The Christmas Vigil

  THE CHRISTMAS VIGIL

  A Munro Family Series Novella

  Chris Taylor

  When former New South Wales District Court judge, Duncan Munro, is found lying unconscious in a hotel room surrounded by evidence incriminating him in an affair, his close knit family are rocked to their core.

  Marguerite Munro is unwilling to believe her husband of forty years has been cheating on her, but the evidence doesn’t lie. Roses, champagne, massage oils, lingerie…it’s obvious he was expecting a woman and she knows darn well it wasn’t her.

  When the distress call goes around the family, they gather together in shock and disbelief. No one wants to believe their father is an adulterer, but the Munro siblings have law enforcement running through their veins. They’ve learned to look at the facts and draw logical conclusions and all of the evidence is pointing toward their father’s guilt…

  Will Duncan regain consciousness and provide the explanation they’re praying for, or will this be the end of Marguerite’s marriage and the Munro family as we know it…?

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  Copyright © 2014 by Chris Taylor

  Smashwords Edition

  (All Rights Reserved)

  LCT Productions Pty Ltd

  18364 Kamilaroi Highway, Narrabri NSW 2390

  ISBN: 978-1-925119-12-1 (E book)

  ISBN: 978-1-925119-17-6 (Print)

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  The Christmas Vigil is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my mother, Sophia Guihot and to my mother-in-law, Gloria Wilde: for all that you are and all that you do, I love you. And, as always, to my gorgeous husband, Linden, who has my heart ’til death do us part.

  The Munro Family Series

  (in order)

  THE PROFILER

  (Book One—Clayton and Ellie)

  THE INVESTIGATOR

  (Book Two—Riley and Kate)

  THE PREDATOR

  (Book Three—Brandon and Alex)

  THE BETRAYAL

  (Book Four—Declan and Chloe)

  THE DECEPTION

  (Book Five—Will and Savannah)

  THE NEGOTIATOR

  (Book Six—Andy and Cally)

  THE CHRISTMAS VIGIL

  (A Munro Family Series Novella)

  THE RANSOM

  (Book Seven—Lane and Zara)

  THE DEFENDANT

  (Book Eight—Chase and Josie)

  THE SHOOTING

  (Book Nine—Tom and Lily)

  THE MAKER

  (Book Ten—Bryce and Chanel)

  Sign up for my newsletter and keep up to date with new release dates, exclusive content and other offers at: http://www.christaylorauthor.com.au/subscribe-to-our-newsletter/

  Read the back cover blurb of each of the Munro Family stories by visiting Chris Taylor’s website at: http://www.christaylorauthor.com.au/about/books

  CHAPTER ONE

  Duncan

  Grafton, New South Wales

  Former New South Wales District Court judge, Duncan Munro pushed the card into the required slot and opened the door to the hotel room. Checking left and right to make sure the way was clear, he slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him and his breath caught on a pleased sigh.

  The desk clerk had outdone herself. It must have been the friendly wink he’d given her when he asked for their best room. Either that, or the fifty-dollar bill he’d tucked under the registration form had done the trick. The suite was large and spacious, with floor-to-ceiling glass framing the view of the gloriously wide Clarence River. The salt-water river fed into the Pacific Ocean about thirty miles away and left the water a clean dark blue. It sparkled in the early afternoon sunlight and sent shards of diamonds reaching for the sky. He’d lived in the area for nearly forty years and yet he never tired of looking at it. Today, the brightness hurt his eyes.

  He turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to assuage the pain. Now wasn’t the time to feel unwell. Not when he had so much to do before she arrived. With that thought in mind, he picked up the small suitcase he’d left by the door and carried it over to the king-sized bed.

  The sight of the pristine white bedspread gave him pause. His wife would have a fit if she saw him place the old suitcase on top of it. But she wasn’t here and she’d never know. Besides, it would be easier and quicker for him to prepare the room this way.

  His belly tightened with excitement at the thought of what lay ahead. He’d been planning it for weeks, right down to the last, infinitesimal detail. Finally, the day had arrived.

  And here he was.

  With hands that were less than steady, he unzipped the suitcase and lifted the lid. He stared down at the contents and his heart skipped a beat. Blood rushed to his groin and his cock stirred. Reaching into the suitcase, he pulled out the black satin and lace negligee. He caressed it in his hands and rubbed the softness of it against his cheek. ‘One size fits all,’ the salesgirl had assured him. He hoped so. He couldn’t wait to see her in it.

  A fresh wave of excitement surged through him. She’d probably be a little shy, but that was okay. He’d coax her into wearing it and she’d eventually put it on because she wanted more than anything to please him. And she would. Oh yes, she would.

  A groan escaped at the thought of the hours that lay ahead—hours he would spend traversing every inch of her body with his hands and his mouth and his tongue. His cock, already rock-hard, would find her wetness and he’d fuck her until they both lay limp and exhausted. The thought of it was almost too much to bear.

  His hand strayed to his erection and he rubbed it through his shorts. The urge to pop the button and slide down the zip was almost overwhelming, but he resisted. It wasn’t fair to either of them to start without her. Besides, keeping his desire at a fever pitch until she came would make it better for both of them.

  Returning his attention to the contents of the suitcase, he set out the negligee carefully, almost reverently, across the bedspread. She’d see it the moment she walked in. It was how he’d planned it. His gaze fell on the red velvet jeweller’s case which lay in the suitcase—another surprise he knew she would love.

  He opened the case and stared down at the necklace. The brilliant blue sapphires, blood-red rubies and clear white diamonds sparkled almost as bright as the river. It was a beautiful piece and had set him back a fortune, but the moment he spotted it in the window, he’d known it was perfect.

  Striding over to the nightstand nearest the window, he opened the drawer and slipped the case inside. That surprise was for later. He couldn’t wait to show her. He glanced at his watch and noted the time. The minutes had slipped away.

  Working more quickly now, he emptied the suitcase of lubricant and massage oils and arranged them on the nightstand. He wanted them close at hand. Next, he removed a dozen fat candles. Some were short and others were taller. The girl in the shop had assured him they all smelled delicious and would burn for at least six hours.

  More than enough time.

  He scattered the candles around the room in groups of three and four, taking care not to leave them too close to the drape
s. It wouldn’t do to set the place on fire—that was a sure way to send his plans awry. Feeling in his pocket for his lighter, he frowned, remembering too late he’d given the cigarettes away. He’d finally given in to his wife’s urgings to put a little more effort into his health and as a result, he no longer had a need for a lighter.

  He’d have to request one from housekeeping and make sure it arrived before she did. She wasn’t expecting his call and he had no idea where she was, but she’d come when he asked. Of that, he had no doubt.

  He strode over to the telephone that sat on the desk on the other side of the room. Picking up the receiver, he rubbed absently at the pain that continued to niggle behind his eyes. His vision blurred and he blinked to clear it.

  The call connected and his thoughts were diverted. He requested a lighter be brought to his suite and then asked to be transferred to room service. He was always famished after sex and so was she.

  He placed an order for the two of them and asked for the delivery to be delayed. After confirming a bottle of Moët and two champagne glasses would be brought to his suite directly, he hung up the phone and returned to the bed where he removed the final item from the suitcase: A single, perfect red rose.

  He brought it up to his face and inhaled its fragrance. Heady and sweet, it was everything he hoped for. He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the whisper soft stroke of the velvet petals across his mouth and imagined her lips in their place.

  Soon, very soon.

  With a last caress of its petals, he placed the rose on the pillow. Shutting the lid on the empty suitcase, he fastened the zip before carrying it across the room and stowing it in the closet. Returning to the bed, he smoothed out the wrinkles on the bedspread and then stood back to survey the results.

  It was perfect, just like he’d imagined. All that was missing was her.

  A knock on the door interrupted his musings and he strode across to open it. A young bellboy offered him a smile in greeting and wheeled in a small table covered in a white linen cloth. The boy’s gaze strayed to the bed and his eyes widened in surprise. He glanced at Duncan with a knowing grin.

  Duncan raised an eyebrow and wordlessly dared the boy to comment, but the boy’s gaze fell to the floor and he wisely chose to remain silent. Someone had trained him well. An ice bucket containing the unopened champagne and a couple of crystal glasses stood on the table. A lighter lay to one side.

  Duncan nodded his approval and went to reach for his wallet. Too late, he remembered he’d left it locked in the glove compartment of his car. Not that it mattered in Australia where tips were neither necessary nor expected.

  “You let me know if there’s anything else you need, Mr Smith,” the boy said. “Just ask for Charlie.”

  “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll be sure to do that.” After closing the door, Duncan returned to the table. He lifted the champagne out of its frozen bath and smiled in satisfaction. The bottle was icy cold. Everything was ready.

  It was time to call her.

  Sudden nerves of anticipation coursed through his arteries and tightened his gut. He’d waited so long and now the moment was almost upon him. He tugged out his phone and then gasped in agony. Pain like he’d never known seared through his head and burst behind his eyes in white-hot shards of torture. He clutched at his face in an effort to stem it and stumbled toward the bed. The phone fell from his fingers and landed, unnoticed, on the carpet.

  Groaning and holding his head in his hands, he collapsed onto the bedspread and curled up in a ball. The headache was beyond excruciating. He gasped on a sob and tears leaked from his scrunched-up eyes. He couldn’t bear to open them. His head was going to burst.

  Nausea gripped his belly and he doubled over again. In some distant part of his brain, he knew he had to get to the bathroom, but the signals to his legs just weren’t getting through. His stomach cramped and tightened and vomit spewed from his mouth. It dripped down the side of the pristine white bedspread. He stared at the mess in horror and disappointment until everything turned to black…

  CHAPTER TWO

  Marguerite

  Grafton, New South Wales

  Marguerite Munro gazed at her reflection in the mirror and smiled up at her hairdresser.

  “What are you up to for Christmas, Shelley? It isn’t far away.”

  The young hairdresser grinned. “You’re right. It’s less than a week away and I still haven’t done any shopping. I’m hopeless. Every year, I vow I’ll be more organized next time, but it never seems to happen.”

  Marguerite laughed softly. “You’re lucky you don’t have too many to buy for. Me, I have to start in June if I’m going to have any chance of finding gifts for everyone.”

  “Yes, I can well understand that. You have the largest family I know. Are they all coming home for Christmas?”

  “I hope so. Riley and Kate will be here, of course. They live not far away. Chanel will be on Christmas break from university and Josie has the time off work. I’m hoping the other boys will make it. I love it when we’re all together. I haven’t seen some of them for a while.”

  Shelley completed the finishing touches to her hair and stood back with a mirror to give Marguerite a view from the back.

  “There you are, Mrs Munro. All done.”

  “Thank you, Shelley. You’ve done a wonderful job, as usual. Grafton’s lucky to have stolen you away from the city. I don’t know how you manage to keep weaving your magic on an old woman like me.”

  Shelley smiled with genuine affection. “Now, listen here, Mrs Munro, I refuse to listen to another word about you being old. You’re…mature, that’s all and the way you look, you’d give women half your age a run for their money. I might add a touch-up here and the odd highlight there, but you’re the one with the goods. Your hair is thicker than some thirty-year-olds and that color…all that gold and honey and wheat. You can’t get that kind of combination out of a bottle.”

  Marguerite smiled back at her and patted the girl’s hand in gratitude. Marguerite was old enough to be her grandmother, but she appreciated the sentiment and the kindness that shone from the young girl’s eyes.

  “Well, whatever it is, I’m grateful,” Marguerite replied. “I always feel like a million dollars when I walk out of here and my hair simply never looks better.”

  Shelley smiled again and helped her out of her chair. Collecting her handbag from where she’d left it near her feet, Marguerite moved over to the counter and fished inside for her purse. Her phone vibrated against her hand. She’d turned it on silent when she arrived, refusing to allow anything to interrupt the couple of hours of bliss she enjoyed every six weeks at the salon.

  Tugging it out of her handbag, she glanced at the screen. Her breath caught. Nine missed calls. Nine. How could that be?

  Sudden fear crawled insidiously along her spine and dread tightened her stomach. Nothing about nine missed calls could be good. It was as simple as that. Something had happened. Her thoughts immediately flew to her family.

  “Are you all right, Mrs Munro? You’ve gone very pale.”

  She did her best to focus on Shelley, who now frowned at her in concern. Marguerite reached out and grabbed the counter in an effort to steady herself. “Yes, yes of course,” she managed and hurriedly paid her bill. “K-keep the change, Shelley. I’ll see you again soon.”

  “We haven’t made your next appointment, Mrs Munro. Would you like me to—?”

  Marguerite let the door to the salon close behind her, cutting off the rest of Shelley’s question. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but she didn’t have time to make another appointment. She had to find out what was wrong.

  With shaking hands, she pulled her phone out again and stared hard at the screen. Two of the calls were from the same number, a number she didn’t recognize. The others were from her son, Riley. The screen indicated she had three new voice messages. She dialed into her voicemail, her breath coming fast.

  The first message was from a Detective Joel Parker from t
he Grafton Police Station who urged her to call him back as soon as she could. He sounded solemn and the quiet urgency in his voice terrified her.

  She listened to the remaining two messages, both from Riley. He lived closest to her than any of her children and was her fourth-born son. Well, kind of fourth. Riley was a twin, but he’d been born first. There were only three minutes and forty-five seconds between him and his brother, a fact Clayton, Riley’s twin, took immense delight in frequently reminding him, particularly now the pair of them had dropped over the other side of thirty. In fact, they were nearly thirty-three.

  Where had the time gone…?

  She shook her head and tried to concentrate on Riley’s messages. They were short and succinct. They told her nothing.

  Mom, as soon as you get this message, please call me.

  Mom, you need to call me.

  Mom, where are you?

  His tone was increasingly desperate, but it was his lack of information that filled her with dread. That, and the way he spoke. He’d used his police voice. The one he used when he was addressing the thirty or so officers under his command; the tone that brooked no argument.

  With panic nipping at the edges of her consciousness, Marguerite stumbled to a nearby bus shelter and took refuge from the summer heat. Ignoring the startled look from a waiting passenger, she dropped clumsily to the low steel bench and fumbled with her phone. She had to call Riley. She had to find out what had happened.