Santa's Holiday Spectacular

Book 4: Santa's Crew

by Fern Michaels

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

In an adventure-filled holiday treat from New York Times bestselling author Fern Michaels, Frankie, Amy, Rachael and Nina—aka Santa’s Crew—reunite to put a stop to some real-life Grinches, with a little help from their new friends in the Sisterhood . . .

Christmas is so much more than tinsel, lights, and mistletoe. For onetime high school pals Amy, Frankie, Rachael and Nina, being together for the holidays has become a cherished tradition, whether they’re taking a trip or staying close to home.

There’s something special about giving back during the holiday season too, which is why Frankie is so dismayed when she learns that Salvation Army buckets are being pilfered all over town. Amy, Rachael, and Nina quickly agree to help her track down the thieves. It might not be their usual gathering, but it promises to be an adventure, especially when they bump into two women on a very similar quest . . .

Annie and Myra have learned that a shipment of children’s toys they sent to a charity event in New York City has been stolen. It looks like the thefts are connected, and it’s the kind of injustice that the ladies of the Sisterhood simply can’t abide. On a madcap spree through the city, the two groups join forces to find the bandits, save Christmas, and along the way, make this a holiday to remember for all the right reasons . . .

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Mid-November

New York City

Frankie glanced out the window of her fourteenth-floor office that overlooked Rockefeller Center. The area was cordoned off for the arrival of the famous tree, which was scheduled to be delivered the following morning, then hoisted into place before noon. There was excitement in the air for the eighty-foot-high, forty-three-foot-wide spruce, which would be adorned with over five miles of 50,000 lights over the next coming weeks.

It was a tradition that began in the 1930s from a simple gathering with people singing holiday carols. Over the years, it became a phenomenon, with major recording artists performing at the event. The list of stars that have embraced the tradition includes Cher, Barry Manilow, Darlene Love, and Kelly Clarkson, to name just a few. In 2007, it was one of Taylor Swift’s first live performances, and unless you are living in a cave or under a rock, you know how far she’s come.

Frankie wasn’t sure who was performing that particular year, but she knew it would be grand. She also knew not to leave the building until the festivities were over, and began her own tradition of having Patsy’s Italian Restaurant cater food for the late-working staff.

Frankie chuckled at the thought that her office party had grown over the years. Must be the food, she mused. Frankie was compulsively detail-oriented, which is why her friends counted on her to make the plans.

Her staff and colleagues often depended on her organizational skills for work-related situations, and sometimes for their personal lives, like the time Betsy from the art department begged Frankie to plan her baby shower. Frankie knew precious little about babies, especially baby showers, but she didn’t want to disappoint the woman, who looked like she would give birth any minute. Frankie didn’t ask why none of Betsy’s friends or family could coordinate the event, but she overheard a conversation Betsy was having with her mother. Apparently, this was the first grandchild in the family, and there appeared to be a lot of competition as to who could throw the most fitting celebration. It was better to have someone outside the family circle just in case something went awry, eliminating any blame among the lot.

Frankie’s generous soul graciously accepted the task. In spite of her being a childless cat lady, she was able to figure it out in short order, especially when she roped Giovanni into setting up the restaurant. It was an enormous success, and Betsy gave birth to a beautiful daughter three days later. Talk about a close call. As much as Frankie enjoyed party planning, she wasn’t inclined to start a business and prayed she would be off the hook for future kids’ parties.

Now it was time to plan her grown-up party for the tree-lighting evening. She called Matt into her office to go over the details. Even though the event was three weeks away, it was imperative they get their food order in ahead of time.

Matt strolled in with a few pages of invoices from the two previous years. “You do realize the extravaganza starts at seven, and they light the tree at ten,” Matt said, crossing his legs and tapping his pen on the clipboard.

“Yeah, I know. That really stinks, but proceed,” she said, nodding. “I’ll remind you to spread the word that people can leave whenever they want to, but don’t say anything until the night of the party. I don’t want to minimize it by making it sound unimportant.”

“It is important, and I totally get it.” Matt adjusted his chair and continued, “We’ve gone from a tray of eggplant rolla tini to three, three dozen clams oreganata to five, and two trays of penne a la vodka to four.” He paused. “How does Giovanni feel about you using Patsy’s instead of his restaurant?”

“He couldn’t be happier. Bringing the food to Midtown in all that chaos would make him pazzo!” Frankie used the Italian term for crazy. “Besides, he loves Sal and the Scognamillo family.”

“Is it true that it was one of Frank Sinatra’s favorite restaurants?” Matt asked.

“Yes, indeed. There must be dozens of photos of Frank through the ages on the walls, including tons of others: Pacino, De Niro, Michael Bublé, Ben Stiller, George Clooney, Calvin Klein, Carroll O’Connor, Jon Bon Jovi, and Oprah!”

Matt’s mouth dropped. “Wow. Talk about a who’s who in showbiz. And to think they cater our little office party.”

“I copied the idea from an old friend, Nick Maria. He used to work at Atlantic Records and started that tradition in his office. It was on the second floor and faced directly at the tree. We could look straight out the window and watch the lights go on at seven. Now we have to wait until ten o’clock and crane our necks.” She chuckled.

“Yeah, but the food is still good!” Matt added.

“Exactly!” Frankie said. “I hope people don’t think they have to wait until ten. Every year the event gets longer and longer.”

“People really appreciate that you do this, Frankie,” Matt offered. “It’s much better than the required company holiday party.” He flopped down in the chair across from her desk. “I don’t know why they bother.”

“Neither do I, but I suppose they think it helps us bond.”

“I’d rather bond with the fifty bucks it costs per head.”

Frankie let out a howl. “It’s probably more than that. I actually suggested it to upper management.”

“I guess that didn’t go over well.” Matt smirked.

“Not one bit,” Frankie said, grinning. “At least I tried. Besides, I think they use it as a company write-off.”

Frankie returned to her desk and sat across from him. “Remember, on the night of the party, please let people know they are not being held against their will if they want to dine and dash.”

“Will do.” Matt made a note for himself.

“What are your plans for this year?” she asked.

“The usual. Dinner with people I don’t speak to all year.”

“Because?” she prompted him to explain further.

“Because they live completely different lives. You know, sister is a soccer mom and is on my back to get married. My mother got wise and no longer approached the subject.”

Frankie smiled. “What about your brother?”

“Ah. My brother the bum.”

“Bum?” Frankie said, and cocked her head.

“He’s twenty-nine and hasn’t ever had a real job.”

Frankie crinkled her brow. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. He lives in my parents’ basement.” Matt thought for a moment; then he chuckled. “Maybe that’s why my mom is off my back.” He paused again. “At least he does the laundry.”

“See. There is a bright side to everything.” Frankie grinned. “Okay”—she began to rattle off the list—“conference room reserved?”

“Check.”

“Tablecloths, dishes, flatware, napkins?”

“Check.”

“Extra trash cans and liners?”

“Check.” Matt stopped. “Only you would think about extra trash cans.”

Frankie snorted. “Where else are all the dirty dishes going to go?”

“Good point.”

“Menorah, Kwanzaa candles, and a small tabletop tree for the centerpiece?”

“Check.”

“How many people have RSVP’d?”

Matt checked. “Twenty-four.”

Frankie chuckled. “Word’s out.”

“Yep. And I cannot believe you pay for this out of your own pocket.” Matt shook his head.

“Are Ira and Steven on the list?”

“Yep. Ira is a yes.”

“Excellent. Nothing like having the COO come to your party. Maybe we can figure out a way to get the company to pay for it next year and make it the company holiday party instead.”

“The conference room can’t hold a hundred people,” Matt said.

“I have some ideas.” Frankie raised her eyebrows.

“Okaaay … shoot.”

“The halls are wide enough on the executive floor to set up high-tops along the walls. We can have a service bar at each end, and the food can be set up in the large conference room. I am willing to bet it will save the company money, and no one will feel compelled to dance.” She blinked several times. “Why do they do that? Hire a DJ and expect people to cut a rug? Nobody wants to hang around and pretend they’re having fun. Besides, with my plan, people will be able to eat, drink, and mingle, which is what’s supposed to happen.” She sat back and folded her arms.

“Sounds like you’ve been to too many company holiday parties,” Matt said, smirking.

“Oh, don’t get me started. We used to go off-site for sales conferences, which in itself wasn’t a bad thing. You had the opportunity to chat with people you never see. But”—she paused—“you were required to attend the evening banquets, dance, then spend the rest of the evening at the hospitality suite. Man, did I dread it. By the end of a long day, you just wanted to go to your room and order room service.” She let out a huff. “There has to be a happy medium.”

“If anyone can figure it out, it’s you,” Matt said.

Frankie smiled. “I have a few things to review, and then I am outta here. Why don’t you stop for the day?”

Matt was a conscientious, loyal assistant. He never left work before Frankie unless she threw him out the door, a common state of affairs between the two of them. “Now, shoo.” She waved him away.

“Right, boss.”

“That’s Ms. Bossy Pants, buster.” Frankie feigned a frown.

He gave her a nod and disappeared.

Frankie began checking the project report to be sure everything was running on schedule. The cookbooks for spring were already copyedited and on their way for final proofing. Next was the batch of cookbooks for the following year. So far, no glitches. She checked the publicity plans for the books that were already on sale. All of her authors were behaving themselves, running on time to their TV appearances and book signings.

Over the years, Frankie knew how to keep her head down and her nose to the grindstone and was eventually promoted to an executive position running her own imprint at Grand Marshall Publishing. It was a star-studded roster of celebrity chefs, each book dedicated to raising money for a charity; hence, her imprint was called Cooking for a Cause.

Cookbooks were having a boom—books from celebrities, to kids, to real chefs. Short-form videos were turning into long-form books. But it wasn’t all glamour all the time. Authors could be royal pains in the butt, especially celebrity chefs, whom she dealt with on a regular basis. Through trial and error, she found her own way to navigate the publishing world and the idiosyncrasies of her authors.

By the time she had finished checking her list, she noticed it was past seven and called Giovanni.

“Amore mio!” he greeted her with an affectionate pet name, and followed with, “Che se dice?”—an Italian term for “what is happening?”

“Just finishing up here. What’s for dinner?”

“What would you like?” Giovanni asked.

“Something warm and delicious.”

“Ah, but you are warm and delicious,” he teased.

Frankie couldn’t help but blush. “Stop,” she said in a soft voice. “What’s the pasta special?”

“It’s-a Friday. Linguine with clam sauce.”

“Make mine white, easy on the garlic.”

“Do you want to come to the restaurant or bring to the apartment?”

“I’ll come down to the restaurant. I want to go over the menu for the family and friends dinner for the night when everyone is here.”

“Positivo. How soon?”

“I’ll grab a ride. Should be there in a half hour.”

“Perfetto. Be careful, bella.” Frankie could feel the warmth in his sultry voice. “I will go feed Bandit and Sweet P so you can relax.”

“You are the best! See you shortly.” Frankie pulled up the app for one of the rideshare companies and made a request. She was happy it was only a five-minute wait, especially this time of year. Things were starting to get terribly busy. Everywhere. She unhooked her coat from the back of her door, pulled her tote from the bottom drawer of her desk, turned off the lights, and briskly walked to the elevator bank.

Pinewood, Virginia

Myra padded into the kitchen, where Charles was fixing a traditional English breakfast of back bacon, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, baked beans, and sausages.

“You are going to make me so fat!” Myra pouted.

Charles swept her into his arms. “The more to love you, love.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I skipped the blood pudding, as per your request.”

“Thank you, dear.” She reached for one of the mismatched mugs in the cupboard and placed it next to the barista coffee maker Charles had installed in the butler pantry.

“Fergus and Annie are on their way.”

As if on cue, Lady, their beautiful golden retriever, lifted her head, then stood in anticipation of their guests, especially Fergus, who always had treats in his pocket. He said he learned to do that when he was a young constable during his first year at Scotland Yard. It was a good device when they encountered unfriendly dogs. He explained, “Ye toss one in the opposite direction, and if yer quick enough, you can make your way past ’em. Although I’ve had many a pants caught in the jaws of a few canines, but nobody was ever really hurt. Only my ego.”

Lady was already at the door a couple of minutes before they heard the roar of Annie’s souped-up golf cart followed by the sound of gravel flying about. Lady let out a soft woof.

“Good watchdog,” Charles joked.

Annie, wearing her rhinestone cowgirl boots, was the first through the door.

“Good morning one and all!” she burst out. “How are my BFFs today?” She shimmied in Myra’s direction and blew a kiss to Charles.

Fergus was being held hostage at the entry by Lady and her pups. They weren’t going to let him into the room unless he greeted them accordingly. Of course, the dogs were polite and waited patiently, while Fergus dug into his pockets and presented them with a handful of crunchy morsels.

Myra grinned. “Between Charles making me fat, and you plumping up the dogs, we might have to move to a bigger place where we can fit our supersized behinds!”

Annie hooted at her lithe friend. “Ha! You couldn’t get fat if you strapped a side of beef onto your skinny thighs!”

It was true. All the joking about weight gain was simply banter. Myra and Annie were impeccably fit for “women of a certain age,” meaning that although they weren’t running through the streets of New York wearing stiletto pumps, they were still agile and buff enough to scale a fence if necessary.

Charles handed a spatula and an apron to Fergus. “You oversee the bacon in the pan, and I’ll manage the bacon on Myra’s fanny.” He gave her an affectionate pat on her behind.

“It’s a good thing I have a sense of humor.” Myra laughed, rolling her eyes.

Annie helped herself to another mismatched mug and fixed a coffee for herself and one for Fergus. “Charles, care for a cuppa?”

“Cuppa is for tea. Coffee is for coffee. You yanks.” He shook his head and smirked.

“Pardon me,” Annie said, bowing. “Care for a coffee?”

“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” Charles winked.

Annie brought the coffee to the two men shuffling back and forth in front of the stove and went back to fix her own.

“So, Myra, what did you think of my idea about the Toys for Tots event?”

Annie and Myra served on the boards of several charities; for some, they asked for anonymity, and were only known to the executive directors. Over the years, both women of extreme wealth were constantly in the crosshairs of grifters and questionable organizations. They would make their donations privately and work behind the scenes. It was fitting, since their “other lives” functioned in the shadows.

“I think it’s lovely they are honoring Camille this year,” Myra said. Camille was an old chum of Annie’s and owned a townhouse a few doors down from Annie’s place in Manhattan. “That was a terrible ordeal they went through with their son.” Myra was referring to an incident that involved a twenty-year-old kidnapping. When Camille’s son J.R. was in college, he cleverly planned and carried out his own abduction. He owed a huge chunk of money to some extremely dangerous people, and he believed it was his only way out. The scheme worked. For almost two decades. It was a twist of fate that uncovered his long-hidden ploy and put the family into a tailspin.

“Things have greatly improved. J.R. dumped his crafty, greedy wife and cleaned up his act. He works with his father and has a new girlfriend. Camille said everyone is in a particularly good place now, except for his golf game,” she said, chuckling.

“That’s wonderful. Not the golf thing.” Myra smiled. “Let’s go over the plans after we feast on Charles’s handiwork.”

“Oi! What about me?” Fergus protested. “Do I not deserve some credit?”

“Don’t be such a crybaby,” Annie teased. “You’re a good sort, Fergus.”

“I suppose that’s something, innit?” he said to the utensil in his hand.

Lady’s head moved in sync with the platters as they were carried to the table. Fergus leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, love. I’ll be sure to save some for you.”

“Oh, how you spoil them!” Myra faked a scolding.

“Sometimes I feel as if they’re the only friends I have in the room,” Fergus kidded.

“They’re the only friends you have,” Charles delivered a witty barb.

“Now that hurts, mate,” he said, and frowned. “Can I still call you mate?”

“’Til the cows come home.” Charles slapped his pal on the back.

The four friends gathered around the table, said grace, and passed the lavish breakfast items. “Charles, you are going to make all of us fat!” Annie said, then dug into a wad of bacon.

“I told him the same thing just before you got here.” Myra duplicated Annie’s grab for the crispy slices.

“Not me.” Fergus rubbed his belly. “I still run every day.”

“Yeah, he runs from the kitchen to the lounge chair,” Annie ribbed.

“Come on, love. Can’t a man get a little break?”

She patted his stomach. “You’re still in enough tip-top shape for me.”

Charles steered the conversation to the reason for their gathering today. “Tell us, what do you women have planned?” He raised an eyebrow. The answer could be almost anything.

“We shall be working on the logistics to deliver a trailer of toys for Camille’s event.”

“Sounds like a lovely idea.” Fergus slid two more eggs onto his plate.

“There is a grand holiday party at the Park Hyatt,” Annie began. “They’re honoring Camille this year, and we want to help her cause. They will be inviting a hundred children from some of the local orphanages. They’ll get to meet Santa and get a gift. Plus, a good meal.”

“Brilliant!” Charles said. “How can we help?” He pointed his fork at Fergus, then himself.

“Right now, we are in the planning stages, but you can be sure we’ll find something for you to do.” Annie smirked.

“We thought about posting a call to action on social media, but expecting people to send gifts is too complicated.”

“Instead, we suggested when people have a holiday party, they ask people to bring an unwrapped gift. We’ll provide them with the nearest drop-off point,” Myra added.

“Lovely.” Fergus dunked his toast in the gooey yolk.

“Myra and I are going to order toys from the manufacturers, have them delivered here, and then get Kathryn to drive the truck to a place outside of the city. We’ll get help transferring the toys into smaller vehicles so they can navigate the gridlock.”

“Right. The city can be a massive parking lot this time of year,” Charles said.

Annie turned to Myra. “Kathryn is on board, correct?”

“Yes. She is doing a run to New Mexico and plans to be back the day before Thanksgiving. We should have most of the toys by then. They need to be at the hotel by December nineteenth, so we have some time. It will take her about six hours to get to the transfer station in New Jersey. After that, she said she was going to take the rest of the year off.”

“As if!” Annie howled.

“I know. Every holiday is difficult, but we’re here for each other. I suggested she spend the holidays with us in New York,” Myra said.

“It will be a nice change of pace.”

Charles looked over the rim of his coffee mug. “How long are we planning on staying?”

“Well”—Annie eyed Myra for support—“I was thinking we go up for a weekend for Camille’s event. It’s on a Saturday. Come home Monday. We can take the Gulfstream to Teterboro Airport. It will take thirty minutes to get to the townhouse from there.”

“Without traffic,” Fergus reminded her.

“We could take a helicopter,” Annie suggested. “That would take ten minutes.”

Myra gripped the edge of the table. “You know how I feel about those whirligigs.”

“It’s probably safer than the traffic that time of year,” Charles added.

“Oh, I don’t know, Annie. Do we have to decide right now?”

“Of course not. Just suggesting a way to eliminate most of the traffic buildup going into the city and minimize the gridlock.”

Charles patted Myra’s white knuckles. “Steady on, love. We’ll get it sorted. It could be grand seeing the city lit up from above.” His words were soothing, but not necessarily convincing.

“What about the train? It will bring us to Penn Station.”

Annie pursed her lips. “We shall consider it.”

“Thank you.” Myra exhaled the long breath she had been holding.

Annie continued, “We will spend Christmas here, and then go back to celebrate New Year’s Eve. We can go to the ballet.”

“You can’t help yourself when it comes to The Nutcracker, can you?” Fergus teased.

“And the fireworks in Central Park!” Anni. . .