So This is Christmas: The Adrien English Mysteries

by Josh Lanyon

  Of course! Because what Jake needed right now when he was struggling to get his business off the ground was me saddling him with another pro bono case.

  “We’ll figure something out,” I promised. I glanced at my watch, finished my coffee, and said, “I’ve got to get back to the store, but I’ll call you this afternoon.”

  “Okay.” He was still gazing at me with all that hope shining in his eyes.

  It weighed my heart down because I didn’t think this was going to end well for Kevin.

  “Try not to worry. One thing I’ve heard from Jake over the years is that most of the time someone goes missing, it turns out to be nothing. They show up a while later, and they’re perfectly okay. The odds are, Ivor is fine. He may just need some time to think.”

  Kevin shook his head, not bothering to answer.

  “Or maybe not. But do me a favor. Keep a low profile. Don’t try to contact the family again. If they think you’ve given up, their guard will go down, and that would be better.”

  He brightened. “You know a lot about this stuff.”

  “Uh, no. I honestly don’t. That’s commonsense. So go back to your hotel, and rent a movie or something. I’ll be in touch.”

  * * * * *

  Let nothing ye dismay…

  There seemed to be a lull in the stream of post holiday returns, and the bookstore was quiet and mostly empty when I pushed inside. In the background Sarah McLachlan softly reassured the merry gentlemen and anyone else who was listening, while the rain made flick-fleck sounds against the windows. Natalie and Angus stood in a huddle behind the tall counter—not a romantic huddle, a co-conspirator kind of huddle—but they guiltily jumped apart at the cheery warning jingle of the door.

  “Angus, can you handle things for a few minutes? Natalie and I need to ta—whaa?”

  Nothing will make you lose your train of thought faster than a cat pouncing on your head.

  Tomkins, who was part-Abyssinian and part-kamikaze pilot, had developed a fondness for prowling the tops of the towering bookshelves and dropping down on me at unexpected moments, like my own personal Cato Fong.

  “The hell, cat!” I clutched at my cat-hat. Tomkins gave my face a couple of friendly swats—claws in ’coz we’re pals, fortunately—before I lifted him off, but clearly I was not nearly as menacing a figure staggering around trying to remove a feline limpet from my head as I’d been two seconds earlier. Natalie was smirking, while Angus turned purple, as though about to combust with the effort of not laughing openly at me.

  “We are not amused,” I said, although I think Tomkins was.

  “You were saying?” Natalie spluttered with merriment.

  I handed Tomkins off to the nearest shelf, which coincidentally carried a row of Lilian Jackson Braun’s Cat Who books. “I was saying you and I are going to have a chat. Now.”

  That wiped the smirk from her face, and she followed me into the tiny back office. However, if I thought she was going down without a fight, I was sadly mistaken.

  And, more sadly, not for the first time either.

  No sooner had I closed the door behind us than it was launch on warning.

  “You had no right to burst in on me like that this morning, Adrien! I’m not a child. I’m entitled to my personal life. I know you own the building, and you’re family, but I should still have the same rights and benefits as any other tenant.”

  “What? Whoa. First of all, I didn’t even know you’d be upstairs. I didn’t think you were here at all. You were supposed to be at the house, taking care of Scout. It was an hour past when the store was supposed to open.”

  “You thought it was okay to barge in on Angus?”

  “Ye-no! I wasn’t sure what was going on. The store should have been opened, and everything was still locked up.”

  “Oh my God! Do you know how late we worked Christmas Eve?”

  “No. How would I know? I said you could close early.”

  She pointed at me like a TV prosecutor springing her carefully laid trap on a guilty witness. “We were busy, so we stayed open until the last customer had gone at ten o’clock on Christmas Eve.”

  I noticed—belatedly, I admit—that she had colored her hair over the holiday. Natalie, like her older sister, Lauren, is a natural blonde. For some reason she had dyed her hair dark except for two thick swatches in the front, which she had bleached…white.

  I couldn’t seem to stop staring at those platinum tresses. Something about them struck me as ominous.

  I said automatically, “Okay, well, that was really nice of you, and I appreciate it—I really do—but I didn’t ask you to do that. I didn’t want you stuck here on Christmas Eve. And it doesn’t change the fact that—”

  “We did it because it was the right thing to do, but then you burst in this morning and scare us to death, and all but accuse us of—”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “I didn’t ‘burst in.’ I unlocked the door and walked inside. I already said I didn’t know you were up there, let alone that you and Angus were— That is not an image I wanted in my brain, okay? I didn’t realize you were staying here too.”

  “I wasn’t! Most of the time. But since I’m going to be renting the upstairs, I thought this was a really good time to start moving my stuff in.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “If you’ve changed your mind about me staying here, say so!”

  “I didn’t change my mind!”

  I always thought I was a pretty good debater. Then I inherited three sisters, and I learned that I was but a grasshopper flittering before the Prada-clad feet of Shaolin masters. On my best day I couldn’t even snatch the pebble from fourteen-year-old Emma’s hand, and right now I was getting clobbered by Natalie.

  “Okay, wait,” I said. “This is completely off the track. The subject is not do I want you for a tenant or will I respect your privacy once you’re officially my tenant. The subject is what the hell are you doing f-boinking,” and here my voice dropped to a hiss, “Angus.”

  She hissed right back, “Angus is not a child and neither am I! Since when did you turn into such a prude?”

  “I’m not a prude. This isn’t a judgment on your taste in men—or Angus’s taste in women. My concern here is Cloak and Dagger and how this is going to affect business.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe this!”

  “You’re technically his boss, Nat. You’re the store manager.”

  For a split second that seemed to register with her. She recovered fast.

  “Oh my God. That’s a formality and you know it. You manage this store. You’re a total control freak.”

  “What? I am not!”

  “Anyway, you think Angus is going to sue me for sexual harassment? You think he’s going to sue you?”

  Nope. I thought he was going to fall in love with her, and she was going to dump him, and he’d mope around for a week and then quit, and we’d be back to Natalie and me trying to run the place on our own.

  I didn’t make the mistake of saying that—mostly since she didn’t give me a chance.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Like on cue. Like Meryl Streep going for her twentieth Oscar nomination. “If you want me to quit, go ahead and say so.” Her voice trembled under the weight of that sea-level rise.

  “I don’t— I didn’t— I want you to stop f-fraternizing Angus.”

  “That’s just great!” The high tide of tears welled and spilled over her cheeks. “Well, I can’t put that genie back in the bottle.”

  Head held high, like a doomed princess on her way to the gallows, she swept past me and out of the office.

  “What the hell just happened?” I asked the universe.

  “You’re talking to yourself again,” the universe replied, pushing open my office door.

  Okay, it was Jake, but he was kind of my universe.

  For a guy who’d had less sleep than me, he looked unfairly refreshed and vital on a damp and drizzly Monday morning. He wore boots, jeans, a tailored white shir
t, and a brown tweed blazer, which brought out the gold glints in his hazel eyes. His blond hair was silvering at the temples and a fraction longer than he used to wear. He was still hard and fit, but he’d lost that gaunt, haggard look he’d had six months ago when we’d met up again after two years apart.

  In fact, he looked healthy and relaxed. Like he’d really spent the last few days on vacation instead of the family holiday from hell.

  “Hey,” I said, by way of greeting. I won’t say I actually fell into his arms, but I was pretty happy to see him.

  “Hey yourself,” Jake replied and kissed me, the warm pressure of his mouth firm against my own.

  Hard to say—and it was a theory I planned on testing a lot over the next forty years—but I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of kissing Jake.

  Even these quick perfunctory kisses—well, it had started out quick and perfunctory, but the taste of him: that weirdly erotic blend of coffee and breath mint; the smell of him: an even weirder erotic blend of suitcase and Le Male aftershave; and the warm weight of his hand on my shoulder, drawing me in close, closer…

  Reluctantly, we parted lips.

  “Jesus, I missed you.” He smiled into my eyes.

  “Same here.”

  “I got used to spending all day every day with you.”

  I said regretfully, “If only it paid better.”

  There was definitely a sparkle in his eyes. “Well, I might have some good news on that front. Are you ready for lunch?”

  I laughed. “Lunch? It’s ten thirty in the morning.”

  “Is it?” Jake glanced at the clock on my desk. “It feels a lot later.”

  “It’s been a long morning,” I agreed.

  “Everything okay?” He took a closer look at me. “Is Natalie okay?”

  “I think so. I hope so. You know what, why don’t we get a coffee or something? I need to get out of here for a while.”

  True, I’d only been in there about five minutes. It was just like old times.

  His dark brows rose. He said, “Sure. You want to walk, or you want to take a drive?”

  I grabbed my black overcoat. “Let’s walk.”

  When we stepped outside the bookstore, the rain had softened to a light, shimmering mist. More like holiday décor than actual wet. Christmas is the only holiday I can think of where it continues to feel like holiday-in-progress even the day after. Maybe because people were still bustling around with heavy shopping bags, and the Eagles were plea-bargaining from storefront speakers.

  If not for Christmas, by New Year’s night…

  Window displays were filled with fake snow and glittering lights and toy trains and anthropomorphic stuffed animals drinking coffee and showing off engagement rings. Who knew how much penguins relished that holiday bling?

  Everyone who wasn’t trying to park or find their car was in a festive mood. And it was contagious. As in, I needed to remember to take my vitamin C when we got back.

  “Funny how cities have their own smell,” Jake remarked. “London just didn’t smell like Pasadena.” He casually dropped his arm around my shoulders, and I smiled at him.

  It’s not like I needed the physical proof of PDAs, and frankly Jake’s willingness to put his arm around me or hold my hand in public meant as much to me as the actual act. I can’t deny that warm weight on my shoulders felt good. Right.

  “Thanks again for going with me,” I said.

  “Not like it was a big sacrifice. I like being with you. I never figured on seeing London, so that was kind of nice.”

  And kind of exhausting. Or maybe that was more my take than Jake’s. I’d been the one to push for coming home early.

  “If we were to travel somewhere for a real vacation or…something, where would you want to go?”

  The arm around my shoulders jumped as he shrugged. “Never thought about it. Kate always wanted to go to Italy.”

  I glanced at him. His smile was wry, his expression distant. He almost never talked about Kate or their marriage, and I understood that this was out of loyalty to her. That loyalty was just one of the many things I liked about him.

  I said, “Ireland maybe? With a last name like Riordan.”

  “Maybe. Anywhere you’re going works for me.”

  I looked down, smiling, and his arm tightened in a quick squeeze.

  We ended up having Irish coffees at Edwin Mills, a hip tavern down an alley off Colorado, which had opened early to accommodate the madding crowds.

  Edison bulbs radiated cozy light in the shadowy interior. Fresh flowers decorated the tables, and beautiful, slightly disturbing art hung from the brick walls.

  “Any word on when Paul Kane is going to trial?” I asked.

  “Not yet. I heard through Chan he’s changed lawyers again. He’s still trying for bail. Why?”

  I shrugged. “Just a crazy morning.” The kind of morning where you start reminiscing about all the people who’ve tried to kill you over the years.

  He leaned back in the red leather booth. “What was especially crazy about this morning?”

  I tipped my finger at him so he understood I hadn’t missed the emphasis, and while we waited for our drinks, proceeded to update him re the ongoing battle with the Franchise Tax Board.

  He heard me out and then said, “You could hire an accountant to handle the tax stuff, right?”

  “Right. True.”

  “This is not something you need to be stressing over.”

  “I know.” I made a face because he wasn’t just talking practicality. He was talking about my commitment to living a healthier lifestyle. Apparently it wasn’t only about avoiding getting stabbed or shot or bitten by rattlesnakes.

  Our coffees arrived, but I’d already learned that Jake, unlike me, is not easily distracted from making his point. And sure enough.

  “So?” he pressed after I’d fortified myself with a couple of swallows of coffee, whisky, and whipped cream.

  “Accountants cost money, you know.”

  He was unmoved. “So?” he repeated.

  I remembered Natalie’s “control freak” comment, and sighed. “So I’ll see about hiring someone to take over fighting with the Franchise Tax Board.”

  His mouth twitched in a repressed smile. “See? That wasn’t so hard. What was Natalie crying about? Her hair?”

  “Her hair? No. Although now I’m wondering if her hair is some kind of indicator.”

  “Of what?”

  “That she’s turning into a supervillain?” I described for him the full-frontal horror of walking in on Natalie and Angus in flagrante delicto. Or derelicto in their case.

  Jake, far from seeing the gravity of the situation, snorted. “I knew that was going to happen.”

  “You knew that was going to happen?”

  “Hell, yeah. Sooner or later. And you did too.”

  “Uh, no. I sure as hell did not.”

  He looked both unconvinced and amused, which was exasperating. He said, “You seemed to be working hard to keep them apart for someone who didn’t know.”

  I considered the precautions I’d taken, including trying to make sure Natalie was sleeping clear on the other side of the Valley from Angus. Maybe he was right. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to know.

  “She’s supposed to be on the rebound from Warren,” I complained.

  “Exactly.”

  I shook my head, and he said, once again cutting through the bullshit, “What’s the real concern here?”

  “Look, I like Angus. He’s a good employee, and I think he’s a… I think he means well, and I believe he deserves a chance to turn his life around. That said, he’s not the most stable guy in the world, and I’m not crazy about the idea of him and Natalie. Who is also not the most stable person on the planet. If she dumps him—and she will—I have no idea how he’ll react.”

  He grunted, which I translated as I see your point.

  “It’s a recipe for disaster.” And I couldn’t help feeling like I’d been the master chef.
/>   “Maybe. She’s right, however. You’re trying to close the barn door after the horse has bolted. Hire a couple of additional employees, and you won’t have to worry about Angus or Natalie walking out.”

  I groaned, and Jake ordered two more Irish coffees. He excused himself to use the washroom. I gazed out the window at the rain-dotted blur of wet pavement and old buildings, trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject of Kevin O’Reilly and his missing boyfriend. I knew it would require diplomacy and tact.

  “You’re tired,” Jake said, sliding back into the booth. There was a disarmingly soft note in his voice. “You should have taken today off.”

  If anyone else had said that to me, I’d have been instantly irritated. Somehow Jake pointing out the truth didn’t affect me the same way. Maybe because along with that intimate tone, he was so matter-of-fact. People got tired and took days off. It wasn’t just me or some personal weakness on my part.

  “If you were taking it off, I probably would have. Speaking of which, why are we still talking about me? How’d your meeting go?”

  He grinned and held up his mug. “I’ve got a new client.”

  “That’s great!” I clinked my whipped-cream-topped coffee mug against his. “Congratulations.”

  “Maybe I won’t have to take you up on that offer of free office space for a year.”

  My smile faded. “Come on. That’s a Christmas gift, not a business arrangement.”

  “You need the money as much as I do.”

  Well, no. I mean, yes. But no. I wasn’t trying to buy out an ex-wife’s share in my house and my retirement. Jake was.

  I studied the stubborn jut of his jaw—a look I remembered too well. It was important to him to pay his own way. I got it. Completely. That said, this was something I could do to make his life easier—and therefore mine—so it was a gift to both of us really.

  I said, “It’s a gift, Jake. I want to do it.”

  He looked unconvinced. Into his hesitation, I asked, “What’s the case?”

  “Missing person. Thank God.”

  Thank God that it wasn’t another cheating spouse, that’s what he meant. Infidelity depressed him, which I imagine a shrink would have had a field day with.