Yuletide Splitsville

  Splitsville Legal Thriller Series

  WILLIAM BERNHARDT

  Published by Babylon Books, 2022.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  YULETIDE SPLITSVILLE

  First edition. December 6, 2022.

  Copyright © 2022 WILLIAM BERNHARDT.

  Written by WILLIAM BERNHARDT.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Yuletide Splitsville

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  Also By WILLIAM BERNHARDT

  Yuletide Splitsville

  (This story takes place between Exposed and Shameless in the Splitsville legal thriller series)

  Kenzi held the refrigerator door open to block her guests’ view of what she was doing on the other side. They were busy. They wouldn’t notice. She hoped. Her daughter, Hailee, was showing her sister, Emma, and her assistant, Sharon, a beautiful red and green scarf. Hailee had crocheted it herself—and many others just like it. Did Emma and Sharon realize there was an identical scarf under the tree for each of them? If not, they would soon.

  Kenzi opened the bottle and quietly poured the contents into a pitcher. She didn’t know why she was being so secretive. Must be related to some deep-seated insecurity. They all knew she couldn’t cook. But Sharon had challenged her to make the eggnog from scratch, and she could never resist a challenge. She read an online article that suggested it was easy—and then proceeded to give lengthy, complicated instructions about whisking and heating that were completely over her head. Which one of these metal thingies was the whisk? Hailee would know, but she wasn’t going to blow her cover by asking. This ready-to-drink bottle she snagged at Capco even included the liquor. She didn’t have to do anything. But she stirred a little, for show. She even set out an empty egg carton and some cream.

  She put three glasses on a tray and carried them to the living room of her spacious downtown Seattle apartment. “Okay, time to get merry. Eggnog, Kenzi-style.”

  Her friends grabbed their glasses. “I feel merrier already,” Sharon said, laughing. Her dark face brightened and she brought the glass to her lips.

  “I normally abstain from alcoholic beverages,” Emma said. She was, as usual, decked out in black Goth attire, though she was sporting a tiny reindeer broach. Did the nose glow? “But whatever. It’s Christmas.”

  Kenzi was impressed. Just getting the normally reclusive Emma to a social gathering was no small feat. If Emma actually appeared to enjoy herself, well, the Christmas spirit really was contagious.

  Emma licked her lips. “What’s the liquor in it?”

  “What’s the—?” Kenzi froze. It would be too obvious if she went back into the kitchen to read the label. “It’s...rum.”

  “Huh. Tastes like some kind of brandy.”

  “Well...it’s a...brandy rum.”

  Sharon frowned. “That’s not a thing. You’re mixing grape and grain.”

  Kenzi raised her chin. “I’m not revealing my secret recipe. Does it taste good?”

  “It does, actually.”

  “Then what else matters?’

  “Hey, where’s mine?” Hailee peered up from her wheelchair, obviously unhappy. Though she could walk in short spurts, she suffered from ME—myalgic encephalomyelitis— which meant she tired easily and had to be careful not to exhaust herself.

  Kenzi shook her head. “You’re only fourteen, dear. I’ll have some eggnog ready for you in seven years.”

  “Didn’t you put some aside before you added the booze?” Hailee sat beside their small Christmas tree, which she had decorated with biodegradable, eco-friendly, no Red Dye #3, recyclable, non-plastic ornaments. Probably gluten-free, for all Kenzi knew. “Like that crappy sparkling grape juice you feed me on New Year’s?”

  “Sorry. Didn’t think of that.” Because it would be impossible. Because the bottle came with the booze already added. “I can get you some orange juice.”

  “Right. Because that’s practically the same thing.”

  Kenzi ignored her. “Thanks for coming over, everyone. I know you have other things to do on Christmas Eve. But I thought it would be nice if we all spent an hour or two together before we went our separate ways.” She raised a glass. “I want to propose a toast to—”

  “We can’t have a toast,” Hailee said, cutting her off.

  “We can if you don't interrupt your mother again.”

  “We can’t have a toast because I don’t have a glass.”

  “Hailee—”

  “Here,” Emma said, “take mine.” She glanced at Kenzi. “Just for show purposes.” Then glanced back at Hailee and winked.

  Kenzi frowned. “I feel I’m losing control of this situation.”

  Sharon laughed. “Girl, you were never in control of this situation.”

  “And I’ve forgotten my toast.”

  “Allow me.” Sharon raised her glass. “Here’s to Team Kenzi, the roughest toughest legal team in Seattle. Mistresses of Mayhem. Demons of Divorce Court.”

  “With the occasional murder trial tossed in for spice,” Emma added.

  “Right. Spice. It’s like...like the nutmeg on this eggnog.” Sharon paused. “There is nutmeg in this eggnog. Right, Kenzi?”

  “Umm...sure.” Probably? She had no idea.

  “Did the recipe call for nutmeg? Did you go to the store and purchase nutmeg?”

  “What is this, an inquisition? Just drink it already!”

  “You seem a little...edgy.”

  “I’m not edgy. I’m never edgy.”

  “Uh huh.” Sharon gave her a long look, then moved on. “Have you livestreamed your holiday greetings to the KenziKlan?”

  “Of course she has,” Hailee said. “I’d be a poor social media manager if I allowed her to slack off on a day when most people are sitting at home with nothing to do. She sent out a warm ecumenical interfaith greeting that encompassed all and offended none.”

  “Kenzi didn’t offend anyone? That doesn’t sound like the girl I’ve been working with all these years.”

  “She’s improving,” Hailee set down the glass which, judging from her milk mustache, she had definitely sampled. “Under my tutelage. Are you visiting family for Christmas, Sharon?”

  “No. We’ve fallen out of the habit. Since my siblings and I became adults. And by the way, you’re being culturally insensitive. I celebrate Kwanzaa.”

  Hailee look stricken. “Oh. Gosh. I’m so sorry. I—”

  Sharon waved a hand in the air. “I’m just messin’ with you. My granddaddy was a Southern Baptist preacher. Of course I celebrate Christmas. Kwanzaa doesn’t even start until January 26. I have Kwanzaa while you folks have Boxing Day, which is a lot better than a weird holiday no one understands.”

  “But not with your family?”

  “We do our own thing during the holidays. I was thinking about flying down to St. Peterburg. See some friends, soak in some warm weather. You guys going to see Daddy Dearest?” Sharon was referring to Kenzi and Emma’s father, Alejandro Rivera, the senior partner at the law firm where they both worked, known around town as “Splitsville” because they primarily handled divorce cases. Sharon knew all too well that Kenzi and her father had a rocky relationship. They were both strong-willed, determined control freaks, each eternally frustrated by their inability to control the other.

  “Are you kidding?” Kenzi said. “I have to deal with that man every workday. I’m drawing the line at Christmas. Is Gabe going?” Gabriel was her younger brother, currently managing partner at the firm.

  “I don’t think so. He’s hosting some bar association party. Always networking.” Emma pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t actually mind attending midnight mass.”

  “That’s because Daddy doesn’t constantly hassle you about your billables.”

  “Because he doesn’t care what I do. And I’m not backsliding into criminal law.”

  “It’s not backsliding. It’s expanding my portfolio. And helping women who seriously need—” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Something is burning.”

  Sharon’s forehead wrinkled. “Are you pretending to cook again?”

  Emma smiled. “Is defrosting considered cooking?”

  “I heard that!” Kenzi raced into the kitchen, clattered around for a few moments, then returned with a steaming tray. “Guess what we’re having for Christmas lunch?”

  Emma titled her head to one side. “Probably goose.”

  Sharon shook her head. “Turkey.”

  “Turkey is Thanksgiving. Christmas is goose.”

  “Goose? No one has goose anymore.”

  “It’s traditional at Christmastime.”

  “Where? In a Dickens novel?”

  “In all your better homes.”

  “You’re telling me your parents served goose at Christmastime?”

  “No. Red pork tamales. Chicken pozole verde.”

  Hailee pulled a face. “Ick. Meat.”

  Emma smiled. “I’m sure your mother made some tofu mess just for you.”

  “Sure. Like she had something for me to drink.”

  “That was just an—” Emma eyebrows knitted. “Hey! My glass is empty.”

  Hailee looked away. “Losing track of your drinking is a red flag. Maybe you should see someone.”

  “Maybe I should keep a closer eye on my niece.”

  Kenzi interrupted. “Come to the table already. Partake of my splendid vegetarian Christmas meatloaf.”

  Sharon gave her a long look. “Are you kidding me?”

  “What?”

  “Honey, no one actually likes meatloaf. Even the kind that has meat in it.”

  “It doesn’t need meat. It has nuts, rice, mushrooms, onions, herbs, cheese...”

  “At least you memorized the list of ingredients before you took it out of the box.”

  She wanted to protest, but she knew they’d never believe her. “Ok, I got it from Whole Foods. All I had to do was heat it up. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t good.”

  “To the contrary. I’m relieved that it came from Whole Foods.”

  “I feel you lack faith in my cooking skills.”

  “That’s because you don’t have any cooking skills.”

  “I could’ve made this. If I’d had time...”

  “You couldn’t make this any more than you could make the eggnog. And I—” Sharon glanced down. A puzzled expression crossed her face. “Pardon me. It’s my mother.” She pulled her phone to her ear and muttered in low tones.

  Now that Kenzi thought about it, she didn’t recall Sharon ever mentioning her mother, which was amazing given how long they’d worked together. She tried not to eavesdrop, but the temptation was overwhelming. Something about the sound of whispering always attracted more attention.

  Sharon’s voice rose. “On Christmas Eve?” Pause. “Okay. I’ll be right over.” Sharon disconnected and put the phone back in her pocket. “I’m sorry, Kenzi. Keep a piece of meatloaf warm for me. I need to go to my parents’ place.”

  “Is...everything okay?”

  “Not remotely.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “My mother’s prize possession has disappeared. A pearl necklace. Wedding gift from my father. By far the most valuable thing she has. I think it’s worth more than their house. And now it’s gone.”

  “That’s terrible. Your mother must be very upset.”

  “You could say that.” Sharon looked up abruptly. “She says without that necklace, she doesn’t have a marriage.”

  “But—that can’t—”

  “She says if it doesn’t turn up, she’s filing for divorce.”

  Kenzi’s jaw lowered. She could barely follow this, much less make sense of it. “But—that—”

  “Yeah. I know. And a merry Christmas to you too.”

  #

  Kenzi tried to learn as much as possible about this domestic crisis during the drive to Sharon’s parents’ place. She’d been reluctant to join this expedition, but Sharon begged her to come and see if she could figure out what happened to the necklace. Hailee insisted she needed to help her friend, and Emma agreed to stay with Hailee till she returned.

  “My dad was stationed overseas,” Sharon explained as she drove. “After he came back stateside, he had trouble finding work. Spent a year as the janitor at a high school, then got on as a sanitation worker. Did that for years till he finally swung a desk job with the highway department. My mom was cleaning houses, but with Dad’s newfound stability, she decided to go to school. Got an associates’ degree and qualified as a substance abuse treatment specialist. Her patients love her. I’ve heard people gush about how she saved their lives.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Kenzi scanned the neighborhood. This was Duvall, a modest-but-nice Seattle suburb. While this particular street wasn’t ritzy, it certainly wasn’t poor. “I don’t mean to be rude, but nothing about your parents’ backstory suggests the means to buy an expensive pearl necklace.”

  “He won it in a poker game, while he was still in the army. He and mom say the necklace made their marriage possible. Even though they didn’t sell it. Gave him credibility or something. They knew they’d never starve as long as they had the necklace. It’s like a symbol for the whole relationship.”

  “So if the necklace disappears...”

  “Exactly.” She made a hard right. “We have to find it, Kenzi. We have to.”

  “This is not exactly my usual line of work.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve become quite adept at solving puzzles.”

  Kenzi sighed. Yes, she’d been lucky once or twice, but she definitely wasn’t ready for her deerstalker cap. Emma was better read. Hailee was much smarter. She felt like was here under false pretenses. “What else do you know about the necklace?”

  “I’m no gemologist,” Sharon said, “but I’ve heard them talk about it often enough. It’s a beautiful single pink pearl, teardrop-shape, hanging like a pendant and surrounded with little diamonds. If I remember correctly, it’s an abalone pearl, over 200 carats.”

  Kenzi whistled. Okay, maybe she was qualified for this case. Because she loved to accessorize. And she knew any pearl that size would have a five-digit price tag. At least.

  Sharon continued. “It has natural pastel pink hues, but you can also see iridescent flashes of blue, green, silver. Maybe a little orange. Dad thought it originated in Australia, but apparently it passed through many hands before it came to him.” She pulled up in front of an attractive one-story house with carefully trimmed hedges. Kenzi guessed maybe 2000 square feet. “We’ve arrived.”

  Kenzi followed Sharon to the front door, but before they arrived, a woman emerged who looked for all the world like an older, thicker version of Sharon. She had a bounce in her step and a smile on her face which, given the circumstances, Kenzi found impressive.

  Sharon hugged her mother and introduced Kenzi. Kenzi offered a hand, but the woman brushed it aside and swallowed her up in a huge bearhug. “Call me Bertha,” she said. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

  “I’m sorry you’re...experiencing some unhappiness.”

  Bertha’s eyebrows pushed together. “This has been...very hard. But I’m glad you’re hear. It’s been a long while since we saw the kids on Christmas. And Sharon never brought a guest before.”

  “I’m glad to finally meet you. Sharon and I have been friends for years.”

  Bertha nodded. “And when you say you’re friends...” Her eyebrows danced.

  It took Kenzi a moment to follow. “Oh—do you mean—are we—oh no. We’re—I mean, I’m—”

  “Just friends, Mom,” Sharon said, giving her a look that was indescribable. “We work together.”

  “Oh, fine, fine.” Bertha fluttered her hands in the air. “But you know, it’s all okay with me. I just want my children to be happy.”

  Sharon’s eyes darted skyward. “I know, Mom. And I want you to be happy. So let’s find the necklace before you become one of Kenzi’s clients.”

  They stepped inside. Like the exterior, the family room was not ornate or cluttered with expensive tchotchkes, but it was clean and well kept. Spare but tasteful. She spotted a breakfront near the door displaying some fine china—and an empty space with a barren jewelry stand. Is that where the necklace used to be? They had two Christmas trees, both about four feet tall. His-and-her trees? One appeared to be decorated with spaceships. Closer inspection confirmed that it was a Star Trek-themed tree. His, she surmised. The other tree, with more traditional ornaments, must be Bertha’s.

  “Admiring my tree?” She looked up and saw a tall man with gray-flecked hair standing beside her. “I’m Chad. Sharon’s dad. You must be Kenzi.”

  “I am.” She glanced at the tree. “Star Trek fan?”

  “I’ve been collecting those Hallmark ornaments for years. Some of them are quite valuable now. The Borg cube is the prize of my collection.”

  She assumed he was referring to the gray square ornament. “It does stand out. And your wife keeps her own tree?”

  He chuckled, a deep-throated laugh. “You know what they say. Women like jewelry. Boys like spaceships.”

  Did anyone actually say that? “Sharon told me you celebrate Christmas and Kwanzaa.”

  “Why not have the best of both worlds? I wouldn’t cheat my kids out of Santa and presents. But why not also remember our African heritage? I have friends who feel Christmas is a white holiday and we should just celebrate our own past, but I respectfully disagree. We live in this world. We should be a part of it, at least as much as possible.”

  “Sharon told me Kwanzaa starts after Christmas. And goes on for...”

  “Seven days. Each day is dedicated to a different principle: unity, self-determination, responsibility, community, purpose, creativity, and faith.”

 

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