DEAD FOR CHRISTMAS

  by

  Pandora Pine

  Dead for Christmas

  Copyright © Pandora Pine 2024

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Digital Edition: December 2024

  Cover Design by: Cate Ashwood Designs

  Editing by: One Love Editing

  PROLOGUE

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  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Ronan

  South Boston, Massachusetts, December, 2010…

  It was 2 a.m. and newly minted detective Ronan O’Mara was freezing his ass off. Literally. When his training partner, Shane Matheson, said to prepare for an overnight stakeout, Ronan figured they’d be safely cocooned in the warm unmarked car, drinking gallons of hot coffee and talking about their rotten love lives. How wrong Ronan had been.

  Instead, the car was parked, with the engine off, on the corner of 6th and M Street waiting for their suspect to show up. Five hours later and there was still no sign of Matty O’Shea and Ronan had lost all feeling in his feet. He hoped to hell he didn’t have to run after the perp or his first step was going to land him flat on his face. “Jesus, it’s below zero, can’t we turn on the heat for five minutes?”

  “It’s not below zero, princess. It’s maybe in the twenties. Buck the fuck up. Police work isn’t all action hero bullshit like you see on television or read about in books. The best detective work is done up here.” Matheson tapped his head full of red hair, which he’d hidden under a black hat. If he hadn’t, Ronan had a feeling you’d be able to see his rusty colored locks from space. “You need to take in a lot of information quickly and find connections. Don’t just look for the obvious.”

  Ronan nodded along with Matheson. According to their earlier chat, he’d been with the Boston Police Department for ten years and in the homicide division for the last six. If there was anyone Ronan wanted to model himself after, it was his new partner. He had several follow up questions he wanted to ask, but the sound of gunfire stopped him short.

  Grabbing his portable radio, Matheson keyed the mic and spoke, “Shots fired 6th and M stakeout.”

  “Advised, shots fired.” The dispatcher’s voice crackled through the mic.

  “We’re on foot, send backup.” Matheson turned to Ronan who felt like he was going to shit his pants. “Okay, rookie, here’s where the rubber meets the road. Stay behind me and don’t get shot, got it?”

  “Don’t get shot.” Ronan could handle that. In the few yeas he’d been with the Boston Police Department’s patrol division, he’d been shot at twice, both bullets missing him by a mile and thankfully, not hitting anyone else either. Wildly accurate gunfire was another fallacy of television cop shows. For the most part, perps with their pounding heartbeat and fear of being caught rarely hit the thing they aimed for. Although there was such a thing as a bullet with your name on it. Ronan wanted to avoid that scenario at all cost. His only goals in life at the moment were to fuck and suck as many willing men as he could stick his dick into. It would be a crying shame to be cruelly struck down by a bullet while he was at his sexual peak.

  Ronan’s attention was diverted from his dick to Matheson, when he got out of the car and shut the door quietly. He could see his partner’s full attention was on the house they were staking out. A figure dressed in black ran out the front door and headed down 6th Street toward the junction of L Street.

  Matheson unholstered his gun and followed the suspect. Ronan was right behind him. He could hear the man’s footsteps pounding the pavement about the roar of blood surging through his own body. There was a flash of light up ahead, which Ronan knew was the suspect pulling open the front door to the L Street Tavern, made famous in Good Will Hunting. Curious tourists loved to flock to the place for lunch, but he knew only locals would be drinking in there tonight. Locals who didn’t narc to the police.

  “You go in the front. I’ll meet you around back. Put your gun in the holster. Check behind the bar and in the men’s room. Women’s room too. Stay safe, got it?”

  “Got it.” Adrenaline surged through Ronan’s body, propelling him to run in the front door. He knew from his training that was the last thing he should do. Holstering his side arm, Ronan opened the door to the bar and walked inside. He was dressed casual clothes, jeans and a black winter parka. He headed for the bar, peeking over the side, so he could see if the perp was cowering down there. He was not.

  “Help ya, pal?” the bartender asked. He wore an L Street Tavern tee and pair of black jeans.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for the guy who just ran in here.” Ronan tried to keep his tone as casual as possible, all the while scanning the crowded bar for signs of the perp.

  “He owe you money or somethin’?”

  “Or something,” Ronan admitted, noticing the patrons around the bar were listening to every word he said.

  The bartender inclined his head toward the back of the bar.

  With a nod of gratitude, Ronan headed toward the dark hallway leading to the restrooms and the delivery entrance. As his eyes scanned the room, everyone’s attention was now on him instead of their drinks and companions, which made Ronan feel uneasy. He hadn’t told anyone he was a cop, but knew the patrons were on to him. Taking a deep breath, he strode toward the first door, in the hallway, the ladies’ room. Slowly pushing open the door, he startled two barely dressed women, one bleach blonde, the other brunette, who were snorting something off the counter. Ronan’s stomach turned at the sight. Not over the fact they were doing drugs, but over the thought of what else had been on the counter courtesy of other people. Both women jumped back and put their hands in the air.

  “Not here for you,” Ronan mouthed. He unholstered his gun and pointed with it toward the two stalls, both of which were closed. “Is someone in there?”

  One woman shook her head yes, the other no.

  “Out!” Ronan whispered, motioning the ladies out the door.

  The brunette, took one last snort and was out the door.

  With his heart thundering in his chest, Ronan used the butt of his gun to push open the door to the first stall. It was empty. There was no sound at all coming from the second. Gathering his courage, Ronan stepped to the side of the stall and was about to push the door open, when it was pulled back. A man dressed in black with a bushy blonde beard shot past him like a cork out of a bottle, knocking Ronan into the cocaine-littered counter, while he took off out the door.

  Grabbing his radio, Ronan signaled to Matheson. “Running to you.” He noticed he was breathing heavy and wished he had more composure. He supposed that would come with time.

  Carefully peaking around the bathroom door into the dark hallway, Ronan saw the man burst through the back door followed by Matheson shouting for him to put his hands up. Ronan headed after him when he heard grunts and shuffling. His partner was in trouble. A lone gunshot sounded.

  Again, Ronan’s first instinct was to run through the back door into the alley, but he knew if he did that, the perp could shoot him too. Slowly, Ronan edged toward the back door. Peering out the door, Ronan saw the suspect on the ground holding his right arm. Matheson spoke into his radio asking for backup and an ambulance to his location, all the while his gun was trained on the suspect. “His gun is behind you.”

  Ronan hadn’t thought to ask where the weapon was. For all he knew the man could have had it under him, in his hand and ready to fire when Ronan tried to slap the cuffs on him. That lapse could have cost him and Matheson their lives. “Show me your hands!”

  “Fuck you, man. I ain’t goin’ back to prison!” the suspect shouted.

  “Should have thought of that before you shot up that house on 6th and assaulted my partner.” Ronan holstered his gun and reached for his handcuffs. He pulled the man’s uninjured arm behind his back. Seconds later he was cuffed and screaming in pain.

  “You okay?” Matheson asked, touching his lip with his fingers, which came away bloody.

  Ronan shook his head. His heart was beating so hard, he could feel it in his toes. “I fucked up. Didn’t check him for his weapon. I heard the gunshot and my only thought was to save you.”

  “Never forget this lesson, Ronan. My one goal for every turn on duty is to go home safe and sound. Nothing else matters. Nothing. Got it?” Matheson asked, offering Ronan a slight grin.

  “Got it.” Ronan took a deep breath and committed the scene to memory, not just for the report he was going to write later, but so that he’d always remember this important lesson.

  Go home safe at the end of each shift. No mater what.

  1

  Ronan

  December, present day…

  Ronan sat at the kitchen table folding Ezra’s tiny laundry. Stacked around him were piles of Everly’s favorite pink shirts and shorts. Tennyson was in the laundry room switching out another load of dry clothes for wet ones fresh from the washing machine.

  “Tell me this isn’t the worst part of going on vacation,” Tennyson said, carrying a blue laundry basket to the table.

  Ronan could see it was filled with a mix of their clothes. Although why Ten was washing their summer clothes after they’d sat unused in the closet since October was beyond him. Not that he’d question his stressed out husband. Ronan knew enough to be a good little soldier and do what he was told. “No, the worst part of going on vacation is leaving the eighty degree temperatures in Florida to come back to the below zero temps here.” Ronan shivered just thinking about the cold. He wasn’t built to be an outdoor guy when the mercury dropped below forty degrees. Well, maybe fifty degrees.

  “What’s for lunchies?” Everly asked, walking into the kitchen with Ezra hot on her heels.

  “Something tells me you want pizza from Greek Life,” Ten said, smiling at his daughter.

  “Pizza!” Ezra announced. “More pizza!”

  “Lot’s more pizza,” Everly said.

  “Not too much. We’re leaving in the morning.” Ronan grabbed his phone. “Pepperoni and sausage?”

  “Yes, please and some toasted ravioli. They’re Aurora’s favorite.”

  “Did I miss something? Is Aurora here? Is she invisible?” Ronan asked, popping out of his seat as if he’d been sitting on the little girl. “Am I invisible?”

  Everly giggled. “No, Dad. You’re right here!” She took his hand and held it up in front of her. “Aurora’s ringing the doorbell.”

  Before Ronan could say he hadn’t heard the bell, it chimed.

  “I’ll get it! Order the toasted ravioli and a green pepper pizza for Uncle Fitz,” Everly shouted as she ran out of the room.

  “Hey, you’re just in time,” Ronan said, when Fitz walked into the kitchen. “We were just about to call out for Greek Life.”

  “We’ll have a half pepper and half bacon pie with an order of the-”

  “Toasted ravioli,” Ronan said along with him. “Everly told us that’s what Aurora wanted.”

  “Of course she did,” Fitz shook his head. He looked as if he had more to say, but stayed quiet while Ronan placed their order.

  “Food will be here in half an hour.” Ronan set his phone on the table and started to pick up the folded clothes, placing them in an empty basket. “Packing is the worst part of going on vacation.”

  “I thought you said coming home in the cold was the worst part.” Ten wore an amused look.

  “Coming home in the freezing weather is the worst post-vacation part. Mountains of laundry is the worst part pre-vacation.”

  “You’ve lost your mind.” Ten shook his head and took the basket from Ronan. “I’ll bring these upstairs. Fitz has something to talk to you about.”

  Ronan had a feeling something was going on. It wasn’t like Fitz to pop in unannounced. He pressed a kiss to Ten’s temple and watched him walk out of the kitchen. “What’s up?”

  “Lorna Duke called again,” Fitz said.

  “What, those delicious little butter cookies?” Ronan shook his head. The last thing he wanted to think about the day before they left for sunny Florida was Lorna’s daughter.

  “That’s Lorna Dune.” Fitz rolled his eyes. “Lorna Duke is the mother of Jillian Marsh.”

  Ronan felt like an asshole. Lorna’s daughter had been murdered ten years ago on Christmas Day by her husband. At least that’s what her mother assumed had happened. The young woman had been killed by a gunshot to the chest. Ronan remembered hearing about the story when it happened, but never imagined the murder would still be unsolved a decade later. “How many calls does this make?”

  Fitzgibbon sighed. “Fifteen since the Salem Cold Case unit was formed last year, three of those have come since the beginning of December.”

  Ronan could well imagine how hard the holidays were every year for the Duke family. His mother had been gone for twenty years and he missed Erin like crazy on Christmas. The pain of losing someone on the holiday itself would make the day nearly unbearable. “We’ll pull the case and start working on it after New Year when we get back from Florida.”

  Fitz shook his head as Ronan spoke. “No, I’ve already pulled the file. I made copies of it for the three of us to review on the plane tomorrow.”

  “You want us to work the case over Christmas?” Ronan asked. He hadn’t seen this coming. Yes, the Duke family deserved to get some closure for the murder of their daughter, but he also had his own family to spend time with.

  “Partly,” Fitzgibbon said, sitting up straighter and leaning across the table toward Ronan. “Jillian’s former husband, Patrick, lives in St. Pete. What better time to spring a surprise visit on him than the week before Christmas?”

  Ronan had to admit Fitz had a point. “So we’re not really working the case, just interviewing the husband. I’m asking not because I don’t want to help this family, but because Ten will blow his stack if we’re working over Christmas.” Ten had already given Ronan a stark warning about not working on their trip. It seemed like every time they went somewhere, death followed them. Niagara Falls, Old Orchard Beach, Fun-A-Rama, Deadwood, Arizona, Bermuda. The list went on and on.

  “I want to speak to Patrick and gauge his reaction to our showing up. We’ll decide what to do next from there.” Fitz took a deep breath. “Look, Ronan, I know how our families are going to react to this interview, but I can’t, in good conscience, be a few blocks away from a suspected killer and sit on a beach for two weeks doing nothing.”

  Ronan understood where Fitzgibbon was coming from. If he’d been the one to dig into the Jillian Marsh case, he undoubtedly would be the one urging Fitzgibbon to get on board with the investigation. “Does Jace know?”

  Fitz shook his head. “I’ll tell him tonight. I’m also going to stop by Jude’s after we eat to let him know what’s going on. I left your copy of the case file in your mailbox. Better go grab it now while Tennyson is out of the room.”

  Chuckling, Ronan did what Fitzgibbon asked. He popped his head out the front door and lifted the lid to the mailbox. Sure enough, there was a manilla folder inside with Ronan’s name on it, along with several Christmas cards. He sorted through them on the way back through the living room. “Everly, this card is for you.” Ronan held the red envelope out to his daughter, instantly recognizing his sister-in-law’s handwriting.

  Everly tore open the envelope. “It’s a card from Brookie with the Grinch. She loves the Grinch.”

  “Me too!” Aurora said, leaning over Everly’s shoulder.

  “I can’t wait to see you and Aurora when you come to Florida,” Everly read. “Remember to pack your bathing suit so we can go swimming, visit dolphins, and look for seashells. Miss you. Love, your favorite cousin, Brookie. P.S. Delta can’t wait to meet you!” Beside the postscript was a picture of all the kids together at the beach, under a sunny sky.

  “This is so cool!” Aurora said. “Delta is so cute. Her Mommy sent my Daddy pictures of the baby. He said I’m old enough to hold her.”

  “Really?” Everly’s eyes widened. “I hope I can hold her too.”

  “Hold who?” Ten asked, coming down the stairs.

  “Baby Delta. I got a card from Brooke.” Everly held it out to Tennyson.

  “Aw, that’s so sweet. Just remember that Barb is Delta’s Mommy and it’s up to her if she thinks you and Aurora are old enough to hold the baby.”

  “I’ll be on my bestest behavior.”

  “Me too!” Aurora added.

  “I know you will.” Ten bent to kiss Everly and Aurora’s heads. “Pizza will be here soon. Why don’t you two go wash your hands.”

  Everly looked as if she were about to complain, but instead ran off with Aurora right behind her.

  “How much play are you looking to get out of the two of them wanting to hold the baby?” Fitz asked with a grin.

  “As much as I can.” Ten shook his head. “I had a hard time getting her to settle down last night. I know it’s going to be worse tonight and every night until Christmas.”

  “Aurora was the same way last night,” Fitz said. “It’s part of the reason we came over today.”

  Ten frowned at the police captain. “The other reason has to do with the manila envelope Ronan’s trying and failing to hide behind his back.”

 

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