Mistletoe and Murder. Jenna Ryan

minutes upstairs, and we’re out of here.”

      Romana debated but let him go without an argument. “Blue Christmas” drifted into the room. She perched on the arm of a second chair and removed her gloves finger by finger. “Who’s the Elvis fan?”

      A smile split the old man’s whiskered face. “Pretty lady who’s not a cop, have I got a story for you.”

      “ONE ELVIS IMPERSONATOR KNIFED another Elvis impersonator over a woman they were both dating. Didn’t mean to kill him, but he was a little drunk, and he had a temper. Evidently, this stabbing took place outside the restaurant where both men worked as singing waiters.” Romana had forgotten how weird the world could be from a street cop’s perspective. “It happened right here in Cincinnati, Jacob. How could I have missed it?”

      “The Doran case,” was all he said.

      She didn’t have to think about that name. “The guy who went postal six years ago, shot five of his coworkers in the office lunchroom, then went upstairs and killed his boss.”

      “Before finally offing himself.”

      “His coworkers earned more money than he did. Boss was responsible. Bang, bang, everyone’s dead, and we’re back to an even beginning.”

      “Or ending.”

      She ran chilled fingers through her snow-dampened hair. “You have an awfully gloomy perspective, Jacob. Still, any way you look at it, media-wise, Doran’s crime would take precedence over the death of a drunk Elvis impersonator.”

      In retrospect, she supposed it might also have taken precedence over the investigation into Belinda Critch’s death, which had occurred a mere two weeks later.

      Opinion within the department had been divided on the Critch case. Some people believed that Warren Critch had murdered Belinda, others thought one of her lovers had done it. And, of course, an ungracious few had pointed the finger of guilt at Jacob.

      Unfortunately, the forensic evidence had been negligible, and the crime scene investigators hadn’t done much better.

      Throughout the holiday season that year, seven major homicides had been committed. Doran’s rampage had been the biggest bloodbath. Media attention had remained focused on him even in the wake of Belinda Critch’s death. Naturally, the department had downplayed any suggestion of internal impropriety and, by Valentine’s Day, interest in her case had dropped to zero.

      Romana looked over, but Jacob kept his eyes on the increasingly slick street. He drove one-handed, and with his elbow resting on the door frame, ran the fingers of the other under his lower lip.

      Silence stretched out between them. She raised a speculative eyebrow. “Are you awake, Detective Knight?”

      He glanced at her. “Sorry. I’m used to riding alone.”

      She couldn’t resist. “Why no partner?”

      “I’m better alone.”

      It was an answer of sorts, though not an encouraging one. When he reached out to turn up the heater, Romana welcomed the warmth on her face and hands. “I’m not sitting here comparing you to Doran, you know.”

      “Because you’re absolutely certain I didn’t murder Belinda Critch.”

      “You said you didn’t, and I believe you.”

      Now he smiled. “Bull.”

      Her temper stirred. “If I thought you were guilty, Knight, I wouldn’t be here with you now.”

      “Where would you be?”

      “I might be grading papers.” But probably not because the first term was over and the second didn’t start until January. “I might also be having dinner with Sean—or Brendan, or Anthony. With one of my brothers, anyway.”

      A crease formed between Jacob’s eyes. “How many brothers do you have?”

      “Six, all older than me. They’ve given me eleven nephews and one niece named Teresa. My oldest brother’s an engineer. He and his wife lived in Chile for a while. When they came back, they brought two-year-old Teresa with them. She was an orphan, very sweet, and, because females are rare in our family, completely spoiled.”

      “Are you spoiled, too, Romana?”

      “By my parents and my mother’s very Irish parents, yes. By my father’s mother, no. I’m Grandma Grey’s namesake, and she’s one tough cookie. She raises thoroughbreds in Kentucky. She’s putting one in the Derby next year. I have a great deal to live up to, in her eyes.”

      “In what way?”

      “Top of the list, I’m obliged to bear another namesake. My brother, Brendan, hoping to ease the pressure on me, named his first son Roman, but it didn’t work. Grandma Grey wants a girl. She came from a completely male-dominated world, and she’s hell-bent on flipping the status quo.”

      “Huh. How did Grandma Grey feel about you becoming a cop?”

      “Oh, she was fine with that. Didn’t agree with my college-age marriage, but she helped me get through the divorce and the repercussions of Connor’s unlawful activities relatively unscathed.”

      “How did your ex come out of it?”

      “The way a Hanson always does, with only a few surface scratches, and a huge family debt, which he’ll pay for the rest of his life.”

      “You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

      “I don’t, do I? But I’m not as resentful as you might think.” She played with the fingers of her white gloves. “It seemed like everything came to a head six years ago. Belinda Critch died and her husband tried to kill you. Connor’s crimes were discovered, the hospital and the police department were simultaneously roasted in the press, I started to realize that being a cop wasn’t what I wanted, and on and on and on. Before Critch even went to prison, I realized I couldn’t shut off my emotions, and I couldn’t push them down far enough on a daily basis to be a really effective officer. So I sat down and thought.”

      “About your marriage or your career?”

      “Both. I shouldn’t have married Connor, I knew that almost before the ceremony ended. But I was eighteen, and he was twenty-seven, and our mothers were college roommates, so I’ve known him for pretty much my whole life.”

      “And he was charming and handsome, and he swept you off your feet.”

      “This is my fairy tale, Knight. I’ll draw the characters.”

      “But he was charming.”

      “To an eighteen-year-old, yes. He was also handsome and insecure and a lot angrier than I realized.”

      “Angry at his family?”

      “Cigar’s yours, Detective. Getting back on track, I thought about the decisions I’d made, both marital and career. I even made a pro/con list. Topping the pro list was the fact that I’d graduated from high school at sixteen, so I already had three years of college under my belt when I entered the Academy. Long story short, after a visit to Grandma Grey’s Kentucky ranch and a couple of really gruesome CSIs, I decided to go back to school. Now I teach kids rather than arrest them. So you see, it all turned out well in the end.”

      “You like teaching, huh?”

      “Love it.” She cocked her head, sent him a grin. “As it happens, I’m also good at it. When my parents moved to Boston two years ago, my father wanted me to come with them and work there. But I grew up in Cincinnati, five of my brothers are here, and I just plain enjoy the city. End of the Romana Grey story.” She let a teasing light enter her eyes. “That was a lot to say, Knight, even for me. Now I know you’re not a talker, but play fair, and tell me one small thing about your life. Anything will do, even your favorite color.”

      When he braked for a red light, Jacob regarded