Mistletoe and Murder - Jenna Ryan

Jenna Ryan

Mistletoe and Murder

© 2007

Prologue

Warren Critch wanted to write more, but he knew the card would be inspected before it left the facility.

Federal prison, thats where the judge had sent him. Twelve years inside for attempting to shoot a police officer. Thered been no mention as to why a high school chemistry teacher had been holding a gun on the officer in question and only a fleeting reference to the woman said officer had murdered.

Warren pictured his wifes face in death. Sweet Belinda. How beautiful shed looked, even with a bullet hole the size of a pigeons egg in her chest.

Oh, yes, theyd let him see her. Someone said thered been mistletoe leaves scattered around her. The police had murmured the usual platitudes. Theyd shuffled their cop feet and cleared their collective throats. But not one of them had made eye contact with him. Not in the morgue, not in his jail cell and certainly not in the courtroom.

Jacob Knight was one of their own; Warren Critch was not. As for Warrens wife, well, just because Jacob had been involved with Belinda once, had lunch with her two days before shed died and argued with her in public, that didnt mean hed killed her. Cops didnt shoot innocent people. Warren was wrong to believe that. Someone else had put that hole in her chest.

His lips thinned. Did they take him for a complete fool? Jacob Knight had threatened Belinda twice. Then hed done the deed.

Warren could have stopped him, would have if Officer Romana Grey hadnt slipped into the alley and pressed her own gun to the base of his neck. Shed warned him to back off, and he had. Dammit, he had. Because of that, Belinda was dead.

Warrens fingers shook as he shoved the festive card into a bright red envelope. Red for Christmas; red for blood- Belindas blood, the blood Jacob Knight had spilled one year ago this Christmas season. Knight had stolen Belindas life, then had his own returned to him courtesy of Romana Grey. They would go on being cops while he moldered in prison and Belinda rotted in a coffin.

No justice there, Warren reflected. But there would be, in time. He would see to that.

He would be good, so very, very good. The years would pass, and he would trade these bars for freedom. Christmas would come again and again. And at length two more people would die.

Romana Grey first, then Jacob Knight. By the time their bodies were discovered, hed be in South America, sequestered in the Amazon jungle, where hed spent a large portion of his youth. An eye for an eye, the missionaries on the big river would say. A fitting Christmas present, was Warren Critchs more cynical judgment.

A grim smile flitted across his lips as he opened a second card. Time to offer Jacob the same Christmas wishes hed bestowed upon Romana.

Enjoy the holidays while you can, he whispered to them from a distance. You have only a handful left.

Chapter One

Its the perfect scent for you. The woman behind the department store perfume counter gave one of her test bottles a spritz. Mysterious and exotic, with a hint of Eastern spice.

Romana Grey sniffed her wrist. Its lovely, but Im not shopping for me.

A finger in her spine preceded a cheerful, Note to self, Ro, as females, were always shopping for me, even in December. Romanas cousin, Anna Fitzgerald, picked up another bottle and sprayed the already pungent air. This smells expensive.

Ten dollars a pump, the saleswoman confirmed, then excused herself to intercept a group of excited teenage girls.

Fitz set her forearms on the glass case. So, who are you shopping for today? Mom, Grandma Grey or one of your six sisters-in-law?

Five. Noahs divorced. Romana gave her wrist a shake. This really is nice. Then she glanced at her watch. Why are you here at three in the afternoon?

Some wires fried in the main lab. The forensics teams been evacuated until morning. Out of the corner of her eye, Romana saw Fitz finger a tiny bottle. I was bagging a hair sample when I smelled the smoke. Well, actually, Doc Patrick smelled it. You know him-tall, sexy dude who never remembers to get a haircut and whose socks dont match.

Romana swatted her cousins wandering fingers. Stop doing that.

Im not going to steal it.

And Im supposed to know that? Its me, Fitz. I arrested you twice for shoplifting when I was a rookie.

Then got me into rehab and back on the straight and narrow. Im a respectable citizen these days, thanks to you, a kindly judge and a totally cool bunch of coworkers in forensics. Which brings me back to Patrick North. Unmarried, shy, in need of a female to match up his socks.

Romana knew where this conversation was headed. Her cousins mind was a one-way street. Patrick worked with Belinda Critch, Fitz. I hate the way it all circles back to that. It feels like everyone around me knows or has a connection to somebody who was involved in her death.

Cops know people in forensics, Ro. Its the nature of the biz. Belinda analyzed body fluids. She got around. You knew her, I knew her, and, trust me, so did a whole lot of men.

Including my ex. Romana toyed with a fat genie bottle. Her much-anticipated shopping trip was starting to suck. I figure Connor slept with at least two of his female coworkers. Belinda was probably one of them.

Connor was also taking bribes from Cincinnati drug lords. Fitz sniffed. Dont sweat the loss of a creep.

I never sweat my losses, but marrying Connor Hanson wasnt the smartest thing Ive ever done.

No, divorcing him was.

Good point. Shoving her brief funk aside, Romana sprayed a cotton ball, frowned and wrinkled her nose. This smells like jalapeño peppers.

It smells like Belinda Critch.

It did, actually. Romana warded off another pang of guilt and dropped the ball into a silver waste receptacle. Belindas gone, Fitz. Life goes on.

Thats a fact. You traded cophood for a college degree. I got my head screwed on straight and managed to work myself up the forensics ladder to a great tech job. Its not your fault or mine that Belinda Critch is dead. Maybe its Jacob Knights fault, but no one could prove it, so one way or another, her killers probably still out there.

Not helping me here, Fitz.

Sorry. A pause, then, Do you think he did it?

No.

Thats it, just a flat no? Come on, Ro, someone put a bullet in her chest, and Jacob Knight was involved with her once.

If a guy I dated in high school turned up dead tomorrow, would that put me at the top of the suspect list?

I think youre not sure about him, and thats why you get twitchy when the subject comes up. You saved Knights life, and, bam, two days later, Belindas dead. Critch said Knight threatened her, so he must have believed it. Although She drew an air line with her finger. Knights partner did stick up for him. Michael OKeefe Her smile flashed quickly and dimpled. Who am I to doubt the word of a fellow Irishman?

An Irishman you dated once as I remember.

You remember very well. OKeefes cute. Okay, older than me, but I like an age gap.

You like any gap when it comes to men.

Guess I have something in common with Belinda, after all. Maybe two things. Her brother Dylans kind of cool, dont you think?

Uh-huh. Tell me, Fitz, is there a man we both know that you dont like?

Yeah, Jacob Knight. Except I dont not like him, Im just not sure of him. Critch was convinced that Knight killed his wife, so much so that he pulled a gun on him. But there you were, on the scene and duty-bound to jump in, with no idea who was wrong or right. Come on, Ro, a dilemma like that would give anyone twitches.

Romana erased the smell of peppers from her fingers with peach hand cream. She considered changing the subject but knew Fitz would only find a way back. With a sigh, she said, Its guilt Im feeling, okay? Not about helping Jacob in that alley-thats what cops do-but because I didnt listen to Critch when he said his wifes life had been threatened. He had no proof, there was nothing to go on. Someone-not Jacob- she shot her cousin a warning look -wanted Belinda dead. I didnt investigate the allegation after Critch was arrested, but I should have, because thats also what cops do.

Well, yes

Jacob said he didnt murder her. I believe him. Was determined to believe him. Subject exhausted. I mean that, she said when her friends mouth opened.

One long look, and it closed with a snap. Tell you what. Fitzs eyes sparkled. Why dont we go sit on Santas knee? I hear hes a hottie under the white whiskers.

Glad for any reprieve, Romana went with the idea. She ticked off items on her fingers. I want new ice skates, a mountain bike, scuba gear and a cool white Boxster. But Im only telling that to the real Santa Claus.

Your doting dad.

Hes playing Father Christmas at an outdoor festival in Boston this year. Something to do with the barbershop quartet he sings with when he isnt whizzing around the globe producing travel shows for cable TV.

Lucky him. My fathers still upholstering sofas and chairs at Barret Brown. I think hes going to stuff a bright red recliner in my stocking this year.

Id love a new chair from Barret Brown.

Fitzs cheeks went pink. Id rather have James Barret. Did I tell you he used to give me little boxes of chocolate tied up with red bows whenever Id stop in and see my dad at the factory after school?

Romana grinned. So thats how you developed your sticky fingers.

Ha-ha. Fitzs expression softened. What a hunk James was-is.

The hunks married to an heiress, Romana reminded her. Think jailer with claws when you think of James Barrets wife, and confine your lust to more available men.

Fitz lapsed into silence before venturing a subdued Warren Critch is out on parole.

Romana examined another bottle. I know. A friend from the station called me three weeks ago and again on Monday when his parole was granted. Im not surprised. By all accounts, Critch was a model prisoner.

A lot of the people Belinda worked with in forensics are still there. Warrens a hot topic right now. Im sorry, but sos Jacob Knight.

Romana gave in and let her mind slide back six years to a Cincinnati alley where one very out-of-control chemistry teacher had been holding a gun on one remarkably controlled homicide detective.