Beachcomber Santa: a Beachcomber Investigations Novella

by Stephanie Queen

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. I wonder if you could help us out,” Shana spoke reverently to the youngish librarian. She wore the obligatory dark rim eyeglasses, but there the resemblance to any librarian stereotype he’d ever seen stopped short. She had lipstick enhanced cherry red lips, big brown eyes and strawberry blond hair. She was short, but she had a knock-out body—almost like a miniature of Shana the Beautiful. Except there was no match to Shana. Not in his experience. And he had lots of experience, had been around the world sampling the best women everywhere.

  Miss Librarian smiled. Mostly at him. Naturally. He smiled back. Shana’s smile didn’t falter, but he felt her tense up.

  “We’re looking for Marylu DeLuzio. Her mother asked us to let her know she’s needed back at home if we ran into her.”

  “Why don’t you just text her?”

  “She’s not answering her phone. It appears to be dead or turned off.”

  Miss Librarian nodded and then said, “I don’t know who she is. Sorry.”

  “Any business today?” Dane asked in his honey-coated voice. Miss Librarian responded with a honey-coated smile and her eyes lasered in on him.

  “Yes, it’s slow, but we have a few people. Upstairs.” She doubled up on her smile and pointed like Vanna White to the staircase.

  “Thank you. You’re a peach, Ms. …?”

  She colored a faint pink and said, “Ms. Petry. Laura Petry.”

  “Like on the Dick Van Dyke show,” he said.

  She looked confused. He said, “Never mind. Before your time.” It was a good reminder for him to not bother flirting with women young enough to be his niece—no matter if it was a professional side-effect. No matter how interested and interesting they seemed to be. They were always a disappointment. Except Shana. She’d not disappointed him yet. He could feel Shana’s arched brow and her stifled laughter as she followed him to the stairs.

  He heard tense hushed voices before they reached the landing. The voices stopped and there was the rustling of clothing. Someone was bolting. He took the last four steps in two strides and swung around the corner and past several rows of industrial metal shelving in the direction of the sounds.

  He stopped short when he came upon an opening with a table and several chairs. One chair was askew. One chair was occupied. Shana came up behind him, took a look, and brushed by him toward Marylu who sat with her head bent, quietly weeping.

  Thank God for Shana and her Mother Earth nurturing side.

  “Honey, you okay?” Shana went to the young woman’s side and bent, putting an arm around her shoulders. The girl leaned into her, but cried harder. Of course. Dane walked past the table toward the other end of the upper level until he saw what he’d hoped not to see. An exit sign pointed toward the back. There was another set of stairs. Another way out. He wasted no more time and ran for the door and the stairwell. He heard the slamming of a door at the bottom as he crashed down the stairs three at a time.

  It was a long shot, but he had to try and catch the mystery woman. He was certain she was key to the whereabouts of the missing Rusty Gates. She may also be the key to a couple of other things if his hunch was right, like the floating poker games and the missing church money.

  Dane barreled to the bottom, pushed through the exit door outside to the back of the building. There was a short strip of black top edged by grass and then trees. He looked right, left and then hard at the thick trees in front of him. No clues. He went with the logic and ran to the right toward the parking lot and around to the front of the building and the street. No one was in sight. Whoever it was, they did a good job of disappearing fast. He smiled.

  That meant he was on the right track. And Marylu would tell them who she was. Mystery solved. In record time.

  Boom. It hit him. He didn’t want it to end too soon. He wanted to keep working with Shana. He remembered his date for the church party. Before he could stop it, warmth swept through him along with a vision of a kiss under the mistletoe. And more. He wanted to spend Christmas Eve with her. He wanted to wake up with her in his arms Christmas morning. The warmth turned to heat as he turned around to walk back inside the front door. He enjoyed the puzzled look on Laura Petry’s pretty red mouth as he smiled past her and climbed the stairs again.

  Shana looked up when he reached the top.

  “You’re out of shape. Take a seat before you collapse.”

  “Don’t start.” He grinned. He addressed the wary look of Marylu staring at him.

  “You okay, Marylu? Can you answer a few questions before we get you back to your mother—”

  “Don’t judge me.” She whimpered.

  “Why would I do that?”

  She clammed up. Shana glared at him and caressed Marylu’s back in a there-there-now gesture.

  “It’s time we got you back home. Your ma’s worried,” Shana said.

  Marylu nodded up at Shana and they all walked out the front door. Dane bit his tongue, reminding himself he had time to solve the case—all the way until tomorrow evening’s church Christmas party, preferably after his kiss with Shana under the mistletoe. He didn’t need to confirm the identity of the mystery woman yet. He could have dinner with Shana in the meantime, to discuss the case. He drove back to the Marylu’s house humming Jingle Bells as it played on the radio.

  She was about to get out of the car and Shana turned and said, “Who were you at the library with?”

  “Mrs. Lane … I needed to talk to her about the church party. She’s running it.”

  “You sure that was it? Why did she leave in such a hurry?”

  The waitress shrugged and slid Dane a look. He raised one brow. She got out of the car and slammed the door.

  Shana asked him, “You going to let her walk away without answering?”

  He shrugged. “I think we already know the answer. I’m not sure why she’s hiding it—”

  “She’s embarrassed.”

  “About what?”

  Shana gave him an eye-roll and said, “Rita Lane, the real estate lady and alleged other woman, is about twice her age. She’s embarrassed because her heart throb Rusty Gates—an older man—chose an older woman over her. It’s usually the other way around, isn’t it?”

  “You mean it’s usually the young girl that chooses an older guy?” He couldn’t resist the opening. He enjoyed the rise of pink in her along her neck to her cheeks. He had a feeling it wasn’t embarrassment.

  “Some women have no standards.”

  “You one of them?”

  “I’ve been known to slip. But I’ve reformed.”

  “What about the Christmas party at the church?” What about mistletoe he wanted to ask.

  “We’ll go to the party. We’ll have fun. We’ll ….” She turned away.

  He reached out, caressing her cheek, and she turned her head to face him.

  “We’ll what? What were you going to say? Something is bothering you.”

  “You think?”

  “I know I’m not your first choice to spend Christmas with. I know you’d rather be in Australia with your family, but we have something.”

  “I know. We do.”

  “Let’s make the most of it.”

  “Even if it kills us?”

  He studied her tear-sparkled eyes. They were intensely green and full of trouble. And sad. The usual stab in his chest was like a butter knife compared to the machete slicing he felt now.

  “We’ll have a truce. A Christmas truce,” Dane said. “That will be my gift to you. I’ll be…”

  “Kind?”

  “Not unpleasant. Not caustic.”

  “Not a wolf on the prowl?”

  “What fun would that be?”

  She laughed. He pulled her in for a hug. She let him. He allowed her warmth to flow through him. He hoped to hell he could give her what she wanted. Gently, he separated before his wanting took over.

  “Do you suppose other couples have this problem?” she asked.

  “We’re not a couple.” The w
ords were automatic and he hated himself for saying them. But he couldn’t not say them. She smiled.

  “I suppose that’s the biggest problem right there,” she said.

  “That we have no idea what we are? What we should be to each other?”

  “I guess you’re not as stone-headed as I’d imagined.”

  He snorted. He couldn’t laugh. His chest continued to pain him. He hoped it was at least partly heartburn from breakfast. But it was mostly because he did know what they should be to each other. Or more precisely what they should not be.

  They should not be a couple. Not ever. He’d done that before and he’d barely survived it. More importantly, he didn’t want to ruin Shana’s young life. She had too much promise to hook up with a guy like him. At least for any length of time. He was only borrowing her from her future.

  Which meant he’d have to let her go. Sometime. He didn’t know when, but not now. He wanted her desperately for this Christmas.

  It would be his first Christmas in the beach shack. His first Christmas in years that he would not be on a mission somewhere in a foreign country. Before that he’d volunteered to work 24 hour shifts for whatever outfit he’d worked for. And before that…

  Those were the Christmases he could never get back, so he pushed their memory aside. This year he might have Shana. His partner. His part-time temporary lover. The rest of the time she’d be the bane of his existence.

  “Let’s have dinner. At the shack.” Dane’s chest tightened until he felt like he’d been sucked of all his breath.

  She waited a couple of ticks. Maybe she was testing his ability to go without breathing. Maybe she wasn’t sure.

  Finally, she said, “Okay. I’ll be by later. I’ll walk over.”

  Other men might have felt compelled to clean up the place and dress up. Dane paced around his small kitchen satisfied that it was fine as is. He was no slob. Not that he was marine-like in his housekeeping. But he felt comfortable here and Shana had lived here with him not so long ago. She knew his place. She’d know if he’d gone out of his way to clean even one spec. He couldn’t bear that.

  He’d showered. He wore his usual Levis jeans. He’d upgraded his t-shirt for a red plaid flannel. His only nod to the season.

  He heard a car pull into the drive and knew it must be Ronnie with the food. The kid ought to have some good intel on Rita for them by now—or at least gossip. He opened the door and was unprepared for the sight of Shana walking toward him. It hit him like a physical impact. If his chest kept aching like this he was going to have to see a doctor.

  Her smile was bright and her hair glowed in the moonlight. She wore a silvery blue sweater that looked soft and touchable and about two sizes too small with jeans and boots with heels. Ronnie was right behind her saying something and carrying the food. Dane didn’t look away from her as she glided toward him until she stopped in front of him where he stood in the door. She twinkled a smile.

  He took a deep breath and then, at least partly because he was unable to speak, he reached his arm out and pulled her in, caressing the softness of her sweater under his hand and then her body against his. He dragged her inside.

  “Hey—wait a minute—I have the food—”

  Shana laughed and reached back to hold open the door for the kid.

  Dane pulled back and regulated his breathing. He needed to get a grip. He needed to be in full control of all his faculties. He was smart enough to know his own vulnerability now. Stupid enough to get himself into this situation, but not a complete lost cause. Not yet. Maybe he’d better keep Ronnie around for a while tonight.

  “Come in, kid. Let’s have your report on Rita Lane.” Dane took the bag of food and brought it to the dining table, removing the contents as he took back his granite demeanor.

  Giddiness took her when she saw Dane. Especially as she watched him melt miraculously as if he were a glacier suddenly reduced to a puddle in the space of a breath. She thought she’d have a heart attack the way it thudded when he pulled her in and held her, almost shaking with intensity. Her stomach bubbled up on wings and if Ronnie hadn’t hollered at them to open the door then, she’d have been lost for the night. Maybe forever. But the mood snapped.

  Dane returned to a petrified version of good will. He was pleasant on the surface, but there was nothing underneath, no intensity, no depth. He was not Dane Blaise at all. Not the Dane Blaise her heart had palpitated over.

  She watched Dane help Ronnie set out the food and held her ache and her spurt of anger when she saw him put out a third plate. There was nothing for her to do but sit. She’d known better than to have expectations of Dane. She’d known he would push her away soon after he’d pulled her in. This was his way. Either she accepted it—to hell with that. She would find a way past it. Her smile felt tight as her fighting juices flowed and she geared for battle with Dane the Demon. Her heart beat like the steady march of a soldier.

  “Spill it,” Dane said as he sat, looking at Ronnie. He looked interested. He avoided her eyes. She knew he saw her in his periphery. She knew he sensed her dissatisfaction and her rising anger. If Ronnie weren’t there he’d probably snap something at her like “Stop acting like a petulant child.”

  Or maybe that was her conscience prickling at her.

  “I found out all about Miss Lane from her neighbors.” Ronnie grabbed a roll and took a bite without sharing what ‘all about’ meant.

  Dane reached out and took the rest of the roll from his hand and arched one menacing brow at the kid. He stopped chewing and then spit the lump of bread from his mouth. She almost laughed then, but she turned away and kept her battle form in place.

  “Oh—yeah—”

  “What do you mean by “Miss” Lane—she’s not a Mrs.?”

  Ronnie shook his head. “No one knows for sure if she was ever married, but her neighbor behind her—Mrs. Brady—is damn—I mean darn sure she’s not married now. At least she doesn’t act like it. That’s what she said.”

  Dane motioned with his hands for Ronnie to continue as the kid eyed the dish of chicken parm steaming and smelling very delicious to Shana’s nose.

  “She has men coming and going at all hours,” Ronnie continued. “Mrs. Brady’s words.”

  “Men? You mean different men?”

  “I asked for names—like you said—but the only name any of the neighbors had was Rusty Gates. They said they could swear there were a couple of different guys but they didn’t know who. Didn’t recognize them. Plus, it was always dark.”

  “That all you got?”

  “No.”

  Dane stared the kid down and then shook his head. “Okay—go ahead and eat. You can tell us the rest after the main course—but before the desert.”

  Then, finally, Dane met her eyes over the kid’s head. It was a real look from the real Dane Blaise, flashing with hunger—and not the kind that chicken parm could satisfy. She smiled at him, not one of those pleasant sunny smiles, but rather a scorching hot boil-your-blood smiles. That was how she felt. She was not going to be the one that held back tonight. Angels save her.

  After a tick of indecision, he responded with a wicked fiery response. The kid must have felt all the heat. He looked up and glanced at each of them mid chew.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Eat your food, kid. Chew fast,” Dane said.

  Shana wasn’t sure it would be this easy to disarm Dane. He was more complicated than an EMP bomb. She braced herself for more ticking before the final explosion. She was not at all sure whether she wanted him disarmed or exploding. Both. He was that complicated. Hopefully, she was that brave.

  “I also got the scoop from Rusty’s neighbors.”

  “Who told you to do that?”

  “No one. I wanted to know. He had a revolving door too. Marylu was over there a lot, but the last person seen leaving his house before he disappeared according to his next door neighbor Mrs. Long—and she has a view of both his front and back door—was Rita Lane. She said she�
��d swear to it.”

  “Any of these sundry gossips—I mean neighbors—know anything about Rita Lane?”

  “They say she’s a cracker jack realtor. Gets the best rents—collects every dime for landlords. But she doesn’t talk much about her past. Mrs. Long said she thinks Rita said she was from California before she came here, but Mrs. Brady swears she said she came up from New York City.” Ronnie shrugged. “Sorry. I asked questions every which way—about family, friends, even past jobs and no one had a clue.”

  “So she appeared on Martha’s Vineyard two years ago—bought her house for cash according to the title registry—and we have nothing before that.” Dane took up his fork and did some chewing and thinking—something Shana was familiar with. He either paced or drank or ate while he thought. Or at least while she was watching him think. She knew he had the kind of mind that never stopped thinking. But that’s as much as she knew.

  She tasted the chicken parm in her mouth and forced herself to swallow, not because it didn’t taste delicious, but because her stomach was too unsettled to have an appetite. Dane did this to her to the point she worried about getting too skinny while she lived with him. She’d even tried to convince herself that was the real reason she had to move out. She didn’t like admitting defeat. Not even to the legendary Dane Blaise.

  But here she was, back for round two. It was Christmas. She was determined to make the most of her decision to stay on the island with Dane as his partner or maybe more. The fight wasn’t over about how much more they’d be and she was determined to remain standing either way. She’d made her bed and she had to make the best of lying in it. Or laying underneath him in bed—tonight.

  “You’ve been doing your homework,” she said.

  “Picking up the slack for you.”

  She’d always been the one to do the legwork. The stab of loss hurt.