Read A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) Online
Authors: Diane Moody
A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five)
Cover design by OBT
Graphix
Front cover tree photo: ©
HannamariaH | iStockphoto.com
Front cover “Lucy” photo:
© FurmanAnna | iStockphoto.com
Front cover couple:
Harold and Lucille Hale
This novel is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely
coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
A Christmas Peril
│ Book Five of the Teacup Novellas
Copyright © 2013 by
Diane Moody
All rights reserved.
The
Teacup Novellas (Book Three)
The
Teacup Novellas (Book Four)
The
Teacup Novellas (Book Five)
From Author Diane Moody
Confessions
of a Prayer Slacker
From Author McMillian Moody
To Aunt
Lucille
“Never
be afraid to trust an unknown future
to a
known God.”
—Corrie
ten Boom
And the peace of God,
which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts and minds
in Christ Jesus.
—Philippians 4:7
Prologue
I peeked at the vintage clock on my
bathroom wall. Mark would be here any minute. One thing I learned early on in
our relationship is that UPS guys are never late
. Ever.
Which is why I’d
made such a valiant effort these last few months to be ready whenever he
arrived. My natural tendencies concerning punctuality lean more toward the
slacker end of the spectrum. But maybe that’s part of all that “yucky, mushy
love stuff”—stepping it up to do something nice for the love of
your life. Going the extra mile with those little things that make him smile.
So worth it. Mark’s smile is to die for.
I brushed my teeth and took a swig of minty
mouthwash before making a final check in the mirror. I couldn’t believe how
easy this updo was. Ordinarily, my curly brunette head of horrors caused me
grief upon grief whenever I tried something new. But I have to say, that Youtube
tutorial was sheer genius. A twist here, a jaw-style barrette there, and voila!
A feminine, elegant swoop of curls that surprised even me. I couldn’t wait to
see Mark’s reaction. He’s the kind of guy who notices everything. I rather love
that about him.
I turned from side to side, pleased with
the gorgeous dress I’d found at TJ Maxx a couple of months ago. I’d been
shopping for a gift for Mark’s sister. Shelly’s a gifted architect who’s
currently staying with Mark until the house she bought is ready. She recently
moved here from
Sydney
,
Australia
where she’d designed several new schools.
I wanted to buy her a welcome-home gift and found the cutest little teacup and
saucer. Mark had told me how much she’d enjoyed my Teacup Novellas, so the set
seemed like the perfect gift. It was. She loved it.
That day, as I wandered through the
clothes section on my way to check out, this amazing dress practically jumped
off the rack, calling, “I’m yours! We’re perfect together!” Turns out, that
little dress was right. She hit just below the knee and fit like she was made
for me. I felt beautiful wearing her, and I’m fairly confident the feeling is
mutual.
Now, as I made one last check in the
mirror, my gaze and my fingers both caressed the heart-shaped diamond necklace glistening
against my skin. I smiled, thinking about the charming way Mark had given it to
me. He’d delivered it early today like any other UPS box, but I had no idea it
was from
him
until after he left. Nor that it held a little black velvet
box with a tiny note tucked inside saying,
“When this you see, remember
me . . . I love you, Lucy, with all my heart.”
Just thinking about it made my heart skip
a beat. So unexpected. So perfect. I couldn’t wait to thank him with a kiss. Or
three.
But curiosity was killing me. How could
he possibly have known my Aunt Lucille had a necklace exactly like this one?
I turned to leave, startled that it was
now
7:03
. Where was he?
I decided to wait on my front porch, so I
gave Gertie a treat, grabbed my long winter coat, and said goodbye. I took a
seat on one of my rockers, enjoying the brisk breeze on this first day of
December just as my cell phone rang.
Ah, he must have run into some traffic,
I thought as I pulled my phone from my
small clutch. But Mark’s picture didn’t fill the screen. It was my cousin.
“Hi, Stephen,” I answered, gazing down
the street.
“Hey, Lucy! How are you?”
“Good, thanks. And you?”
“Awesome. Just wanted to let you know I
got your email questions about Mom and Dad. You won’t believe what I found in
the attic just now—Mom’s diary!”
“Are you serious? Stephen, that’s fantastic!”
“You’ll find everything you want to know
and more. It reads like a love story—literally. Which is no great
surprise since Mom was such a gifted storyteller. How about I FedEx it to you
in the morning?”
“Could you? I can’t wait to see it! But—”
I paused, smiling. “Any chance you could send that UPS instead of FedEx?”
“Well, uh, sure. I guess?”
“See, there’s this delivery guy—”
“Say no more, Lucy. Consider it done.”
“Thanks, Stephen. You just made my day!”
I’d just started outlining my next novella
which would be loosely based on my Aunt Lucille’s life. Years ago she’d told me
how she and Uncle Gary met and bits and pieces of their love story. Over the
years, I’d forgotten much of it, and I needed to get my facts straight. Thus,
my request to my cousin for help. The diary would be a gold mine of information.
Even now, Aunt Lucille’s Christmas teacup
sat perched on the shelf above my desk. She absolutely
loved
Christmas,
and this particular teacup was part of a holiday setting for twelve she had
always used throughout the month of December. I rarely glimpsed at the cup and
saucer without a smile sliding across my face as I imagined the magical
memories it must have witnessed through all those years.
I blinked away my musings, glancing back
at my cell phone. On its screen, the digital numbers showed
7:14
.
The teacup, the news from Stephen about the diary, and every other thought quickly
slipped off my mental horizon as I wondered where Mark could be. It was so
unlike him not to call. I placed a call to him, surprised when it rang several
times then went to voicemail.
Before I could leave a message, my
brother pulled into my driveway and jumped out of his car.
I stood. “
Chad
,
what are you doing here?”
He hurried up the steps toward me. “Lucy,
have you heard from Mark?”
“No, I just tried to call him, but—”
“Let’s go inside,” he said, taking hold
of my arm.
I yanked it free. “Why? What’s going on?”
He used his key to open the door. Gertie
greeted us, barking and doing her usual happy dance.
“GERT! Quiet!”
“
Chad
, what is wrong with you?”
He wouldn’t make eye contact with me.
Instead, he made his way into my den and found the remote, clicking it on. I
followed him, more than a little ticked at him for the way he was treating
Gertie and me.
“You’d better have a good reason for—”
“Shhh,” he said, beckoning me with his
outstretched hand as he clicked through the channels with the other. “Come
here, Lucy.”
“No. Not until you tell me what’s going
on.” I folded my arms across my chest.
He finally looked at me and did a
double-take. “Whoa, Lucy. You look . . . beautiful.”
I tilted my head just so and deflected
the compliment.
He blew out a huff and came to me. “Sis,
you need to sit down.”
I stepped back out of his reach. “Why?
Just tell me why.”
He palmed his hands in surrender. “Okay,
okay. See, I got a call from Gordo a few minutes ago, and—”
“Why would Gordo call you?”
My brother’s eyes jumped back to the
television and he waved me over. “Because there’s been an incident this
afternoon.”
“An
incident
? What kind of
incident?” I moved over so I could see the picture on the television.
He pressed the remote, increasing the
volume, as my eyes finally locked on the TV screen. A reporter stood in front
of a row of houses in an affluent neighborhood.
“The gunman apparently approached the UPS
truck when it made a routine stop here on Waverly Drive at approximately 4:35
this afternoon—”
“Mark?” My breath snagged on a heartbeat.
My knees began to buckle.
Chad
grabbed me, helping me sit down on my
sofa.
The reporter continued. “He took the
driver hostage, barricading himself and the driver in the back of the truck. We
are told the suspect has a sawed off shotgun—”
“NO!” I cried. “
Chad
, please tell me that’s not Mark!”
He squeezed my hands in his and looked me
in the eye. “Lucy, Gordo told me his boss called him off his route because
they’d lost contact with Mark when this thing went down. It’s him, sweetie. I’m
so sorry.”
No, no, no! This can’t be
happening . . .
I
stared at my brother as the reporter’s voice invaded the chaos roaring inside
my head.
“Police have had no direct contact with
the hostage, though they tell us—”
Suddenly, a barrage of gunfire erupted in
the background. The camera swung around, clumsily trying to focus on the scene
more than a block away as the reporter grappled for an explanation.
“Noooo!” I stood back up and spun around,
turning my back to the television, hands over my eyes.
“Hold on, Lucy—”
“SUSPECT DOWN! SUSPECT DOWN!” the
reporter cried, as the gunfire abruptly ended.
I turned back around just in time to see
the SWAT team rushing toward the UPS truck like so many hornets buzzing the
hive.
“What about Mark?!”
Chad
shouted at the television screen.
I grasped my necklace as a tear dripped
off my chin. My prayers had no words, nothing more than frantic yearnings from
the depths of my soul, crying out to God to protect my Mark.
Chad
stood, engulfing me in his arms. I’m sure he was trying to comfort
me, but I’d never seen or felt my brother tremble before.
The reporter rambled on, speculating
first one thing, then the other. I wanted to slap her for blabbing on and on
until she knew what happened. One of the SWAT team guys pointed to something
and waved others over to the other side of the truck.
“C’mon, guys!”
Chad
growled. “Show us the driver!”
And then, as if they’d all heard my
brother’s command, the same SWAT guy turned and gave a thumbs-up to those in
the command vehicle along with a series of hand gestures like some third base
baseball coach. A flurry of emergency personnel rushed toward Mark’s truck.
Moments passed. I couldn’t find a breath.
“
Chad
, is he—”
“We’ve just received word the hostage is
alive,” the reporter announced. “The UPS hostage is alive. Medical personnel
are attending—”
Chad
grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the door. “Let’s go.
They’ll take him to St. Michael’s. We can be there in ten minutes.”
As we flew out to
Chad
’s car, I prayed this was nothing more than a bad dream.
Maybe I was merely lost in some random drama playing out in my mind for a breathtaking
scene in a manuscript. Because it couldn’t be happening. No way.
My heart told me otherwise.