CRIMINAL CHRISTMAS: A Set of 8 Holiday Suspense Stories, page 47
How the hell could she even think about a man in her current physical condition? She glanced at the IV going into her arm. Oh, yeah . . . good drugs.
“Well, I thought I’d call him Luke. If you don’t mind, that is.” She watched his face as he absorbed the information.
His brow lifted, his breathing hitched as his dual colored gaze moved from her, to the baby, and then back to her. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again as he finally spoke. “Are you serious?”
She used her knuckle to wipe the tears from the corner of her eyes then nodded. “Is that okay with you?”
“I’d be so honored. As long as you don’t give him my middle name, too.”
“What is it?”
“Harrison, and for no other reason than George was my mom’s favorite Beatle.” He adjusted his armload. “I guess I should count my blessings she didn’t go with George, huh, little man?”
“Hmm…are you sure? Luke Harrison sure goes well together.” She sent him a playful wink.
“Please, no. I’ve always hated it. I’m sure you can come up with something better. What about your dad’s name?” He looked up, as though to ask her father. “Where’d they go?”
She looked around, surprised to find that at some point during their conversation the others had slipped out of her room. “Huh. Maybe the cafeteria?”
“So, what’s your dad’s middle name?”
“James, but I think it should be at least two syllables. Is your name Luke or Lucas?”
“It’s Lucas, but everyone calls me Luke.”
“I prefer Luke, but it should be paired with something like Fitzgerald, or Madison, or . . .” She stopped to laugh at the face he made.
“Good grief, don’t do that to the poor kid. I know you can do better than that.”
“Well, I do love the singer Luke Bryan.”
“That sounds great together. Luke Bryan Ritter.”
“I’m giving him my maiden name. Luke Bryan Granger.”
He shrugged. “Understandable, I guess.” He lifted her baby to eye level. “How do you like that, huh, buddy? Luke Bryan Granger.”
She sighed, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Now someone can finally fill out the form for this child’s birth certificate.”
“Yeah,” he snorted. “It’s no fun being called ‘Baby Ritter’.” He swayed from side to side when Luke started to fuss.
“I know, but I think I told you before, his name had to have meaning to me.”
“I’m honored you chose my name and I hope Luke finds his middle name equally inoffensive.” He lifted the baby and stared into his face. “Even though no one will remember who the hell Luke Bryan, the singer, is by the time you’re an adult.”
“Hey now, do you remember George Strait?”
“He’s King George, the King of country music, and he’s still recording after forty years.”
“But when he became popular, people in the music industry called George Jones the king of country music.”
“And people still love his music.”
“Yes, they do. I’m just saying, music changes with the times but people will always remember their favorites. Besides, I love both King Georges, but neither one of ‘em can fill out a pair of tight jeans like Luke Bryan can.”
“Oh, please. It doesn’t take a lot of effort when his jeans are custom made a size or two tighter than they should be, and let’s not forget that roll of quarters placed strategically in his front pocket.”
She closed her eyes, remembering Luke Bryan’s performance at Bayou Superfest the two consecutive years she’d seen him. “Sorry, but I’ve gotten close enough during two live performances to know . . . that’s no roll of quarters.”
“Oh, please!”
Luke’s amused snort got her attention. She opened her eyes. “What?”
He yanked a tissue from the generic box on her bedside table and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “Drool much?”
She grabbed the tissue from him. “Jealous much?”
He flexed his right arm. “Hell, no. Maybe I can’t sing for shit, but I can hold my own physically.”
She pursed her lips at the ripped arm, bulging with muscles. “Nice, but just so you know, every time I hear a guy say he ‘holds his own’ I’m tempted to ask him if he does that in the shower with a bar of soap.”
Luke’s stare turned blank for the second it took him to get her meaning. He shook his head as laughter rumbled through his broad chest. “I’m glad to hear your recent brush with a life-threatening situation hasn’t stifled your sense of humor, Cori—Even if it does curve toward the dirty-minded. You truly deserved that ‘Wittiest’ superlative title.”
She shrugged. “It’s the one thing I could always count on, even when I looked like a beached whale.” She pressed her hand to her middle. “Speaking of which, I hope I can lose this baby weight.”
“I’m sure you will, and if you can’t, give me a call and I can come over and whip you into shape . . . if you want to get whipped into shape, that is. Personally, I’ve always preferred women with some meat on their bones.”
Her grin came out twisted, telling him without words, that they’d spent too much time on this subject matter.
He got the memo, cleared his throat before speaking. “Did you or anyone in your family happen to see the special bulletin they did on the local news?”
“No. If my family did, none of them said anything to me.”
“They broadcasted the story outside the hospital this morning and even interviewed your surgeon. She kept it general, and said you were awake and would make a full recovery. I suspect someone has a source with the local PD or Sheriff’s Department.”
She sobered. “Luke, the deputy who was shot—what’s his condition?”
He paused before answering. “He didn’t make it.”
“Oh no . . . did he have a family?”
“Deputy Lawson has a wife and two little boys, ages three and five.”
“How awful, and on Christmas Eve—How truly awful for them.” Tears flooded her vision. She lowered her head and used the tissue he’d given her to wipe her eyes.
Melissa chose that moment to re-enter the room carrying a gift bag. “Hey, sweetie. Look what the owner of the store had delivered.”
Cori stared into the bag and pulled out the robot puppy and large pack of batteries. “How fabulous! No Lilly tantrum tomorrow morning!”
“And that’s not all. You’re somewhat of a local celebrity all of a sudden. People are dropping off gifts and donations for you and the baby, thanks to a reporter for a local news station. She’s outside and wondering if she could get an interview with you. We told her how weak you are and she promised to make it quick.” She held a hand to her chest. “Personally, I’d pass, but I told her I’d ask.”
Cori thought of the young mother and two small boys who’d be facing Christmas without their husband and father, decided to do what she could for them now. “Tell her I’ll speak to her.”
Melissa blinked twice and stared at her sister. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Yes, but ask her to give me a few minutes, and someone get me a mirror, please.”
Melissa swung the bedside table around and over Cori’s lap then opened one of the trays to reveal a mirror.
Cori gasped at her red-rimmed eyes and puffy nose. “Oh my Gosh. Why didn’t anyone tell me I looked like crap?”
“Because you don’t.” Melissa glanced up at Luke. “You know, when I told the reporter that the 911 dispatcher was in here visiting with Cori, she nearly peed herself with excitement. She’s dying to interview the two of you together.”
Luke frowned. “You think?”
Melissa laughed. “I’m telling you, the woman is salivating over the prospect.”
Cori snorted. “Salivating and peeing herself.” She pointed to the box of tissue. “Give that to her, along with a roll of toilet paper from the restroom. It sounds like she may need it more than I do. Melissa, do you happen to have any make-up with you?”
Melissa grabbed her purse and opened it. “Honey, I was so rushed after we got that phone call, I brought my make-up with me. I put my face on while Roland drove.” She extracted a pouch from her purse and handed it to her. “I’ll go tell Ms. Bertrand and then I’ll come back to help you.”
True to her word, Melissa was gone for only a few seconds when she popped back into the room. With a few well-placed finger fluffs to Cori’s hair, a little concealer, and some fine-tuned re-applications of Cori’s barely-existing make-up, she proclaimed her sister camera-ready.
Melissa turned to Luke and gave him a head to toe perusal. “Good googly-moogly, Mr. McStud Muffin! I think you’re fine just as you are.”
Luke frowned. “Thanks, but please don’t say that in front of your husband.”
She waved off his concern. “Roland is the original Mr. McStud Muffin. He can handle the competition.” She exited the room.
“Here, I think you should be holding your own child for the interview.” Luke placed his namesake back in her arms. “Are you sure you’re up to this? And are you comfortable knowing that DaShawn Jackson may see this at some point? He’s bound to recognize you.”
The man’s name had her pausing to consider his comment. “He’s in prison, right?”
“Oh yeah, and he killed a Sheriff’s Deputy, with two eye-witnesses. He’ll be put away for a long, long time.”
“Then, I want to do this. Besides, it’s not like he’ll have a TV in his cell, right?”
“No, but prisons generally have a dayroom where the inmates can gather to watch one television. I’m sure they have to earn watching privileges, though. I’m not sure if they’re allowed to watch the news, either. But, I think you’d be surprised at what gets through to them.”
She gave her head a final nod, making her decision. “I want to do this.” She looked up as the door opened, and Melissa led in a woman with a camera operator in tow. With all introductions behind them, they got down to the interview.
It was over in less than ten minutes and her guests left the hospital satisfied with the results.
“You did good, Cori.” Luke leaned over to pass a finger along the side of his namesake’s face. “And so did this little man.”
“Until he started screaming for his supper,” she added.
His shoulders shook with laughter. “The nurse said he was a good baby, and only cries when he’s hungry. When a man’s gotta eat, a man’s gotta eat, huh dude.” He checked his watch and grunted. “I better get to my mom’s for supper.”
“I understand. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas, Luke.”
“Thanks, I will. Do you have any idea how long you’ll be here?”
“Dr. Reed said it should be a couple of days. She wants to make sure there are no complications with the uterine repair. My family has decided to stick around here for the duration.”
His face lit up. “That’s great! I’m glad you won’t be alone for the holidays. Would you mind if I came by tomorrow?”
She smiled shyly, thrilled at the chance to see him again. “I’d like that . . . a lot.”
Chapter 3
“Hey, dog. You famous. I just saw a story about you on the TV in the common room.”
DaShawn looked at the trustee through the bars of his cell. “No shit, Jug?”
“Man, they interviewed a bitch who hid out in the back of that store you hit. She the reason the cops got in through the back door. They showed a video of a white chick sitting in a hospital bed holding a newborn baby. There was a dude standing next to her bed during the interview.”
“Her old man?”
“Nah. Turns out her old man died a few months back. The dude next to her was the 911 operator she called while she was hidin’ out. She said she’d seen you next door at some fast food joint just ‘fore she went in.”
DaShawn’s gaze narrowed. “Yeah, I remember that pregnant bitch.”
“Said she started havin’ pains while y’all was in there, started bleedin’. She the one found y’all bag of ammo and hid it. She the one unlocked the back doors so the cops got to you and Jefferson, man. Lame-ass bitch got on there and asked everyone to stop sending gifts and donations to her and her kid…said to send ‘em to the family of the slain officer instead. Asked everyone to pray for his family, too. You believe that shit?” He looked around to make sure no one else could hear. “And you know what else she did?”
“What’s that, Juggy?”
“She named her kid after the 911 dispatcher, man. They friends now. Ain’t that some shit?”
“You know their names?”
“Cain’t remember ‘em right now, but I can find out.”
DaShawn nodded. “Yeah man, you do that.” His insides churned with hatred for the woman. He had to get outta this joint. He had to make her pay for landing him in here. He’d been prepared to die. He’d brought along plenty of ammo to make sure that happened. But that shit grew legs and walked away. Last time he was sent up, he’d done okay for himself. But cop killers didn’t get no special privileges.
“Thanks man. I needed to hear that today.” He turned his back on the bars and dropped onto his cot. His hatred for the bitch multiplied by ten.
He lay in his cot and smiled. It’s all good. Word got out to the right gang bangers—he knew damn well he wouldn’t be locked up in this place fa long. Soon as he got out, he’d find that bitch. He rolled over on his side faced the wall.
He couldn’t wait to shut her up. And her friend, too.
Chapter 4
Christmas Eve - 6:00 p.m.
Luke sat with his parents in front of the flat screen he’d given them a few weeks ago as an early Christmas gift.
“Okay, here we are.” His chest filled with unaccustomed warmth when the screen switched from the reporter to Cori, holding the baby in her arms.
They listened as she told her story. How she’d recognized DaShawn from the food joint, and hid in the back of the store to call 911. She described finding their bag of ammo and hiding it, and how they had worked together to help the cops come in through the back door.
“I’ve been told that people have been making donations to me and my child. I thank those of you who’ve done so, but I’m asking everyone to please consider making donations to the family of the slain officer, instead. It’s true I’m a widow, but I’m financially stable, and I’ve been blessed with a new child . . .” She paused to place a hand on Luke’s arm, before continuing. “As well as a new friend in Luke, here—while Officer Lawson’s wife and sons face a lonely, heart-breaking Christmas without their husband and father. My heart goes out to them as well as the rest of his family. We should all be generous with them and keep them in our prayers.”
“A warm sentiment, Ms. Ritter, but we’re all curious back at the station. Since your baby is a Christmas Eve miracle, did you happen to name your son Jesus?”
Cori laughed. “No, but his name means something wonderful, just the same. I named him after a man who was my lifeline for nearly two hours.” She moved her hand over the baby’s head, in a protective motion. “I named him Luke.”
The camera shifted to Luke’s face. “How do you feel about that, Mr. Oliver?”
He grinned at the baby, who’d taken that opportunity to start making some noise. “I couldn’t be prouder.”
The reporter stepped in front of the camera. “There you have it, folks. Our own little Christmas Eve miracle. A story of birth and renewal after a tragic death . . .” She stepped out of the way so that the camera was on Cori and Little Luke again. The camera zoomed in on the kid. “Straight from the baby’s mouth! I’m Renee Bertrand, reporting for KPBT in Beaumont. Back to you, Bridget.”
“Oh, my gosh.” Dolores Walker Oliver sat staring at the TV set. “Arthur, our son is a celebrity.”
“What’s that?”
She leaned closer to yell at him. “I said Luke is a celebrity.”
Arthur Oliver sat there wearing a look of confusion. “What was that we just watched with Luke on TV? I couldn’t hear a damn thing.”
“Oh, good grief. Are you wearing your hearing-aids?”
“Don’t need ‘em. I can hear just fine.”
She threw up her hands. “Of course you can. That’s why you don’t know what the heck I’m talking about or what we just watched.” She turned to Luke, keeping up a steady diatribe of grumbling. “I do believe your father is one of the most hard-headed men in the whole wide world. You know, even if he has his hearing aids in he pretends he doesn’t so he won’t have to do anything I ask him to do. He just sits in his recliner and watches me do all the work around here, with that TV blaring loud enough to wake the dead.”
Luke followed his mom into the kitchen, snickering into his hand. He stopped short when she turned on him, her eyes flashing with anger.
“It’s not funny! That stubborn old fart makes me crazy. I wish you’d talk to him.”
“Yeah, sure, like he’d listen to me any more than he’d listen to you?”
“He always listens to you kids before he listens to me. I swear you’ll be getting a 911 call from him one day. He’ll be running from me or hiding in a closet while I’m chasing him down with a fireplace poker. Hmph!”
“I doubt that.” Luke attempted to placate his mom with a hug. “You move a lot faster than he does. The call will probably come from you telling us you’ve murdered your husband and want someone to remove the body so he quits bleeding on your rug.” He smiled when his mom burst into laughter. “When can we expect Lee and Joe?”
