By Cat Connor
I was humming but it wasn’t long before the words popped out my mouth, “Ho ho fuc’n ho, what a crock of shit…we all work for Beatrice Claus and I’m sick of it.”
“Not a fan of Christmas?” Mac asked with a wicked grin. “Or is it the lunacy of my mother that’s riled you up?”
“I’m sure the day will be… interesting.”
I stretched my arms above my head, and loosened my shoulders. I noticed a small twinge in my right shoulder blade. Nothing to write home about just an annoyance, a reminder of something I’d sooner forget. I dropped my arms and rotated the offending shoulder.
“Tired?” Mac asked cutting yet another piece of red paper adorned with Santa’s and reindeer. His face suggested concentration on the task.
“Yeah. Looking forward to a break from work,” I replied. “Seems like an extraordinarily tough year so far.”
This was our first Christmas as a couple, an engaged couple at that. Also, my first Christmas without Mom; which wasn’t a bad thing, it was just different. We had Mac’s mom making a production out of Christmas. Such a familiar pattern. Over the top decorating, everything has to be just right. Too much food. Color coordinated everything, including wrapping paper. I picked up another roll and cut a length off for the next gift. Best to get on with it. A fated resignation fell over me.
I dropped the roll of paper onto the thick carpet and commented, “Nice of your mother to supply the wrapping paper.”
Mac grinned, wrapped another gift, and wrote on the tag. “And the tags.”
Guess we were lucky to be able to choose our own gifts for the family. I wrote on another tag and stuck it to the parcel I’d wrapped.
“What time tomorrow?” I asked.
“Eight,” Mac replied.
I didn’t think he meant at night. “When’s lunch?”
“About two.”
I saw a long day in front of me. A long tortuous day.
I could tell Mac was enjoying the idea of having company in his tinseled hell. We both remembered the hideous wooden bows she was making earlier in the year. At my suggestion, she added everyone’s names. Now the hideous things adorned the outside of their house – hanging on a large wooden Christmas tree she’d also made. We’re talking ugly about fifteen feet tall – painted, lit with lights and hung with the god awful wooden bows which themselves were at least thirteen inches wide.
“A long long day,” I whispered.
My trepidation escalated much like his mothers creation of Christmas. Beatrice Connelly loved Christmas, she loved it so much no one else had to.
“Don’t suppose you wanna make coffee? Mac asked with a smile.
I raised an eyebrow. “Actually I do…”
“That’d be nice.”
I held the bedroom door open to leave and his cat stalked in with her nose in the air. She eyed me with disdain.
“Won’t she rip the paper?” I asked, kissing him as I left.
“Yes, that’s why she’s not staying.” Seconds later the cat and I stood staring at each other on the landing as the bedroom door closed. I shrugged. She skulked downstairs ahead of me. In the kitchen, I turned the coffee maker on then filled her bowl with cat biscuits.
I left the cat eating and hurried into the home office Mac and I shared. I pulled open a drawer in my desk – my hand sort out a small box hidden in the back. It didn’t take long to find. I pulled it out and opened the lid. Nestled against the white satin lining sat a pair of citrine embedded silver cufflinks. They sparkled in the lamp light.
The coffee maker gurgled. The smell of fresh coffee made from one hundred percent Arabica beans wafted down the hallway. I found the small square of Christmas paper I had stashed days before in the office cupboard. Thick gold paper embossed with baubles of blue and silver. With care, I wrapped Mac’s surprise gift and added a blue and gold gift card. I hid the present in my handbag that sat on the kitchen counter.
Under our tree in the living room sat large wrapped boxes. In multi-colored paper – defying the orders that only one particular red paper be used this year. It was my tree in our home; I’d have what I liked. It was the rebel in me, or maybe the large dose of contrary I was born with.
There were presents for my father and brother, gifts for my best friend, Holly. Gifts for my colleagues slash trusted friends in Delta A, namely Sam, Lee and our boss SAC Caine Grafton.
The wall clock ticked.
I called up the stairs, “Dad and Aiden will be here soon.” A car pulled into the driveway. “They’re here…”
The bedroom door opened then shut. Mac bounded downstairs three at a time and raced me to the front door. I won.
“You cheated!” he crowed.
“I did not,” I replied turning the handle and trying to open the door. It stuck. I jiggled the door handle.
“Karma,” Mac said. “You cheated and the door knows.”
I tugged harder and it swung open.
“Did not.”
Aiden was already unloading the bags from the trunk. I spotted Dad fetching things from the back seat. My cell phone buzzed in my jeans pocket at the exact same moment as a black Ford Expedition pulled into the driveway behind dad’s car. Lee leaned over the passenger seat and waved at me. I waved back and checked my phone. Sure enough, the text was from Lee. ‘Not a social call - we have a case.’
Lee hauled from the car. “Howdy Colonel, Aiden,” he said. My father strode over and shook Lee’s hand. Aiden followed suit a reserved smile upon his lips. Mac’s arm snaked around my shoulders as he whispered in my ear, “Lee’s early.”
I whispered back, “we’ve been called out.”
“You’re on leave,” he reminded gently.
“It’s not a job, it’s a way of life.” I kissed him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” A dark part of me hoped it was a messy involved case and I’d be busy until New Years.
“No problem. I’ll hang out with the Colonel and your brother and hear all about young Ellie.”
“There’ll be a quiz later – take notes.”
Lee coughed quietly, indicating he was close by. “All set?”
“One sec.” I hurried back inside the house. I grabbed my gun and holster, and snapped the holster firmly to my belt, then stuffed my ID wallet into my jeans pocket. Pulled on a jacket from the closet in the hallway, charged into the kitchen and hooked my handbag over my shoulder. Ready I stepped out the front door into the cold afternoon air.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
Aiden glared at me. “It’s Christmas.”
“I know.”
Lee held the car door for me. The three men waved from the doorstep. Half way down the street, I asked about Sam.
“He’ll meet us,” Lee replied flicking the window wipers on to swoosh snowflakes from the windscreen.
“Snowing,” I muttered watching more stick. “Why we were we called?”
“Caine wants us in, that’s all I know. He said you’d know why when we get there.”
Oh, goodie a mystery. I held my sarcasm in check. “Where are we going?”
“DC.”
No kidding Einstein. My phone buzzed, it was Sam.
“How long will you be?” he asked.
“On our way – trouble?”
“It’s Christmas Eve, and this ain’t good.”
I hung up, leaned forward and pressed a button on the dash. Our rolling lights sent beams of red and blue into the snowy air, the siren wailed. Cars began pulling off the road and out of our way. The drive took longer than it should have, with fresh snow falling and slippery conditions.
The radio station cranked out Christmas song after Christmas song, the temptation to sing along was high, but luckily for Lee I resisted.
Propelled through an open door by an unseen force, I found myself standing in the spacious foyer of a very expensive home. Two police officers stood inside the front door. They greeted us with nods and small smiles. In one corner of the room stood a huge tastefully decorated Christmas tree. Its lights twinkled and blinked, making the glass baubles seem alive. Presents wrapped in gold and silver with bows and iridescent ribbons piled high under the tree. I smiled to myself – someone else color coordinated Christmas. The strangled sobs of a young woman emanated from somewhere unseen to my right. They made me wish I were home. I’d even take my chances with Beatrice the mother-in-law from tinsel-hell. Sam seemed to emerge from an ornate wall, he hurried over to us.
We shook hands. He placed a large hand in the middle of my back, both to usher me forward and to keep me close so he could fill me in using suitably hushed tone. Lee stepped into place on the other side of me. We walked slowly, listening to Sam.
“At one this afternoon Judge Meaghan Hartwell disappeared from her chambers. She was supposed to pick up her four-year-old son from daycare at one twenty. She never showed.”
“Okay.”
“There was no sign of a struggle. Her car is still in the parking garage, her phone, purse and keys still in her desk drawer.”
Even though we were further away from the sad sobbing, I could still hear it.
“Who is the crying woman?”
“The Nanny. There is a uniformed police officer with her.”
“How likely that she’s involved?”
“In my opinion, she’s not.”
Good enough for me.
“Anyone see anything? CCTV?”
“We have footage of the judge in the hallway outside her office at five minutes past one with an unidentified male.”
“That’s something. Get an ID. Find him. Family?”
“Her husband, Peter Hartwell is…”
“…is a Special Agent.” I thought the name Judge Hartwell was too much of a coincidence. There aren’t too many agents married to judges. And with that information in hand, I knew why we were called. “Has there been any contact? Any ransom demands. Is there any chance she could have walked away from her life, on purpose?” I was sure there hadn’t, Sam would’ve told me that first.
“No, no, and no to the later.”
I stopped and surveyed the distraught man holding a small boy on his knee. They sat on a cream leather settee in front of us. I knew him. He knew me. This was no time for beating about the bush and taking it slowly.
“Peter –where is your wife?”
He held the boy tighter. “I don’t know.” He looked up at me, worry etched lines into his face.
“You’re certain?”
“Conway, I have no idea where my wife is.”
I wasn’t about to ask if he’d killed her in front of the child. Peter’s manner told me, he really had no idea. He wasn’t lying. Good to know. Spouses are always the first suspect, whether I know them or not.
“Where were you between one this afternoon and… when the daycare called you to pick up your son?”
Sam interjected, “Two. They called at two.”
“Working,” Peter replied.
“Case?”
“I’m investigating a cold case. Someone came forward with information, a missing person’s case from 1997.”
“Where exactly were you?” I asked.
He placed the child on the ground. The little boy looked up at me and smiled. “My name is Alec. I’m four,” he said holding up four fingers.
I smiled at him. “I’m Ellie and I’m too many to count,” I replied wiggling a hand full of fingers at him. He laughed and ran off.
Peter handed me his notebook. “I was interviewing a witness.”
“Great.” He had an alibi and I really wanted him to have one. I hauled up information from a case I’d studied once. It was an amazing blueprint of how scary stalkers can be. “Peter I hate to ask this, but how long ago was the stalker situation resolved. I remember you were placed under the protection of the US Marshalls and they put you both into WitSec, yes?”
WitSec is the witness protection program, witnesses to crime, people who testify in major cases, are given new lives. In this case, the judge, and her husband were placed in WitSec to keep them safe from a stalker who used to be a special agent. They spent three years being moved from place to place before being able to return to their former lives. One thing about us special agents, we make the best stalkers. We’re very good at finding people and have astounding resources.
“Yes,” he said. “We returned to our lives three and a half years ago. We picked up the pieces in Richmond then moved up here to DC.”
“Any chance this is related?”
“None,” he replied.
“Do you think this is about Meaghan or you?”
“I have no idea. I’ve given it a lot of thought in the last hour and a half. Mostly my work is cold cases. Meaghan works for the family court.”
“She’s a superior court judge?” Lee asked.
“Yes.”
“Has she reported or mentioned anything untoward in the last six months?” he questioned, his voice smooth and calming. I watched and listened to Peter’s reactions and answers.
“No. She made the move to family court because it was less likely that anyone would come gunning for her over granting an adoption or a divorce.”
“Less likely but not impossible,” Lee said and turned to Sam. “Is someone going over recent cases and psych reports?”
“Yes, Chrissy is in Judge Hartwell’s office now. She’s about half way through the cases from the last six months,” Sam replied. “She’s paying special attention to any cases with court ordered psychiatric assessments.”
Music built up slowly until I recognized the song. The title track of an album I loved. Jon Bon Jovi’s Destination Anywhere. I scanned the room, just making sure it was in my head and not coming from a stereo somewhere. The movie came to mind then twisted and warped, taking the underlying tragedy of the loss of a child and re-formulating it. A light went on in my head. Everything it illuminated was ugly. I had a horrible feeling this was revenge. And it was about Alec but it went wrong.
My questions came with urgency. “Does Meaghan spend much time with Alec. How much responsibility does the nanny have –day to day?”
I watched him swallow hard and knew he was trying to remain patient and helpful.
“Meaghan spends time with him every afternoon. Nanny has him in the mornings; she usually drops him at Meaghan’s office at lunchtime. Today –she had a dental appointment so took him to daycare at about eleven and Meaghan was to pick him up from there.”
“She drops him off at the office every day, except today?”
“Yes.”
A feeling of cold dread was building. My mind ran scenarios as fast as it could - building blocks of possibilities on the songs I could hear. I held onto the feeling of a lucky escape for Alec but it mingled with dread.
“Peter, you know how this goes, and I do understand how tough it is to be the case and not be working the case.” God knows I’ve been there before. “Sit tight. Can I chat with Alec? He might just hold the key.” The second reason we were called; Kids like me.
He nodded. “Alone?”
“Will that bother him?”
Peter shook his head. “I doubt it, he’s a happy kid and out-going.” He pointed to the hallway and told me how to find Alec’s room.
I looked at Sam and Lee. “I think we’re looking for someone who had access revoked recently, if that’s the case there is probably a police report attached to the court file. Or maybe this is someone who was turned down as an adoptive parent. Whoever it is I have a feeling the person is constantly at his or her lawyers complaining about every little thing while making themselves out to be whiter than snow.”
Sam smiled. “Must’ve been some song.”
“Was almost an entire album,” I replied. I was thankful I didn’t have to explain how I garnered so much information from an album that became a movie about grieving parents. I hurried off to find the boy. His door was open. He lay on a large rug playing with cars. One of those cool rugs that had streets and buildings woven in. I knocked. He looked up and smiled.
“Can I play too?” I asked.
“Okay. You can be the police car.”
I grinned and sat cross-legged on the floor. Alec gave me a car and pointed out the police station. I quickly learned just how bossy and imaginative four-year-olds could be. I let myself enjoy the game for a few minutes before asking questions. The game continued.
We chatted and played. With a loud sigh, Alec rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
“Yesterday at the park a man was playing with some kids in the sand pit.”
“Were they his kids?”
“I don’t know. They played with me on the swings.”
“What about the man, was he nice?”
“No. He said something to mommy and it made her cross and we had to leave.”
Bingo.
“Have you seen him before?”
He nodded and sat up. “He goes to the park a lot. By himself and he plays with kids.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like?”
Alec thought for some time. I saw he was struggling and offered help. “As old as your daddy?”
He shook his head. “Older, he had not much hair and wrinkles.”
“Like Sam out there?”
“Is he the black man with a shiny head?”
“Yes.”
“Older than him but some hair.”
I smiled Sam kept his head hair free and shiny. He was Mr. T without the Mohawk or a darker version of Kojak. Scenes from the A Team vied for position in my mind with Kojak, the battle of who was cooler began. I much preferred the Kojak opening scenes to the A team. Kojak won. Gimme a lollipop.
I pushed the intrusive lollipop thoughts away and asked Alec another question. “What shape was he?”
There was a struggle within Alec, visible in his eyes and his expression. “I’m not supposed to say things that can hurt someone’s feelings.”
“It’s okay Alec. You’re allowed to tell, it will help me.” He was so cute. Just a little boy still learning about social filters and how not everything we think needs to be vocalized, it’s not an easy thing to learn. I still find both feet in my mouth more often than not.
He whispered, “He was fat, and smelly.”
I suppressed a smile. Fat and smelly.
“Tall like daddy and my friends out there?”
He shook his head. I could see his mind working. “When mummy stood up, she was taller than him.”
“You’re very helpful, Alec. Very helpful.”
“I know.” He smiled. “The little boy called him something, a name, but I don’t know what it was. The little girl she called him Nonno.”
“Nonno?”
“Yes.”
“Can you remember what the boy said?” Interesting that the girl called him Nonno, Italian for grandfather.
He thought some more and shook his head. “No. I don’t think the boy liked the man. When the man tried to hold his hand he pulled it away and went and sat further away.”
“What about the girl, did she like him?”
He nodded. “I think so.” Alec took a ragged breath. “He was a mean man. I accidentally broke the girl’s sandcastle. I didn’t mean too, I fell over. He was mean.” Alec began to cry. “It’s all my fault. Mommy didn’t pick me up and it’s all my fault.”
I touched his shoulder. “No, it’s not. Come and see your daddy. I’m going to go and find your mommy. You have been very helpful.” I had my fingers crossed behind my back. I didn’t want to promise his mothers safe return but I knew that’s what he heard.
I took his hand and led him back to Peter. Peter scooped him up into his arms. I told everyone about the park.
Lee, Sam and I stepped away briefly. “We’re looking for a fat smelly man with very little hair, probably Italian origin – one child with him called him Nonno.”
Sam chuckled lightly. “Anything else?”
“Yeah – how tall is Judge Hartwell?”
Sam flipped some pages in his notebook. “Five foot six.”
“In that case we’re looking for a short, fat, smelly, balding man.” I heard my voice crackle but ignored it. I could laugh later once the judge was safe.
I walked back to Peter and Alec. “Alec was amazingly helpful.”
Sam and Lee joined me. It’s as if they knew I was in danger of bursting out laughing.
“I’m waiting for a call back have alerted Chrissy – and given the description,” Sam said with deadpan delivery. I couldn’t look at his face. I knew I’d see the glimmers of humor behind his eyes that no one else saw.
My phone rang. It was Chrissy. She had a name and an address for us. Cyril Maletta was the man we wanted to speak to. Judge Hartwell revoked all his access to his five-year-old grandson the morning before. The order was effective from December 24th.
Chrissy also sent me a picture our technicians had retrieved from the CCTV. I showed the picture to Peter and Alec. “Do you know him?”
Peter shook his head. Alec nodded his voice crumbled as he whispered, “That’s the mean fat smelly man.”
I looked at Peter. “I’d ask you to come, but Alec needs you. We’ll be back.”
Tears ran down Alec’s face. I shoved my hand in my jacket pocket and pulled out my orange iPod. I adjusted the volume for little ears and handed the ear buds to him. “Do you like Christmas songs Alec?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
I hit play on the movie screen and passed him the iPod. Moments later, his head was bobbing to Bon Jovi singing Run Rudolph Run.
“I’ll grab it when we get back. There’s nothing unsuitable on there – just Bon Jovi, Grange, Elvis and some Michael Bublѐ.”
“All things his mother listens to. Bring her home, Ellie.”
We both watched the boy for a second. Peter leaned closer and whispered, “You think he was going to take Alec?”
“I do.”
Sam, Lee and I lit out like scolded cats. Lee was on the phone as I snatched the keys from his hand and jumped into the driver’s seat. In my rearview mirror, I saw Sam slide into his car. We pulled out of the driveway with full lights and sirens. Lee snapped his phone shut and fastened his seatbelt. Good call.
“SWAT are on their way. I expect them to get there at least fifteen minutes before us.”
“In this weather on Christmas Eve – we’ll be lucky if we get there within half an hour.” Snow flurries made visibility tricky.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Lee’s hand reach for the radio on the dash. I knew what he was doing before he spoke. My focus was the road and the traffic – I listened to him speaking.
“This is Special Agent Lee Davenport. Requesting backup at Lindenbrook Street, Fairfax.”
The radio crackled then a voice erupted. “Fairfax police. We have two cars in the area, what do you need?”
“A road block, no one in or out of Lindenbrook except SWAT, FBI and police.”
“Message understood.”
Another crackle preceded a question, “All noise?”
“Negative. Stealth approach.”
“Message understood.”
As I drove, the radio buzzed and crackled. Police cruisers were responding from all over Fairfax County. We let comms field the rest of the calls. Ask and you shall receive. A song drifted then settled in my mind. Please come home for Christmas. I felt a weight on my shoulders that came from knowing I had to return a mom to her little boy, alive.
We approached Lindenbrook Street and a police cordon. The SWAT truck was already inside and standing by. They had control of the scene; more exactly Special Agent Danny Godwin was scene commander.
I zipped my jacket up against the freezing wind and the blowing snow. Lee, Sam, and I clambered into the mobile SWAT command center. It was cozy bordering on close.
“Hey Danny, seen any movement?” I asked.
“Hey Ellie - not yet. My team are trying to get cameras into the house now. How sure are you that your man is in there?”
“I’m not, but I’m hoping he’s home and has our missing judge with him.”
I saw his shoulders slump. “Ah crap doodle, I hoped it wasn’t really a hostage situation on Christmas Eve.”
“I think this Cyril Maletta man wanted to grab the judge’s kid but picked the wrong day.” I watched the computer screens. A picture popped up on one. It looked like a living room. There was a man pacing back and forth and someone sitting in a chair. We could only see the top of a head. “That could be her. Don’t suppose we can get a camera in on the other side of the room so we can see?”
Agent Godwin smiled. “We may be able to.” He spoke quietly into the headset he was wearing. Giving directions to get a camera where we could see the person in the chair. “They’ll do their best, it’s a matter of getting it in silently. Not easy if they have to drill a special hole. That camera there is utilizing a hole made by the phone company for a telephone line, under the house.”
Five minutes later another picture popped up on the screen. A clear picture of Meaghan Hartwell. Her hands taped to the chair arms. Her feet taped together at the ankles. Beyond her, a Christmas tree all lit up.
“Is he smoking?” I asked peering closer at the screen.
“Yes,” Lee replied. “He’s also got a gun in his back pocket.”
Danny pressed a few buttons on the keyboard in front of him. He gave us sound. Cyril was ranting at Meaghan. Going on and on about how he was the best role model for his grandson and how he should be allowed to see him whenever he wanted to. He waved in the direction of what we assumed was the Christmas tree and spoke of all the gifts he’d brought him. Meaghan remained silent, even when he yelled in her face. The man’s right hand strayed to his back pocket. Then relaxed.
“Let’s call him and get a dialogue going,” Lee suggested as we watched his hand reach for the gun again. “What’s his freaking name again?”
“Cyril Maletta. Screw that - take him out. Anyone got a shot?” I said looking at Danny. “He’s getting too worked up. I’m not risking the judge’s life.”
He spoke into his headset again. Second’s later word came back that two snipers had clear shots. ‘We have a non-fatal resolution.’
Danny looked at me and gave the order, “Take him.”
I watched the screen as the man toppled to the ground. Meaghan slowly looked up at the window but never made a sound.
“Let’s go,” I said pushing the command center door open. Wind pushed back. Ice stung my face.
“He’s down, wounded but not dead,” Danny called after us followed by, “He’s in custody and being removed.”
When we reached the living room, an agent was cutting the tape from Meaghan’s wrists and ankles. We waited. The room stunk of cigarette smoke, both fresh and stale. The furnishings were ingrained with years of tobacco smoke. It was unpleasant especially as I’d only given up myself less than a month ago. The stench strengthened my resolve to never smoke again. A new song played. I wish every day could be like Christmas. Sometimes it’s a shame no one else can hear my music.
Freed at last the woman stood and smiled as us. “I know you, don’t I?” she asked me.
“You do. We were all at Director O’Hare’s barbeque last summer. Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Alec?”
“Safe with Peter.”
She smiled. “He wanted Alec. He wanted to teach me what it was like to have someone take a child away.”
“I see he didn’t take your ruling well,” I replied. “Come this way…” I led her from the house. Outside in the fresh snowy air we could breathe without choking.
“He didn’t take it at all well. Pedophiles rarely do.” A paramedic wrapped a thick grey blanket around her shoulders. “Before you arrived he’d spent an hour telling me how much he loved his grandson and how the boy enjoyed his demonstrations of affection.” She wore a grim expression. “I just wish someone had listened to the child earlier. That depraved man’s lawyer had everyone believing he was a saint. It took a kindergarten teacher to uncover the truth and get the boy to talk.”
I shuddered. No one told me the guy was a pedophile, but then we didn’t have a lot of time. Priority was to bring the judge home safely. I looked at Lee; he shook his head in disgust. Guess he hadn’t heard either. I looked over at the gurney where the man lay. Alec was right. He was short, fat, balding, and smelly. There’s a winning combination in a man.
“Sam – can you follow the ambulance and get a statement from Maletta, then arrest him for kidnapping a superior court judge and post a guard. Lee and I will take Judge Hartwell back to her family,” I said.
Sam grinned. “My pleasure.” He checked his watch. “Your dad still making eggnog?”
“Hell yes. Get moving – can’t guarantee it will last long once Lee and I get home.”
I said goodbye and thank you to Danny and then to the police officers who answered our call for help. I extended an invitation to each member of SWAT and each police officer to come home for eggnog.
It was the least I could do.
***
I had a feeling Christmas wouldn’t be so bad after all. My feelings aren’t always right. There was no song warning me of impending doom when Eddie rolled in the back door of the Connelly’s house drunk at eight-thirty in the morning. His short chubby wife, wearing four-inch-stilettos, what appeared to be stage makeup and the smallest dress I’d ever seen, followed him. I didn’t know fabric could stretch that far without ripping. A wardrobe malfunction was imminent and vowed to be the hell out of the way when it happened. Their two fat almost teenage kids barreled in behind them and headed right for the Christmas tree.
Bob Connelly grabbed them before they could rip into the presents and sent them off to sit on one of the large couches with a candy cane each.
Like they needed more sugar.
It was going to be a day to forget. Eddie and Angie sat on opposite chairs. Eddie slurped a beer. Angie batted her long fake eyelashes at Mac. My father and brother talked to Bob. Beatrice banged about in the kitchen refusing all offers of help. The kids fought over presents they hadn’t seen yet.
Mac pulled me closer so I was leaning against him. He whispered in my ear, “What’s under your sweater?”
I giggled, “Shouldn’t you know?”
“Smart ass. You’re carrying.” He tapped my side with his fingers.
“Maybe…”
“Maybe’s ass. You wore a gun to Christmas dinner…”
“Eddie is here, hello. You think I want to be unarmed with that drunken octopus in the room?”
I settled back and watched the chaos unfold in front of me. Beatrice came in yelling about the ham not being right. Eddie fell off his chair. The kids punched each other. Bob separated them. The fat boy snatched a present, opened it and threw the contents at his father. Angie spent the whole morning trying to attract Mac’s attention. Every now and then, my hand strayed to my hip and rested on the butt of my Glock.
Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.
Next year it’ll be at our house with a strictly limited guest list. Us.
The End.
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This is a work of fiction.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2009 by Cat Connor
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