The 19th Christmas (Women's Murder Club #19)(43)

He stripped off the fake facial hair, changed his clothes, packed up the ones he’d worn to the airport, and slipped the small gifts inside the bag. Then he left the men’s room and exited the terminal, going through the revolving doors and out to the passenger-drop-off lanes.

A Salvation Army Santa was right outside on the sidewalk, ringing his bell. Loman took his wallet out of his bag, peeled off a single, and dropped it into the kettle. Santa thanked him, and Loman touched the brim of his cap, then crossed the road to the median strip.

A seven-year-old gray Prius pulled up and Loman got into the passenger seat.

“Everything okay, Willy?” Russell asked.

“Perfect. I’ve got it all in here,” Loman said, tapping the side of his head. “I think Santa is going to be very good to us. In fact, I know he will.”





Part Five




* * *





DECEMBER 25





CHAPTER 61





THE CHRISTMAS TREE looked beautiful.

It was only seven in the morning, but I’d gotten eight solid hours of sleep in my husband’s arms. We were both scrubbed and dressed, tree-side with mugs of hot cocoa in hand, when Julie came out of her room, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“Was Santa here?”

“Of course he was,” Joe said.

I was so relieved that our daughter still believed in the kindly gent from the North Pole. We didn’t have to have that talk this morning.

Julie climbed onto a chair to check the plate of cookies we’d left for Mr. Claus. She didn’t have to know that Joe and I had scarfed them down only minutes ago.

Joe winked at me. I grinned back at him, then I scooped Julie up and brought her back to the tree. Joe had done a pretty good job of last-minute shopping. He’d filled a photo album for Julie with photos of everyone in our circle of family and friends, including Joe’s family in New York and my sister, Julie’s aunt Cat, and her girls, who lived up the coast in Half Moon Bay.

Martha got a new bowl with her name on it from Julie, and Joe got a cappuccino machine from me. He and I exchanged small treats and new pj’s from Santa. Santa had brought toys and outfits for Julie—thank you, internet shopping—and I had a special gift for her.

She opened the small, heavy box, peeled back the tissue, and took out the little globe that my mother had given to me many years ago.

Julie said, “For me?”

“It belonged to Grandma Boxer, then me, and it’s yours now, honey. See, this is how it works.”

It was a West Coast version of a snow globe and featured a beautiful starfish surrounded by drifts of glittering sand and tiny shells.

I said, “I used to keep this by my bed, and every morning when I woke up, I’d tip it and shake it, and that was the way I started a new day.”

Julie looked at her starfish globe with reverence. She tipped it and shook it, and sand fell like snow.

“I love it, Mommy.”

She climbed into my lap and hugged me and kissed me, and I did my very best not to cry.

Joe took a picture of us and I took one of him and Julie for her new photo album. The bell rang and we all opened the front door to see our beloved friend, neighbor, and nanny, Gloria Rose. She was on her feet. She was grinning.

I almost shouted, “You can’t be out of the hospital. We’re coming to see you there.”

“It was only a TIA,” she said. “I’m cleared, checked out, and good to go.” She threw her arms into the air and twirled in the doorway.

I knew about TIAs, transient ischemic attacks. They were like mini-strokes, episodes of oxygen deprivation in parts of the brain. Patients recovered quickly, often within twenty-four hours, and a TIA usually left no permanent damage. But it was a warning. Another stroke, a serious one, could be in her future. I pulled Gloria into the apartment and into my arms.

“So good to see you,” I said.

“All I wanted was another year as good as this past one,” she said. “And now it seems that I’m getting my wish.” She wiped her glistening eyes. “Becky will be here in a minute. She’s parking the car.”

Becky arrived a moment later, holding a shopping bag. “I bought out the hospital bake sale,” she told us.

She had. Suddenly we had enough cake for all twelve days of Christmas.

Joe settled Gloria into his big chair, and I produced hot cocoa, and then Julie couldn’t wait any longer. She handed Mrs. Rose our last-minute gift, wrapped with too much wrapping paper and tape. Mrs. Rose pulled the paper apart and gasped with pleasure, then shook out the fluffy blanket and buried her face in the folds. She said, “You’re the sweetest, Julie-Bug. Just what I wanted.”

“It’s from Santa,” Julie said, deadpan.

Everyone laughed.

It was a perfect Christmas. Just perfect.

I had no sense of foreboding, no thoughts that I would be jumping into my car and heading toward trouble today.

And then, of course, my phone rang.





CHAPTER 62





YUKI WOKE UP on Christmas morning, cocooned in soft cotton and pillows, grasping for the remains of a dissolving dream—then realized that she was alone.

Brady hadn’t come home.

Before she had a chance to get crazy-worried or mad, she heard the shower running in the bathroom. Good.