So This is Christmas: The Adrien English Mysteries

by Josh Lanyon

  “A runaway?” It was a horrible time of year for that—not that there was a good time of year.

  “No. Possible endangered adult. The family wants to keep it quiet, so they haven’t brought in the cops.” His mouth had a cynical curve. “You know the breed. Wealthy West Valleyites.”

  Uh, yeah. I was the breed. Or descended from breeding stock, anyway.

  Gradually what he was saying sank in on me. I blinked at him. “Wait. West Valley?”

  “That’s right.”

  “A missing adult son?”

  “Yeah.”

  I said slowly, uneasily, “What’s the name of the family?”

  “Arbuckle,” Jake said.

  Chapter Three

  “Arbuckle,” I repeated.

  “Right.” Jake was watching me closely. “You know them?”

  “Funny you should ask.” I was not smiling, though. “Remember Kevin O’Reilly?”

  Jake’s expression changed, his tawny eyes narrowed. “That Kevin O’Reilly?”

  By which I deduced the name Kevin O’Reilly had already been introduced by Ivor’s family, but Jake hadn’t connected him to our own past until this second.

  I nodded. “That Kevin O’Reilly, yes.”

  He folded his powerful arms on the table and studied me grimly. “Okay,” he said. “Fill me in.”

  I filled him in. It didn’t take long. At the end of my recital, Jake said without inflection, “You told him I’d take his case without talking to me first?”

  “No. I told him I’d talk to you over lunch. I didn’t make a commitment on your behalf. It’s not a done deal.”

  Not in so many words, but I was guiltily, uncomfortably aware I had come perilously close to doing that very thing.

  “No, it sure isn’t.”

  I threw him a quick look. “It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him, right?”

  “I plan on talking to him. But I can’t take his case. I’ve already agreed to work for the family.”

  “Well, couldn’t you—”

  “No,” he said with a brusqueness I hadn’t heard in a long time. “That would be a complete conflict of interest. The family thinks O’Reilly is involved.”

  “That’s ridiculous. For the record, Kevin thinks the family is involved.”

  Jake shook his head, instantly negating the idea. “If the family was involved, they wouldn’t bring in a private investigator.”

  “They might. Why don’t they call the cops if they really think something’s happened to Ivor? That’s the normal thing to do, right?”

  “It hasn’t been forty-eight hours, that’s one reason. This time of year, the cops are not going to jump without something more to go on.”

  “To me, it smacks of trying to create a diversion.”

  He made a dismissive sound. “The same argument could be made about O’Reilly.”

  “He can’t file a missing person report. They’re not married. He doesn’t even live here. The family has to do it.” I couldn’t believe he was seriously arguing this. “Come on, Jake. Now that you know the Kevin in this is our Kevin, you can’t really think he’s involved?”

  “Our Kevin?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You mean well, that I do know. From painful experience.”

  That annoyed me. I can’t deny it. The dry, cynical tone paired with his taciturn expression as he observed me from across the wooden square of table…got under my skin in a way that hadn’t happened for months.

  “Painful experience, huh?” I tried to say it pleasantly, though dangerously is probably more apt. Then again, I get those two mixed up. A lot.

  Jake’s face didn’t exactly soften, but recognition flickered in his eyes. “Baby, I don’t want to fight with you.” His voice was low. The words casual, the tone personal. “I’ve committed to working for the Arbuckles. Assuming O’Reilly is not involved in the kid’s disappearance, ultimately I’m working on his behalf as well. In the long run, he’ll get his answers.”

  I said acerbically, “Answers are useful. What he wants is his boyfriend back.”

  “Regardless of who pays my fee, there’s no promise the Arbuckle kid is coming back to any of them.”

  There was a stake of holly driven right into the heart of Christmas.

  And right on schedule, the Eagles swooped in.

  Bells will be ringing this sad, sad New Year’s…

  Jake was right. I was tired. And I didn’t want to fight with him either.

  I sighed. “Okay, true. But I know I’ve heard you say that most of the time people who go missing turn up again.”

  “Correct. However, suicide and homicide rates skyrocket around the holidays. This isn’t a good time of year to go missing.”

  I didn’t have an answer to that, and after watching me for a moment, he said, “Do you still want to order lunch, or are you in a hurry to get back?”

  What he was really asking was, how angry and/or disappointed are you? And while, whether fair or not, I was disappointed and a bit irritated, I also knew that tending to this very new and, in some ways, still delicate relationship with Jake needed to come first. It had taken a hell of a lot of time and effort to get this far.

  “Let’s have lunch,” I said, and the guarded look left his face.

  We ordered. I decided to try the fish tacos, and Jake ordered the Old Time burger.

  We stuck to neutral topics for the next few minutes, and then Jake asked, “Other than fraternization between the inmates, how’d the bookstore do while you were gone?”

  I brightened. “Actually, we had a terrific week. This has been our best Christmas in four years.”

  He smiled faintly. “Congratulations.”

  “I think the expansion paid off.”

  “I think you’re right.” He added, “Which means maybe you could think about taking more personal time next year?”

  “Hm.”

  His lips quirked in the way they do when he’s amused but too polite to laugh in my face.

  “Maybe start taking weekends off?” he suggested. “Maybe start with Sundays.”

  “Maybe,” I said, still noncommittal.

  “It would give you a chance to work on that new book.”

  That time I didn’t bother to respond. It wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. Making Jake my cardiac rehab partner had seemed like a great idea at the time, and it mostly had been a great idea, but it had also resulted in his being a tad more tapped into my health regimen than I liked.

  I liked having…let’s call it wiggle room.

  Our meals arrived, and as usual I fought the temptation to reach for the salt shaker. English cuisine had proved a serious test of my pledge to low sodium.

  “Do you think I’m a control freak?” I asked Jake after a few minutes of thoughtful chewing.

  “Not particularly. There are certain things you like a certain way, but in general, no. Why?”

  “Something Natalie said.”

  He nodded noncommittally.

  I eyed him gloomily. “Yes. I know. Cloak and Dagger is one of those certain things.”

  He didn’t deny it, just offered that half-smile—quarter-smile?—again.

  “By the way, I’ve got more good news,” he said.

  “I’m all for good news.”

  “Alonzo is transferring to San Diego.”

  Now that was good news. Detective Alonzo was Jake’s—and possibly my—self-appointed nemesis on the force. He could never quite accept that the only thing Jake had been concealing was his sexual identity. Or that the only thing I had been concealing had been Jake’s sexual identity. He preferred to believe in convoluted conspiracy theories like…I was a serial killer and Jake was covering for me? Who knows. I don’t think Alonzo even knew. He simply hated us both with a passion that was as sincere as it was irrational.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “No prospect of promotion.”

  Jake’s expression was impassive. I go
t it. The thick blue wall. Alonzo had committed the cardinal sin of going after a fellow cop. Jake had his enemies, but he also had his allies. And even his enemies disapproved of breaking rank more than they disapproved of anything Jake had done.

  From there the conversation moved to the current offer on Jake’s house in Glendale—the last two had fallen through in closing. What I wanted to ask him was whether he’d heard from his family, but I knew that if he had, he’d be telling me.

  The Riordans had not dealt well with the revelation that their oldest son was gay. Unanimously, they had taken the part of Kate, his ex-wife, even as Kate and Jake struggled to keep their divorce from turning into a civil war.

  I had never disliked anybody as much as I disliked every single member of Jake’s family. He had done a difficult and painful and courageous thing by coming out. And even if they couldn’t support his decision, they could have tried to understand. Nope. It was all about how they felt, how disappointed they were, their shattered hopes and dreams. The Amish could have learned a thing or two about shunning from Jake’s family.

  Still, the first rule of cohabitation is Thou Shalt Not Diss the Other Dude’s Kinfolk. So I kept my mouth shut. Which ought to rank at least among the top three on the Greatest Tests of True Love list, right above the one about spinning flax into pure gold.

  Jake finished his lunch—and mine—and then the bill came.

  “I’ve got it,” he said, and remembering the comment about free rent, I turned my reach into an elaborate raking back my hair. “Thank you. I needed that,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said seriously.

  While we waited for his credit card to be run, I said, “What do you think about meeting Kevin for dinner? Since you’re going to want to talk to him anyway.”

  Jake grimaced. “From my perspective it would be better not to mix social with business.”

  I was silent.

  He said with sudden, disarming honesty, “And also I would really, really like a night alone with you.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, although I think he thought I was going to because he forged ahead. “I don’t care that all the boxes aren’t unpacked and that we can’t find the toaster or the remote controls or the flannel sheets. I don’t care about any of that. I just want a night where we don’t have to be anywhere or do anything other than maybe walk the dog and have dinner together.”

  “I’d like that too.”

  Jake looked relieved.

  “But.”

  He let his head fall back, looking heavenward. I reached over and covered his hand with mine.

  “Hey. I can’t blow him off over the phone. Maybe we could meet for drinks. You can interview him, and I can explain why, even though you aren’t specifically taking his case, you’re still going after the result he wants, which is to find Ivor. And then we can have the rest of the night to ourselves. Which I also really, really want.”

  His cheek creased in a wry smile. He turned his wrist so that we were lightly holding hands.

  “Done,” he said.

  * * * * *

  “Oh, then you did come back!” Natalie called sweetly when I arrived at the bookstore. “I guess you’re not keeping regular hours yet?” She looked meaningfully at the clock on the mantel.

  I opened my mouth to point out that technically I wasn’t due back until Friday—never mind the fact that I was still her boss and signing her paychecks and keeping her guilty secrets from our combined family, however frustrating to us both that was—but the interested gazes of the line of waiting customers decided me against it.

  “Cor blimey, Ms. de Vil, don’t dock me wages!” I wailed, heading straight for my lair.

  I found Tomkins sniffing delicately at the open can of Tab on my desk. “Hey, you’re not supposed to be up here.” I scooped him off the desk.

  He meowed at me loudly, gusting Fancy Feast Tender Tongol Tuna breath right in my face.

  It was now unanimous. I got no respect from my staff. Times like these I longed for the good old days when it had just been me, twenty thousand books, and the occasional psycho killer.

  I began to go through the stack of messages thoughtfully placed dead center on my desktop blotter. There seemed to be a lot of them, including one from my editor and a couple from my ex, Guy.

  It said a lot about my writing career that I was more curious to hear what Guy had to say for himself than my editor.

  There were several requests from authors seeking signings at Cloak and Dagger. The boom in publishing meant writers great and small were ready and willing to grab any chance at a signing, even at a small—okay, medium-sized—indie bookstore. Big names like Gabriel Savant and J.X. Moriarity were touching base for the upcoming year, and a host of writers I’d never heard of—including writers who were only published digitally—were requesting time slots. Did they not understand how bookstores operated? Boasting about their Kindle Unlimited stardom was like bragging to me about their current case of bubonic plague.

  Thanks, but no thanks.

  I decided I still wasn’t ready for a return visit from Savant. Sent a yes, please to Moriarity, who was gay, an ex-cop, and most importantly, an all-around nice guy who always brought an enthusiastic crowd.

  That started me thinking. What kind of stories would Jake come up with if he decided to write a book?

  I mulled that over for an enjoyable minute or two and then got busy returning phone messages.

  “Can I talk to you?” Angus poked his head into my office as I was getting off the phone after arranging to meet Kevin for drinks at the White Horse Lounge.

  “Yep.” I pushed my chair back and beckoned toward the stack of cardboard cartons. “Grab a box.”

  Instead, Angus folded his arms defensively, leaning back against the closed door. “It’s my fault.”

  “It’s certainly half your fault,” I agreed. “I mean, it’s not a matter of fault. I know you’re both adults, and I know I can’t control—don’t want to control—who you get involved with. I’m thinking of your work relationship and how that’s going to affect the store.”

  At least that’s what I kept telling myself was my main concern.

  He swallowed, bracing himself for the big question. “Are you going to fire me?”

  “No. If I fire anyone—well, forget I said that. I’m not firing anyone. All the same, I’m not happy about this.”

  Like they didn’t know that? Like they cared?

  “It won’t affect the bookstore,” he assured me.

  “You say that now, but it’s already affecting the bookstore. And believe me, I totally appreciate the fact that you worked late on Christmas Eve. Opening an hour late today was not a big deal. In the larger scheme of things.”

  He viewed me solemnly through the blue lenses of his wire-framed spectacles. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Okay.” I assumed he meant opening the store late, though it would have been nice to think he was swearing off my female kinfolk.

  Angus said, “I love her.”

  “Oh God no,” I said.

  He looked startled at this outburst.

  “Don’t start with the love thing,” I said. “You barely know her.”

  “I’ve been working with her nearly every day for five months. She’s smart and funny and really beautiful.” He added in afterthought, “And a good manager.”

  “That’s not— That’s just— Don’t fall in love with her. That’s all I’m saying. A couple of months ago she was still moping around over that asshole Warren, remember? She probably still thinks she’s in love with him. She’s not a good relationship risk. I think she’d be the first—or now the second—person to tell you that.”

  He smiled at me. A big, wide pitying smile like how could I, an over-thirty bookseller, sometimes amateur sleuth, and an even fewer sometimes sometimes-writer of crime novels possibly understand the mysterious workings of the human heart?

  As if I wasn’t a Master Detective when it came to deciphering
the enigma of falling in love against your better judgment.

  “You’ll see,” he said.

  Chapter Four

  Jake had left to follow up a couple of leads and was not back when I headed out to the White Horse Lounge to meet Kevin at six.

  The place had a nice retro vibe to it. Lots of redwood paneling, velvet drapes, crystal chandeliers, low sofas, and lower tables. It was packed when I walked in. Judy Garland was singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and I felt a funny twinge at melancholy memory. Once upon a time that had been my song. At least during the holidays. Sometimes I still felt a flash of the old loneliness, a flicker of anxiety that I was starting to count too much on loving and being loved back.

  I spotted Kevin at the bar. If possible, he looked more weary and depressed than he had that morning, but his expression lightened when he spotted me.

  “Hi. You made it.”

  “Yep. Of course.” In answer to his look of inquiry, I said, “Jake’s running late. He’ll be here shortly. How was your day?”

  Kevin looked at me like I was an idiot, and I guess it wasn’t a particularly tactful question.

  “Were you able to get some rest?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Ah.”

  The bartender had her hands full—literally—so I tried to catch the eye of the nearest waiter. He smiled brightly in that take-a-number-buddy! way and turned his back. Okay. Since I was going to have to do this cold sober, I decided to yank the Band-Aid. “Listen, Kevin, a very weird coincidence has come up.”

  He nodded without much interest.

  “Jake has been hired by the Arbuckle family to try and find out what happened to Ivor.”

  That woke him up. He sat bolt upright, nearly knocking over his beer. “What?”

  “The decision to hire a private investigator is something in their favor.”

  I’m not sure he heard me. He looked about as thrilled as I’d anticipated—not that I blamed him. I continued quickly, “The thing is, Jake will get to the truth. He’s not going to take sides in this. He’ll find out what happened to Ivor, and that’s what you want.”