A Blessed Blue Christmas Read online

  Carrie must have been fully engaged in her task because she jumped at the sound of her name. The fringed black lace and burgundy-beaded shawl trickled through Carrie’s fingers, missing the mannequin’s shoulders.

  “Got it,” Dahlia said as she picked it off the floor. “I had an interesting visitor yesterday. A U.S. Marshal came in asking if I knew a Rusty Ewing.”

  Carrie avoided eye contact. “I know Rusty.”

  “That’s what Sloan said. He wants you to call him.” Dahlia handed the business card to Carrie.

  Her hand shook when she took the card. “Sloan Letheby. Isn’t he the g—”

  “Yes. My boyfriend from high school. But this isn’t about us. Sloan is investigating Rusty Ewing and thinks for some crazy reason you can give him information.”

  “He was really nice to me in the bar. Towards the end, he came in every night and always wanted to talk when I wasn’t busy.”

  “Better call Sloan before we get busy again.”

  “How about I hang this dress, and you let him know I’m here?”

  The bell on the door jangled. “You take these clients and I will.”

  Dahlia tossed the fringed shawl over her shoulder and smiled when she heard, “Look at these jeans! I love this place already.”

  Dahlia retrieved her phone from the front counter and flipped it open. While she waited for Sloan to answer, she marched the shawl back to the intended mannequin. With one hand, she artfully draped the silky fabric over the white plastic shoulders.

  She counted three rings while in the background Elvis crooned his proclamation of enduring a blue Christmas without his lady love.

  Her heart raced, agitated over being silly enough to anticipate the sound of Sloan’s voice. She stomped to a shelf and straightened a pair of midnight blue leather boots.

  “Hellooooo.”

  Finally. “Sloan. Carrie asked me to let you know she’s here at The Blue Dahlia.”

  “Thanks. And did you mention Rusty Ewing?”

  “I did. She seemed uncomfortable. Said he spent a lot of time at the bar.”

  The beat of dead air pulsated before he continued. “Little slow here. I was called out for an all-nighter and haven’t slept.”

  “Carrie’s here until seven tonight. We’ve got plenty to keep us busy if your business with her can keep.”

  “Believe me, even though my ears are buzzing from lack of sleep, I’ll get on this as soon as I have some shut-eye. I wouldn’t admit that to anyone else, Dahlia.”

  She could tell he was smiling now.

  “Can you give me a few hours? If not, I’ll put Carrie in touch with another investigator.”

  Dahlia found something compelling in Sloan’s voice. For some inexplicable reason, his slow manner of speaking calmed her anxious heart. Every indication pointed to him being good at his job. She shook her head, and then realized he couldn’t see her. Why drag another guy in?

  And into what? She had no idea.

  The time on the wall clock reminded her many shopping hours would pass before closing time. “This is your investigation, Sloan. I don’t know how urgent it is that you talk to Carrie.”

  “You let me worry about the details. One of my guys on the Ewing case goes to Hickman’s Trackside a lot. I’ve even walked in a time or two, myself.”

  She pictured Sloan’s face and imagined him ready for action, but not right now, judging by his noisy yawn. “See you when we see you.”

  Dream of me, she almost added, the way they’d once wished one another goodnight.

  ****

  “What do you want for Christmas, Dahlia?” Carrie asked. “I would like to give Ken the best news ever, but I’m not sure yet.”

  Dahlia knew what put such a wistful tone in her sister-in-law’s voice.

  She and Ken had been married four years, and they both longed for a baby.

  Carrie had been so depressed, Ken finally told her to find something to do outside the house. Unfortunately, her first job had been at Hickman’s Trackside Bar.

  Dahlia contemplated how to answer. For someone like Sloan to come back in my life. “I’ve honestly been so busy I haven’t given it much thought. For my shop to do well, I guess.”

  “It’s been a good day for The Blue Dahlia, don’t you think?” Carrie caressed a lapis bracelet and rearranged it at a jaunty angle.

  Sloan’s broad shoulders filled the doorway.

  Judging by her skittering stomach, Dahlia couldn’t tell if the night was going to end better or worse.

  He swiped off his hat, met Dahlia’s eyes, and then directed his attention Carrie’s way.

  With a trembling hand, Dahlia adjusted her blouse and hurried to the front of her boutique. “This way, Sloan. You and Carrie can speak in the back.”

  Carrie didn’t move until introductions were over.

  Dahlia busied herself straightening an earring carousel. She knocked off two rows of dangling earrings, fighting the urge to eavesdrop. It took every ounce of control to command her shaking fingers to stop. She didn’t even know why she had such a sense of foreboding.

  “We’ll get a couple things.” The client’s tone was excited and bright, no doubt due to the excitement of the season. “Are you Dahlia? We love your place. Maybe you should keep the blue Christmas lights up all year long.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you for the suggestion.”

  An older, distinguished woman entered.

  Dahlia swiped the credit card with flare and handed it back. She folded the items in tissue paper and sacked them in her specially designed Blue Dahlia bags. “Merry Christmas, thanks for stopping in.”

  The new client kept Dahlia busy while Carrie and Sloan talked.

  They emerged from the back thirty seconds after the shop emptied.

  “I don’t think you have anything to be nervous about, Carrie. Remember, there’s no law broken with a little flirting.”

  “Marshal Letheby, I never said I flirted. Rusty listened to me talk because he knew I was a little sad. I only work because I don’t have enough to do with my time while Ken is out of the house so much.”

  “And thank goodness you work here now,” Dahlia inserted. To Sloan, she asked, “Is this Rusty Ewing some kind of threat to Carrie?”

  “Not to Carrie. Trust me. We’ve got it covered. You could always pray to ease your mind.”

  She’d last prayed at her grandmother’s bedside. God didn’t answer then, and she’d pretty much ignored Him since.

  “You two have a good night now. I’ll call you later, Dahlia, if that’s all right.”

  “Please. With any kind of news that involves us.” She swung back as soon as she’d latched the door. “Carrie, what’s this all about?”

  “Rusty Ewing was always so nice to me. You know how down I was before I started working and talking to people at Hickman’s.” She drew in a trembling breath. “Sloan asked if I’d heard anything between other customers and Rusty. He’s put word out for a hit man.”

  3

  The next evening, Sloan and his partner Chet headed south of the city. He hit the volume on his car radio to help dim his thoughts. The men often spent hours together in silence when on a sting. Once in a blue moon, they’d talk about the night Sloan got hurt, the night his partner Jake was gunned down.

  Don’t go there now. Think about Dahlia.

  He had no problem filling his mind with Dahlia as they headed to the sports bar in a nondescript car owned by the county.

  He and Dahlia grew up in the small Nebraska community. He was a town kid, and she’d been raised on the farm. He whizzed by the consolidated Cass-Willow High School where they’d fallen in love on the dance floor.

  “That’s where I went to school,” he told Chet. “Wasn’t so huge. Must be four times as big now.”

  His thoughts turned blue wondering how life may have been different if he and Dahlia had another year together.

  The Blue Dahlia was a classy shop for a classy lady.

  How
much of her current icy character had he been responsible for? And did she have a clue how her don’t-come-any-closer shield challenged him to get under her skin?

  Grand investigator that he claimed to be, he’d pulled up her record. She’d never married. Before she dropped the shutter over her eyes, he’d detected a glimpse of the girl he’d known. And what they had shared. He only had to get inside her shell, crack that veneer, and make it clear to her that she loved him as much as he still loved her.

  From where had that thought come? Now that he’d seen her again, he had no doubts.

  Is Dahlia Delisi still the one for me, Lord?

  But he’d hurt her. They’d talked about forever then, but forever wasn’t all that real to teenagers who had to pursue what was presented to them.

  “This Carrie Delisi we’re checking on. You know the family?” Chet broke in.

  And how. “Her husband Ken was a year ahead of me in school. Played football, but he’s always been all farmer at heart. I knew him because I dated his sister.”

  “I’d like to hear about that.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  Back in school, between her looks and the way guys chased after her, Dahlia didn’t have any real friends. Her friends were in the big church her family attended in Lincoln.

  Show me the way, Lord. Reveal how to peel away Dahlia’s protective layers, if it’s Your will. Thank You for planning for us to meet again.

  What role did the Lord play in her life these days? The young girl who brought the Lord into every conversation, who lived to serve and shine for her Savior, hadn’t surfaced at The Blue Dahlia. She appeared the same in many respects, only classier and more reserved than before.

  What had happened over the years to make her so much more polished and unapproachable? How many hearts had she broken along the way, or had interested men discovered she kept them at arm’s length?

  Years earlier, she’d remained true to her values. He’d found it hard to keep his emotions under wraps. Except for anger. That one could still burst out and get him in trouble at odd times, even to this day. He couldn’t always blame his lashing out on the head injury.

  Chet interrupted Sloan’s musings.

  “Give me the run-down again. Do I still play the contact man if Rusty shows?”

  “You’ve done this before. Fly by instinct and I’ll be right there if we get what we need. I’ll check your hidden mic at the door. If you don’t walk away, I’ll know the channel works.”

  He slowed for the lower Willow speed limit, found an open parking space down the block from Hickman’s Trackside Bar, away from streetlights. They arrived early enough to observe dinner patrons leave, and in time for the rowdier imbibers to show up. Then again, it was a Friday night.

  He considered it a sad situation. Not just the assignment, but also the setting. Wouldn’t it be earth shattering if all those people gathered for the Lord?

  Once Sloan accepted the Lord’s direction for his life, he’d realized most water-tower towns had more bars than grocery stores or gas stations. Locals had limited choices when it came to activities.

  Socializing over a drink or church gatherings often occurred as one and the same event, depending on the church. High school athletic events filled other time slots.

  The men he worked with would think him a preacher if he expressed such thoughts out loud. But he’d seen enough on the job to drive him away from drink.

  “Keep your shiny number seven covered.” Chet snorted and swung open the car door.

  Sloan felt the tug of a smile and adjusted his stocking cap. “Got it covered, same as I always have you covered.”

  Silence wrought with expectation drummed through Sloan’s system while he waited.

  Ewing swung onto the sidewalk, and Sloan let Chet know. “Our man’s approaching.”

  Dahlia came to mind again, a much more pleasant topic for his thoughts. His mom had become sick shortly after he started university. Once his parents moved to be closer to him, he’d discovered how much Dahlia meant to him. Who could keep up a relationship a continent away?

  While he was in college, his dad was on the road most days driving a semi. Sloan helped take care of things around the house. It was a lot of responsibility that turned out good for him in the long run. Two years after working law enforcement in the East, they all returned to their Nebraska roots.

  Sloan turned up the volume on his earpiece, read the action loud and clear. He imagined the scene, Chet bellied up to the bar, observing activity via the mirror. Making eye contact, tipping his bottle. Nodding. Waiting for the right moment.

  “I hear you’re seeking someone to do you a service,” Chet offered by way of greeting.

  “Maybe. And you are?”

  “Your man, if you’re looking for a pro.”

  Sloan pictured Ewing agreeing without words.

  “Thinkin’ about contriving a farm accident. If I need some help with a more aggressive tactic, are you available?”

  “I’ve done this sort of thing before. Who’s the target?”

  “A farmer. Named Delisi.”

  Sloan waited out a beat of silence before Ewing continued. “Too many folks around here know me and saw me talking to my lady. She seemed so unhappy that I want to take out the guy she’s with and get her away from here. Start a new life somewhere upbeat. Nobody’s told me where she’s working now.”

  “Accidents on the farm happen all the time.” This is where Chet would slide over a small piece of torn paper with a phone number.

  “Or stray bullets. I’ll be in touch,” Rusty Ewing said. “Buy you another drink?”

  “I’m good.”

  Sloan dropped his head on his hand, dug his fingers where there used to be hair.

  Oh, Lord, how am I going to tell Dahlia?

  Ten minutes later, Chet settled in beside Sloan.

  Both called it a successful meet. The only thing that would have made it better was catching Ewing in the nefarious act of being more specific and handing over payment. For now, it was time to head home and be ready for things to take their natural course.

  The Lord had given Sloan a second chance to do something with his life. No way would he disappoint. He’d see this through to the end, keeping Ken safe for Carrie and Dahlia’s sakes.

  Or die trying.

  ****

  On Thursday and Friday nights, Dahlia performed a neighborly duty by letting out a friend’s English bulldog because she came home earlier than the pet’s owner. In return, when Dahlia went on buying trips, the neighbor kept watch on her side of the duplex. The dog hit the grass in the backyard and did its business. Then it retrieved a ball.

  Dahlia was too preoccupied to toss the ball. “Sorry, Arch. Go play.” She kicked the ball, and went inside.

  Mind off the dog, she replayed meeting Sloan and the reason he’d come to The Blue Dahlia.

  What were they doing at this moment? How did Sloan and whoever helped him put their sting operations into play? How would Sloan or his guys pull off their undercover roles without creating suspicion?

  She stared at the bamboo design of the kitchen curtains, fiddling with the wide silver cuff at her wrist. She was so thankful Carrie now worked for her instead of the bar.

  Ken had always been a softy, drawn to girls who gave off innocent vibes and seemed in need of rescue.

  But Carrie’s sweetness was real, and she deserved contentment.

  No one knew the restraint it took all day not to flip open her phone just to see if Sloan knew something.

  She still didn’t get the connection Carrie had with Rusty Ewing, someone seeking a hit man. Who was the target in small-town Nebraska?

  Dahlia didn’t know how she’d get through the night waiting for Sloan’s call. He’d told her to trust him. And she gave that up a long time ago.

  The curtain held no answers. She followed routine and walked through the main level of the home, looking for any trouble Archie may have caused. The only sound she heard came fro
m the furnace blower. Nothing looked amiss.

  All of a sudden, Archie gave a deep, throaty growl, making her jump.

  Shivers rained down her spine.

  What in the world kind of reaction is this? The dog probably saw a cat.

  She padded silently back to the kitchen and almost grabbed a knife, just in case.

  Archie yipped from the backyard. She peeked through the window at the dog, where he continued to roll the ball, playing soccer with his front legs. The glottal growl sounded again.

  So tense, Delia almost bit her tongue.

  The silly dog growled at the ball.

  She surveyed the open ground floor again, and bounded through the basement. The dog had been good and made no messes there, either. So why the unease? Probably should have gone out and played with Archie. Three steps from the bottom on her way up, she stopped and closed her eyes.

  “Woman, you are wound way too tight.” She shook her head, fighting the urge to cry. All because Sloan had reappeared in her life, dredging up the memories of his promise they’d be together forever.

  Had he broken promises to other women in between?

  At the top of the neighbor’s stairs, she called through the open back door, “Come, Archie. Inside, boy.”

  Her phone trilled “Blue Moon” at the same time she pulled the door shut. She didn’t say hello. “What did you find out tonight? Is Carrie in some kind of dang—?”

  “Nothing really happened,” Sloan interrupted.

  “I won’t be able to sleep until I know what’s going on.”

  “Understood. You want to talk about it tonight?”

  “Please. Can you come over?” She gave him her address and went inside to pace.

  She flipped open her phone again, and then stopped on a stumble. How many times had she almost called her grandmother? But Grandma had been gone for five years.

  Grief over the loss locked Dahlia in a space where time stopped until she saw car lights beam across her front window. She turned on the outside light and forced herself to wait calmly for Sloan to alight.