The 19th Christmas (Women's Murder Club #19) - James Patterson Page 0,50
it and shake it, and that was the way I started a new day.”
Julie looked at her starfish globe with reverence. She tipped it and shook it, and sand fell like snow.
“I love it, Mommy.”
She climbed into my lap and hugged me and kissed me, and I did my very best not to cry.
Joe took a picture of us and I took one of him and Julie for her new photo album. The bell rang and we all opened the front door to see our beloved friend, neighbor, and nanny, Gloria Rose. She was on her feet. She was grinning.
I almost shouted, “You can’t be out of the hospital. We’re coming to see you there.”
“It was only a TIA,” she said. “I’m cleared, checked out, and good to go.” She threw her arms into the air and twirled in the doorway.
I knew about TIAs, transient ischemic attacks. They were like mini-strokes, episodes of oxygen deprivation in parts of the brain. Patients recovered quickly, often within twenty-four hours, and a TIA usually left no permanent damage. But it was a warning. Another stroke, a serious one, could be in her future. I pulled Gloria into the apartment and into my arms.
“So good to see you,” I said.
“All I wanted was another year as good as this past one,” she said. “And now it seems that I’m getting my wish.” She wiped her glistening eyes. “Becky will be here in a minute. She’s parking the car.”
Becky arrived a moment later, holding a shopping bag. “I bought out the hospital bake sale,” she told us.
She had. Suddenly we had enough cake for all twelve days of Christmas.
Joe settled Gloria into his big chair, and I produced hot cocoa, and then Julie couldn’t wait any longer. She handed Mrs. Rose our last-minute gift, wrapped with too much wrapping paper and tape. Mrs. Rose pulled the paper apart and gasped with pleasure, then shook out the fluffy blanket and buried her face in the folds. She said, “You’re the sweetest, Julie-Bug. Just what I wanted.”
“It’s from Santa,” Julie said, deadpan.
Everyone laughed.
It was a perfect Christmas. Just perfect.
I had no sense of foreboding, no thoughts that I would be jumping into my car and heading toward trouble today.
And then, of course, my phone rang.
CHAPTER 62
YUKI WOKE UP on Christmas morning, cocooned in soft cotton and pillows, grasping for the remains of a dissolving dream—then realized that she was alone.
Brady hadn’t come home.
Before she had a chance to get crazy-worried or mad, she heard the shower running in the bathroom. Good.
Yuki threw on a robe and made a dash for the kitchen, and by the time Brady came through the doorway, there was a gift on his plate, eggs by the stove ready for scrambling, and a smile on her face as she sat in her seat at the table. Still no tree.
Brady grabbed her up out of her chair and dipped her into a swooping romance-novel kiss.
“Hey,” she said breathlessly.
He kissed her again.
This time she took in that he was fully dressed and he was apparently kissing her good-bye.
“Were you working all night?” she asked.
“I slept right next to you, darlin’. You were out cold.”
“I don’t even remember falling asleep. Hey, how about some hot breakfast?”
“I only have time for coffee. Maybe toast.”
“Sit down,” Yuki said. “I’ll give you coffee, toast, and the thirty-second headline news of what happened in court yesterday. You should feel free to give me thirty seconds of your news, too.”
Her big, blond, handsome man grinned and said, “I love you, darlin’. Talk to me. But first …”
He took the little package off his plate and shook it.
Yuki said, “Merry Christmas, sweetie.”
She watched him open the box and take out her gift: a gold tie clip, a little grand for work, but she loved it. He turned it around and a beam of sunlight hit it.
“I love this, Yuki. What a major-league tie bob.”
He thanked her and fixed it to his tie. She expected him to tell her that he hadn’t had time to get her anything but he’d make it up to her. But he said, “I’m taking tonight off, no matter what. I booked us a room on the top floor of the Stanhope. How does that sound?”
Yuki shouted, “Woweeee,” and threw herself at Brady, who hugged her, kissed her to pieces, and said, “I’ll call you later.”
Wearing his gold tie clip but without having had eggs, toast, or coffee or hearing about Eduardo Varela, Lieutenant Jackson Brady was gone.