Josh Lanyon's Blog, page 10

Advent Calendar Day 13

 Continuing with yesterday's retro vibe, here's another not-exactly Christmas song. It's more of a winter holiday romance song, if you catch my drift (see what I did there?) ;-) It already popped up once on my playlist, but... It really is worth a listen. So pour yourself a cold martini and snuggle up in front of the fire with your fave companion.

This 1956 ditty is called "In the Gloaming" (By the Fireside) sung by Jo Stafford.

Advent Calendar Day 12

 

Now, I know perfectly well that the mystery part of my mysteries aren't necessarily what keeps readers enthralled with my work. That said, a lot of you, like me, DO really love the mystery elements. Like me, you were mystery readers from the time you could, well, read. And, like me, a lot of you mystery readers love CLASSIC mysteries--which means at this time of year, you have a hankering for good old classic yuletide homicide.

Because what could be cozier than murder and mayhem beneath the mistletoe? 

So here's my perhaps obscure but personally curated list of Classic Christmas Crime. ;-)

THE SANTA KLAUS MURDER by Mavis Doriel Hay (1936)

THE BLACK-HEADED PINS by Constance and Gwenyth Little (1938)

MYSTERY IN WHITE by J. Jefferson Farjeon (1938)

A CHRISTMAS PARTY - AKA ENVIOUS CASCA  by Georgett Heyer (1941)

ANOTHER LITTLE CHRISTMAS MURDER by Lorna Nicoll Morgan (1947)

MURDER FOR CHRISTMAS by Frances Duncan (1949)

MURDER TAKES THE VEIL by Margaret Ann Hubbard (1957)

(This might not actually take place at Christmas, but I read it at Christmas when I was in High School)

Advent Calendar Day 11 (we've got fiction from Meg Perry!)

 Good morning, my dears! 

Something special this morning. Well, something MORE special. ;-) We've got one of our good friend Meg Perry's delightful crossover holiday codas! 

Grab yourself a cup of holiday cheer and enjoy! 

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Holiday Coda by Meg Perry

It was two weeks before Christmas and Kevin Brodie had bought gifts for everyone on his list save one. He considered the problem as he showered; no solutions presented themselves. Time to call in an expert.

He fixed breakfast then set a bowl of oatmeal with raisins and apples in front of his wife, Kristen Beach, and slid onto a kitchen bar stool beside her. “What do you think we should get Jamie for Christmas?”

Kristen dug into her oatmeal with gusto. “Yum. Why ask me? He’s your brother.”

“Because you’re better at this than I am. As is true for so many things.”

Kristen smirked. “Our skills are complimentary, sweetie. You know very well that with Jamie, you can’t go wrong with books.”

“Right, but how do I know what he already has? If he sees something he wants, he buys it.”

“He almost never buys fiction for himself, just obscure history. Why don’t you check out that mystery bookstore in Pasadena that he likes so much?”

“There’s a mystery bookstore in Pasadena? What’s it called?”

“Um.” Kristen picked up her phone and searched. “Cloak and Dagger Books. In Old Town.”

“Cloak and Dagger? Cute.” Kevin regarded his oatmeal with a frown. “I’m gonna be up that way to meet with a couple of clients tomorrow. I guess I could stop in.”

Kristen grinned at him. “There you go. Like it was meant to be.”

Kevin fought to not roll his eyes. “Uh huh.”

 

It was just after 10:30 the next morning when Kevin stepped into Cloak and Dagger Books. He was greeted by the scent of balsam and the voice of Bing Crosby. “I’ll be home for Christmas…”

Melancholy. But also, one of his dad’s favorites. And Jamie would be home for Christmas. Maybe it was a sign.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the shop, but he could faintly hear two voices—one male, one female—arguing through a closed door at the back. He went to the counter, which displayed the latest Robert Crais novel next to an antique jar full of candy canes. Was there a bell to ring? Yes, there was. Kevin gave it a good whack and nearly sent it skittering off the polished mahogany counter. He grabbed it and set it back in its spot just as the door in the back burst open and a young blond woman hurried through it. She didn’t exactly slam the door behind her, but it was close.

Her name tag, in the shape of a cat wearing a festive Christmas collar, informed him that her name was Natalie. She pasted a bright smile on her face. “Hello! Welcome to Cloak and Dagger! How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a Christmas present for my brother.”

“Wonderful! What kind of mysteries does he like?”

“Usually, he goes for British police procedurals.” The cover of the Crais book caught his eye again. Jamie was homesick as hell… “You know what? Anything that you have by a Los Angeles author. Like this one.” He tapped the stack of Robert Crais volumes. “Or Jonathan Kellerman, or Michael Connelly, or…” He couldn’t think of others except for Raymond Chandler, who was long deceased.

Natalie wasn’t deterred. “I know exactly what you mean. Would your brother object to gay mystery?”

“Not at all. He’s gay.”

“Perfect! I’ll be right back.” Natalie zipped around the counter and disappeared into the stacks of books.

Kevin was reading the blurb of the Crais novel, thinking he should buy a copy for himself, when a deep voice said, “Kevin Brodie?”

He jumped a little, startled, and turned to see who was speaking. A big, blond guy not unlike himself, around the same age, who looked vaguely familiar. Kevin scanned his memory and thought, Oh. Yeah. He said, “Lieutenant Riordan, right?”

The man advanced and held out his hand. “Just Jake. I’m not with LAPD anymore.”

Kevin shook Jake’s hand, wanting to ask him why he’d parted ways with the police department but deciding against it. None of his business. “No kidding. I left two and a half years ago.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Where are you now?”

“The DA’s office. I’m a licensed social worker and victim advocate.”

Jake kept his face carefully neutral. “What are your thoughts on our current DA?”

Kevin had no idea what Jake’s politics might be but decided to tell the truth. “She’s not a fan of victim advocacy.”

“Ah.” Jake seemed to be battling with himself internally about something. A moment later, he said, “Listen, I want to thank you for welcoming Kate like you did.”

“Kate? Oh. Right.”

Kate Keegan was a former homicide detective and Jake’s ex-wife. He’d left her for a man with whom he’d gotten involved during a case. Kate had transferred from LAPD’s North Hollywood division to West LA for a short while; after a couple of months, she’d gotten a job as a small-town sheriff in Vermont. As far away from Jake Riordan as she could get.

Kevin had made Kate feel as welcome as possible under the circumstances. Unfortunately, the circumstances were such that Kate never could relax into the West LA family. When she’d gotten the Vermont job, Kevin had secretly breathed a sigh of regretful relief.

He said, “Kate was a pleasure to work with. I hope she’s doing well now.”

“She is.” Jake didn’t seem to want to say any more about that.

Kevin decided to throw caution to the wind. “What are you doing now?”

Jake looked slightly embarrassed. “I went private.”

“How’s that going?”

He shrugged. “It’s going. It’s tough in a one-man operation.”

“I’m sure.” Kevin asked the other question that his overwhelming curiosity couldn’t drop. “What are you doing here?”

Before Jake could answer, the office door opened, and a blond toddler boy in overalls and a striped shirt charged out. He slowed momentarily at the sight of Jake and Kevin, then shifted into a higher gear and barreled toward the front door, which was just swinging open to admit another customer.

Kevin was faster than Jake or the kid. He grabbed the boy by the back of his overalls and swung him up into his arms. The boy stared at him in shock. Kevin said, “Hi.”

The kid wiggled. “Go out.”

“You can’t go by yourself, bud.”

Jake said, “Larkin, where’s daddy?”

Larkin pointed a stubby finger at the office. “S’eep.”

Jake growled. “Excuse me for a sec while I take care of this.” He strode toward the office; when he reached it, Kevin heard him say, “Angus, goddamnit, wake up.”

Larkin giggled. “Bad word, Unka Jake.”

Uncle Jake? Kevin said, “Don’t tell anyone.”

Larkin shook his head vigorously. “No tell.”

Kevin heard Jake having a forceful discussion with another man. Larkin’s dad, apparently. He was starting to think about turning Larkin over to Uncle Jake and escaping this circus when Natalie reappeared, almost staggering under an armload of books.

Larkin sang out, “Mommy!”

Natalie’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry.” She dumped the books on the counter and took Larkin from Kevin. “He’s not supposed to be in here. Where is everyone?”

Kevin said, “I think they’re in the office.”

Natalie shot a glance at the office, where Kevin could only see Jake’s back. She sighed. “Well, let me show you what we have. The latest from Robert Crais and Michael Connelly, of course.”

“Of course.”

She separated a stack of five books from the others. “This is a series that takes place mostly in LA about two FBI agents. One’s a profiler and one’s an art specialist. And this one is about two writers, one of whom is an ex-cop. It’s set mostly in San Francisco.”

“Sounds good. I’ll take ‘em.”

Natalie stared at him in disbelief. “All of them?”

“Yes, please.”

She regained her composure quickly. “Wonderful! I’ll include one of our tote bags. On the house!”

“I appreciate that.” Kevin handed over his credit card. He was impressed by Natalie’s skill at handling the transaction with a squirmy kid on her hip.

He was signing the slip when Jake returned, closing the office door behind him. “Nat, want me to take Larkin upstairs for a while?”

“That would be awesome.” Natalie tucked a candy cane into the loaded tote and handed Kevin his receipt with an explanation. “The babysitter didn’t show up.”

“That sucks. Thanks for all your help today.”

“You’re welcome. Come back soon!” Natalie bustled away to talk with another customer.

Kevin turned to Jake, who was now holding Larkin. “Good to see you again, Jake. Good luck with the PI business.”

“Thanks.” Jake shifted Larkin so that he could shake hands. “Good luck with the DA.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He said goodbye, hefted the complimentary tote, and headed out the door. When he turned left on the sidewalk, he caught a glimpse of Jake lifting Larkin over his head. Larkin was laughing with glee.

Kevin said it out loud this time. “Uncle Jake? How the hell did that happen?”

He’d probably never know.

Advent Calendar Day 10 (Holiday Snippet Sagas - 2)

 

Holiday Snippet Sagas - 2

 

OUR STORIES CONTINUE…

 

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Adrien English and Jake Riordan

 

“Mr. Knight, Mr. Knight!” Mrs. Andrews sounded genuinely alarmed, which made two of us. “What are you doing here?” She was out of breath as she reached me—which she did in record time, given her age, weight, lady-like pumps, and the uneven terrain she had to cover.

That answered one question. The security cameras mounted in the surrounding trees were indeed operational. Operational and closely monitored.

I gave her what I hoped was a disarming smile. “Oops. You caught me. I’m sorry, Mrs. A. I just wanted to sneak a peek. I used to come here every year with my family when I was a kid.”

Yeah. No. Once and only once did Lisa allow me to drag her down the muddy paths and through the pine forests of Upper Ojai’s North Pole Village. Her idea of a magical holiday destination was Jolly Olde London Town. I think we did Paris a couple of times and maybe Braunschweig once, as well, though I was too young to remember. Still, I did remember my eight-year-old self being mightily impressed by fifteen acres of life-sized gingerbread houses and chalets, singing elves, a miniature train, and a reindeer petting zoo.

Mrs. Andrews continued to look worried and distressed. As worried and distressed as someone who looks like a stylishly updated Mrs. Santa Claus can look.

“But…But how did you get in here?”

I said blithely, “Oh, I scaled the fence.”

“You…”

We both gazed at the twelve-foot-tall chain length fence for a moment.

She said in that same troubled tone, “It’s clearly posted: No Trespassing.”

“It is. I know.”

“Trespassers will be prosecuted. That’s what the signs say. Very clearly.”

 “Does this mean I’m fired?” I didn’t have to fake it. I was truly hoping not to be fired. I’d only been working in the Christmas Castle’s business center for the past two days, and though it was clear to me that all was not kosher in tech-millionaire Robin Pavel’s Winter Wonderland theme park, I had only suspicions, nothing concrete.

And zero idea as to what had happened to Jake.

“Well… I don’t want to fire you,” Mrs. Andrews said. “You’re such a helpful, conscientious young man. It’s difficult to find people like you these days. But this kind of thing is really not okay.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise. My curiosity got the better of me.” My gaze went automatically to the ruins of what had once been Ginger Goodwitch’s Christmas Kitchen.

After a moment she said, “Perhaps, I can… Perhaps we can keep this between ourselves. But really, this kind of thing can’t ever happen again. Mr. Pavel is very…unforgiving about employees who don’t follow the park rules.”

“I understand.”

She made a little shooing motion, and I preceded her back down the trail to the gate.

Mrs. Andrews continued to scold—kindly but firmly, “The rules exist to keep you safe. This area is particularly hazardous. All those old buildings should have been razed years ago.”

 I was nodding, but I wasn’t listening to her. My ears strained the crystalline air for something beyond the sound of our footfalls, the wind rushing through the pines, and the occasional song of a distant wren.

   

 

 

Christopher Holmes and J.X. Moriarity

 

“Happy?” J.X. asked.

“Happy?” I echoed. “Happy our host has been murdered? No. I can safely say I’m not happy! What a thing to say to me!”

“Okay, okay.” J.X. took a prudent step back as I snapped up straight from my slumped position on the side of the old-fashioned bathtub. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

The Band-Aid he still held was now positioned at the end of my nose—he was probably tempted to paste it across my mouth.

I glared past the Band-Aid to my apologetic-looking ministering angel.

“You know I tried to get Morty to go to the police!”

“You did, yeah. At least twice.”

“But?” I winced as he very gently taped the Band-Aid over the cut above my eyebrow.

J.X. said at last, reluctantly, “But we stayed. You—we—kept sleuthing. If we’d left, if we’d refused to have any part of his crazy catch-a-killer-for-Christmas plan, he’d have had to—maybe—go to the police.”

“So it’s my fault Sir Mordecai is dead?” I couldn’t help it, my voice cracked on dead. But, in fairness, it’s kind of-of…loweringto think you’re to blame for getting someone killed. And also, I was still pretty shaken from nearly being crushed to death under the opera house-sized chandelier that had taken out our host. I was not crying. I never cry.

But J.X. must have thought I was crying, because he groaned, “Kit, honey. Hell, no, you’re not to blame! Of course, I’m not saying that. You know I’m not saying that.”

It did help quite a bit that he hauled me into his arms, crushing me to his manly chest, and nuzzling my eyes—dry, for the record—mouth and even ears. Why the ears? In the hopes I might eventually start listening to him? Who knows. Anyway, it was comforting. All of it.

“There’s only one person to blame for this tragedy and that’s the person who killed Sir Mordecai.” J.X. was still going full throttle. Murder really does offend his sensibilities.

I nodded, sighed.

“I’m sorry if it sounded like I thought this was your fault. It’s just the shock of that thing headed straight for you. I thought for sure—” J.X. shook his head as though words had finally failed him.

 

 

 

Taylor MacAllister and William Brandt

 

“We barely made it out. You want to go back?” Not much surprised Will these days. But this? This was not what he had expected.

“I sure as hell do. Don’t you?”

“Want to go back to the home of the notorious Mexican drug lord who tried to disappear us less than forty-eight hours ago? No, MacAllister, at the risk of disappointing you for Christmas, I don’t.”

Taylor had that infuriatingly blank look he got sometimes when he was pretending to give Will his complete and undivided attention but, in fact, already had his mind made up and was planning accordingly.

“We signed up for this job,” Taylor said. “No one twisted our arm. Arms.”

Will gave a disbelieving laugh. “Except our client turns out to be as big a crook as the guy he sent us after!”

“True. Moving forward, we definitely need a better grade of client. In the meantime…”

Will swore quietly. “In the meantime, you want to attend this Christmas Ball?”

Taylor nodded.

“You’re serious.”

Taylor nodded again.

“You’re one hundred-thousand percent serious about this?”

Taylor said calmly, “Keep ‘em guessing, Brandt. Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Since when do you listen to what I say?” Will studied Taylor, shook his head. “It’s a Christmas Ball, MacAllister. You caught that, right? It means fancy dress. You know, black tie. Maybe even white tie. I mean, look at us.”

Taylor cocked his head, studied Will, still damp from the shower and clad only in Levis, sitting on the motel bed across from him. He grinned that little sideways grin that always got to Will, even…how many years was it now? There were never going to be enough, that was for sure.

“You look okay to me, amigo.”

“Gracias,” Will said sourly.

Taylor’s grin widened. He covered Will’s bare foot with his own. “Don’t fret, Cinderella. We’ll find you something to wear to the ball.”

 

 Elliot Mills and Tucker Lance

 

“Are you hit?” Elliot demanded.

Tucker shook his head, wiped the snow off his face. “You?”

“Not for lack of trying.” Elliot’s heart was thundering in his chest. That had been way too close for comfort.

They were hunkered down behind a low stone wall, breath steaming in the bitter cold—and that final crack of the rifle still hanging in the air.

As the sounded faded into the twilight, they exchanged looks. Tucker’s lip curled.

“These people have no sense of humor,” Elliot complained.

“They do seem a little touchy.”

The seconds ticked by. The ground grew a little colder. The twilight grew a little darker.

Elliot considered. “I think we can assume we’re asking the right questions.”

“But are we asking the right people?”

“Hm.”

Tucker said, “I’m starting to think everyone in this fucking valley has something to hide.”

No arguing with that. Elliot reached for a dead branch, pulled his knitted ski cap off and hung it on the end of the stick. He raised the cap slightly above the top of the wall.

Nothing happened.

He raised it a little higher.

Nothing.

He met Tucker’s gaze. Tucker moved his head in negation.

“We wait till it’s dark. No way can you go dashing through the snow with that knee.”

Elliot shrugged. “It’s holding up okay.” He lowered the stick, pulled his wool cap over his ears, which were already starting to tingle with the cold.

Tucker said, “We can wait half an hour.”

Elliot grimaced, but didn’t waste his energy arguing beyond pointing out, “Those were warning shots.”

“Maybe. Or whoever is out there has lousy aim.”

 

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 9

 Just a quick little classic cartoon this morning! Hey, it's Friday! The good news is there are are only 15 days until Christmas. The bad news is there are only 15 days until Christmas! 

Advent Calendar Day 8

 My Retro Holiday Playlist 

(If your life was an old holiday movie...)

1 - Snow - Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, et al

2 - I Love the Winter Weather - Jo Stafford

3 - A Winter Romance - Dean Martin

4 - Music Maestro Please - The Mills Brothers

5 - I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm - Mildred Bailey

6 - Christmas Night in Harlem - Louis Armstrong

7 - I'll Be Home for Christmas - Bing Crosby

8 - Canadian Sunset - Dean Martin

9 - Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Judy Garland

10 - A Marshmallow World - Dean Martin & Frank Sinatra

11 - In the Gloaming by the Fireside - Jo Stafford

12 - Moonlight in Vermont - Margaret Whiting

13 - The Christmas Song - Doris Day

14 - The Things We Did Last Summer - Dean Martin

15 - White Christmas - Bing Crosby

16 - What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? - Ella Fitzgerald

Okay, what's your old holiday movie soundtrack? :-D 

Advent Calendar Day 7

 

If you've read Hide and Seek , you know that hot buttered rum figures into the story at a crucial juncture. ;-) Hot buttered rum is one of those traditional cocktails which frequently figures in fiction--especially vintage mystery fiction--although I know very few people who've actually ever consumed one! 

Well, here's your chance to join that elite crew of inebriate intellectuals. ;-D I've heard this drink described as a "Christmas cookie in a cup," which is enough to convince me to give it a try this season.

Ingredients

For the batter (you read that right) which is best made ahead of time (seriously):

2/3 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

1/4 cup honey

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg (freshly ground is best)

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

Pinch of salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

(this should make enough for approximately four cocktails)

For Each Cocktail: 

2/3 cup hot water

2 tablespoons (1 ounce) batter (see above) or more 

2 ounces dark rum (spiced is okay but it can change the balance of flavors)

Sweetened whipped cream sprinkled with ground nutmeg (for topping)

Instructions:

Again, make the batter ahead of time! 

To make the batter: 

In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the brown sugar, butter, honey, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and salt. Heat, stirring frequently, until the butter is completely melted and the sugar is dissolved, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla.

(You can double the batch and store in the freezer if you like)

To make each cocktail:

Combine the hot water with about a quarter of the batter in a mug and then stir vigorously to combine.

Add in the rum and stir to combine. Taste, and add additional batter if you like it a bit sweeter or spicier.

Top with a large dollop of whipped cream and fresh grated nutmeg.

In order to get the full classic mystery experience, I recommend you spend the afternoon asking shrewd questions about cold case murders at the local castle, run for your life from a faceless enemy (someone disguised as a cowled monk would be ideal) across the moors, hook up with your romantic interest and drink at least one hot buttered rum each before retiring to your spooky chamber in the creepy hostel you're staying in because...the Hilton was booked? 

LET ME KNOW HOW IT ALL TURNS OUT.

Note: It turns out I offered a hot buttered rum recipe in 2021 too! But this looks like the real deal. We shall soon find out!

Advent Calendar Day 6

 Your daily dose of Christmas whimsy! 

Advent Calendar Day 5 (Holiday Snippet Sagas - 1)

 I had a probably—no, definitely—nutty idea this year to get a little bit more fiction into the calendar, but also just to have some fun. I thought I would write a few “sneak peek” snippet installments of what some of your favorite characters are getting up to during the holidays—and then follow those adventures (still through snippets) over the coming weeks.

 Because these are literally snippets of on-going adventures, they might—probably—will make absolutely no sense.  Maybe it will be fun. Maybe it will be frustrating. We’ll find out together!

 

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Holiday Snippet Sagas - 1

Adrien English and Jake Riordan

 

“Missing?” I repeated. “What do you mean missing?”

Mary Brannigan, Jake’s boss over at Brannigan Investigations, said carefully, “He missed last night’s check-in and he’s not answering his cell phone. “I don’t want to worry you. It might mean nothing. I just wondered when you last heard from him.”

“Yesterday morning. And it sure as hell means something. No way would Jake blow off his check-in.”

“No, he wouldn’t blow it off, but the fact that he wasn’t able to make the check-in doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a problem.”

Sure. I knew that. There were plenty of good—non-alarming—reasons for Jake to miss his nightly check-in. Just as there were plenty of good—non-alarming—reasons for him to miss touching base with me that morning. All the same, the knot in my stomach that had started when Jake didn’t phone, was getting bigger and tighter by the hour.

I’d been against him going undercover from the beginning. Sure, the job sounded benign enough: working as one of “Santa’s Helpers” at tech-millionaire Robin Pavel’s Winter Wonderland theme park. But two of Santa’s Helpers had died under mysterious circumstances the previous year.

Jake was a great investigator, but I just didn’t think undercover was in his wheelhouse. Although, I guess you could argue that he’d spent the greater portion of his life undercover. Still.

“If you should hear from him,” Mary was saying.

“Of course,” I replied, just as if I planned on sitting around patiently waiting to hear from my MIA better half.

 

 

Christopher Holmes and J.X. Moriarity

 

“It’s probably a joke, don’t you think?” J.X. sounded doubtful—and worried—as he studied the letter.

“I don’t think so. It looks genuine. It sounds genuine.”

“Does it?”

“Well, sure. The wax seal. The heavy weight stationery. it’s all part of the game, obviously. It’s a mystery weekend. And I guess we’re going to be two of the sleuths.”

“A mystery weekend set at Christmas?” J.X. shook his head. “That really doesn’t seem likely to me.”

I said kindly, because while I don’t share his obsessive attachment to his family—or even my own —nor eagerly anticipate any and all reunions with same, I’m not a monster, “I know. But not everyone has family to share the holidays with. Besides, conducting the game over the Christmas holiday is whyI think this is the real deal. All the great classic British mysteries are set at Christmastime: Marsh’s Tied Up in Tinsel, Sayers’ The Necklace of Pearls, Blake’s The Corpse in the Snowman, Christie’s Hercule Poirot’s Christmas. An English Murder, Envious Casca, Mystery in White, Death Comes at Chris—”

“The Thin Man,” J.X. interrupted. “I know. I’ve read one or two mysteries myself.”

“Dashiell Hammett’s not English.”

“Neither are we.”

“What does that have to do with it? Sir Mordecai isand he’s inviting us to spend Christmas weekend in his castle in Monterey, which we both love. Monterey, I mean.”

“Kit, he’s claiming someone is trying to kill him. He’s asking you to prevent his murder.”

“That’s just part of the game,” I assured J.X. “If he was reallyin danger, he’d call the police.”

 

Taylor MacAllister and William Brandt

“Thanks for not saying I told you so,” Will muttered.

Taylor spared him a look—not that they could see each other in the gloom of wherever the hell it was they were being held. He made a dismissive sound.

“How far below ground do you think we are?” He was not claustrophobic, but dark confined spaces were very low on his list of acceptable accommodations. His heart was thumping in time to the blood pounding in his temples—though that was at least partly due to the knockout drops—and he had to concentrate to keep his breathing slow and steady. He was not feeling particularly steady at the moment.

Will probably knew that—knew more than Taylor wanted—because he said quickly, reassuringly, “Not that far. I can feel fresh air coming in from somewhere.”

“We must be in the prison cells beneath the fort.”

“That would be taking a chance.”

“Yeah, well, these guys are clearly not afraid to take chances.”

“True.” Will considered grimly. “I wonder how long we were out. How long we have until they come back. I don’t think they’re going to just leave us here.”

Taylor rose, ignoring the swimming sensation in his head as he felt his way along the rough stone wall he’d been leaning against. “I don’t know. I don’t plan on waiting to find out.”

 

 

 

 Elliot Mills and Tucker Lance

 

“Funny how getting snowed in for the holidays loses its charms when a possible serial killer is on the loose.” Ellery sipped his whisky-laced coffee, dropped his head back into the comfortable nest of pillows.

The canopy bed he and Tucker shared in Daneville’s historic Cathedral House Inn was small and creaky enough to be a genuine relic of the Civil War, but the cloud-like bedding and surplus of down-filled pillows made up for a lot—as did the company.

Tucker did a double-take. “One skiing accident and a couple of missing hikers doesn’t have to equal a serial killer on the loose.”

“It doesn’t have to, no.”

Tucker stared at him. “But you think in this case it does?”

“How many skiing accidents involve beheadings?”

“Beheading is a loaded word. Head injuries aren’t uncommon in skiing accidents. Until the County Coroner releases their findings—which we won’t be here to second guess because by then we’ll be long gone, safe and sound back home with our own serial killers to worry about—you’re just speculating.”

“Just because I’m speculating, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“It doesn’t mean you’re right either.” Tucker removed the coffee mug from Elliot’s hand, set it on the night stand next to his own. “Hey. If you’re really worried, we’ll put in a call to Sam Kennedy tomorrow. He probably hates Christmas and is looking for an excuse to work through the weekend. In the meantime, can we maybe focus on the reason for this trip?”

Elliot looked blank. “Treasure hunting for confederate gold?”

Tucker sighed. “The other—”

Elliot grinned, looped his arm around Tucker’s neck, cutting his words off with a kiss.

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 5

 I had a probably—no, definitely—nutty idea this year to get a little bit more fiction into the calendar, but also just to have some fun. I thought I would write a few “sneak peek” snippet installments of what some of your favorite characters are getting up to during the holidays—and then follow those adventures (still through snippets) over the coming weeks.

 Because these are literally snippets of on-going adventures, they might—probably—will make absolutely no sense.  Maybe it will be fun. Maybe it will be frustrating. We’ll find out together!

 

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

 

Holiday Snippet Sagas - 1

Adrien English and Jake Riordan

 

“Missing?” I repeated. “What do you mean missing?”

Mary Brannigan, Jake’s boss over at Brannigan Investigations, said carefully, “He missed last night’s check-in and he’s not answering his cell phone. “I don’t want to worry you. It might mean nothing. I just wondered when you last heard from him.”

“Yesterday morning. And it sure as hell means something. No way would Jake blow off his check-in.”

“No, he wouldn’t blow it off, but the fact that he wasn’t able to make the check-in doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a problem.”

Sure. I knew that. There were plenty of good—non-alarming—reasons for Jake to miss his nightly check-in. Just as there were plenty of good—non-alarming—reasons for him to miss touching base with me that morning. All the same, the knot in my stomach that had started when Jake didn’t phone, was getting bigger and tighter by the hour.

I’d been against him going undercover from the beginning. Sure, the job sounded benign enough: working as one of “Santa’s Helpers” at tech-millionaire Robin Pavel’s Winter Wonderland theme park. But two of Santa’s Helpers had died under mysterious circumstances the previous year.

Jake was a great investigator, but I just didn’t think undercover was in his wheelhouse. Although, I guess you could argue that he’d spent the greater portion of his life undercover. Still.

“If you should hear from him,” Mary was saying.

“Of course,” I replied, just as if I planned on sitting around patiently waiting to hear from my MIA better half.

 

 

Christopher Holmes and J.X. Moriarity

 

“It’s probably a joke, don’t you think?” J.X. sounded doubtful—and worried—as he studied the letter.

“I don’t think so. It looks genuine. It sounds genuine.”

“Does it?”

“Well, sure. The wax seal. The heavy weight stationery. it’s all part of the game, obviously. It’s a mystery weekend. And I guess we’re going to be two of the sleuths.”

“A mystery weekend set at Christmas?” J.X. shook his head. “That really doesn’t seem likely to me.”

I said kindly, because while I don’t share his obsessive attachment to his family—or even my own —nor eagerly anticipate any and all reunions with same, I’m not a monster, “I know. But not everyone has family to share the holidays with. Besides, conducting the game over the Christmas holiday is whyI think this is the real deal. All the great classic British mysteries are set at Christmastime: Marsh’s Tied Up in Tinsel, Sayers’ The Necklace of Pearls, Blake’s The Corpse in the Snowman, Christie’s Hercule Poirot’s Christmas. An English Murder, Envious Casca, Mystery in White, Death Comes at Chris—”

“The Thin Man,” J.X. interrupted. “I know. I’ve read one or two mysteries myself.”

“Dashiell Hammett’s not English.”

“Neither are we.”

“What does that have to do with it? Sir Mordecai isand he’s inviting us to spend Christmas weekend in his castle in Monterey, which we both love. Monterey, I mean.”

“Kit, he’s claiming someone is trying to kill him. He’s asking you to prevent his murder.”

“That’s just part of the game,” I assured J.X. “If he was reallyin danger, he’d call the police.”

 

Taylor MacAllister and William Brandt

“Thanks for not saying I told you so,” Will muttered.

Taylor spared him a look—not that they could see each other in the gloom of wherever the hell it was they were being held. He made a dismissive sound.

“How far below ground do you think we are?” He was not claustrophobic, but dark confined spaces were very low on his list of acceptable accommodations. His heart was thumping in time to the blood pounding in his temples—though that was at least partly due to the knockout drops—and he had to concentrate to keep his breathing slow and steady. He was not feeling particularly steady at the moment.

Will probably knew that—knew more than Taylor wanted—because he said quickly, reassuringly, “Not that far. I can feel fresh air coming in from somewhere.”

“We must be in the prison cells beneath the fort.”

“That would be taking a chance.”

“Yeah, well, these guys are clearly not afraid to take chances.”

“True.” Will considered grimly. “I wonder how long we were out. How long we have until they come back. I don’t think they’re going to just leave us here.”

Taylor rose, ignoring the swimming sensation in his head as he felt his way along the rough stone wall he’d been leaning against. “I don’t know. I don’t plan on waiting to find out.”

 

 

 

 Elliot Mills and Tucker Lance

 

“Funny how getting snowed in for the holidays loses its charms when a possible serial killer is on the loose.” Ellery sipped his whisky-laced coffee, dropped his head back into the comfortable nest of pillows.

The canopy bed he and Tucker shared in Daneville’s historic Cathedral House Inn was small and creaky enough to be a genuine relic of the Civil War, but the cloud-like bedding and surplus of down-filled pillows made up for a lot—as did the company.

Tucker did a double-take. “One skiing accident and a couple of missing hikers doesn’t have to equal a serial killer on the loose.”

“It doesn’t have to, no.”

Tucker stared at him. “But you think in this case it does?”

“How many skiing accidents involve beheadings?”

“Beheading is a loaded word. Head injuries aren’t uncommon in skiing accidents. Until the County Coroner releases their findings—which we won’t be here to second guess because by then we’ll be long gone, safe and sound back home with our own serial killers to worry about—you’re just speculating.”

“Just because I’m speculating, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“It doesn’t mean you’re right either.” Tucker removed the coffee mug from Elliot’s hand, set it on the night stand next to his own. “Hey. If you’re really worried, we’ll put in a call to Sam Kennedy tomorrow. He probably hates Christmas and is looking for an excuse to work through the weekend. In the meantime, can we maybe focus on the reason for this trip?”

Elliot looked blank. “Treasure hunting for confederate gold?”

Tucker sighed. “The other—”

Elliot grinned, looped his arm around Tucker’s neck, cutting his words off with a kiss.