All Through the Night: A Troubleshooter Christmas (8 page)

He still had to smile at that expression on Jules's face when he'd realized he'd just told nearly everyone that he knew—including his boss—that he wasn't wearing any underwear.

It was usually Robin who stuck his foot in his mouth that way.

“Welcome to my world,” Robin had murmured to Jules, who had laughed as they'd dashed upstairs to get dried off and changed.

But now, after too many minutes of sitting on the chilly basement stairs, just waiting for Jules to notice he was missing, Robin got the ladder out again and went back to the window with the broken latch.

He saw that he could, with just a little effort, knock away the wood frame, and take the entire window out of the wall. The screen came out with the assembly, leaving an open hole that was slightly larger than the window itself.

Larger was good, but larger than tiny was still pretty freaking small.

There was a half-circular stone well outside of that opening. A strip of flower garden—with what looked like bunches of freeze-dried marigold plants, blackened and skeletal—was actually several feet above both that leaf-filled well and the window. If Robin was going to crawl out there—if he really could fit his head and shoulders through the narrow slot—the only way to do it would be backward, with his face to the top of the window, so he could haul himself up, into a sitting position, with his back to the wall of the well.

Good thing he'd been doing his ab work religiously.

The rain was coming down harder now, blowing in onto him, thick and cold.

Robin went up the stairs and hammered on the door. “Hey! I'm locked in down here! Anyone?”

But no one answered.

He went back to the window and rolled up his sleeves.

“We haven't met,” Jules said to the man who'd managed to pull Dolphina away from the party—no small feat, that. “I'm Jules, and this is Billy, my soon-to-be nephew-in-law.”

“Will,” he said, coming over to shake Jules's hand. He had a solid grip and a nice smile. He ruffled Billy's hair. “Hey, I was a Billy when I was little, too.”

“No,” Billy said.

“Yeah,” Jules told the little boy, laughing. “Billy and Will are both nicknames for William. And you met Uncle Robin's friend Bill in the kitchen, remember? He's a William, too. And William's your dad's middle name, right?”

“No,” Billy said, but he nodded his head yes.

“Yeah, you're just being silly now,” Jules said.

“You silly, too, Unca Jules,” Billy told him.

“I am very good at being silly. You got that right,” Jules agreed as the little boy hugged him hard around the neck. Yeah, he could get used to this. “So why doesn't Dolphina want me to talk to you?” Jules asked the larger William.

“I asked her out,” Will admitted. “Maybe she's afraid I'm going to talk you into pledging my troth for me. Assuming that…troths still get pledged.”

Jules laughed. “And I would do that for you because…?”

“You're a romantic,” Will told him. “You're getting married in a month to a guy who's over the moon about you. I'm not gay, but even I'm a little jealous after talking to him. He loves you very much, you know.”

Jules nodded. “I
do
know, but thanks. It's always nice to hear.”

Will was looking at him in the weirdest way, like he was about to confess to being the real Boston Strangler or something equally awful. But then he said, “You've got something really good going, and…it's human nature to try to infect all your single friends with your couple-itis. And here I am—new to the scene, but smitten with your inimitable Ms. Patel. She, in turn, finds me interesting. Her word choice. Unfortunately, she's going to have a vastly different word for me after she comes back downstairs. One that Billy probably shouldn't hear.”

“Because…you're a writer,” Jules realized, and Will nodded.

“I am,” he admitted.

Oh, this was not going to be good.

Jules looked at Billy. “Go and find your daddy, okay?”

“No,” Billy said, but again he nodded yes, and Jules put him down, watching as the little boy ran into the living room. It was only then that he turned back to Will.

“What paper are you with?” Jules asked, as he heard the sound of Dolphina's footsteps, coming lightly down the stairs.

“Robin's not up there,” she called down, as Will reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a business card.

It was bent and slightly battered around the edges, kind of like the man himself.
William Schroeder,
Jules read. The Boston Globe.

Oh, good. The
Globe.

“Who invited you?” he asked the man, working to keep his voice even.

“No one,” Will said. “I just…heard about the party and thought I'd show up. See if I couldn't get in. See who I could talk to.”

Robin. Damnit, he'd said he'd talked to Robin.

“So what do you want?” Jules asked. “Money? Because
that's
not going to happen.”

“What? No. God.” It was possible that Will really was offended. Or, he was simply a good bullshit artist. “I just, I don't know, wanted to give you a chance to comment. On the record. It doesn't have to be right now, we could set something up for later in the week. Do it right. Sit down, the three of us, and do a real interview.”

Jules was already shaking his head. “I think you better leave.”

Dolphina was back, and she was looking from Will to Jules and back. “Interview?” she said, horror in her voice.

Jules handed her Will's card. To her credit, she didn't start to scream. But she was a good outside-of-the-box thinker, and she immediately started brainstorming. “Can we have him arrested?” she asked. “He crashed the party. He didn't break and enter, but you don't need to do that to make it a crime, do you? Home invasion. Isn't that what it's called?”

“I'm betting someone invited him in,” Jules said.

“Yeah, but it's not like he's a vampire,” she countered hotly. “He knew he wasn't really invited, yet he came in anyway.” She turned to Will. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I guess hooking up for drinks is off the table,” Will said.

“You think?” Dolphina said. “Can we sue him?” she asked Jules. “Or how about if we just kill him and bury him in the basement?”

“Now, that
is
a crime,” Jules pointed out. “Mr. Schroeder was just leaving.”

“I'd love to get a comment from you,” Will said, “at least about the news that the President's going to be attending your wedding.”

Jules looked sharply at Dolphina.

But she was shaking her head. “We received his reply today,” she told him. “But it hasn't been opened.”

That was the last thing they needed right now. Not just the President attending—which would be bad enough—but news of it leaking out before they organized their game plan.

“Time to go,” Jules told Will. “Do me a favor please, Dolph, and just…go find Robin?”

It was then that the doorbell rang and kept ringing as if someone insane were out on the front porch.

The locked door handle rattled, too.

Jules pushed aside the curtains on the door's window and…

It was indeed someone insane out there—someone insane enough to be in the cold without his jacket on. Robin stood there shivering, and…Oh, God. The parts of him that weren't soaking wet were covered in…mud? He had leaves matted in hair that was plastered to his head.

But he was grinning at Jules and pointing to the sky, where the rain had finally changed from sleet to big, white, fluffy snowflakes.

Jules yanked open the door. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I got locked in the basement—had to crawl out the window.” Robin shrugged it off. “Look, babe, it's
snowing
!”

His delight was contagious as he pulled Jules outside with him, then jumped down the steps to spin around on the sidewalk in front of their house, snow falling on his face, in his open mouth, in his muddy hair.

“Hey, Will.” Robin greeted the reporter with a wide smile, as Will buttoned up his tired-looking overcoat and tucked a scarf in around his neck, preparing to brave the elements. “Leaving so soon?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “I gotta go.” But he paused, stepping closer to Jules and lowering his voice. “I thought he wasn't drinking anymore,” he said.

“He's not,” Jules said, his outrage making his voice clipped and tight. “And if you write that he is…Let's just put it this way—no one will find your body.”

Will looked at him and Jules looked steadily back.
Be afraid. Be very afraid, motherfucker.

The reporter finally made something that might've been a nod. “I'm going to give you a free pass and pretend I didn't hear that,” Will said. “But as far as this goes…” He gestured to Robin. “I gotta write what I see.”

“He got locked in the basement,” Jules told him. He raised his voice. “Robin, what window did you climb out of?”

“The one by the driveway,” Robin pointed around the side of the house. “It was smaller than I thought. I kind of got stuck.” He grinned at Will then looked down at himself. “What a mess. Don't try this at home, kids.” He came over to them. “I grew up in Southern California. This is my first snow, ever, can you believe it?” He gazed out at the street. “Jesus, it's beautiful…”

Ah, damn. “Robin,” Jules said quietly. “Let Will smell your breath.”

Robin looked at him, surprised, and even a little bit hurt.

“I know you're clean,” Jules told him. “I know. I trust you. But…he's a reporter. And he just asked me if you were drinking.”

“What?” Robin said. He turned to Will. “You lying
fuck.
” He exhaled, hard, right in Will's face, but then he said, “That's not going to be enough. I mean, I could have had vodka, right?”

“It's enough,” Will confirmed, clearly unhappy about all of this. “I believe you.”

“No.” Robin was adamant. “I'll take a complete drug test and have the results faxed to you.” He looked at Jules. He was really upset. “I want to.”

“Okay,” Jules said quietly.

“Sorry,” Will said, turning to look back at the house where Dolphina was standing in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself. “I'm just…doing my job.”

“Your job sucks,” Dolphina said, and Will nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “sometimes it does.” And he walked away.

“Please tell me he's not from the
National Voice.
” Robin looked sick, and Jules put his arms around him, to hell with the mud. All of his joy over the still-falling snow had evaporated.

“
Boston Globe,
” Jules said. “He said…you talked to him?”

Robin nodded. “Oh, yeah. Oh, Jules, oh my God…”

“It's all right,” Jules tried to reassure him.

But Robin shook his head. “No, it's not. He's going to sound-bite me saying that we like doing it in pig masks.”

Jules laughed. “What?”

“It's not funny.”

“It kind of is.” On a certain level, it was extremely funny. “We should order a case—see how long we can keep this story alive.”

Robin sat down heavily on the steps. “Aw, Jesus.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Jules said, sitting beside him. “
Pig
masks…?”

Robin rolled his eyes. “It's from this movie I saw on pay-per-view back around, I don't know, ten years ago? I was maybe sixteen and it, like, scarred me for life.” He laughed his disbelief. “This couple was in their underwear, getting ready to get it on, right? They were wearing these masks and grunting like pigs—don't ask me why. It wasn't erotic—it was horrific, I think intentionally. The man said something, I don't even know what he said, but the woman gets all snitty and goes,
It ruins it for me when you talk.
”

Jules laughed. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Robin was finally smiling, too, but it was still rueful. “Ever since then, the idea of having sex in pig masks has been, like, the biggest soft-on I can think of. It just came out of my mouth when I was
talking to the reporter from The Boston Globe.
” He was instantly back in agony-land. “God, I fucked up. He told me he was new in Art's office, and I believed him.”

“Why wouldn't you?” Jules put his arms around him again. “He came into our home, and he lied to you…Sweetie, really, it's going to be okay. Come on. Let's get you inside and cleaned up. What's done is done.” He pulled Robin to his feet.

Dolphina was hovering, right by the front door. She opened it as she saw them coming. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “I should have—”

“Not your fault,” Jules cut her off. “We—all of us—should have been ready for this kind of thing. It's not going to happen again—let's just focus on that.”