A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) by Diane Moody Page A

to tweak it here and there. And it’s such a
heartwarming love story. You’ll love it. I promise.”
    “I’m sure I will. But the
question remains. Can you focus enough to have it ready in time?”
    I shrugged. “Piece of cake.”
    “You sure about that?”
    “Positive. I’ll get an
outline to you by the end of the week.” I heard the words come out of my mouth,
not quite sure where they came from. Maybe it was my subconscious mind begging
for something ‌—‌anything‌—‌to
grasp onto. I had no control over Mark’s situation, but writing a novella? That
I could do.
    We said our goodbyes, then I wandered
down the hall to get a cup of coffee. The staff were all busy which suited me
fine. I didn’t have time for the usual chit chat. I needed to make some serious
headway in Aunt Lucille’s diary.
    “Where were we, Mark?” I
asked once I was back in the room. I took a sip of coffee and reached for the
diary. “ Gary proposed to Lucille. Right?” I peeked
over at him, choosing to imagine him wracking his brain to recall. “It was their
last night together before he headed back overseas.”
    I opened the diary and noted
the date on the next entry ‌—‌a
full week later. I flipped back a few pages, thinking I’d missed something.
“That’s odd. No way Lucille would see Gary off at the station then not write about
it in her diary. Strange, huh? Well, I guess we’ll just pick up where we left
off.”
     
    Dear Diary,
    I
simply haven’t had the heart to write. One moment, my life was full of promise
and romance and dreams about our future together. Then the next thing I
know, time stood still, and I feel as if I haven’t breathed in all the days
that have passed.
    The
morning Gary was to leave, he picked me up at 6:30 . He planned for me to drive his father’s car back to their
home after his train departed. It was freezing cold when we arrived at the
station, so we quickly parked the car, intending to spend what time we had left
together inside the terminal where it was warm. Gary had just heaved his large duffel bag
over his shoulder when we heard someone scream. We looked across the parking
lot and saw someone accosting a woman. Suddenly, Gary dropped his bag and cap, told me to stay
there by the car, and off he went, racing toward them and shouting at the guy.
“Let her go!”
    My
heart was pounding as I watched Gary scuffling with the man. “ GARY !” I yelled. But no sooner had his name
left my lips than I watched as the man slammed the butt of a pistol against Gary ’s head. He dropped to the ground, but I
couldn’t see where he landed ‌—‌ a
parked car obscured my view. “ GARY !” I screamed again, this time running
toward them as fast as I could.
    The
man turned to look my way, the woman’s purse clutched to his chest, then he
bolted around a corner and out of sight. The woman’s hysterical cries filled me
with dread as I rounded the back end of the car. There on the ground, Gary was sprawled in an unnatural position,
his head bleeding profusely. I dropped to my knees and held his face in my hands,
saying his name over and over. His eyes found me for a split-second then rolled
back in his head.
    I was
so sick with fear, I couldn’t even think what to do. My mind flashed images of
a funeral . . . a spray of white roses on a flag-draped coffin.
Then the woman’s garbled cries snapped me into action. I grabbed the wool scarf
from around my neck and stuffed it gently under Gary ’s head.
    “GO
FOR HELP! Find a policeman ‌—‌ anyone!
Please! GO!”
    She
stood there trembling, tears running down her wrinkled face as she blubbered
something that made no sense, and it was only then that I realized she spoke
another language. Italian? Polish?
    I
tried to remember the words. “Polizia? Policja?”
    Her hysteria
increased as more of the foreign words flooded from her mouth.
    I went
positively blank, unable to think what to say, and I could feel the panic
rising in