Felix shook his head. “But it was all a lie. Skip isn’t his son. He never cheated on Tami.”
“But Tami didn’t know that. She believed Dusty’s story that Skip had sought him out. Once she realized what she thought was the truth, it was the last straw for her. And she saw her chance at revenge when she watched Dusty in the parade rehearsals. Pay off a snowman to ‘accidentally’ bump Dusty, and all she had to do was sit back and watch Dusty fall. Though, whether she meant for him to die or just get injured is a toss-up. I doubt she planned on a reindeer stampede.”
“You have to love irony,” Felix said. “In essence, it was Dusty’s own lie that killed him.”
“Lying Leech Legitimately Loses Life.”
Felix raised both eyebrows at me this time. “Please tell me that’s not the headline you’re running with.”
I grinned. “Tell you what, put Swear Pig on suspension for a week, and you can pick the headline yourself.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Bender.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said, grinning as I turned to go.
But Felix called after me, stopping me at the doorway. “One last thing, Bender.”
I spun back around to face him. “Yeah?”
“Allie told me you had a hand in my birthday surprise last night.”
I froze, willing myself to look anywhere but at his file cabinet with my guilty little fingerprints all over it. “Uh, sort of,” I mumbled, wondering just how much Allie had divulged.
“Thank you,” Felix said. Then a big cat-that-ate-the-canary smile spread across his face. “It was definitely a night to remember. When I arrived home after work last night I found Allie had covered—”
“TMI!” I shoved my fingers in my ears. “Please do not scar my brain for life with whipped-cream images!”
Felix’s grin grew, and I thought I heard a chuckle. “I found Allie had covered my living room with balloons and streamers.”
I let out a mental sigh of relief. “Oh. How sweet.”
“It was,” he agreed. “Though why you always assume the most salacious of a situation, I don’t know.”
My turn to grin. “I guess that’s the hazard of being the best gossip columnist in town.”
Aunt Sue was on the sofa, sleeping off our celebration dinner of amazing Chinese takeout that we’d eaten while watching news coverage of Tami Trix being arrested for the murder of Dusty Miller. Turns out, the police had actually been onto the identity of the snowman through some trace evidence left at the scene. But once our story had broken, the Fatal Frosty had sung like a caroler, quickly implicating Tami. It was not an altogether bad feeling knowing that I’d helped bring two killers to justice. Though I did feel a little bit bad for Skip. He’d issued a statement on the ten o’clock news that Dusty had not actually been his father, and that he would not be producing any more Twelve songs. Looked like the band was going to have to go without groupies for another decade after all.
I tucked Aunt Sue’s afghan a little tighter under her chin, then slipped off to my bedroom to dress for my date in a lacy black blouse, tight skinny jeans, and a leopard-print pair of skimpy panties. (I was still praying things got fun at some point.) I opened my laptop, the bluish glow of the screen the only light in my bedroom, as I checked the clock in the lower right corner.
Ten minutes till 9:00 p.m.
I tried not to watch as the numbers ticked by at snail speed. I painted my nails blue, checked how many hits my story had gotten on the Informer website (35,000 in the last hour! Holy gossip, Batman!), flipped through a copy of Biker Girls Weekly on my nightstand. Then I checked my clock again. 9:04 p.m. He was late.
By 9:16, he was really late, and I was beginning to worry that our fight the other night had hit him harder than I thought. Yes, I realized in hindsight that I was being a bit demanding. And I was fully prepared to make it up to him tonight.
If he ever Skyped me.
At 9:22, just as I’d given up hope and decided I was officially stood up, my phone buzzed to life with a text. I pounced on it with all the energy of the leopard my panties were printed after. It was Cal.
cant make it 2nite.
I felt disappointment welling in my throat, my eyes suddenly watering.
no prob, I texted back. See what a low-maintenance sorta-girlfriend I was?
feel bad. something came up. had to travel.
I silently cursed the Not-Obama politician as I typed back. i understand. 2morrow? I asked, hopefully.
There was a pause, then: busy then too.
I heard a sob echo off my walls, and it took a moment to realize it was coming from me.
no worries. it’s fine.
Man, I was such a liar. I could feel mascara running down my cheeks.
i’ll make it up to u, he texted back.
I felt myself nodding in the dark. i know.
in fact…
I bit my lip. yes?
No answer. I was just about to text again, when I heard a noise outside my bedroom door.
I froze.
No way…
I jumped up from my bed with that leopard speed again (I was so going to have to wear these panties more often!) and threw open my door. There, standing in my living room with cell phone in hand, right next to a sleepy Aunt Sue wrapped in her tricolored afghan, was Cal.
He gave me a sheepish grin. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey,” I squeaked out, suddenly very aware that I was rocking the mascara streaks.
“Look who just showed up!” Aunt Sue yelled over the strains of Nightline on the TV. “Ain’t that a nice surprise?”
I nodded. “Very.”
And in a second I was across the room and jumping into his arms. His lips met mine, and I melted, every second we’d spent apart suddenly disappearing from my mind. We only came up for air when Aunt Sue called out a wolf whistle.
“Sorry about the fight,” I panted, breathless from the best kiss on record. “I was a jerk.”
Cal shook his head. “You’re not a jerk. And I’m sorry I can’t stay here through Christmas.”
I waved him off. “It’s just a date on the calendar. It doesn’t matter.” And standing so close to him, inhaling his warm, clean scent, it really didn’t. Heck, a nuclear bomb wouldn’t have mattered much to me right then. “You’re here now, and that’s what counts.” I paused. “How did you get away?”
“Paid a Secret Service to cover for me for a couple of days.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure you’re not guarding the President’s body?”
Cal grinned. “Babe, tonight there’s just one body I’m interested in. And trust me, it’s not his.”
I felt myself go warm in all the right places as he pulled me in close again.
“Merry Christmas, Tina,” Cal whispered into my hair.
“It will be now.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gemma Halliday is the New York Times, USA Today, and number-one Kindle best-selling author of the High Heels Mysteries, the Hollywood Headlines Mysteries, and the Jamie Bond Mysteries, and the Deadly Cool series of young adult books, as well as several other works. Gemma’s books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, two National Readers’ Choice Awards, and three RITA nominations. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where she is hard at work on several new projects.
Hollywood Holiday Page 5