Beachcomber Santa: Beachcomber Investigations, #3

By Stephanie Queen

from USA Today Bestselling Author Stephanie Queen

Beachcomber Santa - a Beachcomber Investigations Novella

Ex-special ops legend Dane Blaise needs to rest his soul and find his Christmas spirit with the help of his new partner, the scorching hot bane of his existence, Shana George. They team up to find a missing Santa--and the money he collected for the church--in time for the church Christmas party. But will Dane get the Merry Christmas he's hoping for?

Dane finds the perfect excuse to celebrate the holiday season with Shana when Jim the butcher hires Beachcomber Investigations to find the Missing grocery store bell-ringing Santa--Rusty Gates. The local cops may think Rusty took off with the money he collected for the church to give the needy, but his family wants to keep him out of jail. Dane and Shana need to find him--and the money before the church Christmas party in three days.

Meanwhile Dane wants more than a kiss under the mistletoe for Christmas from Shana, but when he realizes she's homesick for Australia, will he let playing Santa at the church party go to his heart and give Shana her wish?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie Queen
• Release date: Dec 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519904638

Stephanie Queen

Stephanie Queen has always been a writer. Ever since second grade when the Nuns of Sacred Heart School got her hooked by offering fame–though not fortune–and she won first prize in their story contest. That was her first publishing gig. After that Stephanie put writing mostly on the back burner while she built up a catalogue of life experiences. She went to UConn, got married, had two sons who could star as heroes in any lucky girl’s romance story, got a Masters degree at Harvard University, worked a few jobs–Math teacher, Keebler Elf and desk jockey at various cubicle farms doing bureaucratic things. Then she finally put writing stories back on the front burner. Since then, Stephanie has published more than forty novels and novellas. She teaches novel writing classes and also speaks at libraries, conferences and workshops on writing and publishing. “One of my all-time favorite things in the world is to hear from readers who enjoy my books. I love to write back, too. If you email me, I will reply!”

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dane was lucky more than smart. Lucky more than charming. Shana might have left the island and him for good. He had no idea why she hadn’t put her bags on a ferry, taken off from Martha’s Vineyard and never looked back. Instead, she had moved a few blocks away. It felt like she was on the dark side of the moon.

A shudder rippled through him. The beach shack felt too still without her. He eyed his liquor cabinet—the freezer—where he had a bottle of tequila stashed. The bottle was the one she bought when he’d asked her to pick it up. A little over three weeks ago. He hadn’t seen her since.

Leaving the tequila, he stepped out his back door. It was mid-afternoon. He hesitated about whether to turn left toward the harbor and the cleansing sea air, or to turn right and head to the street towards Mrs. Jones’s place where Shana rented efficiency for the off-season.

The ocean breeze came up from his left. It was cold. He had no jacket on. That made up his mind. Today his mind was weak. He turned away from his usual solace of the harbor and sea air, and headed to Shana’s place dressed only in his t-shirt and jeans. He didn’t even care if she accused him of being macho.

Maybe that wasn’t entirely true. He had a reputation to keep up. The legend. Maybe it was all he had. That was a depressing enough thought to shove aside. He bent his mind on coming up with a plausible excuse why he needed to see her. As he passed his neighbor’s yard decorated with a life-sized plastic replica of Rudolph, he decided the upcoming holiday season was the perfect reason. Friends were entitled to stop in on friends at Christmas time, weren’t they?

He shook his head and kicked a stray rock a good fifty feet in disgust. She’d never buy it. He didn’t have a Christmas tree, no stocking. Not a single light. He hadn’t bought anyone a Christmas gift in years. Not even his mother. His mother had been happy with the money he sent all year long, regular calls and an occasional visit on Mother’s Day.

Too bad he didn’t have a business excuse to see Shana. They were still partners in Beachcomber Investigations—as far as he knew. But they hadn’t had a case since they saved his friend Acer’s butt from a sniper last month. This was a sore spot with Shana. She needed the work and the money. He had talked her into giving up her career with the Scotland Yard to be his partner in the private investigation business. No wonder he was on her shit list.

He neared Shana’s unit. It was tacked onto the side of Mrs. Jones’s house. Fear flashed through him, searing his chest and leaving his heart pounding. He thought about turning around—something he’d never done before. What the hell was he afraid of?

He was not one to back down from a challenge. He never turned around. Shana had him in goddamn knots. He stopped and knew the only thing worse than turning around was to knock on her door and have her look at him like he was a pathetic fool. Or to have her turn him away.

But then his phone rang and changed everything.

Chapter 2

"Hello? Mr. Blaise?"

He recognized the nervous voice of the kid from the restaurant. Dane hadn’t heard from the kid since the sniper case.

If it isn’t Ronnie Ryan. I thought maybe you’d had enough of the spying—I mean intelligence gathering business after the sniper fiasco—I mean case—with the FBI, Dane said. His enthusiasm on hearing the kid’s voice was more due to the welcome distraction from his self-loathing than because the kid might be calling for some good reason.

Yes, it is—me. No I didn’t have enough. Ronnie stopped talking. Dane figured he should wait him out. It was the kid’s call and sooner or later he’d realize it.

I aah…

Out with it, kid.

I have a case—that is—I need your help. Or Vineyard Haven Groceries needs your help. They said to say—

What about the case, kid? Dane stood still, less than a stone’s kick from Shana’s place. The cold breeze whipped at his t-shirt. Contrary to popular belief, he did feel the cold. He was not made of ice, or granite or any of the other inhuman materials he’d been accused of being composed of.

But at least now he had a business excuse to drag Shana from her hiding place and back to his shack where he could—

Never mind.

Ronnie said, It’s the Santa Claus—he’s missing.

Dane took a deep breath. Maybe he’d counted on the business excuse too soon.

"Let me get this straight. The case you called me about is that you want me to find a missing holiday Santa—the kind that jingles the bell outside the supermarket?"

Yes—that’s it. His name is—

How long has he been missing and why don’t you just call the cops? He knew the answer to both questions, but figured he’d lead the kid through it as an exercise. He was bound to learn something. Some day. Dane eyed Shana’s front window and saw a curtain move. Shit.

Since yesterday. We called the cops—

We? Who’s this ‘we’?

Me and Jim.

Jim the deli man? Dane thought that one through for a beat. He knew Jim to be reliable and not given to flights of fancy. Unlike the kid, Jim Evans wasn’t given to any need for extraneous adventures. Jim had been a marine. He’d had his share of adventures. If Jim thought this was real, maybe it was real.

What about the supermarket manager?

Jim is manager on the off-season. He said—

I’ll meet you at the store in half an hour. Back entrance. Dane had made up his mind. This was as good an excuse as he was likely to get between now and Christmas to drag Shana back into his sphere. It was the holidays, damn it. He was entitled to some warmth.

Maybe he’d even try to give some back. The muscles in his shoulders tightened like skate laces being tugged by Hercules, but he slipped the phone back in his pocket and walked to her door. Of course, she opened the door before he got close enough to knock.

The breath was knocked from his lungs as sure as if she’d slammed him in the gut with a medicine ball. The shear sight of her, the feel of the warmth escaping from her home to surround him, the scent of her, all overwhelmed him. One thing flooded his mind and had his veins humming. He wanted her. He needed her. He’d done the right thing coming here. It was like coming home for the holidays.

He smiled at her. She scowled at him. He laughed out loud.

* * *

After pulling the peanut butter cookies from the oven, something made her go to the window. It was only a half dozen steps across the small space, past her dining table for two and the sofa bed to the front window. There was a film of condensation from the oven’s heat. The entire room—her entire tiny studio home—was filled with the warmth of the oven and the smell of cookies—several kinds. In spite of all the heat, when she pulled the curtain aside and saw Dane Blaise, she shuddered.

He stood in the street a few steps from the walk to her front door with a phone to his ear. The