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Happy New Year! One more chapter to go for this one.

What's More Fun Than A Kiss

Chapter 4

Christmas Eve brought a mix of weather systems across Nevada from freezing rain to spring like temperatures. In Las Vegas, a temperature inversion had caused fog to hide the tall structures and give the streets an eerie wet reflection. Holiday lights added to the hazy images and made a surprisingly closed-off difference to the city that never slept.

Gil Grissom, discretely, studied the woman in the passenger seat. His first waking moments had been spent watching Sara Sidle sleep—in the same bed but at arm's length from him. He knew she wasn't comfortable with sleeping in an embrace—not yet—but he had hope and anticipation. A smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

She was beautiful, bundled up for the cool weather in a puffy jacket. He knew she was wearing the necklace he'd given her—and bright red panties underneath her jeans.

He had already asked how she felt and gotten the response of: "I feel great—better than usual! And yourself?"

If he'd been completely truthful, he would have said, "My butt and balls are so sore I'd love to spend an hour in a hot tub." But he had kept that thought quiet. They had definitely adjusted to her new bed with three very physically active sessions of lovemaking.

As if she had been reading his mind, she said, "If we stay active—move around—maybe you'll be walking normally in a few hours." She stifled a giggle.

Grissom shifted around in his seat, managed to keep from laughing as he said, "Thank you, dear. I appreciate your efforts in—in helping me maintain a shred of pride."

Her head lifted back in laughter and her hand reached for his arm. "I'm so happy we have this shift to ourselves."

Making a grumping sound, Grissom said, "Two sisters, one dead."

Sara's hand squeezed his arm. "What on earth would make a woman kill her sister—on Christmas Eve?"

"We may not know the why—but the how. Have you ever been to Scotch 80's for a murder?"

"No," Sara shook her head. "The gates are always closed to most of us."

Grissom flipped the turn signal, laughed quietly, and said, "Tonight, dear, you will get inside one of the oldest houses of the rich and famous in Vegas."

Fog had turned into a light mist as they entered the exclusive neighborhood; the security guard opened the gate with no hesitation when Grissom held up his ID. Old growth trees and solid rows of dense shrubbery hid most houses from the street and acre-sized lots meant more space between these houses than any other neighborhood in Vegas.

Ahead, Sara saw a patrol car angled into a driveway. When Grissom stopped the vehicle, the officer said, "I'll call for the golf cart—just pull off the driveway—the coroner's van is on its way."

By the time they got out of the vehicle, a golf cart had pulled up with another private security officer driving. He said, "It's a hike to the house—the driveway is narrow so we got here as soon as the call went out expecting a lot of traffic."

Sara gave Grissom a guarded look and crawled into the second row of seats, tucking her case behind her legs. While Grissom made small talk with the driver, Sara counted seconds. It took four minutes before she saw the glow of lights and a hulking shape.

"Oh, geez," whispered Sara as the golf cart came silently to a stop.

"It's a real shame," the security officer said. "Mrs. Sheffield has lived here all her life—brought her husband here after they married." Shaking his head, he continued, "Miss Millie—Mildred—returned a few years ago to live with Mrs. Sheffield—always seemed to get along."

Grissom had gotten out and walked around the cart, listening to the man talk. He said, "The sisters have not always lived together?"

"Oh, no. Miss Millie grew up here but lived away for years. Mrs. Sheffield always lived here." Again, he shook his head, "I can't imagine how this happened."

Grissom turned toward the house, saying, "We'll determine the how. Thanks for the ride."

As they walked to the house, both looked up, left then right. Sara said, "This is a true mansion."

A couple of uniforms stood near the crime tape and one lifted it for them to pass, nodding a greeting as they ducked underneath.

"The father of the dead woman was a Vegas pioneer in housing—I think this house is one of the originals. At one time, all the big names in Vegas lived in this neighborhood." Grissom said.

"Ahh," Sara whispered. "There is a butler beyond the tape."

Grissom stopped; his foot on the first step, and looked up to the porch rising ten to twelve feet above his head to see a silhouette framed in the lighted doorway.

A second later, Jim Brass called, "Come on up, you two." His head shook side-to-side until they reached him.

Sara noticed marble steps were cracked in several places and urns as large as her body contained dying plants. The entire balustrade, handrail, posts, was in need of repairs.

"Merry Christmas," said Captain Brass. "It's always a good sign when you two show up."

Sara and Grissom greeted their friend then Grissom asked what had happened.

"The two sisters have lived together for five years or so—the dead one is Lillian Davis Sheffield, age seventy-seven—one time the top socialite in Vegas but that's long past. Mildred Davis—younger by two years than her sister—is sitting in dining room with blood on her hands. She called it in; said her sister was dead. Neighborhood security arrived first and found Mildred—or Millie—standing in the front door with a knife in her hand."

"She killed her sister?" asked Sara.

Brass nodded, adding, "From the looks of it, she did. Hasn't said anything since I arrived."

Grissom asked, "What kind of knife?"

With a quiet rumble in his voice, Brass said, "You going to love this one—a cordless knife—brand name Bubba." He spread his hands to show the length of the knife. "Long blade—the security guy said it's used to filet fish. He put it in a paper bag for you."

"And the body is?" Grissom asked.

"She's in the den or living room over here," Brass pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "The living sister is there with two uniforms." He pointed a finger in the other direction.

"Can I take the living this time?" Sara asked.

Grissom nodded and headed in one direction with Jim Brass. Sara pulled out gloves and went in the direction Brass had pointed.

The dining room was huge, spreading across half of the front of the house; six windows facing the porch. Furniture and display cabinets lined three walls, every shelf covered with dishes and awards, framed photos and bric-a-brac. In the middle of the room was a long table with at least twelve chairs.

A frail looking older woman, hands folded in front of her, sat at one end of the table. Her hands, her sleeves, her shirt were covered in blood. Sara's first thought as she knelt beside the woman was 'How did this small woman kill her sister?'

As she pulled on gloves, Sara introduced herself, saying, "I need to—to swab your hands, Ms. Davis, so you can get cleaned up. This will take a few minutes."

The woman spread her hands as Sara laid out the needed tools. In a murmur as soft as the fog outside, she said, "I'm Millie—everyone calls me Millie."

Sara looked quickly at Millie's face then glanced at the two uniforms standing several feet away. Neither had heard the whispered comment.

Sara gave her a slight smile, saying, "I need to hold your fingers for this."

The older woman flexed her fingers then straightened them out. She said, quietly, barely more than a whisper, "I killed Lilly. I've been planning it for days—after I found the papers." She looked at Sara with sad but determined eyes. "My sister locked me away for decades. She stole my child—and my grandchild. When I got so old the mental hospital didn't want me, she brought me here." Her chin lifted; her eyes met Sara's.

Millie Davis said, "Thank you for coming. I hate I messed up your holiday but I—I decided to do this on the anniversary of what happened to me sixty years ago."

A/N: A bit of a mystery to solve on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day-and this short story will end with five chapters.

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As we enter a new year, we wish happiness, health, and hope for everyone.