The Christmas Concierge, page 7
He nodded. “Get it off my desk, please.”
She slid the box back into the padded envelope. “And PS, it cost me a top-of-the line laptop and professional-quality gaming headphones. I’ll put it on your tab.” She glanced around the office. “So where’s Paul?”
“He is taking a group of winter campers to an island up north.”
“Winter camping?” She shivered at the very idea. “Sounds horrible. When will he be back? The clock is ticking and this DNA sample’s losing freshness by the minute.”
“That’s not really how it works.” Alex resumed typing numbers into his spreadsheet.
“Hey!” She smacked her palm down on the desktop. “This is a code-red, nine-one-one, all-hands-on-deck situation here. I need a genetic profile, stat.”
He didn’t even glance away from the monitor. “A few hours doesn’t really make any difference.”
“It does to me! I’m trying to get home for Christmas.” She provided the bullet points on her promise to her sister. “And now my mother is putting the red flannel sheets on my bed and prepping cinnamon rolls! I have to be there. Failure is not an option.”
“Okay, okay.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’ll be there.” Before she could protest further, he pulled out his cell phone. “Let me make some calls. The DNA sample will be delivered, analyzed, and returned by tomorrow at eight a.m.”
“Are you sure?”
“You keep your hastily made promises, I’ll keep mine.” He smiled. “And please never divulge the details of how you got this DNA, so I can maintain plausible deniability.”
“No worries.”
He gazed back up at her. “You want some coffee?”
She glanced at the huge, stainless steel espresso machine on the counter. “No thanks. I’m fine.”
“No, I mean, would you like to go get some coffee? While we’re waiting for Paul?”
Holiday blinked. Was he asking her out? “Like, just coffee? Just as friends? Friends who like coffee?”
Alex’s face looked as though he might actually be blushing underneath the stubble. “Yeah. That.”
The phone on his desk rang, startling both of them. Alex glanced at caller ID. “I’ve got to get this.”
“Of course.” She cleared her throat and slid the padded envelope toward him. “I’ll just leave this here.” She backed out of the office and closed the door behind her. She could hear his voice for a moment or two, and then silence. She wasn’t sure if she should stay or go. Was the friendly coffee get-together on or off?
She raised her hand to knock, then let it drop. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that nothing good could come out of spending more time with Alex. He wasn’t hers to spend time with. He was Alice Penewate’s Christmas bounty, and Holiday intended to deliver him as promised. Her life, including her heart—especially her heart—was on hold until January second.
*
Holiday awoke at dawn the next morning and rolled out of bed, preparing to bundle up and head out into the frigid sunrise in search of cell service. But before she could even take off her pajamas, she noticed an envelope had been slipped under the hotel room door. It was impossible to miss the white paper rectangle in such stark contrast to the mint-and-pink carpet, even in dim lighting.
She pounced on the envelope, which bore her name in neat capital letters. The message inside was jotted on a yellow piece of legal paper:
DNA results came back. See attached. Hope this helps and let me know if you need anything else. A.
She ignored the fluttering in her stomach and focused her energies on turning on the lamp and studying the packet of genealogy information, of which she could decipher about forty percent. She definitely needed some help, but not from Alex.
One hour later, Holiday settled at a rustic wooden table drenched in sunlight by the front window of the Wily Whale. Janine was waiting, clad in baggy pajamas and shearling boots, already halfway through a cup of coffee.
“What took you so long?” She slid a second, full mug of coffee across the table to Holiday.
“I got here as fast as I could.” Holiday unwound her knitted scarf.
“You took the time to get dressed,” Janine observed. “That’s what slowed you down.”
“Misplaced priorities,” Holiday conceded.
“All right, I’m ready to play detective.” Janine fired up her laptop and held out her hand for the envelope. “Gimme.”
Holiday passed over the paperwork. “Do they have any pastries here? I feel like butter and carbs help me do my best work.”
“The bear claws are to die for.” Janine started typing in codes and creating login profiles. “Get two.”
Holiday signaled to the server at the counter, then peered at the laptop screen. “So what are we doing, exactly?”
“Well, we have some genealogy information from the family tree.” Janine brought up the picture of the document she’d stored on her phone. “These DNA results might help fill in the blanks if another relative has also submitted their DNA for profiling. Keep your fingers crossed that someone in the missing branches has an interest in ancestry and/or is just plain nosy.”
Holiday crossed fingers on both of her hands.
“Okay . . .” Janine typed furiously. “Okay . . .”
“The suspense is killing me.”
“Don’t worry. The bear claws will bring you back to life.” Janine’s brow furrowed as she frowned at the computer. “Huh.”
Holiday nearly strained a muscle as she craned her neck to get a better view. “What do you mean, ‘huh’? ‘Huh’ doesn’t sound very promising.”
“Simmer down. I just have to add some information.” Janine patted her hand. “Maybe you should downgrade to decaf.”
After several minutes of typing and pastry consumption, Janine pushed her chair back a few inches. “Well, well, well. Look who has a great-grandson living in New Hampshire.”
“And he’s from the x-ed-out side of the tree? The side that’s supposed to have all the good stuff they took out of spite?”
Janine consulted the original genealogy tree. “He must be, because I don’t see him or his parents’ names on here anywhere.”
“And you’re sure that he’s a direct descent of Driscoll?” Holiday pressed.
“I’m sure that this DNA website says he is.” Janine treated herself to a big bite of bear claw to reward herself for expert-level internet sleuthery. “But you’re going to have to take it from here.”
“With pleasure.” Holiday laced her palms together and flexed her fingers as she prepared to take over the keyboard. “May I?”
“Please do.”
In the space of five minutes, Holiday had run the name Janine produced through multiple court systems, property records, and a private-pay background checker.
“Behold, Crispin Kilgorff the Third.” Holiday gestured to the screen with a flourish. “Clean driving record, no felonies or misdemeanors, and owner of a five-acre estate near Lake Sheridan, New Hampshire.”
“Ooh, fancy.” Janine crooked her little finger as she took a sip of coffee.
“Is it?”
Janine looked wistful. “I’d live there for sure, if I had a boatload of family money.”
“And leave all this?” Holiday held out one arm to encompass the ocean, the pine trees, and the pastry.
“This could be my second home,” Janine allowed. “Or third.”
“How long is the drive to Lake Sheridan?” Holiday pulled up some map sites. “About three hours?”
“I mean, if the weather holds off.” Janine glanced up at the clear morning sky. “Rumor has it that there’s a blizzard on the way.”
Holiday’s chest tightened. “You know my history with blizzards.”
“Yeah, but don’t worry—it’s not supposed to really start snowing until Christmas Eve.”
“Christmas Eve is tomorrow,” Holiday pointed out.
Janine’s eyes widened. “It is? It is not. It can’t be.”
“You just told me the weather and the genetic history of Crispin Kilgorff the Third. How can you not know what day it is?”
“I can’t be an expert on everything. I’m only one woman.” Janine shot to her feet and gathered up her coat and laptop. “I’ve got to go shopping immediately.”
“If you want to give everyone on your list a deeply discounted subscription for DNA kits, I can hook you up,” Holiday offered.
“If you ever met my mother, you would know how hilarious that is.” Janine pulled out her car keys. “She only likes fussy, antique decorative crap that I’m terrible at picking out.”
“Then there’s no need to go shopping,” Holiday said. “Just come loot my hotel room, aka Laura Ashley’s last stand.”
“She loves Laura Ashley.” Janine pointed to her pajamas, which featured pants festooned with cartoon rainbow-striped unicorns and a threadbare shirt emblazoned with “QUESTION AUTHORITY.” “We’re pretty sure there was a mix-up at the hospital. Anyway, I better run.”
“Good luck,” Holiday called as Janine headed for the door. “Call me if you need suggestions. I’m really good at this.”
“And spoil the suspense? It’s not really Christmas until you’ve had a migraine and a crying jag,” Janine called back.
And then she was gone, leaving Holiday alone with the name and number of the man who might hold the key to pulling off a Christmas hat trick—Alex Sappier’s tree topper, Francie Penewate’s dream date, and Holiday’s homecoming. She glanced at her watch. She had about thirty-six hours to pull this off. Three hours each way to New Hampshire, plus a few hours to arrange the most romantic date in the world, plus meals and trips to the restroom . . . should be fine. Fine. Everything was just fine.
If the blizzard held off.
And Crispin Kilgorff the Third didn’t turn out to be a dead end.
And Francie Penewate didn’t have any travel complications on the way to Alemos Island.
That was a lot of ifs. Holiday assured herself that she had been on much tighter deadlines before. She had overcome much greater odds to emerge unscathed and victorious.
She just couldn’t remember when, exactly.
But she didn’t have time for self-doubt or second thoughts right now. Right now, she had to keep pushing forward, rely on her considerable powers of persuasion, and hope for a little luck.
She took a deep, coffee-scented breath and dialed her cell phone. “Hello, I’m calling for a Mr. Crispin Kilgorff, please?”
Chapter Eleven
Thirty minutes later, Holiday was on the road and headed for the bridge to the mainland with a thermal mug of lukewarm coffee in her cupholder and a paper bag full of healthful snacks in the back seat. Mr. Kilgorff had responded to her inquiries in the exact opposite manner than his long-lost fourth cousin (or whatever) Pamela.
“Yes, I’m well aware of my great-grandfather’s penchant for dramatics,” Crispin had informed her. “My mother liked to say he had an ‘artistic temperament.’ There are still boxes of old heirlooms up in the attic, but no one’s been up there in years. You’re welcome to come and go through them, if you like.”
Twinges of suspicion stirred in her gut. This seemed a bit too easy . . . but wasn’t she due for a little luck? She should stop being so pessimistic and count her blessings.
The moment she allowed herself to revel in her good fortune, the steering wheel jerked in her hands and the little sedan started sliding on a patch of black ice. She yanked at the wheel and stomped on the brake, to no avail. For a few weightless, breathless moments, she saw the world whirl around her until—thunk—one tire skidded off the icy asphalt and into a snowbank.
Holiday sat back to relieve the pressure of the safety belt restraining her chest. She closed her eyes and concentrated on regulating her breathing, despite the adrenaline flooding through her body. She felt simultaneously grateful that she hadn’t been injured and irate that the rental car company had given away her all-wheel-drive vehicle to someone else.
She glanced toward the bridge, imagining how icy the pavement must be over the gray churning water, since—as the sign plainly stated—BRIDGE FREEZES BEFORE ROAD. She checked the weather on her phone, hoping against hope that the forecast would change, but no—the app insisted that the temperature would hover in the low thirties all day before plummeting at sundown.
She needed to get to Lake Sheridan ASAP, but she also needed to stay alive in order to complete her missions. There had to be a better way to work this out. And with that, a pickup truck crested over the horizon. A heavy-duty pickup truck with studded snow tires and a familiar driver behind the wheel.
Holiday scrambled out of the sedan and jumped up and down, waving her hands. The pickup slowed, and Alex rolled down the window.
He glanced at her, then her car, then the snowbank. “You stuck?”
“Kind of. Where are you going?” she asked.
“Home. I just had to pick up a few things from the mainland.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. I need to borrow your truck.”
Alex started shaking his head, but she interjected before he could protest. “Look at my car. And look at this road. There’s no way I’m going to make it to New Hampshire and back without incurring major damage and possibly death.”
“What’s in New Hampshire?” he asked.
“Your Christmas miracle, hopefully. Trade keys with me,” she demanded.
“No.”
“Do you want your tree topper or not?” She put her hands on her hips.
He hesitated, and she thought she had him. Then he resumed shaking his head. “The truck stays with me.”
“Oh, come on. What do you think I’m going to do to it?”
He paused again, considering. “Nothing. I just don’t like—”
“‘Being strong-armed into other people’s agendas’?” She arched one eyebrow as she quoted his own words back at him.
His smile looked a bit sheepish. “You remembered.”
“Fine, then get ready for a road trip to scenic New Hampshire.” She held out her palm. “At least give me the keys. I’ll drive.”
He glanced pointedly at the car in the snowbank.
“That wasn’t my fault. Blame it on the stupid car. The road conditions are ridiculous.” She started hopping up and down. “Let’s go, time’s a-wastin’.”
Alex opened the truck door and climbed out. “Listen, if we drive all the way to New Hampshire—and I am not making any promises as to who will be driving—you can’t leave your car here. It’s supposed to snow this afternoon, which means they’ll plow the roads again. Best-case scenario, your car will get buried. Worst-case scenario, it’s going to get smashed up six ways from Sunday.”
“The curse of the snowplow strikes again.” Holiday shuddered.
He blinked. “What?”
“Nothing.” She set her jaw. “I knew I should have sprung for the extra insurance coverage.”
“Drive to that parking lot.” He pointed out the drugstore across the street. “Leave it there, unlocked, and put the keys in the glove compartment. I’ll have Paul come over later and move it to the hotel.”
“Leave it unlocked?” Holiday was scandalized.
“Don’t worry.” He started back toward his truck. “It’s Alemos Island.”
She stared at him, sizing him up. “And you’re not going to take off and leave me truckless?”
“I want that tree topper,” he said. “We’re a team now.”
“Yes, we are.” She sighed inwardly. “Until tomorrow night.”
“Then we better hit the road, teammate.”
*
“Alex, this is nice of you, but you really don’t have to go with me all the way to Lake Sheridan and back.” Holiday rested her hands at ten and two o’clock on the steering wheel. After a spirited negotiation, they had decided to take turns driving.
“I can’t take any chances,” he replied. “I need that tree topper and time is running out. My mom keeps asking questions and I can’t put her off forever.”
She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. “Since we have hours to kill, why don’t you tell me about this tree topper and why you’re willing to romance a stranger for it?”
“The short version is, I screwed up, and when I screw up, I fix it.”
“We still have four more hours, minimum. Go ahead and tell me the long version.”
He took off his jacket and settled in for the ride. “My parents were married for almost forty years. My dad was a pilot in the Air Force, which meant we moved a lot. It was a great opportunity for a kid—I got to live in Alaska, Arizona, Germany, Japan, South Korea, and a bunch of other places—but since we were constantly packing up to relocate, we kind of thinned our possessions down to the bare minimum.”
“So that tree topper got some serious mileage,” Holiday said.
“Like Paul said before, it was a wedding gift from some rich relative. My parents did okay financially, but they never could have swung a fancy collector’s piece like that. My mom was crazy about it. Every Christmas she’d unwrap it from twenty layers of Bubble Wrap and tissue paper and tell us the story of the first Christmas she had with my dad. Every time we moved, she made sure that she personally packaged that star because she didn’t trust the movers to do it. That star went around the globe with us until my dad retired from the service.”
“Where did they end up living?” Holiday asked.
“They were in the Boston suburbs for a long time. Paul and I both went to college in Massachusetts.”
“So I learned during my extensive background investigation,” Holiday assured him.
Alex rolled his eyes. “If you did such a meticulous background check on me, shouldn’t you already know who my parents were and where they lived?”
“You’re the target, not your parents,” she said. “I have boundaries.”
“You commandeered my truck in broad daylight,” he pointed out.
“And I graciously permitted you to go with me on my mission,” Holiday said. “Since your name is on the vehicle registration and all. Like I said, boundaries.”
“Anyway, my parents lived near Boston while my brother and I went to college, and my mom went back to school and got her master’s in social work. She was working with an eldercare agency, and my dad was helping Paul start the charter plane business.”
