Read Silent Night: A Spenser Holiday Novel for Free Online

Flanagan and Santa Claus and a prince of Boston high society all rolled into one. In most big cities, all you need is money to give to the key charities. They have to put you on the board. Before you know it, as long as you don’t eat your peas with a knife, you’re invited to all the best parties,” I said.
    “I prefer my peas on a knife,” Hawk said.
    “They tend to frown on switchblades at fancy dinner parties,” I said. “You’d probably feel out of place.”
    “Not the only reason I’d feel out of place,” Hawk said. He looked out toward the Alvarez house. “We have a plan here? Or we just gonna sit here till we run out of gas.”
    “No plan,” I said. “But we do have choices. One, we sit and watch, or two, move and stir things up. Right now we’re sitting and watching.”
    “How ’bout I take a nap till we get to the move-and-stir-things-up part of the program?”
    “Suit yourself,” I said. “But don’t expect me to share all the important clues with you if I find them while you’re asleep.”
    “Already know what you gonna learn. Gonna learn when the mail gets delivered. Gonna learn how long it take that icicle on the roof gutter to melt. Ain’t gonna learn nothin’ we need to know, like what goes on over there and how many guns they got on the place. They could be building weapons of mass destruction in the side yard and we ain’t gonna learn that, sittin’ where we are.”
    I sipped my coffee and looked at the big colonial house. There was a Jeep parked off to the side of a long circular driveway. I could see the Christmas wreath on the front door. I could see the icicle hanging from the roof gutter. I couldn’t see any signs of life or activity. Knowing when the mail got delivered wasn’t going to help me. And that icicle wasn’t going to melt for a long time.
    “Okay, you win,” I said. “Saddle up, Kemosabe. Let’s go look at some horses.”
    I drove slowly down the road that led to the smaller houses on the property, where I supposed employees lived. At the end of the road I could see a large barn and what looked like a long, low stable. There were fences with those three black slats you see in photos of Kentucky horse farms. Maybe all horse fences had them. An emblem.
    It was early afternoon and no one was at home.
    The snow was thick now, and blurred my vision. I squinted.
    In front of us in the middle of the dirt road, looking like a snow bunny, was a short, squat man holding a rifle. It was pointed at my head. I stopped the car, pulled the Beretta from my shoulder holster, and dropped my gun hand to my side. I knew Hawk would be doing the same.
    The man held his rifle on me and approached my side of the car. I rolled down the window.
    “Excuse me,” I said. “Is this the way to Pottery Barn?”
    It took a bit longer than I would have expected for him to comprehend what I was saying. I could see him almost mouthing the words until they sunk in.
    “There’s no fucking Pottery Barn out here, asshole. This here is private property, and you’re trespassing.”
    “That’s what I thought,” I said, “but try telling that to Clarabelle.”
    The man leaned in to look into the car and squinted at Hawk. Hawk slowly turned his head toward the man and flashed an even smile.
    “Who the hell is Clarabelle?” the man said.
    “The navigation system in my car,” I said. “I like to give a name to the voice that gives the directions. Makes it more personal, don’t you think?”
    Rifle Man was mouthing the words again. I waited.
    “Listen, smart-ass. This here is private property, and you’re trespassing.” He repeated the lines, as if he had been trained to say them, which was probably the case. Those words, backed up by the gun, were probably enough to scare off most interlopers.
    “Okay,” I said. “So it’s not a Pottery Barn. What goes on out here? Bird sanctuary?”
    He brought the gun back up level with my head. I pulled the Beretta up to my lap.
    Someone came