Missing Under the Mistletoe Read online

  I was almost at the exit when Nathan grabbed me once again, only this time around my neck, squeezing until stars filled my field of vision. Struggling powerfully, I elbowed him hard in the ribs only to have my arm clamped against my side. Somehow I managed to maneuver us around so I’d be facing the door, only to feel my legs beginning to collapse beneath me. I knew I’d be out cold within seconds, so I used my remaining strength to pull one booted foot up.

  The last thing I remember thinking before blacking out was that I’d better be right about that alarm.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The first thing I realized was that the air was cold, so cold my whole body was shivering. I opened my eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness before glancing around to see where I was.

  Dear God, I was up on the rooftop.

  I tried to move, but my hands were tied firmly behind my back. Nathan had propped me against the two-foot high redbrick wall that rimmed the department store’s flat, graveled roof, my legs straight out in front of me, my head and neck exposed to the frigid night air. My neck ached from the icy breeze and my ears rang from the blaring alarm I had triggered.

  I winced as I turned my head to look over my right shoulder, where I could see the star on top of the Christmas tree glowing brightly. From below came the cheerful crooning of the crowd singing Christmas songs with the choir. The countdown was over. The celebration had officially begun. Had anyone even heard the alarm?

  Suddenly I heard Nathan cry out, “Stay back! Keep them back.”

  “Calm down. I just want to talk to you,” came Marco’s reply, the sound of his voice filling my whole body with relief.

  I looked to my left and saw Levi Churchill just a yard or so away. He was slumped over, his hands tied behind him, also up against the short wall, but he seemed barely alive.

  “I said keep them back or I swear I will do it,” Nathan shouted, a desperate quiver in his voice. He stepped out of the shadows and stalked toward me, a long, sharp knife in his hand.

  Marco stepped out from the shadows then, too. “Nathan, think what you’re doing.” He had shed the red suit and was shivering in his jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt. He saw that I’d come to and locked eyes with me, his concern for me written all over his face. I gave him a slight nod to let him know I was okay, although on the inside I was anything but, sitting just inches away from a three-story free fall.

  Behind him I could see Reilly standing at the entrance to the stairwell. With him were several plain-clothed officers, their guns drawn. Marco slowly backed up to them and spoke quietly, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  Keeping one eye on Marco and the cops, Nathan said to me, “You should have listened to me. This had nothing to do with you. You should have let me take over.”

  “I couldn’t do that,” I said. “I wasn’t out to get you, Nathan. I just wanted to save your father.”

  “You wanted to save your own Christmas,” he scolded. “So did I.”

  “Nathan,” Marco said, drawing his attention away from me, “listen to me now.” He walked slowly toward us with his palms facing forward, showing that he was unarmed. “The police are going to stay back, but only for a few minutes.”

  As he said it, Reilly and his men stepped back into the stairwell, letting the door close behind them. That left Marco, Levi, and I alone on the roof with Nathan.

  “Stay where you are.” Nathan held the knife out in front of him. “You can have your wife when I’m done. Just stay back and let me finish what I started.” He walked over to Churchill and pulled his chin up by the beard. “Isn’t that what you always say, dad? I never finish what I start?”

  Levi Churchill struggled to lift his eyelids. His forehead was swollen and bruised, with dried blood matted in his beard, and snow covering his sullied Santa suit and hat. He must have been up on the roof since his disappearance that morning.

  “Will you let my wife move away from the edge?” Marco asked. “That’s all I want.”

  “No,” Nathan answered. “You don’t always get what you want. That’s another lesson my father taught me.” He bent down closer to his dad, still keeping an eye on Marco. “All I wanted was this store.” He put his free hand around Churchill’s suit collar and tried to lift him. “Stand up!”

  Churchill made an attempt to stand but fell back down again. Nathan put the knife between his teeth then pulled his dad up so that he was seated on the narrow rim of the roof. Holding onto his father’s Santa suit with one hand, he put the knife back in his other hand and pointed the blade at Marco. “This store has been in our family for three generations, did you know that? He promised I could take it over when he retired. Then just like that he decided to sell it right out from under me.” Nathan inched his father backward, closer to the edge.

  “Let me talk to you,” Marco said, trying to stop him.

  “I just wanted to talk to him,” Nathan continued. “But my dad never listens. I tried to make him talk this morning but he pushed me away. I cut my hand wide open. I was bleeding everywhere, but he didn’t care. He had presents to hand out.”

  “It doesn’t have to end this way,” Marco said.

  “But it does,” Nathan shouted and looked at his father. “He said so himself. This is Churchill’s last Christmas.”

  “Stop, Nathan,” Marco demanded. “We were interrupted earlier. I didn’t get a chance to finish my story.”

  “I’m not interested in your story,” Nathan snarled. “This is my story and it has nothing to do with you. It’s between me and my father now, and there isn’t anything you can say to stop me.”

  “The least you can do is let me finish,” Marco said.

  Nathan stared down the tip of his blade at my husband, steam escaping into the cold air with each heavy breath. “Why?” he asked. “Why should I care about your story?”

  “Because I understand what you’re going through,” Marco answered honestly. “I know exactly how you feel.”

  Nathan gave him a scathing glance. “How could you possibly know how I feel?”

  “Because my father died on Christmas Eve,” Marco said, his words coming out strained and filled with pain. “He died because of me.”

  Nathan held his father firmly on the edge, but paused. I held my breath as Marco took one step closer. And although my husband stood tall and powerful, his face held a look of vulnerability. It was the look he’d tried to hide in the car that morning. It was the look he’d given before leaving Hailey’s hospital room.

  “You told me you hated your father,” Nathan said.

  “I did hate my father,” Marco answered. “I hated him for years.”

  “Why are you telling me?” Nathan asked. “It’s not going to change anything.”

  “I’ve never told anyone,” Marco admitted. “I’ve never been able to. If anyone would be able to understand my story it would be you.”

  Nathan lowered his arm and held the knife at his side. He kept hold of his weakened father. All it would have taken was one push and Churchill would have been gone. “Go ahead,” Nathan said. “I’m listening.”

  “My dad owned a small Italian diner,” Marco began. “As soon as I was old enough, he expected me to work with him in the kitchen, every day after school. The diner was busy all the time, and we would stay open on every holiday, even Christmas Eve. He said the hard work would teach me discipline. It would make a man out of me. And I hated him for it.”

  “Then why do you care if he’s dead?” Nathan asked.

  “Because my dad didn’t do it to hurt me,” Marco said. “But at the time I didn’t get it. I just wanted to be a normal teenager and have a real Christmas with presents to open under the tree. I didn’t want to be slaving over a hot stove.”

  Marco paused to draw in a breath. “The year I turned fifteen, we got into a huge argument. I wanted to spend Christmas Eve with my friends, and he said no.” Marco stopped again to glance at me.

  I didn’t want him to see me crying but I couldn’t
move my hands to wipe the tears away.

  Slowly he moved another step closer to me, continuing his story for both of us to hear. “My dad tried to get me to stay at the restaurant with him by giving me an early Christmas gift – a football. He even offered to throw some passes with me in the alley before the dinner rush. It was the best he could offer, five minutes in the alley, but that wasn’t good enough for me. I walked out, leaving him holding that football.”

  Marco shook his head and looked at me. He was trying so hard to keep his composure. “That’s the last image I have of him, staring after me holding that damn football.”

  My heart broke as Marco couldn’t help but let the tears fall from his eyes. “An hour later my father had a heart attack just as the dinner rush hit. I wasn’t there to help him. He died all alone in that kitchen. He died because of me.”

  Nathan’s eyes welled up with tears, too, yet he remained unshaken in his resolve. “My father won’t die because of me,” Nathan spouted. “He did this to himself. All he had to do was listen.”

  “Sometimes listening isn’t enough,” Marco said. “All I had to do was listen, too. My dad needed my help, but I didn’t care. He was doing the best he could, but I didn’t want to hear it.”

  “I like you, Marco,” Nathan said, wiping his cheek. “I think you’re a good guy. I’m sorry about your father, but it’s too late for mine.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Marco countered in frustration. “It’s not too late. You don’t have to go through with this. Do you know what I wouldn’t give right now for five minutes in that alley with my father? I’d do anything to throw that football around with him, to tell him I’m sorry. I would do anything for that chance.”

  Marco took another step forward. “It’s too late for me, Nathan, and that’s a heavy burden to bear. I don’t get a second chance. But you do.”

  Nathan stared at Marco for a moment, making me hope he’d gotten the message. But instead, he dropped the knife and pulled his father to his feet, even though Churchill’s legs were weak and unsteady and his eyes could barely open.

  Tears spilled down Nathan’s cheeks as he said to Marco, “Your father was a good man.” He backed his dad nearer to the roof’s edge. “That’s where our story differs.”

  Marco inched closer to me, only a few feet away now as he gave his final plea, “Your father might not be a good man, but he doesn’t deserve to die.”

  “You know what the worst part of this is?” Nathan asked as though he hadn’t even heard. He released his grip on Churchill with one hand and pulled out a crumpled, bloody letter, holding it up to his father’s face. “In this letter, my father told his employees that no matter who bought the business” -Nathan drew his words out slowly and let them linger in the cold night air- “he would always be New Chapel’s Santa Claus.” He closed his fist around the letter and threw it at my feet.

  At once Marco made a move to grab me but froze when Nathan turned toward him. He was silent for a long moment then said, “Go on. Take your wife. Get her out of here. I don’t think either of you should see what happens next.”

  Without a second’s hesitation, Marco lifted me off of the cold, graveled rooftop and carried me away from the edge, untying my hands as Nathan continued his gloomy proclamation to his father.

  “You want to be New Chapel’s Santa Claus?” he asked, his hands twisting around his father’s collar. “You couldn’t spend five minutes with me, but you want to be their Santa Claus?” Nathan’s final words came out even colder than the air around him. “Then they can have you.”

  “No!” I cried as Nathan gave his father a shove. Churchill’s arms wind milled as he fell backwards onto the roof’s rim, where he hung suspended, his upper body dangling over the side. Marco and I both rushed forward, Marco grabbing Nathan by the coat and dragging him away from the edge. Churchill’s Santa hat fell from his head as his neck bent backwards. I dropped onto the rooftop, grabbing his legs and holding on with all of my weight.

  From behind us the New Chapel police force rushed forward. Several officers lifted Churchill off the ledge and back to safety, while Reilly and another officer wrestled Nathan to the ground.

  As Nathan was taken away, fighting and shouting, and Reilly stayed to wait for the emergency medical team to arrive, Marco sat down against the stairwell wall, his head tipped forward, his hands closed, trembling all over. I slipped off my long red velvet coat, sat down beside him, and wrapped it around him. No words were spoken by either of us, just an outpouring of emotion, long overdue. I put my head on his chest and wept with him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After the police had taken our statements and the medical team had cleared us to leave, and after meeting up with my family and friends to let them know we were safe, Marco and I decided to spend the rest of the evening alone at home. Our three-legged mutt Seedy had flopped all three of her paws down on the couch cushions behind Marco’s head and our rescue cat Smoke lay curled up in my lap.

  I rested my head on Marco’s chest and let him hold me as an old black-and-white Christmas movie played quietly on the television. We were talking more openly than we ever had, connecting more deeply than I’d ever hoped. We laughed together easily now, but I realized that we could cry together as well.

  Late into the night Marco finally pulled me from my cozy couch slumber and tucked me into bed. He pulled the covers up, kissed me on the cheek and I heard him say, “Thank you,” before I fell into a deeply satisfying sleep.

  Christmas morning, I awoke to the curtains being drawn back, revealing bright morning sunshine. I could hear Seedy’s paws scurrying on the hardwood floor of the bedroom, wanting to jump up beside me, as Smoke made his way onto my pillow and rubbed his wet feline nose against my chin. “I’m up,” I said groggily and then looked at my husband who was already dressed. “I’m up.”

  “Finally,” Marco said. “We’re already late.”

  He wouldn’t tell me what we were late for, as I hurried to brush my teeth and discard my thick blue robe for a comfy winter outfit. He wouldn’t say who the presents were for as he piled them into the back seat of our car. Most importantly though, he wouldn’t explain why he had such a big smile as he drove me downtown and parked in front of Bloomers.

  My excitement grew as I helped him unload the gifts, wondering what he had planned. But then I noticed that the shop was empty and dark. “Why are we at Bloomers? There’s no one here.”

  “Follow me.”

  With boxes piled high in my arms I followed him to Down the Hatch, where the door flew opened and Jillian ran out to greet us. As excited as a ten-year-old, she took my arm and led me into the bar, with Marco right behind.

  I set the wrapped presents down and gazed around the room in astonishment. Lottie and Grace were hanging the last string of holiday lights around the sconces on the walls; Rosa was lighting red and green candles placed in the center of every table; my mom and dad were at the back decorating a small Christmas tree; and cheerful, holiday music played over the speakers.

  I didn’t know what to say. I turned to find Marco watching me take it all in. “How did you manage all this?”

  Lottie answered, “Marco called us first thing this morning, sweetie. We didn’t have much time, but judging by that big smile of yours, I think we really pulled it off.”

  “Abs, I wish you could see the look on your face,” Jillian said. “Speaking of which,” -she licked her thumb and wiped it under one of my eyes- “mascara smudge.”

  Marco grabbed two glasses of champagne from the bar as I took turns hugging my mom and dad, Rosa, Grace, and Lottie. “This is incredible,” I said, gazing around again.

  “That’s not all,” Mom added. “Marco has invited all of our families to celebrate Christmas here, as well. There’s plenty of room for everyone, and now this place is properly decorated.”

  After the decorations were up, we gathered around the tables to discuss the previous night’s harrowing events. At a knock on
the door, Marco rose to let in Sergeant Reilly. Dressed in his street clothes and a heavy winter jacket, he greeted everyone, took off his jacket, and accepted a glass of champagne. Then he sat down next to me and pulled out a Christmas card.

  “Tuck it away and save it for later,” he said quietly, his cheeks turning red. “It’s for you and Marco.”

  “Does this mean we’re not in trouble, Sarge?” I teased.

  “I didn’t say that.” He cleared his throat and then in his most authoritative tone said, “You clearly don’t have any regard for your own safety, Abby, and you continually place yourself in danger. However,” he paused, then broke into a slight smile, “I have to say, you do manage to get the job done.”

  “You know me,” I said. “I never back down from a challenge.”

  “Just be assured that after saving Churchill’s life, there won’t be any charges filed against you. In fact, after word gets around, I’m sure you’ll be called a hero.”

  “The florist who saved Christmas,” Dad said, smiling at me proudly.

  “I like the sound of that,” I said, “but I didn’t do it alone.” I took my husband’s hand in mine. “I couldn’t have done it without Marco.” Then I looked around the room at my friends and family. “Actually, every single person in this room helped us.”

  “Tell us, Sergeant,” Grace said. “How is our dear Santa Claus?”

  “Mr. Churchill is still recovering in the hospital. We haven’t been told the extent of his injuries, but we do know that he will live.”

  “And Nathan?” I asked.

  “Nathan was treated for minor wounds and taken to jail,” Reilly said. “No bond this time though. He’s facing enough charges to keep him locked up for many celebrations to come.” Reilly paused to sip some champagne. “He did quite a bit of talking last night, most of it about how he was supposed to inherit Churchill’s, although he was hard to understand sometimes. He cried through a lot of it.”