December 1982
"I should have guessed that you'd dislike Christmas" said Nick Grant. "Personally, I was fine with Christmas, but I absolutely detested Boxing Day."
"What's that?" asked Lee, interested despite himself. "Some kind of sports day?"
"Boxing Day? Don't you Americans have that?" asked Nick with a raised eyebrow.
"Obviously not," replied Lee. "Since I'm asking."
"Ah, well, back in England, Boxing Day is the day after Christmas," explained Nick. "And traditionally it was the day the lord of the manor handed out gifts to the servants and the church opened up the poor boxes to distribute the money."
"Let me guess," said Lee. "You don't like giving things away?"
"Lee, you must know I am the soul of generosity," protested Nick with a wave of his hand – a gesture cut short by the fact he was handcuffed to Lee.
"You're a regular Robin Hood," agreed Lee sarcastically. "Taking from the rich and keeping it."
"What can I say? We all have something we're good at," answered Nick, ignoring the insult. "Anyway, as I was saying, while that was the traditional activity of Boxing Day generations ago, when I was growing up, the main activity was the hunt."
"The hunt?"
Nick nodded, with a grim smile. "The Boxing Day fox hunt. All the stuffy old bores from all over the county would gather up, get a little drunk on wassail and brandy and gallop all over the countryside chasing the hounds who were chasing the fox. My dear old dad was in his element, sucking up to the lord of the manor, pretending he was important for the day instead of just a country solicitor."
"Like when you pretended to be Baron Von Helsing when you robbed the Austrian ambassador to London?" asked Lee with a knowing look.
"Nothing like it," said Nick with another aborted airy wave. "I knew I wasn't any such thing, but my father lived a life of happy self-delusion."
"Are you trying to convince me your miserable childhood led you into a life of crime?" asked Lee. "Because I can tell you from personal experience, that's not how it goes."
"Nothing of the sort," said Nick. "Every other day of the year that didn't have a fox hunt was idyllic. But you know, it's a funny thing, even as a young child, I sympathized with the fox. There he was, minding his own business, doing what he did best-"
"Like stealing everything in the chicken coop?"
Nick ignored the interruption. "And all of a sudden a crazed crowd of dogs and horses and drunken men are chasing him all over the countryside trying to kill him. I was always glad for the days when the fox got away."
"No surprise you'd take the fox's side," Lee nodded.
"Maybe so," Nick gave that some consideration. "But you must admit, in all the times I've liberated something to be enjoyed by someone who would appreciate it, I have never harmed anyone."
"You've harmed the insurance companies," Lee contradicted him.
"They steal in their own way," Nick retorted. "And you know what I mean – I have never hurt a hair on anyone's head."
"That's true," Lee acknowledged. "But you're still a pain in the ass."
Nick lifted his free hand to place it over his heart. "You wound me, old boy."
"Sure, I do," Lee scoffed. He glanced at his watch. "Jeez, how long does it take for gendarmes to show up anyway? They said they were on their way 45 minutes ago," he grumbled.
"Did they?" asked Nick. "Well, I suppose I'd better be getting on then."
"Getting on with what?" asked Lee.
"Dear boy, I can't possibly stay here – like the fox, I'm made to be free."
"Well, tough patootie-" Lee was interrupted by a clicking sound. He looked down and realized that he was no longer cuffed to Nick, but somehow his hands were cuffed together through the arm of the chair he'd been sitting in. "What the hell?"
"Sorry, old chap. But you know you'd do the same in my position." Nick tossed aside the bobby pin he'd used to pick the lock and pulled off his tie. "I'm sure you'll be able to explain your way out of it – eventually." He advanced on Lee.
"Don't you dare-" Lee warned him, but too late. Nick threw the tie around his head and gagged him.
"I'll leave this at the front desk," said Nick apologetically as he fished Lee's ID out of his jacket pocket.
A stream of incoherent but rage-filled sounds came from behind the gag. Nick shrugged in apology again and turned to answer the knock at the door.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he greeted the gendarmes, while quickly flashing Lee's ID. "You'll find our art thief over there."
Lee stood up and tried to break the chair arm, yelling unintelligibly behind the gag. The gendarmes descended on him, trying to subdue him.
"Please handle him carefully – he hasn't told us where the Gaugin is hidden yet."
By now Lee had managed to get the gag loose enough to spit out. "Grant, you son of a bitch! Come back here!"
Nick gave him a little wave and smile as he melted into the corridor.
"Sorry, Lee," he muttered to himself, leaving the sounds of the fight behind him. "I'll make it up to you someday, I swear."
December 1987
Billy handed the folder he was carrying to Amanda, who began skimming it immediately. He turned his attention to Lee who was looking at him expectantly.
"It's the robbery at the Kruger Gallery two nights ago," he began. "We've been asked to take point on it."
Lee grimaced. "That was a bad one – they shot the caretaker, right?"
Billy nodded. "They did. He went back to the museum late in the evening to get something from his office and interrupted them. They ended up only grabbing the one painting before leaving in a panic. He's in the hospital on life support, but they think he'll make it."
"That poor man," said Amanda, looking up from the folder. "He'd worked there his whole life. His wife says it was like a second home to him."
Lee dropped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "We'll do what we can to bring them to justice."
"Yes, we will," agreed Billy. "And that's where you come in. We have good intelligence that the painting was smuggled out of the US almost immediately after the raid on the Kruger Gallery."
"Any idea where?"
"London for now, but the intel we're getting suggests it will be moving fast to a buyer in Eastern Europe. There are a number of Soviet oligarchs who are interested in art as a way to display their superiority. It sounds like they may be planning some kind of underground auction for it."
"Those are some serious players," Lee whistled. "Those guys play hardball when it comes to stolen art."
"They do," agreed Billy. "Which is why we need to find that painting before it disappears behind the Iron Curtain."
Lee nodded. "So, what's the plan? Are we coordinating with Interpol?"
"Well, some of us are," Billy said, cagily. "That's the obvious investigation. But I need you to follow up a little more quietly with an art expert who may be able to get us an inside line on its whereabouts before it travels much further."
"What kind of art expert?" asked Amanda, her tone laden with suspicion.
Billy gave a wry smile and watched the penny drop with Lee.
"Oh no! No, no, no, Billy! You can't make me go! You know mixing me with Nick Grant is always a disaster. Remember that time in Paris? He left me –"
"I know, I know," said Billy soothingly. "You've told me a dozen times. He left you with a 30,000 franc hotel bill, and you got roughed up by a team of gendarmes, and charged with grand theft."
"Exactly!" spluttered Lee. "And last time! Last time, he almost made me and Amanda miss our wed-"
"Well deserved vacations," Amanda cut off his inadvertent confession. "We both almost missed our flights."
Billy's face lit up with a grin. "I remember that. The way you two went tearing off down that road, you left Francine and me eating dust for ten minutes." His face turned to a scowl. "And then you disappeared on vacation and left me and Francine to clean up the entire mess, including returning that Picasso you and Grant 'liberated' for the con you were running."
"Well, yeah, I suppose we did," Lee was nodding rapidly as if he thought the motion would distract Billy. "But you can't send me off to track him down now! Come on, Billy! It's almost Christmas!"
"Oh, so suddenly you're Mr. Christmas?" Billy asked with a raised eyebrow. "You've never had a problem working near Christmas before."
Lee looked uncomfortable, grimacing as he saw Amanda's lips pressed together in frustration. "Well, I'm older and wiser now – and certainly wise enough to not to get mixed up with Nick Grant again!"
"And that's why I'm sending you, Scarecrow," Billy admonished him. "You know Grant better than anyone and you won't fall for his tricks. If I send anyone else after him, he'll be in the wind before they even finish reading the case file!"
"Why isn't he even still in prison?" asked Amanda. "Wasn't he supposed to be sent back to Turkey after last time?"
Billy shrugged. "He was helpful enough with our case against the McMasters that we pulled some strings to get him released for good behavior. Plus, there was that Picasso – if he hadn't made sure we got that back from Big Tony, Lee's career would have been ended."
"Oh,"" said Amanda with a grimace. "I'd forgotten that."
"You were in no shape to remember anything about that case," he reminded her gently.
There was a moment of silence as they all recalled those terrible weeks after the incident in California.
"Anyway, he did bring it back," Billy went on. "I honestly think he'd never intended to keep it. He said he didn't steal from national museums, only from the indecently wealthy."
Lee gave out a grudging bark of laughter. "That's true – he always did seem himself as a kind of Robin Hood."
"See. That what I mean. You know Grant, you understand him," said Billy.
"What about Amanda?" asked Lee. "She can't just leave town at this time of year without upsetting her family."
"No," Billy conceded. "I thought she could remain here and act as your liaison and researcher. There's no need for both of you to go."
Lee and Amanda exchanged a long look, which ended with Amanda giving a wry smile and a shrug.
"No job for a pessimist," she murmured. "You might get back in time for Christmas dinner."
"Cheer up, Lee," Billy tried to sound encouraging. "We know he didn't steal it because he has an airtight alibi, so it's not like you're trying to arrest him – we're just trying to see if he knows anything through his sources. Get him to spill you a little detail about who might have an inside line and you could be back in a few days."
Lee tossed his hands up. "Nothing with Nick Grant is ever that easy."
Billy looked back and forth between Lee and Amanda. "Well, I'll leave you two to sort out the details, but I'd like you in London by Wednesday morning. MI5 has been keeping an eye on him, so you won't have to waste any time tracking him down."
"Small mercies," Lee sighed.
Billy gave him a silent pat on the shoulder and left the Q. Amanda stood up and walked into Lee's open arms.
"I'm sure I'll just be gone a few days," he murmured.
"Just don't let him get you shot like last time," she answered.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he answered, giving her a squeeze. "That's the good thing about Nick Grant – the same thing never happens twice."
Amanda's laugh was cut short by what sounded suspiciously like a hiccupped sob.
"Hey now, come on," said Lee, pulling back so that he could see her face. "It's just a few days – we've been apart before."
"I know," she said, wiping a finger under her eyes. "It's just that it's almost Christmas and we always seem to have bad luck with the holidays, and I know it's unprofessional to get so emotional about it because it's all part of the job, but I really hoped" – her voice cracked slightly – "that this year we could just have a nice family Christmas, you know?"
"I know, I know," Lee answered, pulling her close again and wrapping his arms around her. "And we will, I swear. If I have to hold Nick Grant up by his ankles and shake that painting loose from his pockets, I will."
London
Lee sauntered into the pub, flat cap pulled low over his face and quietly ordered a beer. Once he had it in hand, he turned slowly, leaning back on his elbows and scanned the room. Spotting his quarry in the booth at the back of the room, he walked over and slid in beside him, blocking his escape route.
"Evening, Nick," he murmured.
Nick turned, startled. "Lee Stetson? By God, it is you! To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Oh, you know, just in town for a little look around. Thought I could use a guide and you might just be my man."
"You need a guide to find your way around Slough?" asked Nick, his face a study in confusion.
Lee gave him an exasperated look. "Of course, I don't. Nick, why do I ever come looking for you of my own volition? You have knowledge and I need it."
"I'm sorry, Lee, but I doubt that's true," Nick replied. "I'm on the straight and narrow, I swear. Closest thing I get to art these days is being a model at the Women's Institute art class."
"Nude or clothed?" Lee cocked an amused eyebrow at him.
"Depends on whom I go home with," smiled Nick. "I may not be stealing art these days, but what is life without a few stolen moments with a beautiful woman?"
"Why, Nick, that's almost poetic," said Lee, his voice laced with appreciative humor. "No wonder you have such a way with the ladies."
"Speaking of which..." Nick craned his neck to look around the pub. "Where is the lovely Amanda? You two seemed joined at the hip last time we met."
"Don't start," Lee warned him. "Amanda is at home with her family – which is exactly where she should be, this close to Christmas. And I'd like to be home too, so the sooner we can get this little interrogation over, the sooner I'll be on my way home."
"I see." Nick studied him for a moment. "Jacob Marley has rattled your cage somewhere along the way, hasn't he?"
"What's the supposed to mean?" asked Lee with a belligerent look.
"I seem to remember a conversation not so many years ago where you told me you loathed Christmas and all its trimmings," Nick observed. "And yet here you are, champing at the bit to go home for the holidays. Or is it just wanting to get home to your lady love?"
"Amanda is not- " Lee began but stopped and shrugged at Nick's disbelieving expression. "Fine. There's a Christmas dinner and a spot at the table with my name on it, but not until I can get some information on the Lafrenière that was stolen in DC last week."
Nick gave a low whistle. "Lafrenière? That must be worth a small fortune!"
"It is," replied Lee, grimly. "And it was stolen from the Kruger by some very determined and violent criminals. And we have reason to believe it's on its way to Russia."
"You don't think I had anything to do with it, do you?" asked Nick, his horror too obvious to be faked.
"For once, I don't," Lee reassured him. "But I think you might know where to go to get any scuttlebutt on where it might be in the meantime. There's a badly injured museum employee who deserves seeing it back where it belongs."
Nick gave off a disgusted noise. "I do detest the thug element in crime. So unnecessary."
"So you'll help?"
"I can try. Any idea who's involved?"
Lee lifted his glass and took a long drink. "The intel says Viktor Kirnov, for one."
Nick recoiled, sliding along the bench seat until his back was against the wall, and looked around with a frantic expression. "Viktor Kirnov? Are you mad? I'm not getting involved with anything that puts me in the eyeline of that man! You know he almost killed me over that little misunderstanding in Cairo!"
"You don't need to be in his eyeline," said Lee. "You just need to give me some info on where I might start looking for his trade route."
Nick looked slightly relieved. "That's all you want?"
"That's all I want."
Nick nodded slowly. "Well, I suppose I could ask around. Some of my old chums might have heard something."
Lee clapped him on the shoulder. "See? That's all I need. And the sooner I get anything, the sooner I'm out of your hair." He drained his glass. "So where do we start?"
"We're starting now?" asked Nick weakly.
"No time like the present, old boy," Lee mocked him. "And I'm not letting you out of my sight until I have something useful."
Nick grimaced and reached for his coat. "Well, let's get on with it then."
"Are you sure about this?" Lee was doubtful that any kind of international art theft ring would be operating out of what appeared to be a junkyard.
"Now's not the time to start doubting me, Stetson," Nick grunted as he shoved open the heavy sliding door on the warehouse. "Marco is the purveyor of some of the best scrap metal and art copies this side of the river."
"I'm not looking for a forger," Lee hissed at him. "I'm looking for a middleman!"
Nick paused on the threshold and gave a weary sigh. "Lee, do you honestly think Kirnov would steal a Lafrenière and then only take one bite of the apple, do you?"
Lee stared at him. "Ohhh," he said slowly. "You think he'd make copies and sell them all."
"Exactly," Nick nodded. "They describe them as auctions, but none of them enjoy being in the same room, so it's usually all done under the table. He sets up multiple auctions, they all bid on different ones, they all think they've won – easy money."
"Isn't he worried they'll come after him if they find out they have a fake?" wondered Lee.
"He sets up fake personas and when they go after the person who sold it to them, poof! They're gone," Nick explained. "They're greedy, but not always too smart when they see something they want in their grasp," he added. "They know the painting was stolen, they'll all have their feelers out to buy it – they're chickens ripe for the plucking."
"Very rich chickens," Lee commented.
"Very, very rich chickens," Nick agreed, as he led him through the warehouse. "Marco?" he called out. "It's me."
"Nicholas?" said an accented voice, muffled by the piles of scrap. "I'm back here."
As they moved past the last table piled with bric-a-brac and turned, Lee could smell the linseed oil and paint. They walked through a doorway and found themselves in a well-lit artist's studio, a dozen pictures on easels around the room and a gaunt man, hunched over a palette, carefully adding a few brushstrokes to what appeared to be a familiar piece of art.
"Is that going to be a Constable?" Lee asked, stepping closer.
The man's gaze shot up, startled. "Nicholas? You brought a friend?" he asked, his French accent more noticeable now.
"Yes, a friend," Nick emphasized the last word. "This is Lee. He won't cause you any trouble."
Lee was looking around the room speculatively. "You forged all of these?" he asked. "You're very talented."
"Now, now, Lee" said Nick, hurrying to interrupt him. "They're not forgeries, they're just reproductive tributes to the original beauty of the piece."
"Until you sell them as the real thing," said Lee.
"Well, yes, of course, then they'd be forgeries," agreed Nick. "But there's no law against amusing yourself making reproductions of your favourite work is there? Not when you have such a talent for it and Marco is an artist, aren't you, Marco?"
Marco had drawn himself up to his full height. "I am indeed," he confirmed in a lofty tone. "Some of my work hangs in the finest houses in Europe."
Lee gave Nick a skeptical look that clearly said Do the finest houses know it's his work? Nick shrugged with a silent air of "well, what can you do about it?"
"Now, Marco," he turned to the other man and began to coax him. "You said you might have some information for me about Kirnov's next auction?"
"I might," the Frenchman conceded, turning his attention back to his easel.
Nick began to wander around the room, studying the art of the easels and flipping through paintings leaning against the wall with an air of studied indifference while Lee looked on with badly disguised impatience.
"Lovely, just lovely," Nick murmured. "I gave one of these to my father for Christmas, you know. He admires it greatly."
"While I'm always glad to hear about your domestic matters," Lee began but stopped when Nick held up his hand slightly to silence him.
"This information, Marco…" Nick remarked. "Is it the usual sort of thing?"
The Frenchman grunted. "Kirnov has his ways. He doesn't change them."
"He does," Nick agreed. "And like me, I know you disapprove of most of them."
Marco flicked him a glance. "He is a thug. He has lots of money but no finesse."
"No indeed," said Nick. "Did you hear about the robbery at the Kruger? They left a man on life support."
A long pause and then another grunt from Marco. "That is unfortunate."
"Indeed."
Marco continued to paint, and Nick continued to wander the room while Lee ground his teeth.
"I will make some calls," announced Marco after a few minutes of this.
"Excellent!" Nick rubbed his hands together. "Right then, come on, Lee. Time to hit the pub. There's a shepherd's pie calling my name."
"Wait – that's it?" asked Lee incredulously.
"That's it for now," answered Nick, taking him by the arm and leading him back toward the exit. "Now we wait."
"Oh my God," groaned Lee. "I am never getting home for Christmas."
Lee may not have understood what was going on but less than 24 hours later, Nick called his hotel room.
"All set," he announced cheerfully. "I'll pick you up at 9 tonight."
"Pick me up at 9 for what?" asked Lee, suspicious as always when it came to Nick.
"Why to recover the Lafrenière, of course," Nick replied. "What else?"
"With you?" said Lee. "There is almost nothing that would surprise me at this point, including a raid on the Crown Jewels."
"Now that's just unkind, Lee," Nick remonstrated with him. "You know I don't steal things that the public gets to enjoy. And Her Majesty is lovely – you should meet her some time. I'd never steal from her."
"Nick, you were arrested at a royal garden party for stealing a jewel-encrusted Rolex," Lee reminded him.
"Yes, but not from the Queen," Nick pointed out. "It was Jeffrey Archer's and he deserved it."
"Back to the matter at hand," Lee sighed. "What exactly is going on tonight?"
"Marco has arranged matters," said Nick as if that explained everything.
"He has the painting?" asked Lee.
"No, but he knows who does. Look, it will all be clear later – see you at 9!" Nick hung up, leaving Lee staring down the receiver in exasperation.
"What is going on" Lee hissed at Nick from their hiding spot behind the wooden crates. The December air in the deserted industrial park was cold enough that he could see his breath.
"Kirnov is meeting up with the buyer tonight," answered Nick. We just need to wait and pounce."
"He's meeting them here?" Lee asked in disbelief.
"Well, he can't exactly meet them in the supermarket, can he?" said Nick.
Lee muffled the unexpected guffaw that burst out of him. "Sorry," he muttered as Nick hushed him. "You just reminded me of something Amanda said once." He pretended to zip his lips closed.
"Here they come," whispered Nick, as a pair of headlights swept across the wall.
Lee pulled out his gun, but Nick pushed his wrist down, shaking his head. "You can't take the chance of hitting the painting," he muttered.
"You've got to be kidding," Lee groaned.
"No. Guns," Nick ordered him. "We're not in America now, Cowboy."
"Okay, okay," Lee groused, putting it back in his holster. "So who's the buyer?" he asked, peering out as a second car pulled in.
"Marco said it was down to two bidders, but declined to give me names," Nick admitted. "But that's Kirnov in the first car." He pointed to the man who was lifting two wrapped paintings from the trunk of the limo.
"And how exactly are we going to get the painting?" Lee asked.
Nick winked at him. "You'll see."
"Nick," said Lee with a deepening sense of foreboding. "What's going on here?"
"Well that, for starters," said Nick, pointing to another car that had just arrived. "Kirnov was only supposed to meet the final bidder here, but Marco may have let the runner-up know about this meeting and told him he had the winning bid."
Lee's jaw dropped open. "So… we're just going to wait until they all kill each other and swoop in and grab it?"
"Not exactly," said Nick. "But close."
Another man had erupted from the last car to arrive and was now in a furious shouting match with both Kirnov and the other buyer. He moved to grab one of the wrapped paintings and a tug of war began. As the angry voices increased in volume, all three men didn't notice the sound of approaching sirens, stopping only as the road filled with blue flashing lights and the shouts of the police rushing towards them.
There was a moment of all three faces lit up in shock and then each buyer grabbed a painting and ran for their cars while Kirnov sprinted to get back in his limo.
"They're getting away!" shouted Lee, leaping to his feet.
"Not all of them," replied Nick, pointing to Kirnov who had just been tackled by a police constable.
"But he doesn't have the painting!" yelled Lee in frustration. "One of those guys has it!" The other two men had reached their own cars and were peeling out of the parking lot with a screech of rubber. He turned on Nick, shaking with anger. "I only had one job! Get the painting back before it crossed the Iron Curtain and I could go home!" He slumped against the crates. "And now… now I'm going to have to go chasing the damned thing for God knows how long."
"Lee," Nick said gently. "There's no way on Earth that whichever one of them has the painting doesn't also have a plane gassed up and waiting to fly to Russia tonight. And we don't even know who they were – there's no leads to follow. It's over. Go home. Kiss your Amanda under the mistletoe and get on with your life."
Lee lifted tired eyes and glared at him. "I thought you were going to help. I should have known better. You were probably in it from the start, and you've pocketed a hefty paycheck from one of those guys."
"Lee!" Nick exclaimed. "That's not fair! I would never-"
"Can it, Grant," said Lee curtly. "I should never have trusted a fox in a chicken coop. Well, I've learned my lesson and I've been a fool – but at least I'm a fool who's going home." He straightened up and rubbed his hand across his brow. "Thanks for nothing, Nick."
He turned and walked away, Nick watching him silently.
Amanda and Dotty strolled along the sidewalk arm in arm, as they headed home after the Christmas Eve service. The boys had fallen a bit behind, tossing snowballs at each other and shrieking with laughter as they followed.
"They're going to wear themselves out," commented Dotty with a loving smile as she glanced back over her shoulder at her grandsons. "Maybe we'll actually get to sleep in a little tomorrow and not be woken up at the crack of dawn."
"Well, they're getting to be a bit more like teenagers," Amanda chuckled. "So they definitely sleep later than when they were tiny."
"It's just going to be such an odd Christmas," sighed Dotty. "First Lillian can't make it because of that slip on the ice, and now Lee's stuck in Europe."
Amanda's smile dimmed. "I know, Mother, but we can have a late Christmas with him when he's home."
"It just won't be the same," said Dotty. She squeezed Amanda's arm. "But like the song says, we'll muddle through somehow."
"Yes, we will," Amanda nodded. "And it's not all bad – we have each other."
"You always find the silver lining, don't you Dear?" said Dotty.
They rounded the corner onto Maplewood and started toward the house. Amanda was looking back over her shoulder to check on the boys, when Dotty stopped dead.
"Is that what I think it is?"
Amanda swung her attention back in front. Through the lightly falling snow, she could see the Corvette in the gleam of the streetlight. Dropping her mother's arm, she broke into a run as Lee came down the front path of the house, meeting her at the gate and swinging her up into his arms.
"You're home! You're home!" she chanted in between kisses. "Why didn't you tell me you'd be home?"
"The only flights I could get sent me to Montreal, then Newark, then home. I thought it would be better to surprise you than to disappoint you if I didn't make it," he answered, kissing her again. He turned to greet Dotty as she joined them. "Merry Christmas, Dotty," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek, while still keeping one arm firmly wrapped around Amanda as if he was afraid of losing her.
"Well, now it will be!" Dotty twinkled at him. "Now let's get inside and start enjoying it!"
A few hours later, dinner had been eaten, gifts had been opened, and the boys were already back in the kitchen, raiding the refrigerator for the fourth or fifth time while Dotty reprimanded them laughingly. Lee and Amanda were snuggled in front of the tree in the living room, still surrounded by discarded wrapping paper.
"I can't believe I don't have your gift here again this year," said Lee, rolling his eyes. "It's at the apartment as usual."
"Don't be silly," Amanda scolded him. "I have all the present I need right here." She poked him in the chest then leaned in to press a kiss on the same spot. "And Mother loved the bag you got her from Harrod's."
"Yeah, well, don't ever tell her, but I picked that up in the Duty Free at Heathrow," Lee admitted. "I didn't have a lot of spare time in London to shop." He paused and stared at the fire. "And I'm going to have to go back almost right away, I think. I have to do more to try and get that painting back."
"I'm so sorry, Sweetheart," Amanda consoled him. "I know how disappointed you are, but you know, the caretaker is off life support and will get to spend Christmas with his family around him. And Kirnov was arrested and will be spending his Christmas in jail. So it's not all bad news."
"I know, I know," said Lee, leaning back on the couch and staring at the ceiling with a sigh. "I just really wanted to get it back for the museum though. And I'm mad at myself for trusting Nick Grant."
"Well, he's not all bad," said Amanda. "I got you back in one piece this time."
"That's too close to the truth to be funny."
"I'm sorry this one ended badly, Sweetheart. We'll get 'em next time."
"Yeah." Lee sat up and shook himself. "We can't win 'em all, can we?"
"No. but we are going to have a wonderful Christmas – I just know it."
Lee leaned in for a kiss. "You bet we will." He sat back and stared at the Christmas tree lights, twinkling, then his gaze dropped to the foot of the tree. "Did we miss one?" he asked, pointing to a package almost completely hidden by the branches of the tree.
"Oh! We did!" exclaimed Amanda. "It arrived while you were away, couriered from England. I think it's a Christmas present from Emily – the customs slip said it was a gift."
Lee got up and padded across the room to pick it up, carefully shaking it with a frown, then headed for the front door.
"What are you doing?"
"Unmarked packages make me nervous and Emily would never send one without marking it so that I'd know it's safe," he replied. "I'm going to open it outside, just in case."
Amanda followed him, but he gestured for her to stop on the doorstep.
"You wait there," he ordered.
As she watched, he carefully opened the first flap, then slid the contents out.
"Is that a painting?" she asked. She walked out to join Lee and picked up the note that had fluttered to the ground, scanned it, then frowned. "It's from Nick."
Lee gave her a hopeful look then ripped the protective paper off, sagging with disappointment when it wasn't the Lafrenière. "What does the note say?"
"Just 'Merry Christmas. Hope this reminds you of me and puts you in mind to forgive me. I'll be thinking of you and your family on Christmas and all the days after."
"He just had to rub it in," complained Lee as they turned and walked inside, and back into the living room. Lee propped the picture up on a chair and stared at it glumly.
"Maybe he was just trying to make you feel better," Amanda said sympathetically. "I mean, it's quite a nice picture. 'The Boxing Day Hunt'," She read off the label on the frame then squinted at the signature. "Is 'Marco' a famous artist?"
Lee barked out a laugh. "Try infamous. He's a forger I met while I was over there. He usually does copies of masterpieces, not paintings of the English countryside."
His voice trailed off, and his eyes narrowed as he studied the picture of a horse jumping over a fence surrounded by a pack of hounds. "That's odd," he said.
"What's odd?" asked Amanda, stepping back to stand beside him.
"Nick once told me he hated fox hunts. Said he sympathized with the fox." Lee smiled at Amanda's chuckle. "So why would he send me a painting of one?"
There was silence as they both stared at the painting.
"Oh look," said Amanda, stepping forward to point at something. "There's the fox – over on this wall, watching the hunt go right past him."
"You're right," said Lee, peering at the spot she was pointing. "Well, that definitely sounds like Nick. So he's really rubbing it in, the jerk."
"But this arrived the day before yesterday," said Amanda. "Before you even went to the meet-up with Kirnov."
Lee went still, running through the sequence of events in his head. "That's right… But why would he even send me an apology gift if nothing had happened yet?"
"I don't know," Amanda shrugged. "Is Boxing Day supposed to be about forgiveness?"
"No, it's about giving boxes of stuff to the poor," said Lee. He squinted at the tiny grinning fox in the background, then let his jaw drop.
"He wouldn't have," he breathed out, grabbing the painting and swinging it around. "Would he?"
"Wouldn't have what?"
Lee didn't answer her, just ran his fingernail along the back of the painting until he found an edge and began to pry it off. It gave way slowly as the small nails holding it in place gave way. When it was almost done, Lee laid it down on the sofa and carefully freed it from the last of the fastenings, then lifted it off. "My God, he did," he whispered almost to himself. "You thieving so-and-so, you did it!"
Amanda peered past his arm at the painting that had been between the back of the fox hunt and the protective backing.
"Is it the Lafrenière?" she asked
"It sure is," said Lee, lifting it out carefully and carrying to over to the reading lamp to look at it carefully.
"There's another note underneath," said Amanda, picking up the sheet of paper he'd left behind.
"Dear Lee," she read.
"If you are reading this, then I know you remember our conversation so many years ago. Forgive the haphazard method of delivery, but I doubted you wanted to pay the customs fee on a million-dollar painting. I also hope you can forgive me the bait and switch with the exchange, but we needed both Konstantin and Saranov to believe they have the real thing. They don't, of course. This note is proof it has all worked as planned, it's safe in your hands and they are both back in Russia with one of Marco's copies, none the wiser. Let the Kruger make a big splash about getting it back and they will blame Kirnov without ever admitting they were fooled into paying for a fake, while he languishes in prison. As you know, I have no tolerance for violence, nor does Marco and I hope Kirnov gets everything he deserves. Marco and I have sent a small portion of what he was paid for the forgeries to the caretaker's family to help with his recovery. Have the happiest of Christmases and give the lovely Amanda a kiss from me. Your friend, Nick."
"That son of a –" said Lee, shaking his head. "He was conning me the whole time – again!"
"But in a good cause," Amanda pointed out. "And the important part is that you got this back! What a wonderful Christmas present."
"I suppose so," Lee grumbled without any real heat. "I just hate that he makes me feel like such a fool every time."
"Well, we all have to believe in stuff like this at at Christmas," she replied, "Peace on earth, and Santa and this year, we'll believe that Nick Grant is a good person. She paused and gave off a laugh, eyes crinkling up at Lee as she wrapped her arms about him. "In fact, getting you home on time to spend Christmas with your family was the greatest gift he could have given me, so you know what that makes him?"
Lee tilted his head, lips twitching. "I give up – what does that make him?"
"Saint Nick, of course!" Her laughter bubbled up again, joined by Lee.
And I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"