I was halfway down the spiral staircase when I saw him- "I'm sorry, Mom," Joy whispered. "I thought he was the delivery guy."

Chaz Chatsworth, costar of The Chatsworth Way The Chatsworth Way and the featured performer in Karl Kovic's little flash-drive slide-show, stood behind my daughter. His left arm was wrapped around her throat in a choke hold; his right hand held a gun to her head. Joy's wrists were bound behind her back. and the featured performer in Karl Kovic's little flash-drive slide-show, stood behind my daughter. His left arm was wrapped around her throat in a choke hold; his right hand held a gun to her head. Joy's wrists were bound behind her back.

"My God . . ."

"I want what you took from Kovic's apartment," Chatsworth told me evenly.

Mr. Charm's signature snowy hair was hidden under a baseball cap. He wore a fake brown beard and mustache and tinted eyeglasses. His cheap sweatpants and sneakers were the color of night.

I stared in shock at the man. Ten minutes until Mike gets here. Maybe forty seconds have passed since I hung up. Nine minutes at least. An eternity- Ten minutes until Mike gets here. Maybe forty seconds have passed since I hung up. Nine minutes at least. An eternity- "Did you hear me, Ms. Cosi?" Chatsworth drove the weapon into Joy's temple with enough force to make her cry out.

"You son of a bitch! Leave her alone alone."

"Do you want her to die?"

"No!"

"I saw saw you there last night," Chatsworth said. "Do you hear me? I you there last night," Chatsworth said. "Do you hear me? I saw saw you in Kovic's apartment." you in Kovic's apartment."

I swallowed hard. This creep shot two men to death in cold blood. No matter what I said or did, I knew he was going to kill Joy and me, too. I had to stall-give Mike the time to get here-and the only bargaining chip I had was the flash drive in my pocket. The second Chatsworth got it, I knew he'd have no reason to keep my daughter and me alive.

"Yes, okay, I was there last night," I slowly admitted. I glanced at the wall clock; another minute gone, another minute for Mike to get here. "And I found Kovic's body . . . but I just called the police. That's all-"

"Don't lie to me," Chaz snapped. "I waited outside until the police came. When they didn't show right away, I knew you and that guy in the tux were searching for the pictures."

I remembered Shane Holliway and his dumb soap star act. "What pictures? I don't know what you mean-"

Chatsworth's arm tightened around Joy's throat.

"Please, don't hurt her," I said. "She has nothing nothing to do with all this. She doesn't know anything. I'm the one who can help you. Just let her go-" to do with all this. She doesn't know anything. I'm the one who can help you. Just let her go-"

"Maybe I will, if you tell me something. Come on, Clare. Tell me something that will make me happy happy."

"It was the kitten! The man you saw-he took the cat from Kovic's apartment."

Chaz frowned. "The man in the tux was carrying a pet carrier and and a cardboard box. I heard him tell the cab driver to take him to the Village Blend. I want the contents of that box or your daughter dies." a cardboard box. I heard him tell the cab driver to take him to the Village Blend. I want the contents of that box or your daughter dies."

Yeah, I'll give you the contents of that box, asshole. "That box was full of cat crap!" "That box was full of cat crap!"

Chatsworth's nostrils flared as he tightened his choke hold on Joy. "Don't you know that six out of ten American men experience anger anger when a woman when a woman lies lies to them!" to them!"

He's losing it! He's choking her! "Okay, you win!" I shouted. "Here's what you came for!" As slowly as I could, I pulled Karl's secret flash drive out of my pocket and held it up. "Okay, you win!" I shouted. "Here's what you came for!" As slowly as I could, I pulled Karl's secret flash drive out of my pocket and held it up.

"I want your computer, too," Chaz said. "And I'm pretty sure I'll find it upstairs with the little girl's help. Lights out now, Clare. I don't need you anymore."

"What are you going to do?" Joy screamed.

"Early-morning robbery, cute thing," Chaz replied. "Mother and daughter dead. A tragedy."

Joy struggled, but Chatsworth tightened his grip again, until she could hardly breathe, let alone fight.

My fists clenched. There was no time left. Nowhere near time for Mike to get here. I had to do something.

"Mom goes first," Chatsworth said. "So I can have a little fun with daughter before I put her her lights out." lights out."

He slowly shifted the gun until I was staring down the barrel. I'll die I'll die, I decided, that's what I'll do. I'll run at him, take the bullets, give my Joy a chance to get away- that's what I'll do. I'll run at him, take the bullets, give my Joy a chance to get away- I was about to lunge when I heard the loud boom! boom!

A gun went off, I was sure of it, but I wasn't shot-and then I realized Chatsworth Chatsworth was the one reeling, blood spurting from his shoulder. was the one reeling, blood spurting from his shoulder.

But who shot him?!

The noise of falling glass caught my attention. I looked up to see a familiar silhouette through the cracked window-pane. Mike! Mike! I tore Joy away from Chatsworth's grip and pulled her to the ground, out of the line of fire. I tore Joy away from Chatsworth's grip and pulled her to the ground, out of the line of fire.

Glass exploded inward as Mike Quinn came through the French doors, firing two more shots as he moved. Bullets ripped Chaz Chatsworth, twisting him around until his limp body crashed into a cafe table.

Quinn stood over the dead man, his weapon smoking but steady in both hands. His clothes were rumpled, a five o'clock shadow on his cheeks and chin. He kicked the gun away from Chatsworth's dead fingers and faced me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion.

I helped Joy to her feet and nodded. "We're both both okay. How did you get here so fast?" okay. How did you get here so fast?"

"I never left," he told me. "I was sleeping in my car outside when your call woke me. I would have fired sooner, but I couldn't get a clear shot until he took the gun away from Joy's head."

Five minutes later, Emmanuel Franco climbed through the shattered window, followed by his partner, Charlie Hong. For a few silent seconds, we all stared down at the dead celebrity. Then Franco turned to me and asked- "Who the hell is he he?"

"It's a long story, detective," I said with a sigh. "And I'll be happy to start at the beginning. But first I'm going to need a really big cup of coffee."

EPILOGUE.

"LOOK up."

Mike Quinn's whisper tickled my ear as I began pulling two new shots behind the espresso bar. I glanced toward the ceiling to find a small bunch of green herbs dangling above my head.

"What is that?"

"Mistletoe."

I laughed. "Mike, that is not not mistletoe." mistletoe."

"No?"

I sniffed the flat-leaf bouquet. "It's Italian parsley!"

"Really?" Quinn pointed across the Blend's crowded main floor. "Your former mother-in-law assured me it was mistletoe."

Madame, looking stunning tonight in a jade and burgundy ensemble, gave us a little wave. I shook my finger at her. She laughed, then turned to rejoin Otto, Matt, and Breanne.

"So what does that mean?" Quinn complained. "Are you telling me I'm not getting a Christmas kiss out of this?"

"Not a mistletoe kiss, no. Now shoo, Detective, and let me work . . ."

It was Christmas Eve and the Village Blend was packed with Santas-Traveling Santas. After the crime-scene cleanup, I'd called Brother Dom and suggested something that would cleanse the Blend's karma: a party for the men and women who'd been working so hard to bring the spirit of the holidays to the needy of the city. Santas. After the crime-scene cleanup, I'd called Brother Dom and suggested something that would cleanse the Blend's karma: a party for the men and women who'd been working so hard to bring the spirit of the holidays to the needy of the city.

Once Brother Dom and his crew finished their Christmas Eve rounds at the shelters, churches, and soup kitchens, I invited them here for Fa-la-la-la Lattes and an avalanche of cookies baked by my baristas.

Brother Dom was thrilled to accept the offer, as well as the check from Madame for his charity. But that wasn't the biggest donation. After finding out about Dexter Beatty's and Omar Linford's little scheme to cheat the city, I phoned Omar and strongly strongly suggested he give back a little. Or even better, suggested he give back a little. Or even better, a lot a lot.

Linford quickly-even happily-wrote the check for Brother Dom. He didn't even mind hearing from me again (a miracle, because I'd been responsible for having his son busted). It seemed the arrest finally put the fear of the DEA into Dwayne Linford. He stopped fighting his dad and agreed to enroll in college for that music degree. At last, Dwayne's nights of club hopping were finished (for a while, anyway) and for that, Omar was grateful.

With Chatsworth dead-and his DNA and fingerprints not only linking him to Alf's and Karl's murders, but also the Pilgrim's Daughter and Cora Arnold OD cases-you'd think Madame's friend Mr. Dewberry was finished, too. But Phyllis Chatsworth had just been handed the publicity bonanza of a lifetime.

Within days of her husband's death, she'd tearfully appeared on every major interview show in the country. Her instant prime-time special, Phyllis: How to Survive the Unthinkable Phyllis: How to Survive the Unthinkable , just got the green light for development into a new weekday talk show. Her executive producer? James Young. , just got the green light for development into a new weekday talk show. Her executive producer? James Young.

Dickie Celebratorio (aka Richard Torio) was facing a number of charges that he he considered considered unthinkable unthinkable. But the DA's office had solid testimony to back up their charges of accessory to murder, among others.

With the promise of immunity, Shane Holliway agreed to testify that Dickie had hired him to surveil Alf Glockner two days in a row before he was shot to death by Chaz Chatsworth (the recovered fingerprints on the gun confirmed Chaz as the killer). The TV talk show host had used Shane's lousy PI report to follow the wrong Santa.

And then there was Heidi Gilcrest, that pretty, young Chatsworth Way Chatsworth Way production assistant who always made sure Chaz got his junk food. She tearfully agreed to testify that whenever she and Chaz slept together, Dickie was the one who'd provided the recreational drugs-the very same drug that ended up killing Billie Billington and Cora Arnold. production assistant who always made sure Chaz got his junk food. She tearfully agreed to testify that whenever she and Chaz slept together, Dickie was the one who'd provided the recreational drugs-the very same drug that ended up killing Billie Billington and Cora Arnold.

Dickie was the one who'd provided the guns for Chaz, as well. Recovery of the second weapon provided that link. It seemed Madame was right again: Dickie was a guy who "helped" celebs. The fact that the "help" involved drugs, cover-ups, blackmail, and murder didn't appear to faze a man from the Bronx streets. But then, as Quinn had pointed out to me, this was the season of favors; and in Dickie's world, the bigger the favor owed, the better.

Of course, Dickie's lawyers were working overtime to broker a deal with the DA. But one thing was certain for the New Year: No matter how much or little time the man did behind bars, the amount of scandalous newsprint he was getting would render his days as the PR Party King over for good.

As for Shelly Glockner, she turned out to be innocent of all charges. The bank account numbers at the end of Linford's blackmail letter belonged to Karl Kovic and Karl alone. He really was a Man of a Thousand Schemes.

After I'd visited Shelly that day on Staten Island, she'd told Karl everything I'd said-but she had no idea Karl was going to dump me off the ferry or even that he was blackmailing her neighbor in her husband's name. I might have disbelieved her, but in the end Shelly handed the entire check for Alf's life insurance money over to her daughter.

"Your father and I always thought you'd inherit the restaurant," she confided to Vicki. "So we never saved for you. Never created a college fund. This is your fund now. Your father would have wanted it that way . . ."

Vicki was thrilled, of course. She was planning to enroll in Joy's old culinary school this fall. And I was happy to hear she was going to stay on at the Blend, too. One day soon, I might even trust her with a key to this place again.

And speaking of keys-I'd already handed the key to my duplex back to Detective Mike Quinn. For one thing, I didn't think my French doors could handle him coming in any other way. And for another, I firmly decided I wanted Mike in my life.

Like I'd told my daughter, who was talking a little too much to Emmanuel Franco this evening (the man actually exchanged his red, white, and blue do-rag for a red and green one), relationships were never easy. But I sincerely believed the best gift we could give or receive was the chance to love one another.

Which brings me to that passage in Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol A Christmas Carol, the one that Brother Dom said had inspired Alf. I finally read it, and-thinking of my friend-my eyes failed to stay dry. Quinn even asked me about it late on Christmas Eve . . .

WHEN the Traveling Santa party finally wound down and the last guests sang out their good-nights, Joy headed upstairs, and Mike found me again.

After I flipped off the shop's lights, he pulled me into a quiet corner by the fireplace. Our lovely white pine tree was twinkling softly. The smells of mulled cider and fresh evergreen were in the air. And Gardner's music was still playing on the sound system-one of the many CDs he'd mixed especially for the party: jazz versions of holiday standards that even Dante and his roommates thought were cool.

"Hey, Cosi, didn't you say something the other night about A Christmas Carol A Christmas Carol?"

I nodded. "You had to get off the phone before I could tell you. Some issue at the precinct."

"There aren't any issues now, sweetheart. There's just you and me."

I touched his clean-shaven cheek and pretended that was true. But Leila Quinn said she wasn't through trying to get what she wanted. She wants my love back, Clare. She wants my love back, Clare. That's what Mike had told me. And after all they'd shared together-two kids, a home, a history-I knew it was still possible, no matter what Mike said. That's what Mike had told me. And after all they'd shared together-two kids, a home, a history-I knew it was still possible, no matter what Mike said.

"So what was that Dickens passage about exactly?" Quinn asked. "The one that helped change Alf's life, give him a new perspective . . ."

"Well, the passage came at the end of the book's first chapter. Scrooge is visited by the ghost of his old business partner, Marley, who tells Scrooge to look out his bedroom window. Scrooge does and suddenly realizes there are ghosts like Marley everywhere; and they're all weighed down with long, heavy chains-chains made of links these souls forged in life from their days of continual greed and selfishness."

"Cheery."

"No, listen. The saddest spirit of all has a monstrous iron safe attached to his ankle. This ghost is bitterly crying. But he's not crying because of the heavy burden he can never throw off; he's crying because he's unable to help a wretched woman with a baby, shivering below him on a doorstep. 'The misery with them all,' Dickens wrote of these doomed spirits, 'was that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power forever . . .' "

Quinn was silent a long moment. "That is moving," he finally said. "But . . ."

"But what?"

"Is that what Alf was trying to do on that balcony the night he was killed? Interfere for good?"

"None of us are perfect, are we? Not even Santa Claus. But Alf wasn't a Bad Santa, Mike, he was a good man. He took some relatively innocent celebrity photos for YouTube and Ben Tower because he wanted to repay a debt to his neighbor-and protect his wife and daughter from becoming responsible for that debt."

I shook my head. "I'm sure Chaz Chatsworth felt justified in shooting Alf in cold blood for the same reason. If Chaz had any doubts about killing Santa Claus, they probably evaporated when he saw Santa taking photos of his wife with James Young. I'm sure Chaz justified his killing as protecting his and his wife's way of making a living, protecting their television show."

Quinn's jaw tightened. "Except there's no justification for leaving two overdosed young women to die or threatening to kill you and Joy."

I nodded, still shuddering at the image of Chatsworth with that gun to my daughter's head.

"But I do agree with you about Alf," Quinn added. "There was no evidence that he was part of the blackmailing scheme against Chatsworth, Dickie, or Linford."

"I know Alf wasn't perfect. But I never doubted he was a good man. Whatever his faults, Mike, I'll always think the best of him. He did so much good good before he died, so much to lift people up . . ." before he died, so much to lift people up . . ."

"I can see why you admired him," Quinn said, meeting my eyes. "Striving to interfere, for good, in human matters is a quality worth admiring."

He gazed at me so long after that, I was beginning to think I had parsley stuck between my front teeth. "Mike?"

"I have the right stuff now, you know," he finally said.

"Excuse me? What stuff?"

He reached inside the jacket of his sports coat and brought out a leafy green bundle tied up with a red velvet ribbon.

"Mistletoe. Authentic Authentic mistletoe. This time mistletoe. This time Joy Joy assured me, and I was thinking . . . After my holiday overtime is through and Joy's back at her job in France, I'll be getting Molly and Jeremy for two weekends in January." assured me, and I was thinking . . . After my holiday overtime is through and Joy's back at her job in France, I'll be getting Molly and Jeremy for two weekends in January."