by Ruby Loren
Her first real job landed around lunchtime.
She received a call from a village local who suspected that someone had stolen her pearl necklace. Holly had popped around, and after a very brief investigation, she’d realised that the woman’s Corgi had dragged the pearls out of the box and under the sofa. Fortunately, the corgi was so ancient it didn’t have many teeth left, so the precious necklace was largely un-chewed. Holly hadn’t had the heart to charge the woman anything like the minimum amount she and Rob had agreed was fair reimbursement for taking on a case, so she’d taken a nominal fee and left to get back to her little office, just in time for some late afternoon interviews.
She had three candidates lined up, but after looking at the CVs they’d sent through, she wasn’t any closer to picking her secretary. With the low wage and hours available, Holly knew she could hardly afford to pick and choose.
The first candidate was still in school, which made her an impossible option, as Holly needed someone to work part-time in the day. The second was a little old lady, who wanted some easy work to make a little extra during her ‘retirement’. Holly felt a bit sorry for her, and would have been tempted, as the woman had years of secretarial experience. The only problem was, she was incredibly hard of hearing and Holly knew she couldn’t answer the phone. That just left her with the last option… and it wasn’t a pleasant one.
Becky Stoney wasn’t a secretarial dream come true. She had skin the colour of light coffee, thick, black hair she swept back into a bun, and a scowl that could make milk curdle at fifty-paces. At the start of the interview, Holly had immediately thought that Becky didn’t like her. It was only later on that she’d discovered it wasn’t anything personal - Becky didn’t like anyone. But unfortunately, she wasn’t still in school and she could hear perfectly well, which automatically made her the obvious choice for the job.
“Could you start on Monday?” Holly asked, half-hoping that Becky would be awkward about working, while her sensible side sternly reminded her that she needed an assistant - and with her budget, this was apparently as good as it got.
“Okay,” Becky said and promptly left the office without a ‘thanks’ or a ‘goodbye’.
I suppose it might show that she’s efficient, Holly mused, but couldn’t help wondering if she’d live to regret employing this cactus of a woman.
The next day and the weekend passed in a blur of little cases (several mislaid items and - you guessed it - lost cats) and piano performances. Holly was using all of her time when she wasn’t solving cases to look through the endless sheets of Christmas piano music she had in her possession, poised to deal with just about any request that her many audiences might throw at her.
She was so engrossed in this practice, she’d forgotten all about Becky starting work on Monday. That was… until the woman herself stomped into the room, threw her ugly, black leather bag down in the middle of the floor, and plonked herself behind the other desk next to Holly.
“Oh! Good morning?” Holly ventured, and then bit her tongue when Becky just stared at her vacantly. Right on cue, the phone began to ring.
Her new secretary immediately seized it. “What do you want?” she demanded.
Holly winced. She could just about hear the caller on the other end of the line.
“Hello, er… is that Holly Winter I’m speaking to?”
Becky stared at the handset for a second before answering. “No,” she replied and put the phone down.
Holly wondered if it was too late to call back the little old lady who was deaf as a post…
“I think we should discuss a phone answering protocol. Perhaps you could start by saying ‘Hello, Frost and Winter Detective Agency. How may I help you?” she suggested.
Becky’s eyes glazed over.
The phone began to ring again. This time, Holly made a grab for it. Becky reached at the same time. They were still playing tug-of-war with the handset when their first ever walk-in client entered the office.
“Good morning! I’m Holly Winter, head private detective at Frost and Winter Detective Agency,” Holly felt compelled to add, in an attempt to hammer home her seniority to Becky.
Becky wasn’t even looking her way. She was on the phone again, and from what Holly could overhear, things were heading in a similar direction to that of the last call. She slapped a smile on her face and properly focused on the visitor.
He was in his late twenties and possessed an unusual head of very pale blonde hair. The hair seemed a little out of place with his dark eyebrows, but Holly could tell he was all-natural, and his eyes were similarly dark. He was dressed in a tailored, navy-blue winter jacket, thrown on over suit-trousers and a shirt. All in all, he looked like he might have just stepped off the page of a magazine, rather than off the street in Little Wemley.
Holly tried to un-notice everything she’d just seen, but it was difficult to ignore the man’s perfect appearance. Even Becky fluffed up her bun and did her best to sound as efficient at getting rid of people on the phone as she could.
“A private detective? I had no idea those things really existed outside of storybooks. What cases have you worked on?” the stranger asked. Holly felt her heart sink a little. Clearly, he wasn’t here with a mystery for her.
“Oh, this and that,” she said airily. “I recently recovered the Enviable Emerald when it was briefly stolen from the Uppington-Stanley family,” she said.
The stranger’s forehead developed a crease, while he studied her intensely. Holly hoped her cheeks weren’t as pink as she suspected they were.
“Now I know where I’ve seen you before! You were in the papers during that Horn Hill disaster.”
Holly decided not to correct him on his use of the word ‘disaster’. A disaster usually signified an event that was unavoidable, and that no one could have predicted. The murders at Horn Hill House had been planned and executed with full knowledge and intention.
“Yes, I was. How may I help you today?” she asked, finding her smile again and trying to move the conversation away from the newspaper clipping and that photo.
Her visitor raised a hand to his head, showing his forgetfulness. “Wow, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m George Strauss, chairman of the Little Wemley Archaeological Society.”
Holly raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea that there was a society of amateur archaeologists so close to Little Wemley.”
Her visitor nodded, his enthusiasm overcoming any reservations Holly may have had. “Indeed. We generally meet to discuss any finds. We also talk about past events of historical interest and argue about what may, or may not, have occurred. The older the event and the evidence, the harder it is to be sure what really happened during that time - which is why it makes for such a compelling debate.” He smiled and Holly found herself hopelessly smiling back at him.
“So, ah, Mr Strauss…”
“George,” he corrected.
“What brings you to the agency?” she finally got round to asking.
George ruffled his pleasantly side-parted hair, clearly embarrassed to have been sidetracked. “Yes, of course! I’m looking for a pianist for the annual Christmas dinner of the Archaeological Society, and you were highly recommended. I called at the post office and they told me I could find you here,” he said, probably over-explaining a little, so he didn’t come across as a wandering weirdo.
“I’ll just check my diary,” she told him, feeling her heart sink further still. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to accept the piano booking, but an evening playing piano meant she wouldn’t get to socialise at all with this handsome stranger. It would be one night of wistful longing, and then it would be over. Holly wished things could be different.
Had she known what was just around the corner, she wouldn’t have made that wish.
Frozen
“Holly! You look wonderful,” a voice called from the other side of the dark car-park. Holly turned and smiled in the vague direction, hoping she was facing the right way. She’d jus
t got out of the car and her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet, just like her skin hadn’t adjusted to the cold. It was mid-December and the air felt like ice!
“You look…” She trailed off when George stepped into the light of the distant building, which illuminated patches of the gravel. He was dressed in formal black-tie and could have given James Bond a run for his money. “…great. You look great,” she finished, her voice a little strangled. She mentally gave herself a good shake. This was just another gig!
“Thanks,” he said with an easy smile, gesturing that they should walk up to the rather grand old building that was the Little Wemley Town Hall. Holly had played many a piano concert here but had been a little surprised when George had told her about the venue. It transpired that his society met at the hall every week and had thought it simplest (not to mention cheapest) if they met at the same location and self-catered for their meal. The only expense they were going to was hiring a pianist.
“It looks like we’re the first to arrive. Apart from Maria, anyway. I can see her car. She’s doing all of the cooking - the saint!”
Holly bit her tongue and couldn’t help but feel a slight stab of jealousy over the way he’d called Maria a saint. Holly already had a vision of a beautiful blonde woman just as lovely as George was. It took a lot of effort to rinse it from her mind and remind herself (for what felt like the hundredth time) that she was here in a professional capacity. This was not a date, and she didn’t even know George. He could be a psychopath!
Later, she would reflect that there was a fair chance he really might be.
“Come on in. I’ll make sure you’re all set with the piano and then we’ll get you a drink. If it’s okay with you, we only want a spot of music during and after dinner. Hopefully, it will encourage the members to keep their discussions a little less… heated… than usual. Hey, seeing as you’re interested in the club, why don’t I introduce you to the rest of the members when they arrive? You might like to join us in the future.”
Holly ignored the fluttering butterflies in her stomach and instead picked up on George’s hesitation. When she looked across at her host, he winced a bit.
“Is it a fun club to be in?” she asked, her curiosity piqued. She sat down behind the grand piano and opened the lid, her fingers running easily over the smooth keys.
George smiled a little ruefully. “I think I told you before that we look back at events from ancient history and then discuss what we believe actually happened back then. It makes for a good old debate. Usually, it’s not too contentious, but recently we decided to cover famous unsolved deaths or murders and consider the historical evidence for whether a death was accidental or intentional, and so on. You’d be surprised how heated the exchanges can get! People have an opinion in their minds and stick to it, no matter what. Between you and me, I’m actually starting to regret suggesting the idea.”
The distant sound of the main doors being pushed open reached our ears.
George stopped talking for a second. “I’d better go and see who’s arrived. I’ll get you that drink a bit later on, I promise,” he said and rushed off to welcome a club member. He soon returned with an older - but very well-kept - gentleman in tow. Unfortunately, it turned out the same could not be said for his manners.
“Holly, this is Bernie,” George said, his voice forcefully cheerful. Bernie looked Holly up and down. She resisted the urge to run off and return wearing a bin bag that covered absolutely everything.
“Why is she here?” he asked, not even bothering to address Holly.
George wrung his hands apologetically. “She’s the pianist we all agreed to hire at our last meeting. How about you get settled in and perhaps help yourself to a drink?”
Bernie didn’t need to be asked twice. He stalked off towards the arrangement of wine that was already set up on a table.
George pulled a face at Holly and shrugged, before walking back towards the door as the next set of visitors arrived. Rather than being left alone with Bernie, Holly followed George, hoping that the other members of the club were more pleasant.
“Holly! I should have guessed you were the pianist our chairman picked. Nothing but the best for the Amateur Archaeological Society,” the newest entrant said.
She smiled back at Chrissy Bartholomew, her old friend from school. The other woman was just as pretty as ever, Holly realised, trying not to feel jealous. A man stood just behind her and Holly thought she recognised him from somewhere.
“Wow, you’re Aidan Banks, presenter of Out With The New, In With The Old!” George said, clearly in awe.
Something clicked in Holly’s mind. She realised that it was typical of Chrissy to find herself a man like this. Chrissy was (rather unfairly) beautiful both inside and out. Her only flaw was the way that she always got bored with men. Holly could remember her having several high-flying partners, all of whom she’d eventually traded in. Chrissy wasn’t malicious, she just liked a change of scenery every now and then. At least it meant the rest of the town’s females occasionally got a look-in with the local eligible bachelors. You never know, you might be in luck, she secretly thought when she noticed another new arrival surreptitiously checking out the TV presenter.
George finished talking to Aidan - rather reluctantly - and introduced her to Jayne, another relatively young member of the Amateur Archaeological Society. Holly was starting to wonder if she was missing something. She’d assumed that everyone in the club would be over sixty. Just what did this group of people get up to?
She grabbed Chrissy before she slid past. “I didn’t realise you were interested in archaeology,” Holly said as innocently as possible. But as well as being pretty, Chrissy was also pretty smart.
She smiled knowingly, before shooting a meaningful look in Aidan’s direction. “I decided to do my research this time,” she said, shrugging - as if joining a club and swotting up was something everyone did when trying to get their hooks into a man. Perhaps that’s where I’m going wrong! Holly reflected. “I joined the club a week ago and thought it would be great to invite Aidan along to this dinner. We met when I was doing a news report.”
Holly nodded. That figured. Chrissy was the local weather girl, but it seemed she was finally being given the opportunity to spread her wings into reporting. Any newsworthy men had better watch out…
“Hello there, dear. I’m very much looking forward to hearing you play for us later,” a kindly voice said. Holly turned to see an older lady with lavender tinted hair and a suspiciously white smile. This was more the kind of person Holly had expected to meet tonight.
“This is Milly,” George said, popping back up for the introduction.
The old lady’s smile grew even wider. “Have you already told her about the murder we’re discussing tonight? It’s my turn to do it!” she said, rather unnervingly.
Holly tilted her head at George, who was definitely starting to look a bit stressed.
“Oh, Milly… we’ve already said we’re not discussing the death of the ice man tonight. We’ll do it next week when the club is back to normal.” George shot an apologetic smile at Holly. Holly was torn between amusement and disappointment that George thought this sort of thing was out of her comfort zone.
“It sounds really interesting,” she said, meaning it.
Milly beamed up at her. “You’ll have to join and come along when we decide what exactly befell the poor man. If you ask me, all the signs point to murder,” she said gleefully, before trotting off towards the wine.
“Ah, there’s Louise!” George said, dodging off to talk to another new arrival. That left Holly face to face with the next person to enter the building… and the face she saw wasn’t one she’d wanted to remember.
“It’s been a while, Holly.” Carl Bounty’s eyes crinkled up, as he gave her his best shot at a smile. Eye crinkling was about as far as it got.
“Hi Carl. Are you a member of the club?” Holly asked, and then realised it was pretty obvious he was. Why else
would her ex-boyfriend be here? That was the problem with living - and occasionally dating - in a small town. If things came to an end, you could never escape the other person.
“Yes, not gatecrashing tonight,” he said, his eyes doing the crinkly thing again. Holly opened her mouth to say that she hadn’t meant that at all, but Carl waved a hand in her face. “I’m kidding.” His mouth twitched up - just a fraction. “You haven’t lost your sense of humour, have you? I read all about that nasty business up in Scotland.”
Holly quickly cleared her throat and glanced in George’s direction. No… he was seeing to yet another arriving couple. How many people living in the vicinity of Little Wemley were secret archaeologists?
“I, ah… heard you’re with someone new?” she said, half-remembering overhearing some gossip the last time she’d popped to the shops. She’d merely been hoping to divert the conversation away from anything to do with the murders of the detectives, but Carl’s face immediately lit up with a real smile. His hand went to his dangerously thin hair, and he smoothed it back, looking in the direction of Louise Renley - another native of Little Wemley.
Holly’s eyebrows shot up. Her detective skills must be on vacation tonight. She’d wrongly assumed the pair had been lift sharing.
Louise was a couple of years older than Carl. She had mousey-brown hair that curled over her shoulders and a very big bust. And that was all of the good things Holly could say about her. Louise had a reputation for being a gossip and had always seemed a little air-headed to Holly. She twitched her nose. Now that she thought about it, the new couple did make sense! She looked back at Carl and found he was still staring at the other woman with puppy-dog eyes. Wow… this was a serious relationship!
