taught him that Jack Davenport did things at his own pace, and that the fastest way to get the information he wanted was to keep his mouth shut.
“What can you tell me about Celeste Blessing?” Jack asked.
Okay, he’d surprised Gabe with that. “What do you want to know?”
“I read the local rag. I know about the spa venture and that she talked you into some design work. What sort of person is she? Is she a player?”
Gabe considered the question. “She’s unique,” he finally replied. “I like her a lot. I’ve never seen her be anything but kind. I wouldn’t call her a player, but I do think there is more to her than meets the eye. She claims to be a retired schoolteacher, but she apparently has serious cash. There’s no denying that she’s been a force for good in this town.”
“Interesting.” Jack took another sip of his coffee, then his mouth twisted with a rueful grin. “I can definitely tell you there is more to her than meets the eye. I don’t know whom she knows, but she managed to track me down.”
“You’re kidding.” Gabe was shocked. Jack fiercely protected his privacy. “I didn’t tell her anything.”
Jack waved that away. “Never thought you did.”
“What did she want?”
“She asked if my family had any journals, diaries, or other written documents that might contain clues about the town’s big mystery.”
“The Cellar Bride?” Gabe pursed his lips and nodded. “Smart thinking. Did you have anything?”
“Possibly. I found a stack of letters from Daniel Murphy to my great-great-grandfather. One of them told of a runaway bride. I didn’t look into it any further. My plate is plenty full from dealing with contemporary murders—I don’t have time to concern myself with historical ones. We’ve had a really sticky situation going on of late with some of your old friends in the Balkans.”
“We should have killed more of those dirtbags when we had the chance.”
“I completely agree. Anyway, I brought the letters with me. Figured the local historical society had more use for them than I do.”
Jack drained his coffee cup, then set it aside. Gabe sensed the change in subject even before his friend said, “Pam called me.”
“I figured as much when you showed up here out of the blue. Don’t you have something better to do on Christmas than babysit an old friend?”
“Actually, I do.” Jack shifted his stare away from the sad excuse of a Christmas tree and met Gabe’s gaze. “I’m headed to one of those other homes I mentioned for a week or so of R, R, and R.”
“Rest, relaxation, and …?”
“Rum. It’s my place in the Caribbean. I just stopped by here to see if you wanted to tag along.”
Gabe rose to his feet. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as you can throw your swimsuit, flip-flops, and a toothbrush in a bag. Although”—Jack gestured toward the tree—“it’s probably best to go ahead and take that down before we go. Fire hazard, you know.”
Emotional hazard, he meant, and he was right. No sense running away from Christmas just to find it waiting for him when he got back. Half an hour later, all sign of the holiday had been returned to boxes and stored out of sight. “What about the dog?” Jack asked. “If he was smaller, we could take him with us, but he won’t ride easily in the bird.”
Gabe looked at the boxer, who responded with a lazy thump of his tail against floor. The obvious person to call for help here would be Nic, but he’d rather eat glass than make that call here in front of Jack. “I’ll text somebody in town to come get him. The letters, too.”
“Excellent. Then let’s roll. I want to watch the sunset from my beach cabana with an umbrella drink in my hand.”
As they left the house, Gabe turned to his friend. “Jack … I … thanks.”
“Merry Christmas, Gabe,” Jack Davenport said with a grin. “You can call me Santa.”
The mouthwatering aroma of roasting turkey wafted through Sarah’s house early in the afternoon on Christmas Day as Nic heard her cell sound the arrival of a text message. She flipped open her phone, checked the message, and her chin dropped. “A text? He sends me a text?”
Sarah looked over her shoulder. “Who sent you a text?”
“That jerk!”
“Your ex?”
Apparently. If she even could be considered an ex. After all, it hadn’t even been a one-night stand. She hadn’t even had a night. “Gabe Callahan.”