Intrigued: The Dark Christmases

by Arkadie, Z. L.

  Copyright © 2019 by Z.L. Arkadie Books

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-942857-47-1

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to the following:

  Edited by Red Adept Editing

  Cover Design by Z.L. Arkadie Books

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Also by Z.L. Arkadie

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  December 22nd

  “Christmas with the Christmases” was something I’d been repeating ever since I’d accepted Bronwyn Henrietta Christmas’s invitation. Her offer was twofold—spend the holiday with her family while taking on a project that would excuse the debt I owed them. What she’d hired me to do was still a mystery. All I knew was that it paid a lot of money.

  “Is it legal?” I had asked during our call in which it sounded as though she were whispering.

  From the moment I met Bronwyn, I realized she lived every moment of her life in secret. Even the circumstances of how we’d become roommates at Redmond College were a secret. Redmond was an all-girls liberal arts college on the East Coast, where the rich and privileged sent their daughters to live up to their blue-blooded family names. My blood was redder than red. I was not rich, and I sure as hell wasn’t privileged. I was the daughter of a conman and a perpetually depressed woman who had willed herself into an early grave. But school had become my safe haven. I loved learning and had graduated at the top of my class, earning a full academic ride to Redmond.

  “Yes, it’s legal,” Bronwyn whispered, although she sounded as if I had insulted her.

  “Okay, then tell me what it is,” I blared.

  She paused. “I can’t. Not over the phone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Holly, please don’t make this harder than it already is. What I need falls in line with what you do, investigative reporting. I know you’re an independent reporter. I read both of your books, The Howsley Project and In Defense of Bad Air.”

  I sat up straight, gripping the handles of my black leather chair, and studied the large downtown building on the other side of the busy avenue. “You did?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I had sold a lot of those books, but she was the first person from my early years to say she’d read them. It felt strange and rather gratifying.

  “I promise it will be worth your while,” she whispered even lower than before.

  I’d accepted her invitation, and now, after a hectic start to my day and a four-hour drive from Philadelphia to Newport, Rhode Island, I stood in front of the Christmas mansion estate. The massive iron gates with their pointy spears at the top and a twisting design of the family crest in the middle opened wide to let me in.

  My nerves were through the roof as I drove slowly past the pine trees, glistening fresh snow, and expansive white lawn on my final approach toward the rustic red stone mansion with high gables, plenty of windows glowing with warm light, and chimneys peaking beyond the roof like narrow spires. I couldn’t rip my eyes off the sheer size and magnificence of the home. The place looked more like an exclusive five-star hotel. It was strange to know people actually lived there.

  Finally, I arrived at a fork in the drive and decided to curve toward the front of the house. Bryn had given me no instructions regarding where to park or what would happen once I arrived. She had only given me the address and the family gate code. We had agreed she would meet me any time between 3:00 p.m. and 5:00 p.m. I glanced at the time on the console. It was 3:17 p.m. I stopped under the carport and searched past the archway of the enclosed patio. It looked as if no one had opened what looked like the iron castle doors in centuries.

  I figured I should get out to see if Bryn or anyone could direct me on what to do next. But the longer I thought about where I actually was, the antsier I became. This was the estate of the famous or infamous Christmases, depending on how I looked at them. Suddenly, I wished I’d stayed home, even if it would’ve been another Christmas spent alone. I would’ve drunk hot cocoa and caught up on all the issues of my news magazine subscriptions that I had missed while tending to a busy summer of covering political scandals and corporate cover-ups.

  But that was only my fear talking. I hadn’t laid eyes on Bronwyn Henrietta Christmas in the flesh since we’d hugged and wished each other a great summer after our first year of college had ended. Since I had been assigned to the same dorm room for the next academic year, I thought surely I would be rooming with her again. But she hadn’t shown up. Junior and senior years went by, and I was assigned to the same dorm room, but Bryn had never shown up. I’d tried calling her, but I would only reach one of the family estate secretaries, who’d promised to inform Bryn that I’d rung her.

  I took a deep, settling breath. For four years of college, I’d lived in the most posh dorm on campus. It wasn’t by accident. I took a moment to recall the first time I ever met the pretty, wealthy girl with her perfect bob of blond ringlets that showcased her sensual bow-tie mouth and coveted bedroom eyes. It had been during student orientation, which had taken place a week before school began.

  No one sat on either side of me in the large auditorium, although the place was packed and abuzz with excited chatter. It was as though all the girls knew each other from summers at a posh camp in the Alps somewhere or from the times their families mingled while vacationing in Europe. My curious ears listened to how they discussed who went to which overpriced private high school and how some of the girls didn’t have the grades to land a spot in Redmond.

  “Her spot was given to one of the hobos,” one of them said.

  I only realized I was one of the hobos when the girl with the dark hair and blue eyes glared at me after saying that.

  A girl flopped down in the seat next to me. “Don’t mind them. They’re stinky little bitches with bad breath and sour pussies.”

  I gasped at her filthy language, even though I was thankful that my new adversaries seemed wounded by what the girl had said.

  “I’m Bronwyn Christmas, but the people I like call me Bryn.”

  One of the girls turned to the side and pretended not to be watching us through her peripheral vision. Something told me she wasn’t permitted to call Bronwyn by her nickname. It was also clear that in the pecking order of the rich and powerful, Bryn was at the top.

  She asked me where I grew up, and I was not ashamed to say, “Pittsburgh.”

  “What does your father do?”

  I narrowed an eye. “You mean for work?”

  “Yeah…” She waited attentively for my answer.

  Thanks to the help of a really good principal, guidance counselors, and teachers, I’d learned years ago not to let who my father was make me feel ashamed. His choices were not mine. “Absolutely nothing,” I finally said.

  Bryn tossed her head back and laughed. “I like you.” She adjusted in her seat. “But you’ve never heard
of the Christmases?”

  I frowned, confused. “Which Christmases are you talking about?”

  She studied my expression for a moment then busted out in laughter.

  I felt my face turn red when I realized what she meant. “Oh, you mean your family? No, I never heard of them.”

  “You never heard of us?” she whispered so the other girls couldn’t hear her.

  “Should I have?”

  She smirked. “Nope.”

  Dean Westerly took the stage, and just as she welcomed all the new students to Redmond, Bryn hopped to her feet and strutted out of the auditorium. The next time I saw her was a week later when I walked into what was my version of heaven on earth. The place was like a modern apartment and had all the bells and whistles, including two master bedrooms with their own attached bathrooms. My jaw dropped when I saw the jetted tub. Is this a college dorm, and if so, do I have the right room? I looked at the key in my hand that my student advisor had given me and used it to open the front door.

  “Hey, roomie,” a voice said.

  I quickly whipped my face around to see Bryn standing behind me with a guy, whom I soon came to know as Dale Rumor, draped around her.

  “I needed a roommate, so I chose you,” she said, her delicate lips stretched into a cocky smile.

  It didn’t take long to realize why Bryn had sat next to me before orientation and chatted me up. She had secrets, and I was an outsider, so her double life was safe from gossip and scandal. It seemed as though she brought home a different boy every night. Only a few would spend the night; most would be locked in the room with her for a few hours and then leave. Not once had I ever seen Bryn study, yet when she showed me her first-semester report card, she had all A’s.

  Bryn and I genuinely liked each other, though. She would listen for hours as I talked about my parents and all the shit they had put me through. Bryn never really said much about her family. I knew she had a twin brother and two older brothers. Like my parents, her far richer and seemingly just as unstable parents never came to visit. At times, a woman would show up to check on her. Bryn never told me her name, but she looked to be in her thirties.

  When I graduated from college, I received a handwritten card from Bryn that read, “Don’t worry about paying us back for the dorm. You deserve to live in the lap of luxury.”

  My mouth dropped. All that time, I’d thought my scholarship was paying for the room. When I went to the finance department, I made them provide me with a statement of all my expenses and payments for four years of college. To my surprise, the Christmases, on behalf of Bronwyn Henrietta Christmas, had paid for my souped-up dorm room for the entire four-year duration.

  As soon as I had graduated from grad school and landed my first job as a reporter, I’d contacted the estate and made arrangements to pay them back. I’d been paying them eight hundred dollars a month for the last three years. Only thirty-six thousand more, and they would be paid in full.

  I sat in my car, still staring at the massive door, and took a steadying breath. Soon, I would see Bryn’s face again.

  “Here goes nothing,” I said with a sigh. Twisting my body, I reached into the back seat of my car and snatched my ankle-length wool coat off the seat. I angled my body downward and stretched my hand beneath the passenger seat to feel for my purse. “Got it,” I whispered. My arm ached from expending so much energy to do only two things in such a cramped environment. For sure, my fuel-efficient compact car was out of place. Thank God I’d made it there before another downpour of snow, because my car never drove well in the snow.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  I pressed my hand over my pounding heart and turned to see a man with the world’s sexiest blue-green eyes glaring at me from the other side of the window. It took me a moment to absorb more of his face, like all the angles and his delicately plump lips. His eyes, face, mouth… Looking at him was like watching a hypnotist’s medallion shift back and forth.

  Finally, he took a step back. “Roll down the window,” he said while motioning for me to do just that.

  I resumed breathing steadily and pressed the button on the handrest.

  He folded his arms. “Who are you, and how did you get through the gate?”

  “I’m Holly Henderson.” My tone indicated that my name should’ve jogged his memory, but the stern look on his face didn’t change. “Bryn invited me for Christmas, and…” My face burned with embarrassment as I looked down uncomfortably at my lap, flustered by the moment. I always showed up prepared, so feeling rattled was unfamiliar to me. It would’ve been nice to be able to tell the man about my professional mission. It probably would’ve made me feel more like a worthy guest.

  I knew the beautiful man standing before me was a Christmas. He was Jasper William Christmas, the oldest brother and presidential hopeful. Of course no one could ever pin down what he actually stood for. He never spoke much. However, he always appeared confident and stoic in the news in a way that most men wanted to emulate. And he had looks that put most of the hottest movie stars to shame.

  “You’re her college roommate?” he finally asked.

  The fact that he was aware who I was by name made me relax a smidgen. “Yes,” I said briskly. “And you’re Jasper Christmas.”

  His eyes narrowed to slits. There were thoughts behind the way he looked at me, and none of them appeared welcoming.

  “She didn’t tell any of us we were having guests,” he said.

  I felt my lips pressing together in a slight grimace. Part of me wanted to say, “Okay. Thanks, and hope to never see you again.” But I remained silent and waited for him to continue.

  “Well, you can’t park your car here. It’s going to be snowing in a few hours. Turn around, go back to the split in the drive, and make a left to the back of the house. I’ll meet you there.”

  He walked off before I could agree. As he strode under the veranda, I caught a glimpse of his straight and elegant gait. Yep, it was the same Jasper Christmas who carried himself like a man convinced he owned the world. He was dressed in a pair of well-fitting casual dress pants and a black V-neck sweater under his brown leather flight jacket that had a shearling collar. Watching him made me feel as if I were admiring a wonderful spectacle. He opened those large doors and disappeared into the mansion. Gosh, he was even more impressive to look at in real life.

  “Get a grip, Holls,” I whispered. My shaky hands clenched the steering wheel as I made the three-point turn. I’d certainly interacted with men just as intimidating as Jasper. I dreaded the possibility of meeting the rest of the family before I could decompress from my long drive.

  That morning, I’d woken up at six a.m. and headed to my office downtown. I rented my own space, where I worked as an independent journalist. My job allowed me to write articles for multiple news outlets. I preferred it that way. I loved being free of a corporation and boss. But Jimi Newton, one of my regular editors, was in town and had stopped by my office to discuss an article. A source had all of a sudden refused to go on the record. It wasn’t a problem, I just had to figure out a different way to prove Franklin Dyson had paid a judge to rule in his favor. I would have been working on it at that moment if I weren’t at the Christmas estate.

  By the time I made one left then the next, my nerves had settled some. I drove under five miles per hour and could see Jasper’s long form waiting alongside the drive. I wondered who I would meet next. Maybe it would be Spencer, the playboy of the family, or Asher, the chemist who had the brains.

  Once I was closer, he gestured, motioning for me to follow him as he walked toward what looked like a garage so large they could park yachts and small airplanes in it. Jasper’s long legs and masculine physique made the view worthwhile. I couldn’t believe I was having such a response to him. I was too sensible to get all hot and bothered by a man’s appearance.

  How long has it been since I had sex anyway? It had been so long, I couldn’t count the months. I’d been too busy meeting deadlines and flying to locati
ons to interview sources. Lots of men had tried to gain my attention, but Jasper Christmas was the only one who’d made me stop and take notice.

  Suddenly, one of the many garage doors automatically rose. Jasper pointed to where he wanted me to park. As I pulled into the stall, I realized that soon he and I would have to stand face to face.

  “Hi. Thank you for having me,” I muttered, practicing my greeting, even though he didn’t seem happy about me being there.

  Suddenly, I felt myself doing everything right. I made sure my vehicle was perfectly straight then turned off the engine. I fought like crazy to steady my nerves as I popped the trunk. I collected my coat and purse off the passenger seat then quickly tucked a fast-food bag under the seat. I sighed sharply, upset for suddenly feeling so self-conscious about how Jasper perceived me. He probably never ate a french fry from a drive-through in his entire life. I opened the door and stepped out, ready for my eyes to meet his blue-green ones.

  “Hello, ma’am,” a middle-aged gentleman in a black suit said.

  Where in the world did the brother go?

  “Hi.” I sounded flustered because the man whom I believed would be standing there was gone.

  “My name is William, and I’m the guests’ butler,” he said, remaining a safe distance away from me.

  “Um…” I shrugged on my coat. “I’m—”

  “Holly Henderson, I know. Miss Christmas informed me of your arrival.”

  I perked up. “Oh, because Jasper didn’t know I was coming.”

  “Yes,” William said.

  “Did you mean, yes, he knew I was coming?” I asked as I hung my purse on my shoulder.

  “No, he did not.” William’s tone remained formal.