Deadly Traditions, page 35
I was having flashbacks of a very public confrontation between the families of one of my Love and Luxe couples and did not want to go down that road again. I rubbed my forehead. “Okay, then who drugged Ralph? Was it you, Jackie? You weren’t at the church when we arrived. Or was it Carlo, I mean, Charles? Barbie said your bagpiping was dreadful all week, but the shepherds at the church sounded great. You clearly weren’t there.” I turned to Barbie and Bob. “Or maybe it was one of you. Barbie, you went back into the house to change your purse—”
“Handbag.”
“Fine. Your handbag. And you made a big deal telling us all about your medical background. Or what about Bob? You worked at the pharma consortium, too.”
“I was just a shareholder. I don’t have a medical background!” Bob answered.
“And he was with us the whole time,” Char added.
“Ah, right. So?” I prompted, looking at the rest of them.
“Much as I hate to admit it,” Jackie spoke up through her tears. “I was with Carlo. Charles. Whoever he is. He was promising next Christmas we’d be… in Mallorca!” Jackie dissolved into quiet sobbing.
“Well, it wasn’t me!” Barbie cried.
Charles looked intently at Ralph.
“Oh, all right!” Ralph said at last. “I did it. I drugged myself.”
As if on cue, a clock struck the half hour. Its somber notes punctuated the shock registered on every face.
I waited for the chimes to finish. “So, you cleaned up the mortar and pestle when you reheated my tea,” I said to Ralph. “Putting Jackie’s stocking on your head was… an interesting touch.”
He inclined his head to me. “Charles was to gauge Jackie’s reaction while I was indisposed.”
Jackie looked up from her crying and scowled at him.
“And the notes?” I continued. “I assumed it might’ve been Barbie because everyone’s names were spelled with an i at the end, including my stocking, which Jackie said was due to Barbie’s embroidery. But now I’m not so sure it was Barbie.”
“Of course it wasn’t me!” Barbie erupted. “I got a terrible note, too!”
“You could’ve just been misdirecting everyone, though,” Char answered gently.
“Me, again.” Ralph raised his voice above Barbie’s splutterings. “With Charles’ help, of course.”
Char turned to him. “But why, Uncle Ralph?”
“To scare the guilty person into an admission,” I told her.
“Why not just ask?” Char said.
“Where’s the sport in that?” Ralph smiled at her. “I’m an eccentric old man with an enormous fortune. This really is the most fun I’ve had in years.”
“But Carlo knew!” Jackie said in an almost whisper, turning to Charles. “You knew months ago I had agreed to help Bob. Why didn’t you say something then?”
Charles grinned sheepishly. “Maybe I’m an eccentric young man and was having too much fun myself.”
I wrinkled my nose at him in disgust.
“I wondered,” Ralph said quietly, narrowing his eyes at Charles.
A little mew was the only reply. I glanced down and noticed D’Artagnan had crept back in and was gazing up at Jackie.
“D’Artagnan'll need feeding, and then I’ll go pack my things.” Jackie sniffed quietly.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Barbie shouted. “The police will be dealing with you. I knew you were stealing from me, but I could never prove it. Until now, that is.”
“Oh, Barbie, that’s honestly not necessary,” Char said. “Uncle Bob said he kept the money for you, and, well, hasn’t Jackie been through enough?”
“It definitely sounds like it,” I chimed in. “And, Jackie, maybe you should take D’Artagnan with you.”
Jackie turned a hopeful face to Ralph.
“Yes, take the cat. What do I care? Happy Christmas.” He threw up his hands. “Well, I’m not a monster.”
Methought the man didst protest too much, but I wasn’t about to say so. Jackie wouldn't be the only one packing her bags this morning. Now that the truth was out, I had no interest in spending one more minute at La Casetta. Hopefully, Char felt the same way.
I motioned to her with my head to follow me upstairs. As we ascended the steps, I whispered, “Sorry about all this.”
“You’re sorry? Oh, Hols, I’m so mortified. What a terrible Christmas!”
We went to Char’s room and sat on the bed.
“Strange as this may sound, it was actually kind of fun,” I told her.
She grinned and shook her head at me. “Trixie and Nancy, back in action?”
“Always!” I laughed. “Listen, our holiday is not over. The Four Seasons in Florence owes me one. What do you think? Christmas at a luxury spa? Sounds pretty magical to me!”
Char threw her arms around my neck. My heart brimmed over with gooey Christmas joy for a moment, then she pulled away. “But if you really wanted to make Christmas magical…”
“Yeeeesss?” I responded, feigning suspicion.
“Please say that when everything’s sorted in L.A., you’ll come back and live in Little Witherburne. You know, a fresh start?”
She had such a shimmer of hope in her eyes, how could I refuse? But I shook my head.
Her face started to fall.
“Char,” I began, doing my best to appear stern at first. “Whether it’s sleep deprivation or the high from mystery solving…” I heaved a deep sigh for effect, giving her my most magnanimous expression, complete with a royal circling of my hand. “I’m inclined to grant you a Christmas miracle.”
Char grabbed my hand as we shared a little squeal of excitement.
And as we snuck out the front door to the waiting taxi, I felt lighter than I had in many months. I mean, bagpiping shepherds and European market stalls were nice and everything, but Christmas at the spa with my best friend?
That was a tradition I could get behind!
About Melicity Pope
Melicity Pope is the cozy pen name for Melissa Williams-Pope and the embodiment of one of her many heart-dreams. When not writing and president-ing the UK/EU chapter of Sisters in Crime, she cycles through her variety of passions such as acting, singing and traveling the world fostering adorable furry friends, while using her positive psychology and ministry background to coach other women to experience their own dream-come-true lives and businesses. She’s a whimsical American, married to a down-to-earth Kiwi, currently based in a small Victorian castle-mansion in Scotland.
Come visit her at: www.melicitypope.com
Mistletoe and Murder
DIANNE ASCROFT
Marge Kirkwood gets more than she bargained for under the mistletoe at the Fenwater Association Christmas party: a bothersome blast from the past, and a murder to investigate. A nostalgic festive mystery set in small-town Canada in 1983.
Chapter 1
“What the devil?” Marge Kirkwood almost gagged on the scent of Aqua Velva aftershave as strong arms trapped her in a vicelike bear hug.
Sometimes she wished she didn’t have such a keen sense of smell. She thrust her arms outward, trying to free herself from the unexpected contact as she looked up to identify her assailant. Wet lips clamped onto hers before she could pull away.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart!”
Marge barely resisted the urge to wipe her lips. “Just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean you can grab me like that, Mike. What do you think you’re doing?”
Mike Wilson pointed toward the ceiling and Marge groaned inwardly as she looked up. Another blasted sprig of mistletoe. She thought she knew where all of them were. She had checked the bar and lounge carefully when she arrived and had been ducking quickly through doorways to avoid unwanted gropes. But she hadn’t spotted this one hanging from the chandelier in the middle of the main hotel foyer.
“What are you doing here?” Marge spat out.
Mike gave her the confident smirk that she remembered too well. “Don’t look so surprised. Or pretend you’re not glad to see me. I’m still a member of the Fenwater Association.”
Marge raised her eyebrows. “But you closed your dad’s hardware shop.”
“Just ended the lease on the building. I didn’t sell my stock. I’m gonna rent a place on St Andrew’s Street. I couldn’t get a better location than the main street. You should partner with me. We could work closely together.” Mike gave her a suggestive wink.
Marge couldn’t help thinking of the Aqua Velva slogan ‘there’s something about an Aqua Velva man’. Well, there was nothing appealing about this one.
“Not a chance, mister.” Marge managed to choke out the words, keeping her tone level.
She knew she should at least be polite since this was the local business association’s annual Christmas party, but Mike Wilson was the one person she had been happiest to leave behind after high school. All through their school years he never got the hint that she wasn’t interested in him even when she started dating Ted Kirkwood in their last year of school.
“We haven’t had a chance to catch up since you moved back to Fenwater. Let’s get together for a drink,” Mike said.
Marge fought to keep her expression neutral as she scanned the foyer for an excuse to escape. Ignoring Mike’s invitation, she exclaimed, “Oh, there’s Lois. I was looking for her.”
Before Mike could reply, Marge made a beeline for her friend Lois Stone. After a quick hello to Lois’s escort, Bruce Murray, Marge drew Lois aside. “Am I glad to see you!”
Lois raised her eyebrows. “What’s got you so rattled? You’re usually in your element at a party.”
“Mike Wilson’s driving me nuts. He’s had a crush on me since high school and won’t stop pestering me tonight.”
“Is that the guy you were kissing under the mistletoe just now?”
“I wasn’t kissing him! He grabbed me. I didn’t even see that blasted bit of mistletoe there.”
Lois grinned mischievously. “Isn’t it the season for memorable moments under the mistletoe?”
“For you and Bruce, yeah. But not for me and Mike, no way.”
Lois grinned. “You might have other options. Mike’s not your only admirer tonight.”
Oh, maybe this evening will get better, Marge thought. She pulled her shoulders back and stuck out her ample bust. Flipping her dyed-blonde hair out of her eyes, she batted her eyelashes coquettishly. “What can I say? I’m a flame that draws those moths.” She narrowed her eyes at Lois. “So, who’s interested?”
Lois kept her expression neutral. “Your ex.”
“What!”
A laugh burst from Lois. “Yeah, when you two were in that clinch under the mistletoe, across the room I saw Ted glaring at Mike.”
Marge scrunched up her face. “Yeah, Ted can’t stand Mike ’cause he never got the message to scram once Ted and I started dating. But we’ve been split up for years. He shouldn’t care now.”
“I know Ted was a jerk when you were married and you were glad to split up with him, but he certainly looked jealous just now.”
Marge really didn’t want to think about her ex-husband possibly still having feelings for her. She shuddered. “Let’s not even go there. Looks like I better tag along with you and Bruce tonight for protection.” She grinned at Bruce. “As long as I’m not cramping your style.”
Bruce gave Marge one of his easy smiles. “Not at all. I’ll have Lois all to myself after the party.”
Lois nudged her. “Actually, you’ll be an asset. You know everyone so you can introduce me.”
Bruce squeezed Lois’s hand where it rested on his arm. “Absolutely.”
Marge shifted position to stand beside Lois. From their vantage point near the entrance, Marge surveyed the festively decorated foyer. Hawick Hotel certainly had gone to a lot of effort. Strings of silver and green tinsel were entwined and draped over the pictures hanging on the walls. The shiny decorations complemented the deep green floral-patterned wallpaper. Holly garlands bedecked with red ribbons hung from the mahogany reception desk and even the clock behind the desk was ringed with a festive wreath. A huge Christmas tree stood in the corner beside the desk. The other end of the desk was transformed into a mini-bar with glasses of rum and eggnog, and hot whiskeys set out in neat rows.
Local businesspeople milled around the foyer, mingling and chatting. Marge spotted antique stall owner Dave Stewart in his red tartan kilt serving drinks at the mini-bar while chatting with Dean Walker, a fellow market trader.
As Marge noted how Dave’s brightly patterned garment added to the festive mood, the market trader glanced across the room and met her gaze. She raised her hand in greeting and Dave smiled. He turned to speak to Dean then left the other man at the mini-bar and headed toward Marge and her companions.
As he approached, Marge said, “This is a change from helping at civic events. You’re fixing something stronger than tea and coffee tonight. We’ll have to find out what kind of bartender you are.”
Dave laughed. “Oh, I’m not mixing the drinks, just serving. The hotel staff are whipping up the rum and eggnogs, and hot whiskies. And both of them are good.”
Marge chuckled. “And how would you know that?”
Dave turned an innocent gaze on her. “Someone has to be responsible for quality control.”
Marge raised one eyebrow, skeptically. “Not that you would volunteer, of course.”
Her expression quickly deteriorated into a frown as Mike appeared and stepped between Marge and Dave. Marge edged closer to Lois on her other side. Why couldn’t this guy go and bother someone else tonight?
“Howdy, everyone!” Mike said jovially. He narrowed his eyes at Dave and raised his nearly empty glass. “Hey, shouldn’t you be at the bar? I’m almost ready for another.”
“Never fear. Several Fenwater Association committee members are manning the mini-bar. You won’t go without.”
Mike grinned broadly and put his arm around Marge’s shoulders. “That’s what I like to hear. Great party, isn’t it? And even better since I ran into my old buddy Marge.”
Marge squirmed under Mike’s embrace, trying to subtly shake him free, but his grip was firm.
“Making new friends, I see,” a woman said sarcastically behind them.
Marge craned her neck to look over her shoulder. A tall, broad-shouldered woman standing behind her glared at Mike. Marge had heard Helen Young and Mike had split up recently. From the looks of it, they weren’t on good terms.
Mike squeezed Marge’s shoulder. “Nah, me and Marge go way back.”
“We knew each other in high school. But not that well,” Marge ground out.
Marge took a deep breath and tried to appear unconcerned as Helen turned her hostile gaze on her. She did not want to get in the middle of anyone’s romantic troubles, nor did she want Helen to get the wrong idea about her and Mike. Why couldn’t Mike just clear off?
“Well, I hope you enjoy rekindling your friendship,” Helen snapped.
The woman turned and stomped away, pushing roughly through the crowd toward the mini-bar. Marge sighed, watching Helen’s retreating figure. She didn’t know the woman well, but she didn’t want to make an enemy needlessly.
Marge’s gaze was drawn away from Helen by a smaller woman in a cream knit top and black velvet skirt who stopped where Helen had just stood, a glass of eggnog cupped in both hands. The woman caught Marge’s gaze and rolled her eyes, shaking her head slowly.
Marge raised her eyebrows in response and huffed out a breath to conceal her annoyance. Why did Sue Howard have to overhear the conversation? She wasn’t afraid to give people something to talk about, but only if there was a grain of truth to it.
“Hi, Sue! Are you enjoying the party?”
“Yeah, it’s even better than last year.”
Marge pointed to the other woman’s top. “Nice! Definitely your colour.”
Smiling, Sue indicated Marge’s red cocktail-length chiffon dress. “Thanks. Gorgeous dress.”
Marge nodded her thanks then peered more closely at Sue’s top. She motioned to a spot just above the waist. “You spill something?”
Sue glanced down and her face coloured. She vigorously brushed at the smudge of beige powder clinging to her top. “I’m such a klutz! I must have dropped foundation powder on it. I never even noticed it before I left the house.”
Marge squinted at the top. “You got it. I can’t see it now.”
“Good, but I’d better go and sponge it. See you later!”
“Do you want me to hold your glass ’till you come back?”
Without answering, Sue gave a quick wave and disappeared.
Marge turned back to the group and tapped Lois’s arm. “I’ll have to introduce you to Sue later. Her fruit and vegetable stand in the market always has the freshest produce.”
On her opposite side, Mike peered over his shoulder at the people surrounding the mini-bar. “Anyone see where Helen went? I don’t want to run into her at the bar.”
Dave stretched to look at the mini-bar. “She’s not there.”
Mike turned back to the group. “Good. Time for a refill. Anyone want anything?”
When no one spoke, Mike said, “Drinks for one then. Back in a minute.”
As soon as Mike left, Marge whispered to Lois, “I hope not. I’ve had enough of him tonight. But I won’t let him ruin my evening.” She spoke to the group. “Okay, where’s the food? I’m starving.”
“They’re setting out the buffet at seven o’clock. But there’s potato chips and cookies,” Dave said.
“Okay, I could devour some peanut cookies.”
“Sorry, the choice is gingerbread, sugar cookies and shortbread,” Dave replied.
“That’ll do. Where are they?”
Dave motioned toward the lounge doorway. “Inside on the bar.”
Marge scrunched up her eyebrows. “Funny, but I could have sworn I smelled cookies out here. Well, why don’t Lois and I grab some nibbles for everyone?”
After a murmur of agreement from the group, Marge slipped her hand under Lois’s elbow and nudged her toward the lounge, skirting the mistletoe hanging from the chandelier in the centre of the room. She wasn’t taking any chances this time. From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement as someone barrelled across the room. She turned her head to see who was in such a rush and immediately wished she hadn’t. Of course, Mike was trying to catch up with her. It figured.
