Page 16 of Don't Shoot Me Santa
Murder.
On the Isle of fucking Wight.
Their safe haven.
With a sigh heavy enough to flatten mistletoe, he dumped the milk on the counter. “Book of first-class stamps, please, mate.”
Gerald—ancient, unbothered, and almost definitely planning to die behind that till—nodded towards the gossiping ladies by the eggs. “You heard about this?”
“What?” Aaron dug in his coat pocket for cash. He didn’t carry much. No one really did anymore. But Gerald liked things off the books. Said computers gave him hives. And considering this was part the Post Office territory, no one blamed him.
“A young lad.” Gerald opened the drawer below his till for the stamps. “Not much younger than you. Found dead.Murdered, no less. At Christmas, too.” He glanced up to Aaron. “You want four or eight?”
Aaron blinked. What?Murders? No, shit. Stamps. Fuck. How many people did they even know to send cards too? He did a quick mental count. “Four.”
“That’ll be six pound eight.”
“Sorry,what?”
“Post Office prices.” Gerald tutted. “Daylight robbery. Thieving bastards.”
Aaron handed over a tenner. “Don’t think psychos care what season it is.”
“Who? The Post Office?”
“Murderers.”
“Mm. Same difference.” Gerald nodded sagely and gave him his change.
Aaron was halfway to the door when Gerald called after him.
“Oh, and tell your Dr Lyons his book came in.”
Aaron paused, hand on the latch. “What book?”
“Some academic thing. About missing babies. Took me ages to find. Not on Amazon.”
Aaron tugged down his hat. “Right. Cheers.”
He stepped outside into the cold, the bell jingling behind him, but the words trailed after like a draft.
Missing babies?
Not exactly stocking-filler material.
Certainly didn’t sound like some secret gift to go under the tree. Last year, Kenny had wrapped up a dog behaviour manual, then presented Chaos two days later like the world’s most chaotic Christmas miracle.
But this?
What was he planning this time?
A baby?
Aaron snorted aloud. “He better not be.”
Though as he untied Chaos from the lamppost, the quieter that laugh got. Because Kenny didn’t do anything without reason. And that book didn’t sound hypothetical.
Not even slightly.
