I've said it before and I'll say it again. A novella is
such a good way to meet a new author. And with this latest
by Christie Craig you will understand why this talented
author is a fan favorite. She packs a wallop in THE COP WHO
STOLE CHRISTMAS in just a short amount of space. But what a
great little story that packs a punch.
I'm going to sum it up in few words -- who else could make
me laugh out loud in a murder mystery. Yes bad people get
killed. Blood gets spilled. But Craig finds the humor and
tickles the reader until she
gets what she wanted. Not just a smile, or giggle but a
true out loud laugh. You can't help it.
Savanna Edwards was just getting over a very trying divorce
only marginally worse than her actual marriage. She was
facing down a repo man getting ready to tow her car and was
she supposed to be feeling better because he was wearing a
Santa costume? Hey let's get real here. That's not in line
with season's greetings.
Savanna is royally pissed especially since it seems the car
in question was used as collateral by her cheating ex
Clint. She got the car in the divorce but it seems she
neglected to go the extra mile -- no pun intended -- and
have
the title changed. So Savanna did what any law abiding
citizen would do it this case -- she banged on the door of
her neighbor Mark the cop. Only he isn't a regular cop he
is a homicide investigator but he does the best he can --
which was absolutely nothing.
Not the most auspicious way to finally meet your neighbor
for either Savanna or Mark. And it looks like it is going
to go downhill from there real fast. Still hurting over her
mother's death, her divorce, and now repossessed car Savanna
is quite vocal about how she feels about her ex. But none
of that prepared her for what she was soon to discover --
her ex dead as in murdered. And the list of suspects keeps
growing exponentially longer by the day.
Great story jammed pack in a novella filled with Craig's
signature dialog, somewhat crazy characters and of course
an ingenious plot line that will have you guessing to the
end. Absolutely a joy to read.
It'll take a tall, hot Texan and a little holiday spirit
to
mend a broken heart and catch a Christmas killer...
Savanna Edwards is feeling downright Scrooge-like. Who
can
blame her? A truly unjolly Santa -- suit, beard and all --
just repossessed her car because of her ex's shady business
dealings. She'd like to murder the no-good-lying cheat, but
somebody already did that for her - and left him right in
the middle of her kitchen, wrapped up with a bow.
Detective Mark Donaldson has a rule against getting
involved with his neighbors. He can look - and he's studied
every sweet curve of Savanna from across the street - but he
can't touch. So when she lands on his doorstep in need of
help, he finds himself torn between being naughty or nice,
and fights every urge to unwrap her like a shiny new
Christmas present.Trouble is… even Mark can't resist a
little holiday magic…and there's definitely something
magical happening between him and the girl next door.
Excerpt
“Get your hand off my bumper!” Savanna Edwards clutched her
pink, nubby housecoat to her chest against the frigid
December air as she bolted across her yard to her driveway.
Cold mud oozed between her toes.
“Did you hear me?” she yelled over the sound of “Grandma Got
Ran Over By a Reindeer” bellowing out of the wrecker. She
came to a sudden stop, her breath catching with shock at the
sight of the man hooking up her Mustang.
Santa Claus was stealing her car.
“I heard you lady.” Crouched down at her bumper, his long
white beard dangled between his knees. He even donned the
traditional red suit with the floppy hat sporting a white
ball. When he finally looked up, his eyes widened.
The cold snuck beneath her robe, and afraid something might
be showing, she tightened the housecoat around her. A chilly
gust of wind tossed a heavy strand of mayonnaise-laden hair
onto her forehead. That’s when she remembered she also had
on a neon blue facial mask.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She’d heard the clanking
while soaking in the tub—her Saturday morning pamper-me
ritual. Having just replaced her mailbox after the
neighborhood juvenile delinquents had smashed it to
smithereens, she’d bolted out of the tub thinking she’d
caught the hoodlums red-handed. It hadn’t been delinquents
she found, but a wrecker backing up into her driveway behind
her car.
Santa stood, his eyes roaming over her. “Just doing my job,
Ma’am.”
“That’s my car.”
“Title Mama would argue that fact.”
“Title Mama?”
“You give them a title, they loan you money? You pay ’em
back, no problem. You don’t pay ’em back, you get me.”
“I didn’t borrow money using the title.” Even as she said
the words, doubt formed in her gut. Her ex was a certifiable
asshole, but he wouldn’t have stooped this low, would he?
Oh, hell, who was she kidding? Clint had brought his intern
into her house while she’d been at the hospital with her
dying mom. He had no stooping limits.
He walked to his truck and pulled out a clip board. “Read it
and weep.”
Savanna glanced at the papers. There it was—her heart
plummeted—her ex-husband’s signature on the contract. She
really did feel like weeping.
When she looked up, Santa was back to work hooking up her
car. “Stop! Please. This is a mistake. I got the car in the
divorce. So if someone gave him a loan on it, it was . . .
illegal.”
The wrecker driver’s eyes cut up to her. “I hate it when
that happens.” He actually sounded sincere.
She felt the skin-firming, pore-reducing mask tighten her
face. “Just let me call my ex and get this resolved.
Please.”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Blinking back the sting of tears, she saw a curtain in the
house across the street flutter. Her gaze shot to the
neighbor’s front door. Was he coming to her rescue? If
anyone could help, he could.
After ten seconds of no one walking out, her gaze shot back
to Repo Santa. “Look, he got the house, I got the car. It
wasn’t even fair, but I didn’t want the house after . . .”
He stood up again. The Jolly Ol’ Soul’s knees popped, even
though he didn’t look that old. “You seem like a nice lady.
A little weird maybe.” He stared at her face. “Really weird,
but I have a job to do. I’m Santa, I give to those who are
good and take away from those who are bad.”
“I haven’t been bad.” Her heart pounded. She knew if she
didn’t calm down she was going to hyperventilate. Or worse,
she would fly into a complete rage and start kicking St.
Nicholas’ ass. She could see the headline now: Local florist
bashes Santa.
Her gaze cut back to the house across the street. She paid
city taxes, the city paid her neighbor. That meant he
basically worked for her. Tightening her robe’s belt, she
high-stepped it across the street hoping to make it before
Santa got away with her car.
• • •
Mark Donaldson backed away from the window, and stared at
the steaming cup of coffee he held. Santa versus Smurf. Had
to be a dream. He took a long swig of coffee, gave the
caffeine a second to do its magic, and then looked out
again.
He wasn’t dreaming.
And now his blue-faced, hot-looking neighbor was hot-footing
it across the street. He dropped the curtain. She couldn’t
be coming over here, could she?
He peeked out again. Yup. She was. The pounding started on
his door. “Shit.” His gripped his cup tighter.
Just because she knocked, didn’t mean he had to answer.
Blowing on the too-hot coffee, he waited for her to leave,
hoping she’d assume he wasn’t at home, or was still in bed.
As the pounding continued, he surmised his neighbor was
behind on her car payments and . . .
The doorbell chimed.
Then he heard her. “I know you’re in there. I saw you
looking out your window!”
Frowning, he went and opened the door. A gust of 34-degree
wind blew in and reminded him all he had on was a pair of
boxers.
Her gaze shot to his eyes, then slipped down to his bare
chest, and then inched down a bit more where it lingered
around the belly button for an appreciative second, and then
shot back up.
His gaze bypassed her blue face and gooey hair and shot to
the V opening of her robe, slipped to the swell of her
exposed breast and stayed there.
She clutched her robe tighter to hide the nice view. He
didn’t do a damn thing to cover up. Let her look. It was all
she was going to get from him. All he was going to get from
her.
He took a slow sip of his coffee. “Yeah?”
“I need you,” she bellowed, sounding breathless.
He choked on the hot liquid.
Good line. It had been too long since a woman told him that,
but this was a first. Never had it come from one painted
like a smurf. Not that he didn’t know that below the mask
was a pretty face. And while he wouldn’t mind another peek
behind the robe, he’d seen and appreciated her body numerous
times—from his side of the street, and with her clothes on,
of course.
Well, he’d undressed her in his mind on more than one
occasion, but that didn’t count.
The temptation to cross the street and introduce himself had
crossed his mind. But logic had intervened. ‘Never get your
meat where you get your bread.’ Meaning, don’t date anyone
at work. And while he didn’t work with her, he was sure
there was some kind of clever idiom about not sleeping with
your neighbor. Maybe, ‘Don’t shit in your own backyard.’
That would work.
As pretty as she was, that had bad idea written all over it.
Not that he’d had any other ideas lately. It had been a long
time since . . . His gaze shifted back to the V at her
neckline.
Another cold wind blew past her. He relented, and still
holding the mug, he crossed his arms over his chest. “What
do you need?” He knew damn well what she was going to say.
But part of him liked having her on his doorstep — even if
it wasn’t going to lead anywhere.
She hesitated. “You’re a cop.”
Yeah, that he was. And a plainsclothes cop. So how the hell
did she know about that? This was a prime example of why he
hadn’t gotten to know his neighbors. He didn’t want them
coming to him with their speeding tickets and crap. He
frowned. So she thought he could flash his badge and prevent
Santa from impounding her car.
She thought wrong. He wasn’t even working for Piperville
Police Department. He and his partner had recently
transferred from Houston to a smaller precinct, Attalla,
where they’d both been hired on as Homicide. They’d gotten
bored of chasing robbers, and thought murderers would be
more interesting.
“Santa Claus is stealing my car.” She pointed across the
street.
Maybe she’d been a bad girl. “Are you behind on your
payments?”
“I don’t owe payments on it.” She sighed. “It appears my
ex-husband got a loan using the title, but the car belongs
to me, so legally, if they take the car, they’re stealing
it.”
He looked across the street then back to her. “Was the car
in his name?”
She drew in a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. The courts
gave it me.”
He frowned. “It matters. I’m sure your lawyer told you to
get the legal documents changed over.”
She glanced back at Santa hooking up her car. He caught
another peek at the opening of the robe. Was she . . . naked
beneath that thing? Things in his boxers started to twitch.
Yup, it had been too long since he’d allowed himself some
temporary company. The fact that he always went for the
temporary kind was another point to why playing with the
neighbor wasn’t a good idea.
She turned back to him. “I pay city taxes and you work for
the city. You have to stop him.”
Right there, that’s the reason he didn’t get to know his
neighbors, so how the hell . . . “I’m a homicide detective.
If you had a dead body, I’d be your man. But I don’t deal
with the car repos. I don’t even work for this city.”
She inhaled. “Well, there’s going to be a dead body if you
don’t stop him, because I’m either going to kill Santa or
I’m killing my ex.”
Desperation shined in her blue eyes, eyes that looked
brighter due to her blue face. Frowning, he walked over to
the sofa and snagged his leather jacket, and slipped it on.
“All I can do is check if he has the proper paperwork. If he
does, you’re on your own.”
He was right. She was on her own. As Santa drove off with
her silver Honda, Savanna Edwards couldn’t have looked
unhappier. Or bluer. A couple of tears ran down her blue
cheeks. But damn he hated seeing a woman cry, even a smurf
woman.
And then bam! Just like that, he felt bad. He couldn’t have
stopped Santa, but damn it. Did he have to be so callous?
Christ! Was he turning into his parents? Afraid to feel any
empathy for fear someone would use it against him?
It wasn’t her fault he’d been in a bad mood for two years.
Or that during that time he’d only gotten laid a few times.
And none of them had even been particularly good. He opened
his mouth to apologize, but she spoke first.
“Thanks for nothing!” She stormed back inside her house,
slamming the door in her wake.
He sighed. “Merry Christmas.”
I can't wait to have this book on my Christmas reading shelf... Love Christie Craig and her wonderful books. (Kathleen O'Donnell 11:23am November 18, 2013)
Can't wait to read The Cop Who Stole Christmas! Christie's books are delightful (just like Christie herself!) and always make me smile if not laugh out loud. (Anne Martel 11:50am November 18, 2013)
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