Deadly Traditions, page 26
“Rudolph? Those idiots in the police department couldn’t solve a crime if it bit them on the nose.”
“Precisely. Which is where we come in. We’re going to solve this and save Christmas.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Over glogg and cookies they strategized and came up with a plan of action. Elsa would spread the word amongst the women that there was a meeting before dinner. The men would grumble about eating cold cuts for their evening meal, but they’d have to thole it. Rudolph’s freedom trumped warm bellies every time. Nicola went home to grab a tin of shortbread and took it to Balthazar’s house knowing he’d be ensconced, full of his own importance, down at the jail guarding his prisoner.
Nicola often wondered why the delightful Ingrid married Balthazar. He must have a hidden side the rest of the world couldn’t see as they seemed happy, and their nine children adored both of them. Ingrid put the baby down in his cot and welcomed Nicola with open arms. She fell on the shortbread like a polar bear in a famine.
“What a treat. Your shortbread is the best in the North Pole.” She took a bite and mumbled through the crumbs. “wld lik coca.”
Nicola translated this as would you like a glass of cocoa and agreed it would be good. It was on the table in a flash of a seal’s tail.
By skilful use of gossip, she wheedled out the critical evidence in Rudolph’s arrest. He’d been found in the vicinity of the cottage where Brandysnap was found with blood on one of his horns. This did, indeed, sound irrefutable but Nicola Ariadne Karinna Claus was not giving up that easily. She came from a long lineage of Nordic women, all of whom could fight their own or anyone else’s corner and if she had anything to do with it, Rudolph would be out in time for New Zealand to usher in Christmas. Nothing would be cancelled, not on her watch.
Her next stop was the jail where Sven was lounging in a chair with his feet up on the desk, his jacket unbuttoned and fast asleep. He awoke and leapt up at her approach, scrabbling at his buttons in an impossible attempt to fasten his jacket. Her missed one and the effect, along with his rumpled hair and the drool on his cheek gave him the look of a badly made scarecrow.
“I want to see Rudolph.” She hastened towards the cell without giving him a chance to answer.
He hurried after her saying, “Sergeant Balthazar gave orders that no one was to visit under any circumstances.”
“The last I heard my husband was in charge around here, not your sergeant.”
“But…. But…. But…”
“Fool. Don’t you realise every prisoner is entitled to a visit from their lawyer.”
He dashed in front of her in an effort to block the door. “You’re not a lawyer.”
She waved an imperious hand. “How do you know? Have you ever asked to see my University Degree Certificates?” She barrelled past him and reached the cell where a dejected Rudolph lay, both his eyes and nose dull. He could barely lift his head from the floor.
Her voice resounded throughout the police station, bouncing off the walls and echoing back to them. “Get this animal some lichen, willow and birch immediately. Also, some carrots and water.”
Sven stood as if frozen to the spot.
“Now,” she bellowed.
Sven leapt into the air and bolted off at a speed that would make her husband’s reindeer jealous.
She turned back to Rudolph and spoke quietly to him, reassuring the animal that all would be well. His eyes perked up a bit but his nose, his most important feature, remained dull. She didn’t mind admitting she was worried.
The corporal returned with the food and with his sergeant trailing behind.
“Open this door,” she demanded.
Only his—”
“I’m his lawyer.” Her eyes dared him to challenge her.
In the face of such a fierce woman Balthazar took the path of least resistance and opened the cell door. He knew which side his parsnips were buttered and didn’t fancy telling his wife he’d got the sack.
Nicola trotted in, bent, and stroked the reindeer’s nose as he gazed at her with trusting eyes. Then she ran her hand across the ‘blood’ on his antler which was still suspiciously red. Bright red. Blood would be dark by now. Having raised seven children, she had seen her fair share of blood. She looked at her hand – pristine with not a single flake of red, bright dark, or otherwise. She bent down further and smelled the red area. Just as she suspected. Turning to the police officers she said, “How did you blithering idiots not work out that this is paint, not blood?” Her look could have blistered paint. “What do we pay you for?”
Balthazar wilted in the path of her anger. He tried a tremulous, “Why would we look for paint?”
“Because it’s your job and because it’s obvious.”
The sergeant stuck his chest out, his lip taking a petulant turn, “Why would anyone paint his antler?”
Nicola shook her head. She couldn’t believe this conversation was necessary. “To frame him.”
“What a load of rubbish.” Balthazar yanked her out of the cell and slammed it shut. Sven hurriedly locked it.
“You haven’t heard the last of this.” Nicola stomped out of the door and left the pair to it. She was determined they would be sacked and ex-communicated from North Pole Inc. There was dead weight and there was incompetence. The latter would not be tolerated.
The hubbub from the meeting room could be heard from all corners of the North Pole. Every woman was there apart from Nora Brandysnap, for obvious reasons. Silence fell as Nicola swept in. She strode to the front, grabbed a microphone, and updated them on the situation with Rudolph. Murmurs echoed throughout the room.
“How can we help?” shouted one elf.
“Free Rudolph,” shouted another and the refrain was picked up.
“Free Rudolph.”
“Free Rudolph.”
“Free Rudolph.”
“Free Rudolph.”
Nicola banged Santa’s gavel several times and the noise died down. “Much as I love your enthusiasm, there’s only time for action. I want you to get into groups, drink cocoa and chat. If anything at all comes up that could help, then let me or Elsa know.” She gazed at them all. “Come straight to us no chatting to the other groups.” She didn’t want anyone slipping out and warning their husband, brother or friend.
For the next hour it was like the women’s institute. Women quaffed cocoa and scoffed homemade biscuits and cakes as they chewed the fat in the way of gossip. It was reported that neither Odin, nor his wife Olivia, in whose house Brandysnap was discovered, could have done it. Several witnesses said they had not left the workshop all day. So that ruled out two of the most obvious suspects.
Kira, a beautiful elf, taller than the average, came up and asked if she could speak to Nicola.
“A few people have said they think Egbert is having an affair”
“Any scuttlebutt on who with?” Nicola’s heart sang at the news. Not that she wanted any hanky panky in their midst, but it was a minor breakthrough. Or maybe even a major breakthrough. Although, on second thoughts, affairs didn’t always lead to murder. Her elation sank faster than a deflated Christmas balloon.
“Word in the gata is…” Kira hesitated, unsure if she should be repeating it.
Nicola, sensing her distress said, her voice kind, “Christmas is at stake, so, this once, tell me what you know.
“With Petter’s wife, Nora.”
Multi-coloured fireworks lit up Nicola Claus’s brain. “Good God in heaven, this changes everything.”
Tears rolled down Kira’s cheeks. “I didn’t want to tittle tattle. What if it’s wrong?”
“You did the right thing, my girl. Sit down, relax and chat with your friends.” She handed her a beautifully embroidered handkerchief. “Here use this. You can keep it.”
The young elf wandered off, her face looking slightly less weepy.
Nicola was just about to dismiss the girls when her husband dragged a couple of young boys in. They wriggled and cried as he clutched at their collars. The women stared as the boys’ mothers leapt to their feet and stormed towards them.
“What have you been up to now?”
“Wait until I get you back home.”
The boys’ wails grew louder.
“Put them down dear,” said Nicola in a gentle voice that held an inner core of steel.
Santa complied and the boys dropped to their feet. They looked like they would flee but their mothers prevented it.
“What’s with all the commotion?” asked Nicola.
Nick pointed to something in the youngest boy’s hand – a reindeer-handled knife. Anyone under the age of eighteen was forbidden to have a knife in the North Pole. At that age they were presented with their own and kept it for life. This was someone’s knife – but whose?
“Where did you get this?” Nicola demanded, her voice firm. Not only was this a breach of elf and safety, but she had also more than a passing suspicion this knife was vital evidence. She also had a strong suspicion to whom the knife might belong.
The boys looked this way and that; as the silence lengthened one eventually blurted out, inside the magical pine tree.
Legend had it the tree was a place where objects and people disappeared and were never seen again. What these kids were doing there Nicola could only guess at. Most children gave it a wide berth.
“Hand it over.” She held out her hand and the lad placed it carefully on her open palm. Holding it up to her eyes she inspected it, then pulled a magnifying glass from her pocket. As a seamstress she was never without one; you never knew when it might come in handy. Although, she never expected it to be used in a murder investigation. She turned to Nick and a smile lit her face as she took in his careworn face. She touched his cheek and said, “Could you get everyone into the workshop. Please?”
Nick smiled back, his worry lines fading, and disappeared from the room. A few minutes later a shrill siren sounded.
The workroom was packed, with bodies everywhere – no one was permitted to ignore that particular siren. Nicola asked a couple of elves to bring Egbert and Nora to the front and they soon stood before her.
“Your knives please.”
Egbert and his paramour’s eyes looked everywhere but at her. Nora took a few steps to the side but was stopped by a wall of bodies.
“Knives. Now.” Nicola’s voice invited no argument.
“Egbert opened the sheath in his belt and handed his knife over. Nora stood stock still staring at the floor. Nicola took a step forward and pulled the knife sheath open. Empty.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
Nora looked up and looked her straight in the eye. “It was all his idea.” She pointed at Egbert. “He wanted Petter’s job, so he seduced me. He used my knife to kill my husband.”
“I did no such thing. You killed him yourself for the life insurance money.”
Balthazar and Sven materialised, slapped handcuffs on the pair of them and marched them off to jail to continue the discussion in custody.
With a snap of the reins and a jolly, “Take it away, Rudolph,” the sleigh rose into the starry night and Rudolph pointed his once more red nose in the direction of New Zealand. All was well with the world. “Ho, Ho, Ho,” echoed in the stillness of the night and the sleigh disappeared from sight. Just in the nick of time, Mrs Claus saved Christmas.
About Wendy H. Jones
Wendy H. Jones is the award-winning, best-selling author of the Detective Inspector Shona McKenzie Mysteries, Cass Claymore Investigates Mysteries, Fergus and Flora Mysteries, Bertie the Buffalo Picture Books and the Writing Matters series for writers. Her three loves are writing, reading and travel and she can frequently be found combing all three.
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http://www.wendyhjones.com
A Christmas Dinner to Die For
SHEENA MACLEOD
Christmas is coming, and retired teacher Holly Barnes’ to-do list is growing fatter than the poultry farmer’s geese. But she couldn’t be more excited, it’s her favourite time of year. As well as helping to organise the Church Christmas Carol Concert, Holly is hosting a Christmas Day dinner using her mother’s recipes, which are to die for.
When one of her guests is murdered, the sleepy Scottish village of Pine Meadows is thrown into chaos. With only three days to go before her friends arrive and another one of them may be murdered, Holly is compelled to turn sleuth and investigate. She discovers mysterious goings on in the night. Are foxes after the poultry, or is something more sinister going on?
Can Holly discover the identity of the killer in time, or is her festive meal destined to become a Christmas dinner to die for?
Chapter 1
Once the last elf had left the stage in the church hall, Holly Barnes let out a deep sigh of relief and headed for the kitchen. A warming cup of coffee was in order. Why couldn’t the church committee leave things as they were? Or rather, why couldn’t Marjorie Thomas? The choir mistress, and local “know it all”, had meddled and demanded her own way since taking over the running of the Christmas Carol Concert this year.
As a retired primary school teacher, Holly had suggested that villagers who didn’t meet the required singing standard didn’t have to be excluded. They could act as hummingbirds, standing at the side of the choir proper and humming along to the tunes. It’s how she’d done it with her pupils, so no one felt left out. As far as Holly was concerned, there was no need for the hummingbirds to dress up as elves. But Marjorie Thomas had put her own stamp on Holly’s idea - as per usual.
The carol concert was only three days away, on Christmas Eve, and with so much still to buy and prepare for Christmas dinner, Holly had no time for such nonsense. She’d never been one to suffer fools and at fifty-eight would be unlikely to change her ways. Adults dressed up as elves, indeed. Next year, Marjorie Thomas would likely have the hummingbirds dressed as Christmas trees and dancing around the stage to the latest Christmas hits. Holly laughed out loud at the thought.
After filling her cup, she pulled on her red puffer coat and a scarf and took her coffee outside. She leant back against the window ledge and looked out across Pine Meadows to the village green where the vendors had set up for the Christmas market. The annual farmers’ market would be starting soon, at one o’clock, and would run on into the early evening when there would be Christmas carols around flaming braziers, along with roasted chestnuts and warming drinks. Despite the chill in the air, a warm tingle flowed through Holly. Christmas was her favourite time of year.
Bringing her thoughts back to the present, she checked through the list in her head of things she had to buy at the market. Bert Bow’s fruit and vegetable stall for parsnips and brussels sprouts. Oh, and cranberries. She couldn’t forget them. Her mother’s special cranberry sauce recipe was to die for. She already had the port bought in for it. Then, on to Stan Butcher’s poultry stall for eggs and a turkey. Stan would save her a good-sized turkey, after all, he was coming to her for Christmas dinner along with his wife, Ivy. No doubt that would put a spoke in Marjorie Thomas’s bubble, she always liked to play host. Well, this year it was Holly’s turn, and she was set on making sure she gave her guests a meal to remember. She would cook them a dinner to die for.
Stan Butcher’s van passed the church hall heading towards the market. Holly pushed away from the wall with her foot and followed the vehicle’s trajectory as it made its way towards the village green. Strange, she thought. It wasn’t like Stan to be running late. He should have been all set up by now. Most likely he’d been getting extra supplies to meet the Christmas demand. Ivy would have had them ready for him to pick up from their poultry farm. His brother, Simon, had left the rehearsal early to help him. Holly stretched forward to see if he was with Stan, but there was only a lone driver. She scrunched her eyes to better see who it was but couldn’t make out the figure who was dressed in a white butcher’s coat, blue striped apron and a beanie hat. It didn’t really look like Stan or his brother, but from this distance it was hard to tell. Oh, well, likely she would catch up with Simon at the market.
Holly turned and made her way back into the kitchen. How things had changed since last Christmas. She felt a blush rise on her cheeks. Her friendship with Simon seemed to be blossoming into quite the romance. She would never have anticipated it. They’d both been widowed years before. But there was something very nice about spending Christmas with someone special in your life.
She raked through her bag for her shopping list. She didn’t want to forget anything.
‘So, this is where you are hiding,’ her friend Lily Forrest said as she flapped in, already dressed in a long emerald-green coat and matching scarf. She held out a glittery reindeer antler headband that matched the one she wore on her own head. ‘Here. Pop this on. It’s time we were heading.’
Holly pulled a face at the thought but put the antlers on and held out her shopping list. ‘I’m ready.’
As they made their way together to the village green, the chill in the air nipped at Holly’s ears, and she pulled her scarf tighter around her. The market had already started to get busy and people bustled about, bundled up ready for the frosty evening to come and hurrying to get the best of the Christmas fare on display. The tinny sound of Let It Snow echoed from speakers set on a stall selling festive garlands, wreaths and mistletoe. A queue had formed outside Santa’s grotto. Lily and Holly waved to Lily’s husband, PC John Forrest, who stood near the front of the queue with their twin daughters. Excitement gleamed in the eyes of the six-year-olds as they waved back with matching mittens. Holly smiled at the memory of waiting to see Santa with her son. He lived on the other side of the country now and had a son of his own. They were coming to stay with her in the new year, and she looked forward to that. For the moment though, she needed to focus on getting the best buys at the market.
