Jenna Ryan - Mistletoe and Murder

A knot of dread unfurled in Romana’s stomach. “No, he didn’t do that.” She brought her head around to meet Jacob’s eyes. “But before he passed out, he told me he sent only four of the six we received.”

“HE WAS JERKING YOUR CHAIN,” O’Keefe maintained while they sealed the doors and windows of Patrick’s house. “You’re believing him too easily, Romana. The guy’s barely clinging to life. He was probably hallucinating, floating somewhere between fantasy and reality.”

He hadn’t been floating when he’d grabbed her wrist, of that Romana was certain. But had he been telling the truth?

That was the question that haunted her-at least it did until they reached the hospital.

Jacob waited in the corridor while she visited her cousin. When she emerged, he pushed off from the wall. “Give me some good news.”

“Okay. Her dad’s with her now. She hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but her pulse rate and blood count are both up.”

“How’s her shoulder?”

“The stab wound’s deep, but so far it doesn’t appear any nerves were severed.” Because he looked as exhausted as she felt, Romana hooked her arms around his neck and gave him a nice long kiss. “It’s all good, Detective. Fitz is going to be fine, and the clouds that were hanging over that gorgeous head of yours are gone. Soon everyone will know what I’ve known all along. You didn’t kill Belinda Critch.”

“You knew that all along, huh?”

“Yup.” She kissed him again. “And deep in your heart, so did you. Okay, you might wonder why you woke up in your car near O’Keefe’s place, but that’s no different than a drunk waking up in a jail cell the morning after.”

His lips quirked against hers. “Somehow, the comparison doesn’t fill me with positive thoughts.”

“Give me twenty-four hours of sex, sleep and food, and I’ll do better. Getting back to the up side of this story, Patrick’s in custody and Critch is-well, hanging on at this point, but he’s strong and judging from his past performance, cantankerous enough that he’ll want to pull through so he can make sure Patrick pays for killing Belinda. Like I said, all good- with that one small niggle about the cards.”

“Romana?”

The voice that hailed her had Romana dropping her forehead onto Jacob’s shoulder. “Doesn’t anyone stay home anymore?” She raised her head, but didn’t turn. “Hello, James.”

“How’s Fitz?”

“Improving. Her father’s with her now.”

“You see, darling, I told you we didn’t have to rush over here.” A bleary-eyed Shera Barret twirled a strand of Ro-mana’s hair around her index finger and smiled just a little too widely. “I knew teacher would have it all under control.”

Her husband ignored her and spoke to Jacob. “Is it true what I was told about North? He murdered Belinda?”

“Apparently. His statement’s being taken now.”

“All tied up in a pretty red bow,” Shera mocked. Romana caught the strong smell of gin on her breath. “Isn’t it wonderful how things work out? Now the handsome detective can get on with his life while the rest of us eat worms, or whatever that stupid expression is.”

She probably meant that Patrick’s arrest would open a whole new can of worms. Part of that being, Romana assumed, the bribe she’d offered to Gary Canter.

Poor Shera, she loved her husband and wanted him to love her back. But she had absolutely no idea if he did or not.

“Critch is the one I feel sorry for,” Shera slurred while James made a futile attempt to shuttle her away. “Married to someone who treated him like that. One affair after another. But as we know,” she tapped the side of her nose, “that’s how it goes sometimes, right? You love someone enough, you’d do anything to protect him-her-that person.”

James forced a smile, gave his wife a firm shove. “We’ll offer Fitz’s father our best wishes, then be off.”

It didn’t surprise Romana that Shera fought him. But the crack of her palm across his cheek made everyone blink.

“Stop pulling me along, James. I’m not one of your empty-headed playmates.” She jerked free. Tears of frustration and anger welled up. “I love you, you jackass, have since before we got married. But did you ever take the time to notice? Oh.” She set a woozy hand on her mouth, drew back and seemed to lose her focus. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Romana located a distant washroom sign and sighed. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Thank you,” James answered for her.

“I’ll get some coffee,” Jacob offered.

Romana sent him a dry look as Shera stumbled against her arm. “You’re a big help, Detective.”

“Coffee’s to keep us awake, Romana.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “Dinner’s on me.” His eyes caught and held hers. “So’s dessert.”

Okay, well now she wanted to hurry Shera up.

Nudging the door open, she pointed her toward an empty stall. But Shera, being Shera, balked at the prospect of throwing up in a public restroom.

“It’s gross in here.” The hand she’d pressed to her mouth fell to her throat in disgust. “The floor’s wet. I can’t go in there.”

“You’re a very picky drunk, Shera.”

“Not picky.” Her eyes filled again. “Don’t want to be here. Wouldn’t be if we hadn’t been having cocktails with James’s friend the mayor. It’s very hush-hush, you know-Critch being shot, Patrick North being captured. Gotta keep it under wraps until all the wrinkles are ironed out. Make sure the city house is in order, then make the grand announcement. It’s all about politics, flash and glitter. Gonna clear a cop’s name-goody for the police department. Not bad for the mayor’s office, either. But it has to be done so the credit for both clearing and capture translates to votes. I repeat, hush-hush. No one here in the hospital but us mice. No Warren Critch, no killer, no comment.”

Romana waited her out, drummed her fingers on the sink. “So are you going to throw up or not? Because I have better things to do, Shera, than stand here and listen to you babble about political secrets, ploys and tactics.”

“He’s coming for Christmas dinner.” Shera stuck out her tongue. “James insisted. We sent the invitations last week, got a flood of cards back saying yes. Mostly from men with ornamental wives.”

Cards…

Word triggered question and sent Romana’s mind spiraling back to Critch’s final declaration.

“Four cards,” she echoed, and felt a chill crawl down her spine.

Overhead, the lights flickered. Shera clutched Romana’s arm. “What was that?”

“A stutter. Don’t worry, the hospital has backup generators.”

“Do you think James is seeing someone in Cleveland?”

“You need to ask him that question, not me.”

“Did you ask your ex-husband? Is that why he’s your ex?”

“We had other problems, Shera. Every marriage is different.”

“Like Belinda Critch’s marriage?” Shera swayed, gripped the sink. “Why would she want Patrick?”

“I’m not sure she did in the end.” Romana indicated the door. “Can we leave now?”

Shera considered the possibility. “Maybe. Not sure yet. I’ve had four gin fizzes on an empty stomach.”

“That’s more gross than the wet floor.”

The lights flickered again and made Shera groan. “Don’t do this. I hate blackouts. Oh…” She teetered sideways, pressed a hand to her stomach. “Maybe I should check out that other stall before we wind up in the dark.”

Lovely, Romana thought. She had the prospect of hot sex waiting for her right outside the door, plenty to celebrate- minus one disquieting question-and here she was in a hospital washroom with a woman whose stomach was taking exception to an overdose of gin fizzes.