew how the hell to put a damper on his heat. He clenched down on his flight instinct and pressed her to him closer. Forced himself to breathe and feel through the granite forming around him at her words.

  “I know,” he said. His voice was tight through almost clenched teeth.

  She pulled back. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  “Send the message from your conscience to the rest of your sorry self because there seems to be some contradictory communication going on.” She wrestled herself from his grasp even as he clenched to hang on. She stepped away and pulled open the Jeep door.

  “Let’s go. Wherever” She waved her hand through the air then slipped inside while he sucked in cold air and cursed himself. He was a goddamn fool. There was definitely something wrong with him. A dark cold tightness enveloped him as if he were in the middle of a soul killing thunder cloud. He didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to find the problem. He wanted to avoid it. He’d been outrunning the darkness all his life. He couldn’t stop now. It had worked fine. He was a goddamned legend. He pounded a fist on the Jeep hood and jogged around to the driver door.

  It was time he kept focused on the here and now. On the case. On his partnership. It would be okay to share the holiday with his partner. It definitely seemed to be what she wanted. A dear partner. It was what he’d wanted. Sort of.

  He wanted her. He wanted to be infused by her essence. He wanted to lose himself in her bodily. He wanted to be her lover.
<
br />   He wanted to be good enough to deserve her. To be able to give her the gift she most wanted for Christmas. The words shifted through his mind as he sat his seat facing her and looked into her eyes.

  “Okay, girlie. We’ll go with the flow. See where it takes us.” He hid nothing from her this time. He let his raw demanding need show throw. She’d said she could handle him. He watched her.

  She took in a quick breath and then smiled. She trusted him.

  God damn him to hell.

  “Goddamn you,” he snarled. She laughed. His tension eased. He eased his grip on the steering wheel enough to let go and turn the key. He wished he had a better grip on his emotions. On what the hell his problem was with her. Why was she forbidden? He could come up with a list. The list might convince some. The list could be argued. He could come up with a list that said she was perfect for him and he ought to grab her and never let her go. But the heart pumping reality of the fear that took over whenever she got too close, whenever she took control and had the upper hand, told him there was something wrong that he hadn’t defined yet. Something he was not anxious to look at. Something that screamed at him to let her go. To give her that gift even if it meant separation.

  Was their relationship destructive? If so, then why did he have an equally heart-palpitating response to the threat of her leaving the island never to return?

  He was so goddamned messed up. It was the holidays. He needed to focus on the case and keep the rest of it buttoned up. He pulled into the empty parking lot of the library and took a deep fortifying breath of cold air. Then he got out of the Jeep, knowing she would follow.

  “The Library?” she said.

  “I noticed library books. When we were at the DeLuzio house.”

  She looked around the parking lot.

  “No cars. Looks like you were wrong,” she said. He could hear the smile so he didn’t bother looking.

  “You ever hear of walking, girlie? They’re inside. I know it.” He did know it. A measure of his normal confident self returned, making him realize how bad he’d been. Letting emotions get the better of him.

  She scoffed and caught up with him at the wide glass door set in the middle of the old brick building. They went inside together and headed straight for the desk in the center of the semi-circular space cut out in the middle of rows of dark polished wood bookshelves. His boots clicked on the tile floor. He looked around and saw no one. But he saw a stairway off to the right.