Rose and Helena Save Christmas: a novella by Jana DeLeon, Denise Grover Swank Page B

Savoy is gunning for. The gossip says that no one likes Savoy.”
    “Shocking.”
    Taylor nodded. “If I offer the other detective a way to cut Savoy off at the knees and get the promotion, I think Detective Broussard will jump at it. I got his cell number from a mutual friend. If tonight goes down like we hope, I’ll call him to come make the arrest before Savoy gets wind of anything.”  
    “That’s smart and sneaky. I like it.”
    Taylor rolled the jacket up and tucked it under her arm as she turned to face the mirror. “How do I look?”
    Both she and Helena scrutinized her appearance. For a complete tomboy, Taylor thought she’d done well. The dress was black and made of some stretchy material that made movement easy. It came to her knees, leaving her legs free for running. And God forbid, if it came to that, she could easily step out of her medium-heeled pumps and sprint barefoot. Her usual ponytail was gone, replace by an upswept hairdo with shiny black combs holding it all in place.  
    “You look good,” Helena said.
    “You sound surprised.”
    “Well…”
    “Never mind.” Taylor didn’t know what had possessed her to ask the ghost about her outfit of choice, especially given what Helena had selected for their mission.
    All one had to do was Google “Lady Gaga Christmas outfit” and up popped pictures of Helena’s outfit of choice. The jumpsuit was tight, red, and entirely too short, which was fine for the young and thin Gaga, but not so much for an old ghost. If one pictured Mrs. Claus in that outfit, it was a closer fit. Her hair was bright and shiny Christmas green, which was disturbing enough, but the headpiece was the real kicker. Sprigs of fir tree branches shot out in every direction, balls dangling from the ends. A gold ornament perched on top completed the catastrophe.
    The only good part was she’d left off the absolutely absurd and impossible-to-walk-in shoes that Gaga had worn and opted instead for black lace-up army boots. Taylor hoped Neely Kate got a good eyeful of Helena and learned not to encourage her. Helena was the last person, dead or alive, who needed encouragement.
      “Let’s do this,” Taylor said and grabbed her purse and car keys.
    She’d planned their arrival at the theater to be an hour before the play started, so only a handful of people roamed the amphitheater when they walked in. She scanned the lobby, trying to determine the best vantage point, and finally decided on a bench toward the front of the lobby and centered in between two statues. From there, she’d have a clear view of people coming in, but if she edged over on the bench toward one of the plants on the side, the foliage would provide her with a little coverage.  
    While she waited, she took out her phone and set up a text message to Detective Broussard in case time was of the essence when she needed to send it.
    My name is Taylor Beaumont and I’m a private investigator. I have evidence that Madame Serafine was murdered by diamond smugglers using her shop to move merchandise. I know who the killer is and have proof. Get to the Wicked production before Detective Savoy shows up and takes the glory and the promotion.
    She read the text and smiled. That should get his attention. Now, she just prayed she had a reason to send it.  
    “This is boring,” Helena said.
    Taylor nodded, even though she didn’t really agree. Normally, it would be boring to sit on a bench staring at doors, but she was so pumped up thinking over all the possible endings for the night’s adventure that she was certain her pulse rate was through the roof.  
    Then Helena started bitching and the minutes began to drag. Taylor almost cheered when the first patrons started to arrive thirty minutes later. “Go near the doors,” she said to Helena. “If the crowd gets too large, I might not be able to see everyone entering. If you see Arden James, then yell.”
    “Got it!” Helena jumped up from the bench and took off across