Beachcomber Santa: a Beachcomber Investigations Novella

by Stephanie Queen

  Rita pulled herself from Shana’s grasp. “No. It figures. I never did trust that man. I told the DeLuzio girl as much—told her she shouldn’t trust him. He was two timing me with her—did you know that?”

  “I’d heard rumors. I’m sure that hurt. What did you do about it?” Shana took hold of the woman’s arm again and steered her around to Dane. His lap was now empty and he was watching her. Shana noticed more and more people watching, in fact. She took a deep breath. No time to get stage fright. It was all part of Dane’s plan for Rita Lane. Public outing of her identity so that the U.S. Marshall’s Office would be forced to intervene and get her out of there—if all else failed and they couldn’t get the confession for Cap to arrest and charge her—at least they would be rid of her.

  “I broke up with him of course—I’m sure that’s why he left the island to go back to his family. I broke his heart.” Rita finished her drink and Shana grabbed another glass from the tray that Cap had waiting for her. She handed it to Rita with a smile.

  “You deserve this after dealing with that two-timer.”

  Rita raised the glass and took another slug like she meant to get sloshed.

  “So Rusty didn’t talk about his poker games?”

  “Not to me. Why, what did he say to you?”

  Shana shrugged. “I didn’t talk to him.” She turned to Dane where they ended up standing within two feet. “Dane talked to him.” Shana gave Rita a little shove into Dane’s lap. The fool woman went willingly.

  “Hello Rita.” Dane opened his arms and trapped her on his lap.

  A chill went through Shana. This is where the real show began. Dane was all about the drama—insisted on it. She nodded at Ronnie. He went into action. They were charged with gathering people about and getting their attention on Rita. Reverend Hall was the first to appear in the tight circle around Santa in his chair. The big decorated tree stood behind them. I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas played softly in the background, glasses clinked and people murmured. All the sounds grew more hushed as Dane raised his voice above it all.

  Shana drew closer with Cap and the reverend and watched and listened. Her heart thudded. She wasn’t sure if it was anticipation of the arrest or at the drama of the despicable woman being publicly exposed for who she was.

  “Rita,” Dane said in a deep voice that carried in a shocking reverberation, startling the woman in his lap.

  “Why Santa, you have me,” she said.

  “What did you do with all the church money that you stole from Rusty Gates?”

  A rush of excitement ran through Dane’s blood like he was a junkie who just had a hit as he watched Rita’s jaw drop. It was the same rush he always got as he cracked a suspect—even small time operators like Rita the pretend realtor. He felt her tense. In the same split second that she moved to jump and flee, he tightened his grip to the red zone level—punishing—and held her in place. Dane figured stealing from a church and needy families at Christmas was nasty enough to warrant nasty treatment even if it was small-time in the scheme of his world of crimes.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” She looked around and saw everyone circling around, the crowd growing and watching and listening and murmuring.

  “Rusty Gates told me you stole the money from him after he told you he didn’t want to see you any more.”

  “Of course that’s what he said,” she turned toward Shana as if she were an ally. Shana stood in her elf skirt, hands on hips and ready to pounce with a very cool, self-satisfied look on her face.

  “I broke up with him—of course he’s going to blame his thieving on me. I would never—” She tried to lift herself from his lap then, but he held her in place easily and whispered to her.

  “You aren’t going anywhere, Rita. Relax.” Then he spoke up again for everyone to hear.

  “What about all the money from the floating poker games, Rita? What did you do with that? You’re the one that gave him the keys to the empty houses so they could hold the games in the basements, aren’t you?”

  The crowd gasped like it was one giant outraged victim of deceit. Rita squirmed frantically then.

  “Hey, what is this? I don’t know anything about the poker games. It’s Rusty Gates’ word against mine.”

  “You had all the keys. Your clients trusted you to look after their homes and you gave the keys to Rusty to hold poker games—but maybe not—maybe, it was your idea, wasn’t it? You put Rusty up to it.”

  “I did not—I knew nothing about it—”

  “Is that right? Your fingerprint found on a padlock to the basement of the last game says otherwise.” He enjoyed lying to her. He did it convincingly if the shocked and cornered look on her face was any indicator. Then she turned to the tactic used universally by women—she started crying.”

  He needed a confession. He looked up and the crowd was wavering. He looked at Shana.

  “Rusty left the island because you threatened him. Because he was two-timing you with a younger woman,” Shana boomed, pointing her finger and earning the gasps and stares of the crowd.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. DeLuzio put in.

  Rita’s eyes darted around wildly. Dane recognized the signs of a trapped rat losing the battle with reason.

  “He had no right—that girl was half his age. I was good to him. We had a good thing going.” She leapt up from his lap and this time he let her go. She lunged for Shana as if she were the offending two-timer. Dane stood and reached for her, but Rita was quicker than he realized and his Santa suit slowed him a half beat.

  She grabbed for Shana’s neck in a crazed frenzy. Shana stood in shock for a breath, but then shot into action grabbing the woman by the arm and wrenching it around, twisting Rita to face away from her, trapped, as she raged.

  “He had no right. I gave him everything. All the money was mine. He was nothing without me—”

  Dane yanked Rita’s other arm and said, “For the record, Rita, all the money you’re talking about—that you say was yours—that was the poker money and the collection money for the church?”

  “All of it—all the money. From fencing the stolen art, from the poker games—it was all my idea. I was the brains, the doer—he was nothing without me. And the weasel ran—he was scared of me. That’s why he left the island.” Rita’s eyes had a gleam that Dane recognized. It was an unhealthy sign.

  Dane looked around the room. The party had been shocked into silence. Cap stepped up then. Dane had one more volley—a shot at one more confession.

  “He fled the island because you threatened to kill him,” he said.

  “No, you fool. You goddamned man. I wanted to marry him. He was a goddamned chicken. He didn’t deserve me.”

  Dane nodded at Cap who stood close by.

  “He found someone better—”

  “You—you liar.” Rita raised her hand. Dane let it slip. Cap grabbed it.

  I think it’s time for the handcuffs, Rita. And I don’t mean the fun kind,” Dane said. Cap proceeded to cuff her.

  “What did you do with the money?” Dane asked her while Cap held her in handcuffs.

  “What money?” she sneered. “I’m not admitting anything.”

  She’d apparently already forgotten her jealousy-induced confession. Dane waved Reverend Hall over.

  “Tell her, Reverend.”

  “I got a call from Rusty—just before the party. He… apologized. He said he lost the money.”

  “Luckily, I came along while the Reverend was on the line and spoke with Rusty myself. I got the real story.”

  Rita blanched.

  “What’s the real story?” Ronnie asked.

  “Tell us, Rita.”

  “I’m not saying a thing.”

  Dane said, “Rita is not her real name. She was in a witness protection program, but she was used to a more, shall we say, exciting life. She talked Rusty into running the poker games. He admitted it. Then she talked him out of the winnings—and the church money—claiming she would safe-ke
ep it all. But when Rusty tried to get the money back to give it to Reverend Hall, Rita got mean—showed her true colors.”

  “So Rusty did take off in fear of his life,” Shana said.

  “That and he wanted to spend the holidays with his family. He didn’t know what to tell the Reverend. He didn’t think anyone would believe him. Ted talked him into calling and telling the truth.”

  “Looks like we have a nice Christmas present for the Oak Bluffs Police Chief—company for him in his jail cell,” Cap said. “Don’t worry, Rita—I hear he serves turkey for the holidays.”

  Dane turned around to see that even though the party had stopped dead and the fifty or so people stood agape and uneasy about what to do next, at least they were still there. Since he was dressed in the Santa suit, that made him in charge. He decided to put his command to good use and re-start the festivities as Cap escorted Rita through the crowd to the door.

  “Who wants a kiss under the mistletoe from Santa?” he whispered in Shana’s ear, smelling eggnog and her heady sweet scent mingle with the pine wafting through the air. He took her by the hand and pulled her to the center of the room. “Ronnie—hand out the rest of the gifts to one and all. Let’s all make merry. Ho, ho, ho.”

  He said the words with a smile, so she had to laugh. She had no idea what to do about him. She had as much trepidation as excitement about spending Christmas with him. She knew he expected her to spend the night. She knew it would be like a death sentence to whatever shreds of self-respect, dignity and independence she had to cave in to him, to her own desire.

  “Seriously—shouldn’t we help Cap?” she stalled.

  “Speak of the devil.”

  Cap walked back into the room looking bright and handsome in his red sweater, black pants and Merry Christmas smile.

  “Ho, ho, ho. I truly never thought I’d see the day. Your plan actually worked—we arrested a notorious criminal and you played Santa. All in one evening.”

  “It’s all in the name of the sting,” Dane said.

  “So how did you know Rusty would go home?”

  “Ted called this morning,” Dane said. “To let me know good old Rusty Gates, took off all on his own and in full control of his faculties. I told him to look out for Rusty on the mainland. I figure he was heading for home and hearth.” Like most self-respecting people with normal well-adjusted emotional sense. Dane swallowed hard. “Ted said he’d call me when his uncle showed up. He was thrilled to find out it was only woman trouble.”

  “You told him it was woman trouble? You didn’t tell Ted about the rest of it?” Shana gave him a look that was well past annoyed, but it was at least fifty percent an act. A sparkle of amusement lit her green eyes. Or maybe it was the church environs working its softening magic on her. Heaven knew it worked on him well enough.

  “Of course not. Woman trouble is bad enough. I know all about woman trouble.” He was acutely aware of the mistletoe hanging over her head like the biblical forbidden apple and her red lips ripe for plucking and biting into. Some body parts were uncomfortably aware.

  “In fact, I can prove it.” He forced himself to stick to the script and he pulled an envelope from the pocket inside his Santa suit.

  “What does this prove?” Shana took his envelope, scowling merrily.

  “Open it and find out.” His heart bounced around as his chest muscles all tensed to keep it in place.

  “What does this have to do with how you understand about woman trouble?” She waved the envelope, but then slid her red polished nail under the flap and folded it open. Dane forced himself to breath and watched her, keeping his expression clear.

  Shana pulled the contents out. It was a tri-folded sheet of paper. She unfolded it and shot him a deeper than usual puzzled scowl before reading the words on the paper.

  It was no use for him to try and remain indifferent. His heart pounded loud enough to be heard through the Santa coat—or a three-foot thick cement wall for that matter. He watched her face change from scowling to incredulous and then shoot up to stare at him accusingly.

  “I can’t accept this. This is—”

  “A gift.” He didn’t breath.

  She drilled him with her eyes for a long moment and then he saw the tell-tale sparkle in them.

  “Don’t cry. Say thank-you.”

  “But I thought you—”

  “Wanted you to spend Christmas with me?”

  She nodded her head and swiped at a tear. He took a deep breath finally and searched for the words that would explain it, explain how he felt without putting her off or scaring her. Without giving away too much of himself.

  But then he reminded himself that was exactly what Christmas was all about, what gift giving was all about—giving. And it was time he put himself on the line. However much of himself there was on the line, he wasn’t sure.

  “I wanted you to be happy. I know how you miss your family—especially now.” He shrugged.

  “So you bought me airfare to Sydney to spend Christmas with my family—even though you’d end up alone.”

  “I knew you couldn’t afford it—and that’s at least partly my fault—for luring you away from a good-paying steady job with the Met. Least I could do.” Then he added, “It’s a round trip ticket, girlie. I expect you back.”

  She smiled now. That knowing smile. Seems he gave away enough of his caring to get to her.

  “You’re too soft underneath it all, aren’t you?” she whispered the words as she leaned in and brought her arms around him. “Thank you, Dane.”

  Then he took her in his arms, glanced up at the mistletoe, making sure they were directly under it and kissed her. At long last. He’d been eyeing her, so close to the target and so delectable in her elf costume and so warm and wonderful. Never mind he’d been pleased to be working with her again and vowed to keep the status quo. He held her lips with his and sank into the soft sensual feel, the taste of Shana and eggnog and the scent of her womanly fragrance mixing with the spiciness in the air. The heady mix lingered even as he lifted his mouth from hers and as she clutched the red cloth of his Santa sleeves.

  Uncertainty wavered in the air that came between them as the distance from her lips increased and he studied her eyes. He needed things to be all right, even if it was a temporary holiday reprieve.

  “A guy deserves a Christmas kiss, doesn’t he?”

  Her eyes twinkled with melting warmth, easing the tension in every muscle in his body. He hugged her in to capture every bit of what they had in that moment.

  “Merry Christmas, Love.” She’d said the words in a whisper into his beard almost muffled and lost. But he’d heard them. Her soft words sent a buzzing through his veins as if he’d been shot up with a powerful painkiller. Maybe he had been. The sense of wellbeing buoyed him and settled him at the same time as his body became suffused with it to the tips of his Santa-gloved fingers. Even though he’d be alone, he would be very merry this Christmas.

  A Note to Readers

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Dane and Shana’s first Christmas story. I sincerely hope you enjoyed your moments of escape into their world in Beachcomber Santa. Their story continues with the ongoing Beachcomber Investigations Series. I would love to hear any comments you have. I invite you to send me a note to stephaniequeen@rocketmail.com. You can also follow me on Twitter @StephanieQueen or on Facebook on my Stephanie Queen page.

  If you loved the story, please consider leaving a review on the site where you purchased this book. I would very much appreciate it.

  I especially invite you to sign up for my SQ Newsletter for new releases, contests and free stories.

  In the meantime, I’ll be working hard to bring you more stories from my heart, featuring characters you’ll love.

  Sincerely,

  Stephanie Queen

  Stephanie Queen Books

  Beachcomber Investigations Series:

  The Beachcombers – Prequel Edition

  Beachcomber Investig
ations – Book 1

  Beachcomber Santa – Novella – Book 2

  Beachcomber Valentine – Novella – Book 3

  Beachcomber Baby – Book 4

  Scotland Yard Exchange Series:

  Between a Rock and a Mad Woman – Prequel

  The Throwbacks – Book 1

  The Hot Shots – Book 2

  The Romantics – Book 3

  The Beachcombers – Book 4

  Small Town Romance Series:

  Small Town Glamour Girl Christmas

  Small Town Glamour Girl Wedding: a novella

  Small Town Hot Shot Bride

  Other Stephanie Queen books:

  Playing the Game