Page 8 of Dragged Home for Christmas

The weather had been pretty dire ever since they left Boston. Ashley had taken the first shift, which was fine by Mike.

He was too distracted to drive.

He’d visited his parents the previous day to let them know of his plans. They’d appeared shocked, but he’d promised his visits would continue. What had surprised the hell out of him was when Mom handed him an envelope before he left them.

“Don’t open it now. Save it for later.”

As soon as Ashley had taken the wheel, he’d opened it.

What fell out were Christmas and birthday cards, all from Uncle Nick, dating back to about seven years ago.

Why didn’t she give these to me?That hurt.

He’d read each one, not that they differed much from the ones he’d usually received. Nick said he was thinking about him, and that Mike should look him up when he was older.

The last card was dated December 2022, and something had been crossed out. Mike switched on the flashlight on his phone and peered at it.

He could just about make out the word Provincetown.

He sent me his address.And his mom had obliterated it.But why?

Yet another question to add to the growing list.

Ashley nudged him. “We’re here. This is Commercial Street.”

They drove along what seemed to be the main road in the town, and it was deserted. What trees he could see swayed wildly in the strong wind, and the road surface glistened, mirroring the shops and lights. The sky was the color of lead, and the only bright spots to be seen were the lit windows set in dark buildings covered in gray cedar shakes, and street lighting.

Halloween was going to be a bust, that was for damn sure.

“There.” Ashley pointed. “That’s the sign for Mr. Hopkins.”

Mike pulled into the gravel driveway and switched off the engine. The building was a house, the first floor converted to offices. He pulled his hood over his head, and they climbed out of the truck and hurried over to the door.

Inside, a white-haired woman smiled at them. “Mr. O’Neill?” When he nodded, she gestured to the door on her right. “Mr. Hopkins is expecting you.”

Mike turned to Ashley. “I won’t be long.”

She chuckled. “Take your time. It’s warmer in here than in that damn truck.”

The heating had struggled all the way from Boston.

Mike went through the door, to find an elderly gentleman seated at a desk. He rose as Mike approached, his hand extended.

“Mr. O’Neill, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He indicated an empty chair. “There isn’t much paperwork foryou to sign.”

Mike knew time was money, so he cut to the chase.

“Has there been any progress evicting the squatters?”

Mr. Hopkins retook his seat. “I’m afraid not. Officer Murphy has visited the house every day since I last spoke with you, but there’s been little movement. Well, none at all. But the situationisunusual.”

“What situation? Who are these people?”

Mr. Hopkins paused. “They’re drag queens. Four of them, to be exact.”

Mike blinked. “Four drag queens just decided to move into the house?”

Okay, he hadn’t expected that.

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