Let it Snow! Season's Readings for a Super-Cool Yule!

  “Eloise?” Radio silence. Great.

  Outside the safety of the car, I could see a bevy of police cars and officers. Some beat cops, some detectives. Lots of conversation going on with radios, cell phones and whispered in ears. Even more nodding and shrugs.

  The way Detective Henry, now lost in the middle of the fray, explained it, Santa was inside the house in a middle room, holding our victim hostage. They’d used some sort of advanced technology to determine that there were no guns, bombs or other bodies in there. He was just holding her in his lap, a kitchen knife against her neck while he rocked her gently. And he was singing…yeah, frickin’ Joy to the World.

  Someone shoot me already.

  I tapped my head against the glass, and inside, I could hear Eloise whimper, muttering to herself, in a familiar frantic need to sort things out and cope with the reality of things. I hadn’t died, of course, but when my father had died, when my mother had not dealt with that (or her two broken daughters), I had spent a lot of time trying to unravel his death on my own. Just thinking about that ripped at the scabs on those fragile heartstrings. I pushed the memories aside and focused on her.

  She felt like a small marble in my stomach, cool, unmoving. Not true, but it was more like a really slow spin, textural white noise. I’d never had a ghost step into me before, and while I was pretty sure I didn’t want it to happen again, I was glad to help her out, to be a safe harbor in her personal storm. Made me wonder…

  “When Santa killed you…”

  “The fake Santa,” her tone adamant about the distinction.

  “Yes, when the fake Santa killed you…” Eloise shuddered and it sent icy waves up my spine and images...I think I stopped breathing as the images played before my eyes in that burst of her energy into mine. All those dark rooms and whimpered cries, that dulled sense of shock of repeat abuse. Oh, gods. “Eloise, do you know him? Do you know the fake Santa?”

  Her silence screamed her answer.

  I fumbled with the door handle. “Father? Stepfather? Boyfriend?”

  Mommy’s boyfriend. The words were so small, almost lost in my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

  The damn door would not open. I hit the window pane with both fist. “Hey! Hey! I can’t get out!” One of the uniformed cops saw me and hustled to the car. He pulled the outside latch and I tumbled out onto the ground. “Henry!” I whisper yelled. “I need Detective Henry right now.”

  The cop didn’t even skip a beat and dashed off to the crowd.

  “Did she know? Did your mom know?”

  No, she didn’t. I didn’t tell her. And then I told her, and he killed me. He yelled at her, told her not to say anything or he’d kill me, and she told him he wasn’t going to hurt me anymore, that she was going to call the cops. She quieted, and the rest of the story unfolded in front of me.

  He’d grabbed her, grabbed her so hard that the medical examiner would tell me later that there was bruising on her upper arms. They’d screamed at each other—her mother telling her that it would be okay, not to be afraid, and him yelling that he’d kill them both before he’d go back to jail—and something had just snapped.

  Eloise didn’t know what had happened. There had just been too much going on for her brain to process that specific moment into memory. But she remembered that it had hurt. So much. She didn’t remember crying out, crying at all, just that he had slammed her against a wall, a corner, and everything went dark.

  And then there was you. Please help her. Please save her.

  I wiped away the tears escaping my eyes. “I will. We’ll get that bastard.”

  “Ms. Delante?”

  I stood up from where I knelt on that cold Arizona ground. “He’s a pedophile.” I waved at the house, away from the surprise on his face. “That son of a bitch in there is a pedophile, and he sexually abused and killed Eloise,” more waving in the blooming anger in his eyes, “our murder victim. He killed her and he’s going to kill her mother before he’s going to surrender. We have to do something about that. Right now.”

  If there was one thing I could always count on, it was the very special anger that existed in law enforcement for the scum of the earth who hurt children. It was unifying, motivating, and nothing said less about your chances of coming out unscathed than cops with a purpose. And I had just handed Henry all the purpose he needed.

 

  The dénouement was swift and done with extreme prejudice. Busted doors, lots of guns out, lots of yelling, and then it was over. His mouth was still running, sure, but as I watched them walk his ass out of the house, I felt that sense of peace that comes from seeing the good guys win one. Eloise slipped her little hand in mine and squeezed. I didn’t have to look down to know she shared my little smile.

  There’s my mommy. We both looked toward the door.

  A short brunette walked out of the door, blanket wrapped around bare shoulders, insistent that she was not about to get on that gurney they were pushing towards her. “I want to see my baby!” she said. They shook their heads, and she planted herself on the walk. “I swear there’s nothing wrong with me. He didn’t hurt me. He was hurting my daughter. He killed my daughter! And I want to see her now!”

  Eloise tugged me forward, and I must’ve looked odd, fumbling across the lawn, one arm outstretched. But that was ok. We had important business to attend to, Eloise and I.

  “Ma’am?” I reached out for her and stopped a breath from touching.

  She turned away from the EMTs, eyes bright, as if daring me to be one more person to stand in her way. “What?”

  Mommy…

  “I’m…” The words failed me. Hearing that I was a police psychic wasn’t going to make this day any better for her. She stood there, the rest of the world revolving around us, waiting for my follow-up, and I didn’t…I just didn’t know.

  Mommy…

  Her eyes widened. Had she heard? “Who are you?”

  “I’m…” Wait, I could do this one. “I’m Zoe. And, and I…” I really hated this part, the whole cheesy I-have-a-message-from-your-dead-loved-one thing. “May I just show you?” Before she had a chance to respond, Eloise pushed—her energy, my hand—and we touched.

  I heard her breathe, that sharp inhale, and we stood not on the dead grass and concrete of that house, but in an open field in the middle of a delicate snowfall. We shared a genuine look of disbelief, her mother and I.

  “Did you do this?” she asked me.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m good, but I didn’t do this.”

  “I did it, Mommy,” Eloise whispered from behind me.

  Her mother’s shined with fresh tears. “Baby?” She knelt in the gathering snow and opened her arms.

  “Oh, Mommy!” the girl flew from her hiding spot and into her mother’s embrace.

  I stepped back from their whispers of love and sadness, apologies and acceptance. Their reunion was the closure every family deserved and so few received. I was thankful to give them that last moment of togetherness. I just wished it wasn’t so bittersweet. I did not envy her mother’s new reality.

  I shivered in the unreal winter weather and rubbed my arms, looking away from them into the endless whiteness. In the distance, I could see the silhouettes of buildings. If I concentrated, I could hear voices. White noise in a white dreamscape. Lovely.

  “You did good, kiddo.”

  I froze at the deep male voice behind me. “Daddy?” I whispered, my voice as small as Eloise’s had been earlier. “It can’t be you.”

  A strong hand touched my shoulder and turned me around. He lifted my chin to meet those eyes I’d missed for so very long. “Don’t you believe in Christmas miracles anymore, pumpkin?”

  If anyone had asked me that question just minutes before, I would’ve said no. No way in hell. Miracles didn’t happen. Not for me. But as I fell into his arms, all my heartache melted away, and I believed.

  If you enjoyed this Zoe tale, check her out in Connie's full-length novel,
WHISPERS OF THE DEAD. More info (and links!) on her blog https://flypages.blogspot.com/

  Hau'oli Hanukkah

  When Mele kalikimaka just won't do.

  By T. Lee Harris

  Hard to believe it was December. Josh Katzen settled farther back in the café chair and sipped his cappuccino, letting the surrounding conversation fade to a distant buzz and watching big airliners glide past palm trees to make impossibly graceful landings. He remembered that feeling; the exhilaration of putting a fighter jet screaming through its paces, then the triumph of guiding that big hunk of machinery in for a perfect three-point landing. Part of him missed it. That was the same part that missed the intrigue and adrenaline rush of infiltrating an enemy facility, nicking their intel and sliding back out by the skin of his teeth.

  A bigger part of him that didn't miss any of that said to shut the hell up and enjoy the coffee.

  "Josh? Josh!"

  Pulled back to the reality of the Honolulu International Airport coffee shop, Katzen turned away from the window and his past to find his present in the form of Dr. Clayton Belderes looming over him.

  "Man, Josh," Belderes said. "You were a gazillion miles away."

  "Gazillion. Is that a highly technical archaeological term, Clay?"

  "Damn straight. It refers to the magnitude of inconvenience caused by the discovery of shiny objects in shipwrecks." He slid a chair out and flopped into it. Gangly legs and frizzy red hair escaping the confines of his University of Hawai'i Mānoa baseball cap made him more resemble a scarecrow than a university professor. Pulling the cap off, he combed his fingers through his hair in an attempt to subdue the wild curls.

  Katzen allowed a laugh. "You're never gonna forgive me for finding that gold Phoenician tableware, are you?"

  "Not a snowball's chance in the hot place, Katzen -- even if it did pull in a couple last minute grants for the excavation." He grinned and resituated the cap. If anything, he looked more disreputable than before.

  "It also nearly got Iskender Balikçi killed. Death, theft, betrayal -- it really is amazing what sort of trouble follows some antiquities."

  "Too true," Clay said grimly. "I hope he's given some thought to my offer of a place in the UH underwater archaeology program. I tell you, Josh, that kid would be a great addition to the team -- formal education technicalities be damned." He sighed. "Well, we'll see when his flight lands in a few minutes -- that's what I was telling you when you were spaced out. The flight from Turkey is on time. Truthfully, I'm afraid his mind's been more on May Dennison than a career these days."

  "May's just as bad. That last week of the dive, you'd think she'd never seen a camera before." Katzen looked past Belderes into the concourse. "Where is she, anyway? For that matter, where's Dora?"

  "There was a line at the counter so they stopped to place our orders and sent me on to find you." He shrugged. "You know me and lines."

  Katzen hid a snicker with a sip of cappuccino. Anyone who had been around Clayton Belderes for any length of time knew that the hyperactive professor and waits of any kind did not mix. The only time he was completely calm was at the wheel of his beloved Diogenes, the converted minesweeper that served as his diving platform, classroom, lab and dorm for most of the year.

  Familiar shapes drew Katzen's attention to a Mutt and Jeff pair edging through the milling crowd: tall, boyishly willowy May Dennison and shorter, heavier Dr. Dora Hardin, who carried a cardboard tray holding four tall paper cups.

  Smiling, Dora placed one of the cups emblazoned with the coffee chain's logo in front of Katzen. "I thought you might be ready for a refill by now." Placing one in front of Belderes, she sighed, "I must be insane to allow you to have anything with caffeine in it, but here it is: one café mocha venti."

  May Dennison snickered and pulled a chair around where she could watch the arriving airliners.

  Dr. Hardin sat and said, "So, what were you boys talking about? Bet it had something to do with the weather conditions in Chicago, didn't it?"

  Belderes shifted uncomfortably. "Actually, no, but I am still kicking myself for talking Josh into staying aboard the Diogenes at Thanksgiving instead of flying home like he originally planned."

  "Nonsense. I wouldn't have missed that dinner for the world," Katzen said.

  Dr. Hardin frowned. "Josh! Don't be sarcastic!"

  "Who's being sarcastic? I enjoyed it -- and before you start apologizing for not having any pecans -- your not-pecan pie was stupendous!"

  "How do you know? You hardly ate any."

  "That's because Dr. Belderes and Iskender hogged it all," May said with a laugh. "Josh is right, Dr. Hardin. Just because things didn't go exactly as planned, doesn't mean it wasn't fun."

  Belderes ignored them. "Still, if you'd left from Bodrum, you would have missed the snowstorms that shut down the airports and been home now. I feel even worse because, with Iskender staying over, and the Diogenes in refit, I can't offer you a place to crash."

  "But I would have also missed the leisurely sail back from the Mediterranean to Hawai'i. I kinda needed that -- and this isn't so bad." Katzen grinned. "I've been stuck in far worse places than Honolulu."

  "Yep. You could be stuck in Atlanta." Belderes slid a wicked look at Hardin. "You know the saying, if you die in the south and go to heaven, they route you through Atlanta--" he broke off with an "OOF" as Dora elbowed him.

  "Yes, yes, we know. If you go to hell, you stay there. I swear I've heard that a million times since he discovered I'm an Atlanta girl." She laid a hand on Katzen's arm. "And not another word about going to a hotel from you. I have a perfectly good guest room and even two cats. I'm sure it won't stop you worrying about your own, though."

  "I'm not worried in the least. The student who's housesitting is more than happy to stick around a while longer. She's a forensic science student, so I know all traces of mayhem will be erased by the time I finally get back." He laughed. "As for the cats, they always pretend I'm a total stranger for days before they relent and welcome me home, anyway."

  "But surely you must have had special plans for the Festival of Lights? Getting together with your family, at least!"

  Katzen waved it away. "Nah! I don't have family. I was looking forward to kicking back, just the three cats and me, in front of a nice fire with a bottle of single malt. Maybe I'd dust the menorah off -- maybe not. . . ." One glance at his friends' faces told him that this had been precisely the wrong thing to say. All three were looking at him with varying degrees of sympathy.

  "It isn't going to do the least bit of good if I say I like being alone, is it?”

  Iskender Balikçi had been met, greeted, safely installed in Clay's tiny guest room and the day was now catching up with Katzen. The cappuccinos had been hours ago and it was longer since he'd packed his bags in the cabin on the Diogenes, tripping over drop cloths and side-stepping workmen. By all rights, he should have been taking off the same time Iskender was touching down. He should be decompressing in his favorite wing-backed chair under a layer of pitifully neglected cats in his own home. Instead, he was drowsily watching tropical scenery glide by the window of Dora Hardin's Prius, heading to her home just outside Honolulu.

  "Josh, I am so glad you decided to stay at my house."

  He roused himself and shot her an amused look. "Decided? I had a choice?"

  "Nope! None at all," she said cheerfully. "I don't get company too often--" She broke off as they passed a sign for University of Hawai'i Mānoa. She became first thoughtful, then mischievous. "Do you mind a little detour?"

  Katzen laughed. "From the way you're acting, I doubt I have much of a choice here, either."

  She giggled. "Oh you are too right, Joshua. I have a secret project I've been dying to tell someone about and you are the perfect person to hear it."

  Late afternoon sun deepened the rich colors of the beautifully landscaped campus as they drove along a back service road toward a large building. Parking near a side door, Dora opened it with a key card and led him out
of the day's heat into the cool shadows of a corridor. Ever since she'd announced her intention to visit the campus, she'd been quiet, but near vibrating with excitement. Whatever secret she had must be a doozy.

  Once inside, she relaxed a little. The term had already ended for a lot of students and some of the faculty, so the building was all but deserted. She broke the silence as they went down a short flight of stairs and along a concrete-floored hallway. "My restoration lab is just down here on the left.

  "You remember that I flew home from Turkey right after the Thanksgiving dinner on the Diogenes?"

  "Of course I do," he said. "You and May took the same flight. Clay, Roz and I had the devil of a time with that monster trunk of yours."

  She treated him to a sneer, then unlocking the door, continued, "Well, it was a good thing I did. Almost as soon as I got back, I got a call from a representative of Marlotte's Berlin-- the German branch of that big auction house?"

  "Yeah. I know them. They deal in big-ticket items. The Berlin house, in particular, handles a lot of antiquities."

  "They certainly do," Dora said, swinging the workshop door wide, then closing it carefully behind them.

  The workshop was a windowless room that looked like a cross between a science lab and an artist's studio. Most of the lighting came from inset overhead fluorescents with additional provided by movable work lamps. A heavy wood-topped table littered with tools and bottles of varying sizes would have dominated the room had it not been for the very large steel cabinet with keypad lock taking up most of the far wall. Josh went over to stand before the steel behemoth. "Wow," was all he could say.

  Dora patted it and said happily, "The university bought this for me. It's just so cloak and dagger. I love it!"

  "That's a pretty damned serious safe."

  She nodded, sobering. "It is, I'm afraid. Temperature and humidity controlled -- it's even bolted to the wall which, since we're in the basement, is reinforced concrete. As much as I wish it were otherwise, this kind of security is a necessity since I work on some very valuable objects here from time to time. . . ." She trailed off and hummed tunelessly as she fiddled with the pad, then swung the heavy door aside, letting light fall on the contents. "But none, I think, quite as valuable as this one. Joshua Katzen, allow me to introduce you to the Römischbrück Helmet."