Save Me, Santa: 5 Holiday Stories of Romance & Suspense

by Nina Bruhns

  “Whoa.” My heart flipped. “Diamonds?”

  “Yes, and I think every seam has some valuable gems as well. These are worth… Well, a lot.” Arlene held the diamonds in her open palm.

  “Then why would Susan choose that jacket to bury him in?”

  “Because it was his favorite. He kept it in the back of his closet and never wore it. He always told us it was priceless to him.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I thought he must have something hidden away. That’s why I wanted to be alone with him earlier, I’m ashamed to say. And when I felt his jacket seams they were full of small bumps. That’s when I knew I had to come back and get the jacket without Susan knowing. I didn’t think she’d ever understand without ever having kids to raise and support.”

  “Why don’t you try to explain it to her, like you just did to me? I’m sure she’d understand.”

  “Remember, I’m cut out of the will.” Arlene closed her hand.

  “Oh. Yeah.” I felt bad for her. After all it was Christmas. “Maybe, she’ll have the holiday spirit of forgiveness?”

  “Maybe. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Arlene gave a faint smile.

  “It sure would.”

  Knock. Knock.

  Joe peeked his head inside the door. “Is everything okay in here?”

  I looked at Arlene and whispered, “You need to get this taken care of with your sister. If not, I have to deal with her or the police.”

  “Fine.” She sighed.

  “So all is good here? Is there anything I can do?” Joe offered.

  “Can you call Susan Wallace, please, and have her meet Arlene here?” I asked Joe.

  * * *

  After Susan arrived, we left the sisters alone in the office. While we waited in the lobby, I updated Kim and Joe about what Arlene had said.

  Fifteen minutes later Arlene and Susan emerged from the office.

  “Thank you for everything,” Susan said as she approached me.

  “You’re welcome. We’re always glad to help,” I said.

  “Yes, ma’am, It was our pleasure,” Joe said, shaking Susan’s hand.

  “Please, let us know if you need anything at all,” Kim offered Susan and Arlene.

  “Thank you. We’re fine. We’ll see you tomorrow morning. Oh, and I’m bringing another jacket.” Susan put on her gloves. She pointed to the jacket over Arlene’s arm. “We’re taking this one home.”

  Arlene said to me, “I guess I’ve underestimated my sister. She’s going to have all the jewels appraised, and then put the money into college accounts for my kids.”

  “I’m glad to hear that worked out.” I smiled. “Happy Holiday.”

  Right after Susan and Arlene left, the back door buzzer sounded.

  “Another delivery? We’re only supposed to have one tonight.” Kim glanced at Joe and then me. “And that one turned out to be a set up.”

  “What’s going on Joe?” I asked.

  “I… um… forgot to call off part two of your initiation.” Joe ran to the back door, and shouted over his shoulder to us, “Never mind. You guys can leave. I’ll lock up.”

  Kim turned to me and smiled. “Thank goodness tonight’s over. I guess you never really had to spend too much time alone here.”

  “Nope, I didn’t. Instead, I had a fake corpse, scary noises, and someone breaking in to undress a corpse. So I would say a night alone may be fine after a night like this.” I chuckled.

  “Too bad you want to be alone.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I was hoping you could join me at the all night diner for a milkshake.” Kim grabbed her purse.

  “A date?” I asked, pushing my luck.

  “Sure, why not?” Kim walked over to me, opened her purse, and reached inside. “I need to get this out.”

  “Nunchucks?” I asked.

  “I was going for mistletoe, but I guess I don’t need it to do this.”

  Kim grabbed me by the arms and pulled me in for a kiss.

  THE END

  (If you’ve enjoyed this romantic suspense short story “Christmas Corpse Caper,” and want to read more about Mark Stevens, you’re sure to love the Amazon Kindle bestselling novel LIQUID LIES, a murder mystery suspense thriller http://amzn.com/B007GQ10WS )

  Acknowledgments

  My sincerest and deepest appreciation goes out to my beta readers, and dear friends: Patricia Mason, Donna Shea, Nancy Remler and Charles Cory. With your very insightful and useful feedback on my stories, I know that they are much stronger and better because of you. I cannot thank all of you enough, my Savannah Pen & Ink group. And of course special thanks go to my final editor, formatter and much more, my dear husband Tom.

  Dedication

  This story is dedicated to an incredibly brilliant, wonderful and generous friend who keeps me laughing and is one of my favorite people in the entire world- Patricia Mason. You are my muse, my brainstorming partner and idea generator. Plus my away from home fun loving travel buddy. I am honored to have you in my life. This story is for you.

  More from Lois Lavrisa

  One Dead Body. Two Girls with a Secret. Read the Amazon Bestselling mystery LIQUID LIES by Lois Lavrisa.

  http://amzn.com/B007GQ10WS

  “Definitely a Keeper! I could not put this book down! Liquid Lies is a tightly woven mystery steeped full of quirky characters on an emotion-packed thrill ride. This is one story you'll want to tell your friends about!”

  ~Cynthia Cooke, Bestselling, Award Winning Author.

  About Lois Lavrisa

  Lois Lavrisa writes Mystery with a Twist. Her first mystery LIQUID LIES, an Amazon bestseller and Amazon Hot New Release, is set in an affluent lake town in Wisconsin. Fast paced with twists and turns around every corner, it'll keep you guessing until the end. She has short stories in four 2012 anthologies. Her short story “Picture not Perfect” is in a young adult anthology called Eternal Spring which was released with great reviews in April 2012. Another short story “Turnabout Twist” is included in The WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Summer Fling Edition. “Treat or Trick,” a Halloween short story is included in WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies Spooky Shorts. Currently she is working on several new series including a young adult trilogy and a cozy mystery. She's been married to her aerospace husband Tom for over 21 years and they have four children - two boys and two girls. She's a member of several writing organizations including: Mystery Writers of America (MWA), Romance Writers of America (RWA) and Sisters in Crime (SIC). Currently, she's serving as vice president of the Low Country RWA. You can connect with her on Facebook:

  www.facebook.com/authorloislavrisa Twitter: www.twitter.com/loislavrisa and her websites: www.loislavrisa.com or www.liquidlies.com.

  A Very Shitake Christmas

  Shitake Happens Series #1.5

  by

  Patricia Mason

  Beware of Greek Santas bearing gifts.

  Imogene “Mo” Tuttle had forgotten that simple maxim and now June 17th was turning out to be a very shitake Christmas.

  Aristotle—the Santa not the philosopher—adjusted the pine bough holiday wreath around her neck. The edge of a red bow decoration dragged against her skin, scrapping it. Mo flinched away. The wreath weighed almost nothing but still felt as if it would crush her chest.

  “Don't move too much,” Santa Ari warned. “I'm setting the trembler switch on this thing now. Too much motion and… BOOM.” He checked the handcuffs locking her to the bronze leg of The Waving Girl. The statue faced the Savannah River and seemed to say good-bye to ships leaving the port.

  Mo prayed this day wouldn't end with a good-bye for her too.

  Santa Ari reached into the wreath and pulled a wire from beneath the red ribbon. After taking a device from the pocket of his fuzzy, red pants, he attached it to the wreath's bottom. Then he pushed at buttons on a mechanism clipped to his black belt. With a beep, the device lighted up an LED readout with the numbers 00:00. He punched again at his belt mechanism
and the readout beeped. The numbers changed to 60:00 and began to countdown.

  59:59, 59:58, 59.57…

  Fear clogged her throat, gagging Mo like a chunk of fifty-year-old fruitcake. She fought to speak. “Please, Ari. Just let me go. You don't want to do this.”

  “Oh, yes. I do.” Santa Ari chuckled. Taking a gun from the back of his waistband, he tapped Mo on the tip of the nose. “You shouldn't have tried to ruin my life.”

  He turned away and lifted his fur-trimmed, red sack. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “And remember: He sees you when you're sleeping… he knows if you've been bad or good. I'll be watching.” He pointed to the Talmadge Bridge visible in the distance through the trees. “So be good for goodness sake. Because if you're not… “ He tapped the triggering mechanism. “This wreath will blow sky high and take your pretty head with it. And you don't want that to happen, do you?”

  * * *

  June 15th… Two days before.

  Mo woke up curled against a muscular, naked back with one arm draped over a trim, male hip. Times like this made her glad to be alive.

  Almost three months had passed since she'd met Ross Grant and they'd been embroiled together in murder and mayhem. Proximity had bred passion. And after the murder had been solved, and the mayhem gone, the romance remained.

  “Mmmmm,” she murmured, snuggling against him as she ran her hand from his hip, over his stomach, and then up to fondle one well-developed pec. Inhaling, Mo reveled in the musky, manly scent of him. “What a good morning.”

  Ross groaned before taking her wandering hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed her fingertips. “I agree. The morning is definitely showing promise.”

  That baritone voice, with the elegant British accent, set fire to her. Just those few words made her steam more than hot cocoa.

  “Alas,” he continued. “I'm supposed to be on the set in thirty minutes.”

  Mo rubbed herself against him and then nipped his earlobe with her teeth. “Really? How interesting. I don't have anywhere to be.”

  Ross's acting career was on the rise. He was starring in a movie currently filming in her hometown of Savannah, Georgia. Plus, he'd been signed as the lead in the sequel to the mega blockbuster that had propelled him to fame ten years ago. On the other hand, Mo was an out-of-work private eye with an annoying penchant for food-word obscenity substitutes. She'd started using food to kick the swearing habit at the insistence of her former boss. Now it had become such second nature that she couldn't stop.

  “You,” Ross said, shifting in the bed so that he lay facing her, “are making it very hard for me to go. Very hard.”

  “You're right,” she teased, grinding herself against him as she planted a kiss on his lips. “It is very hard. What are you going to do about it?”

  He smiled, caressing her back from shoulder to buttocks. “I guess they'll just have to wait for me.”

  “Rank should have its privileges.” She planted a trail of kisses from his chest to his jaw. Their lips met again, and as their mouths melded, a cell phone's ringtone—the Love Boat theme—sounded.

  Ross broke the kiss and pulled back with a grimacing smile. “Brilliant.”

  She reached for the bedside table. “Who could be calling me?” Grasping the device, she glanced at the face. “It's a U.K number. Your dad… again.”

  Ross's parents were divorced, with his mother in Bermuda and his father in England.

  “Why does Father keep calling you?”

  “I don't know.” She shot him a glance with an arched brow. “Does he think I'm your secretary?”

  “Of course not.” He shook his head. “He knows you're my girlfriend. I had a long chat with him about you. Quite recently, actually.”

  “Doesn't he have your direct number?”

  “What do you think?”

  She swiped at the screen of the cell and held it to one ear. “Hello?”

  “This is Bertram Grant phoning for my son, Ross.”

  “Hello, Mr. Grant. This is Mo Tuttle.”

  “I know who this is,” he said in a haughty tone. “I telephoned your number. I'm not senile. Put my son on the line, if you please.”

  “Yes. Well… “ She could think of nothing to say to that. Nothing polite anyway. “Here's he is.”

  “Father.” Ross got out of bed “I'm late for the set. I'll phone you later.” He hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed before heading off to the bathroom.

  “What did he want?” Mo called after him.

  “No idea.” Ross's voice came along with the sound of running water in the sink.

  The Love Boat theme trilled again. This time the caller ID showed Harriet Hutson. Harry was Mo's former boss at the Incredible Love private investigation firm. Three months ago, Mo had quit before she could be fired for disobeying her boss's orders. Orders she had to break to protect Ross.

  “Harry,” Mo answered the call. “It's been a long time.”

  “I know,” Harry replied. “Too long. I wonder if you could come by and see me at the office this morning, in about an hour.”

  “I don't know… I… “ Just then a beeping in the phone indicated another call. Mo glanced at the phone's face. Ross's father again. “Oh cranberry sauce! All right. I'll see you then, Harry. Gotta go.”

  Bertram Grant didn't wait for her greeting when she clicked over to answer. “Please place an appointment on my son's calendar. I'll be visiting him in the States for Christmas. I'll arrive on Christmas Eve and depart three days later.”

  “Great,” Mo said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “That will be fantastic.”

  “Flight 487 arriving at 12:30 p.m., Eastern Time, U.S. Have someone fetch me from the airport.”

  She wanted Ross's father to like her, so she avoided a snarky comeback. “I'll let him know. I look forward to see—”

  He ended the call before she could complete the nicety.

  “—Seeing you.” Perhaps Bertram Grant thought she and Ross wouldn't be together by Christmas. Maybe that was why he acted so snotty. And if this were any other guy but Ross, she'd stage a strategic breakup to avoid meeting his family. Then they could reconcile—with some great make-up sex—after the holidays were over. But she couldn't chance a mock fight with Ross. He was too important to her. Besides, six months would give her time to prepare herself so she could meet Bertram Grant with confidence.

  Mo headed into the bathroom where Ross had finished brushing his teeth and was about to get into the shower. As he stepped into the tub, she admired his gorgeously nude body before he pulled the plastic curtain closed.

  “Your dad called again,” she said. “He wanted me to tell you he's visiting for Christmas. He'll be here on Christmas Eve.”

  He swept aside the curtain to peer out. “I beg your pardon?”

  “He'll be here for Christmas.” She laughed. “He certainly likes to plan ahead. Couldn't he have waited a few months?”

  “I hate to tell you this, but it's not that far off.” Ross's lips quirked into a smile and then he ducked back into the shower, closing the curtain.

  “December 25th is over six months from now,” Mo shouted.

  “Yes. But my father is a historian and an astronomy buff,” Ross shouted back over the blasting water sound.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “He refuses to celebrate Saturnia on December 25th. That's a pagan holiday, according to him. Instead, he celebrates Christmas on a more historically accurate date for Jesus's birth.”

  “So when is that?” Mo asked.

  The water shut off and Ross climbed out of the shower. His black hair glistened with wetness and the beads of water on his body made her salivate.

  Holy snow cone. Each time she saw him, Mo had to fight the urge for her jaw to drop.

  Ross grabbed a towel and began drying off his chest. His blue eyes sparkled as he said, “June 17th.”

  “No!”

  “That's right. If he said he's arriving on Christmas Eve, then th
at means my father will be here tomorrow.”

  “Son of a candy cane.”

  Ross chuckled and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

  * * *

  “So this should be like a real Christmas?” Mo asked, turning the car's wheel to avoid a pothole. “Complete with tree, dinner feast, presents… “

  “Theoretically, yes,” Ross said, gritting his teeth and gripping the dashboard with one hand—he hated for her to drive. “But I don't think you should bother about all that. My father must bloody well know not to appear at the last minute and expect a big hoopla.”

  “No. No,” Mo assured him. “I want to make a good impression. I want him to like me.”

  “Forget that, love. I like you. That's all that's important.” His voice held a pronounced smirk.

  “You sound as if you don't think he'll like me.” She glanced at him and then back to the road, before taking a right.

  “Well… You are a bloody Yank.”

  “I was born in the South. I'm not a Yankee,” Mo said, her tone escalating an octave.

  “Not Yankee. Yank.” Ross chuckled. “You're all Yanks this side of the pond.”

  Not exactly something Mo could change.

  “What does he like?” she pressed Ross. “Give me ideas. I need to buy him a gift from you and me.”

  After considering for a moment, Ross said, “Father has a wicked sense of humor. Anything you don't think is funny, he probably will. He likes to play pranks.”

  “That's hardly helpful.” Mo pulled her Mini Cooper to a screeching stop at the barricade blocking the street where Ross and company were scheduled to film that day.

  “Right,” Ross continued. “He loves chocolate but only if it's mixed with nuts. Father also enjoys books, particularly old history tomes.”

  Hmmm. She could probably work with that.

  Ross tapped his forehead. “Actually, last week I was in that antiquarian bookshop on Liberty Street and saw a rare astronomy book I thought he might like. The owner is holding it for me. You could pick that up.”