Grim Holiday (Aisling Grimlock Book 6) Read online

  I shook my head, but Jerry shot his hand in the air and rolled to the balls of his feet.

  “I want to know,” Jerry enthused.

  That answer was clearly good enough for Griffin. “I know because your father did his level best to terrorize me even before we started dating.”

  “To be fair, he didn’t know about you until after you started sleeping together … and then walked away,” Aidan pointed out.

  If looks could kill, Aidan would have a burning arrow of scorn burrowing through his forehead. I swear it took all the restraint Griffin could muster to keep him in his chair. “Yes, well, thank you for reminding me of that,” Griffin growled. “That’s not my point. My point is that I’ve put up with a lot when it comes to the Grimlock family, and they weren’t always welcoming.”

  Griffin shifted so he was facing me and grabbed my hands. “Sweetheart, I swear to you that my mother is the easiest person in the world to get along with,” he said. “She’s going to love you.”

  “But … why?”

  “Why is she going to love you?” Griffin’s eyebrows winged up. “Why do I love you?”

  “You want me to have sex with her?”

  Griffin snorted as he rested his forehead against mine. “She’s going to love you because you’re snarky, smart, beautiful and have a good heart. That’s why I love you.”

  “I thought you loved me because of the way my butt looks in those softball pants you keep making me put on when we’re alone.”

  “That, too.” Griffin pressed a firm kiss to my mouth. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. In two days you’ll be kicking yourself for worrying about this in the first place.”

  I wanted to believe him. I really did. “Okay.” I heaved out a sigh and shifted my gaze to Aidan. “I need a ride to the garage to pick up my car.”

  Aidan balked. “Why can’t your love monkey take you?”

  “That’s Mr. Love Monkey to you,” Griffin growled.

  “It’s out of his way,” I argued. “Please?”

  Aidan blew out a resigned sigh. “Fine. You’re doing all your own jobs today, though. I’m not going with you. I don’t want to see a repeat of the Santa Claus performance from yesterday ever again.”

  He wasn’t the only one.

  “What happened with Santa?” Griffin asked, his interest piqued. “I don’t think I got the full story before Jerry interrupted us.”

  “It was nothing,” I replied evasively. “Aidan is being dramatic.”

  “That’s how I know the story is funny instead of dangerous,” Griffin said, reaching for the juice. “The only thing you need to worry about over the next few weeks is keeping wraiths away from my mother, Aisling. I’m sure you can manage that.”

  Now that he mentioned it … hmm. How am I supposed to make that happen? Crap on toast.

  I HAD ONLY three jobs for the day. I finished two early and then found myself in a lull before the last. I headed toward St. Clair Shores’ Nautical Mile to amuse myself – thinking perhaps Griffin might like something with a nautical theme – and busied myself with a café mocha from Starbucks as I window shopped. My final charge was set to expire in an assisted living center shortly before three, so I had time to burn.

  I was lost in thought as I stared at the bits and baubles, seriously considering buying Griffin a captain’s hat as a joke gift before my eyes fell on an antique pocket watch in one of the window displays. I had no real reason to think he’d like it – in fact I walked away from the window twice before returning – but the watch was so attractive I couldn’t stop myself from taking a closer look.

  I shuffled inside, mustering a wan smile for the older gentleman behind the counter as I leaned closer and stared at the fanciful display area. The shopkeeper stared at me for a long time before shuffling closer. “Do you want to see it up close?”

  “Oh, well … .” I honestly wasn’t sure. “I need a gift for my boyfriend. I’m not even sure where he would use that thing, yet I can’t stop looking at it.”

  “It’s a beautiful piece.” The man took a key from the ring on his belt and opened the case. He was gentle when he pulled out the pocket watch and removed it from the tray. “This is from the twenties,” he explained, handing the sterling silver timepiece to me with a small smile. “It’s unique. I doubt you’ll find anything like it anywhere else.”

  I took the watch and studied it, glancing at the clock on the wall to make sure it was keeping time, and then sighed as I flipped it over. “How much?”

  “Five hundred.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was an antique, after all. Spending that much money on something Griffin might hate seemed stupid, yet I couldn’t return the item to the shopkeeper’s hand. I narrowed my eyes when I saw the script on the back. “What is that?”

  “It’s an inscription,” the shopkeeper replied. “It says ‘time stops’ and it has the map coordinates of Lake St. Clair etched next to it.”

  “Time stops, huh?” Somehow that seemed to fit despite the ridiculous nature of the gift. “I’ll take it. Do you take credit cards?”

  The man nodded, his smile widening. “We gift wrap, too.”

  “You had me with the bit about time stopping.” I handed back the watch and followed him to the adjacent counter. “I don’t even know if my boyfriend will like it.”

  “You like it,” the man said. “That probably means he will love it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You love him, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I’m sure he loves you, too. A gift like this, one that comes from the heart, cannot be accepted with anything other than happiness.”

  “You spin a good yarn,” I offered. “If he hates it can I bring it back?”

  “In exchange for store credit.”

  That figured. “Throw in that captain’s hat while you’re at it. I might as well go all out.”

  “Would you like that gift wrapped, too?”

  “Absolutely.”

  By the time I left the store thirty minutes later my credit card felt as if it got a jump on its fitness level for the new year and I felt markedly better. I knew I would add to Griffin’s gift haul – mostly because he said he bought me a ton of gifts and I can’t stand to lose any competition, even a gift-giving one – but I was relatively hopeful he would be happy with his big gift.

  I was so lost in thought I didn’t realize I was about to smack into someone until I crashed into a woman, who appeared to be fascinated with a small mirror in her hand rather than where she was going. I recognized the voice issuing the litany of curses as I fought to maintain my balance.

  “Oh, it’s you.” I wrinkled my nose as I looked Angelina Davenport up and down. We’d hated each other the moment we set eyes upon each other as children. Instead of waning, the feeling only grew until she dated my brother Cillian, cheated on him and then earned a series of punches, slaps and hair pulls that would make WWE superstars jealous. “Isn’t your pimp looking for you on that corner over there?” I pointed to the busy intersection across the road. “You should probably close your eyes and not look both ways when you cross. I think that would be the perfect Christmas gift for me.”

  “Oh, whatever!” Angelina screwed up her face into an expression that only a mother could love and snapped shut the pocket mirror. Nope, on second thought, even a mother couldn’t love that face. “What are you doing down here?”

  I held up my shopping bag. “I’m dancing. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “I thought perhaps you were waiting to meet your pimp for lunch.”

  “You can’t use a pimp joke thirty seconds after I launch a much better one,” I shot back, annoyed. “Have you no shame? You used to be much better at insults.”

  Angelina narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits. “I really hate you.”

  “Right back at you.”

  Despite her angry words, Angelina didn’t move from the sidewalk. That led me to believe she wanted
to speak further, which was the last thing I wanted to do. “So … um … I’m running late.”

  “Wait!” Angelina’s hand shot out and she grabbed my arm. She looked uncomfortable being this close, but that didn’t stop her from uttering an annoying question. “How is Cillian doing this Christmas?”

  Oh, good grief. “He’s great,” I replied, adopting a tone that reflected faux light and enthusiasm. “He and Maya are planning some romantic romps under the mistletoe and things are going so swimmingly that Maya’s mother is coming to meet him.”

  Angelina stilled, the verbal slap hitting home. “Really?”

  “Would I lie to you?” I’d done nothing but lie to her when the opportunity arose but now clearly wasn’t the time to discuss that. “I’m late for work.”

  “I’m not done talking to you.” Angelina jerked my arm, causing my cheeks to flush with color.

  “Take your hands off me or I’ll shove my foot so far up your behind your nose will turn brown instead of red,” I threatened. “People will mistake you for Rudolph’s slutty cousin Bendover.”

  Angelina dug her fingernails into my skin instead of releasing me. “Do you have to be such a terrible person?”

  “According to anyone who has ever met me, yes.”

  “I … is Maya’s mother really coming to meet Cillian?” Angelina looked distraught at the news. That should’ve pleased me – and partially did – but I also felt sorry for her. How did that even happen? I blame the increasingly infectious Christmas season. There can be no other explanation.

  “Actually, she’s coming to meet me, too,” I reluctantly admitted.

  Angelina snorted, returning to her normal snotty self. “Oh, so Griffin is about to dump you, huh?”

  The fact that she echoed my own fears to perfection wasn’t lost on me. “Yeah, I’m sorry I stopped to talk to you. Next time we run into each other, let’s make sure I’m in my car and you’re done taking one from every team that ever existed.”

  “Oh, ha, ha.” Angelina smoothed the front of her tunic. “So, I’m listing the house on the corner, the big one right by your house. I thought I might stop in to offer your family some Christmas cheer while in the neighborhood.”

  I tilted my head to the side, considering. “You mean the old Gentry place? The one everyone thought was haunted when we were kids?”

  “It’s not haunted,” Angelina scoffed. “It is older, but it has great bones. I expect someone will be able to flip it and make a lot of money.”

  “I think your pimp thought the same thing about you and look how disappointed he is,” I countered.

  Angelina heaved out a sigh, disgusted. “Why do you always have to be … well … you?”

  “I am what I am.” I increased the distance between us and headed toward my vehicle. “Stay away from Cillian, Angelina. I’m not messing around. He’s happy and you’re out of his life. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

  “Are you happy?”

  The question caught me off guard. “Most of the time.”

  “That kind of ticks me off,” Angelina admitted.

  I didn’t want to smile. It would only encourage her, after all. I couldn’t stop myself, though. “Right back at you. Merry Slutmas, Angelina.”

  “Happy screw you,” Angelina called to my back.

  Okay, now I was in the Christmas spirit.

  4

  Four

  Assisted living homes give me the creeps. For someone who deals with death as much as I do you’d think that I’d be used to them. You’d be wrong.

  There’s something sad and lonely about senior living environments. While there’s a lot of joy in some of them – Aidan has a regular gaggle of women who fawn all over him in one St. Clair Shores home – the bad far outweighs the good in others.

  That’s how I felt walking into Sunset Acres, a depressingly-named home located about a block away from the Nautical Mile. Thanks to my run-in with Angelina causing me to forego a stop at a coffee place to pad my caffeine level as I initially planned, I was early. I took the opportunity to look around – as if merely investigating in case I wanted to plant a parent there in the near future (and I was totally going to threaten my father with that the next time he yelled at me) – and hoped I didn’t look out of place.

  Unlike most of the updated facilities I’d seen since starting employment in the reaping business, Sunset Acres looked to be stuck in the sixties … and not in a good way. I half expected a deranged nun from a bad horror movie to walk around the corner at any second with a screaming patient in a wheelchair as she hurried off to make a sacrifice to some horrific hell beast.

  What? I watch a lot of bad movies and television shows. Sue me.

  I rubbed my chin as I stared around the lobby, frowning at the hard metal chairs before ultimately sinking down and groaning at the cold texture. I grimaced as I tried to get comfortable, shooting a wry look toward the middle-aged man sitting next to me. “I guess they never heard of cushions, huh? That doesn’t bode well for me sticking my father here next time he irritates me. He’s going to need cushions.”

  The man arched an eyebrow but remained silent. The woman behind the glass at the intake desk was another story.

  “Do you think that’s funny?”

  Even when caught saying something stupid I’m not big on taking it back. I’d rather go all in and make things worse. It’s a family gift really. Sometimes I wish I could return it, but most often I’m fine treating it like a rabid dog, holding it at arm’s length and occasionally taking it out for a walk.

  “I don’t find much about this place funny,” I admitted, narrowing my eyes so I could read her nametag from a good ten feet away. “Tell me, Sheila, what’s the deal with this place? Are you conducting experiments on the guests?”

  The man next to me widened his eyes. I almost got the feeling he was enjoying the show. He wisely kept his mouth shut and let me do all of the talking. I didn’t blame him. If the workers banded together to kill someone they would focus on me. Everyone else would be able to escape to the parking lot. They might even be able to get some of the residents out during the melee.

  “Do you think that’s funny?” Sheila asked again.

  I shrugged. “My family says I have a peculiar sense of humor, so there’s every chance that I might find it funny and not even realize it. On the other hand, this place is creepy. Can’t you afford to even paint? I mean … I’m sure some people would donate gallons of paint if it came to that. It doesn’t all have to match. It simply has to look as if it’s been updated in the past forty years or so.”

  “I’m sorry, but do you have business here Miss … Miss … ?” She was grasping for a name, but I had no intention of giving it to her. I’d already come to the realization that the building was too busy – and the security too tight – for me to wander aimlessly and gather my soul whenever I felt like it. I would have to use one of our cloaking rings to make myself invisible before searching beyond the locked door for Ned Kurth.

  “I was considering locking my father away here because he’s mean when he wants to be,” I admitted. “Even I’m not that ungrateful, though. My mother is another story. Do you have restraints in case she decides she’s hungry and wants to eat someone?”

  Sheila narrowed her eyes to green slits. “I think you’ve had your fun, Miss … whatever your name is. If you don’t want me to call the cops and report you for trespassing, you should probably leave right now.”

  “I am going to leave, but not because you want me to,” I supplied, hopping to my feet. “I’m going to leave because this place gives me the creeps. You should know that I don’t frighten easily. My father has a dungeon, and I was often threatened with being locked in there as a kid. There were snakes, too. He denies it now, but there were totally snakes. Creepy ones with fangs. Not trouser snakes, in case you were wondering. Wait … where was I going with this?”

  “I think we’d all like to know that,” the formerly silent man who sat next to me offered
.

  “Oh, right, this place.” I regained my thought trail relatively quickly. “This place is creepy and wrong, and I’ll be the one calling the cops. This cannot be right.”

  I puffed out my chest and strode toward the door, my righteous indignation on full display. A hint of movement caught my attention out of the corner of my eye and I paused long enough to stare at the antique mirror on the wall. The glass was old and warped, creating a slightly distorted reflection. No one stood behind me so I was the only one present in the reflection. I was certain I saw movement that didn’t belong to me, though. I stared at the mirror, willing something to move, yet nothing happened.

  “Are you mentally ill?” Sheila called out, looking gleefully evil. “Would you like me to call for a doctor? We can probably medicate you right here. I’m sure we can track down an open bed.”

  That sounded like an absolutely terrible idea. “No.” I shook my head and drew my eyes from the mirror. “I merely thought you might have a haunted mirror.” That was probably the wrong thing to admit, but I had no intention of letting Sheila or the other Sunset Acres workers ever see me again – once I retrieved my ring from the car, that is. “I’m probably projecting, so don’t worry about the mirror being haunted. But this place is another story.”

  I STILL HAD thirty minutes to burn. I leaned against my car and studied the retirement center from a fair distance. There was something off about it – other than the fact that it resembled a haunted asylum from every bad movie I’d ever seen. I couldn’t put my finger on what bothered me most, though. On a whim, I called Cillian. He loved architecture and could answer obscure questions about random buildings all over the Detroit area. He picked up on the second ring.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I fought the urge to hang up – or shoot him the finger even though he couldn’t see it – and tamped down my irritation. “Can’t a sister merely call her brother because she loves him?”

  “Not you.”

  “You didn’t even say hello.”