Page 2 of Colorado Christmas Carol
“I’m afraid so. He has a very bad temper. And there’s a boy at school who used those words, and they suspended him.” She frowned. “But I don’t think they can suspend Daddy. He’s too important to the agency.”
“Agency?”
“Daddy’s a senior investigator for a detective agency,” she explained. “He’s here investigating somebody who might have killed somebody.”
Essa’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
“That’s what I said.” Mellie chuckled. “Daddy has the neatest job! We go all over the place when he’s on a case. It’s school holidays at the private school I go to, so I get to go with him.”
“Does your mom go too?” Essa asked pleasantly.
The little girl’s face fell. “I don’t have a mom. Not anymore. She got cancer.”
“I’m so sorry!” Essa said, and meant it.
“I don’t remember her very well,” Mellie replied, moving closer. “She was real pretty. Daddy has a photo of her and me in our living room back home.”
“And where’s home?”
“It’s in . . . Oh, dear.”
A deep, irritated voice was calling, “Mellie Marston, where the hell are you?!”
Mellie winced. “Oh, dear, he’s found me!”
She ran behind Essa. “You have to save me!” she whispered. “I’m too young to die!” she added in a theatrical tone.
“You should go on the stage,” Essa murmured as angry footsteps came closer.
A tall, husky man came into view. He had thick, pale-gold hair like his daughter and the same dark eyes. He was very good-looking, but very somber. Make that homicidal.
“Are you harboring a fugitive?” he asked curtly.
Essa cleared her throat. He was intimidating. “Can you describe her?”
“Four feet tall, blond, brown-eyed, guilty expression. . .”
“Precocious?” Essa asked.
“Extremely.”
Mellie peered around Essa’s apron. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to play mahjong.”
“And destroy my career?”
“No, Daddy, honest,” Mellie said plaintively.
“What have I told you a hundred times about the iPad?”
She sighed. “Don’t touch it without permission.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “But you always say we should be curious about everything and explore things we don’t understand.”
“Not my notes when I’m on a case,” he replied curtly.
“She’s just little,” Essa interjected slowly.
He glared at her. “I’m talking to my daughter, not to you,” he snapped.
She drew herself up to her full height, which was far short of his. “In my kitchen,” she pointed out, “and you’re both trespassing!”
