by Ruby Loren
“Goodness, will there be wedding bells soon?” she asked, hoping her voice wasn’t too cheery. It wasn’t as if she’d ever had any real feelings for Carl. They’d dated briefly when she’d been a lot younger (after Chrissy had finished with him). Holly had chased ‘bad boys’ back then, before she’d realised that ‘bad boys’ were more trouble than they were worth.
She always felt a little pressured when someone she’d been involved with got hitched, while there she was - still alone. Even her sister, the awful Annabelle, had got married before her - something Annabelle would never let her forget.
Holly inwardly sighed. She still dreamt of the day when Annabelle’s husband would announce that their marriage was a sham, before running off with a rent boy… She bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Jealous much? she thought with a smile and suddenly felt a whole lot better. Who wants to pick one dish when there’s an entire menu to look at? She cast a longing gaze in George’s direction. It was lucky he wasn’t looking her way, although… she was less pleased to discover he was talking to Chrissy. She sighed again. At least with Chrissy, you always knew you could have her castoffs.
Holly turned and scanned the room, wondering when dinner would be served and if she should start playing soon. A pair of eyes looked back at hers. She was surprised to find that the handsome TV presenter Chrissy had brought with her was looking her way. He silently raised his glass of wine in her direction. Holly felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Well! she thought, wondering what to make of that.
She didn’t have too long to think about it either, because he was already walking towards her.
“So, you play the piano?” was Aidan’s opening gambit.
Holly found herself smiling and nodding, and then opening her big fat mouth… “Yes, but I am also a private detective,” she told him, and then wanted to kick herself for sounding like such a showoff. The problem was, she did want to show off. Aidan was the opposite of ugly and walked around in a haze of star power. He was a little too much like a puppy dog to be Holly’s usual type, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t as pleased as punch that he’d picked her to talk to.
“Solved any mysteries recently?” he asked.
Holly gave him a brief account of the Enviable Emerald case, deliberately leaving out the arguments she’d had with the police and the part where they’d thought she herself was a suspect.
Luckily, he looked suitably impressed. “I’ve heard that they try to solve ancient mysteries at this club, which sounds like a fantastic idea. You should join and give them all your professional opinion.” His dark brown eyes were filled with admiration.
Holly tried to keep an aloof expression on her face, whilst feeling like a complete fraud. She was not exactly a professional yet. “I’m thinking about it,” she said, and then decided a complete change of subject was needed. “What do you think of Chrissy?” she asked, before wondering if that was way too personal. The thing was, she’d known Chrissy for years and had learned her ways. Holly’s nosy nature wanted to know what the men she dated actually believed they were getting into.
Aidan’s wry smile was all the response she needed.
“She’s lovely, but I can tell she doesn’t want to settle down,” he said simply and asked Holly if she wanted a drink.
She was just about to answer when George arrived.
“I’m afraid you just missed Annie and Wilbur. They’ve already found Milly to talk to. They’ll be arguing about that ice man case for the rest of the evening,” he said, gesturing to an older couple Holly had briefly seen before she’d come face to face with Carl.
Holly turned back to George faster than he’d expected and caught the end of a look he was giving Aidan. I wonder if… Holly started to think, but then Chrissy popped up by the TV presenter’s elbow and pulled him away to get her a drink, leaving Holly unsure of what she’d witnessed.
“Our final guest!” George said, beckoning the most recent newcomer forward. Out of everyone Holly had met so far, this man looked the closest to her idea of an archaeologist. He wasn’t the muscle-bound, devilishly handsome Hollywood type, but a real, ready-to-shovel-dirt archaeologist. The first thing Holly noticed was the size of his calves, which were nearly bulging out of his beige chinos. Thick, dark hair covered his arms, but only a few wisps formed the worst moustache she’d ever seen. To top it all off, the man wore a floppy beige hat that his oiled black hair hung down from, like fleeing snakes.
“Nice to meet ya,” the man said, his eyes searching around the room for something… Holly didn’t know what.
“This is Dylan,” George said, before letting the man slip away, as he so clearly wanted to.
Holly and George stood in silence for a moment looking at the other people in the room. Holly considered how amazing it was that such an unlikely group had been brought together by their shared love of one thing. She was going to voice this observation to her employer, but he muttered something under his breath and stalked off to where Dylan was talking to Bernie, their gestures becoming more and more aggressive.
Holly looked at the grand piano, feeling a little sad that her chance to socialise with George had already been and gone. Perhaps if she joined the society… She entertained the idea for a moment, before wondering just how transparent her reasons for joining would be.
Holly shook her head and settled into her professional routine. There was just time for a quick bathroom break before kickoff. She walked off towards the corridor in the far corner of the room that led through to the toilets and the kitchen.
When Holly walked past the door of the kitchen, she smelled burning and saw tendrils of smoke creeping out beneath the door. She immediately tested the metal door handle with the back of her hand. Finding it cool, she opened the door a crack and peered into the room. The first thing that caught her eye was the smoke that was escaping out of the oven door. The large turkey inside the oven had turned from a roast into a flambé. The second thing she noticed was the open door of the walk-in freezer and the body slumped inside it.
She took a step into the room towards the woman and got just close enough to realise that she was definitely dead. Her hands, lips, and face were all blue from the cold, and a pool of dark red liquid had spread around her, before freezing solid - like a gruesome ice lolly. Holly could tell her death had been violent, but she didn’t want to get any closer to find out the exact cause. There was no need to touch the body to check for signs of life. This woman was long gone.
“Is everything okay, Maria? We can smell burning…”
Holly jumped at the sound of the voice and spun round just as George entered the room. He looked from the smoking turkey to the body in the freezer and turned pale.
“Oh no… Maria,” he said quietly.
“We should call the police.” Holly had finally snapped out of the initial shock of coming face to face with a body. The last time she’d seen someone dead was at Horn Hill House… and the first victim had not been the last. She was already starting to shiver as nerves took hold of her. Calm down. You are not snowed in, and the police will come! she reassured herself, pulling out her phone and dialling 999.
The dinner party conversation, which had started out lively, was reduced to whispers. Small groups sat around the room, talking amongst themselves and eyeing the police nervously. The officers had arrived shortly after Holly’s emergency call. Now the crime scene and everyone at the town hall was under investigation.
The detective chief inspector in charge of the case was a bullish man. His height was only equal to that of Holly’s, but he made up for that with his broad stature and short temper. There was no mistaking that everyone in the room was a suspect for murder when he walked in and barked out his statement.
“I can confirm that Maria Jennings was murdered…” Well, duh! thought Holly. People didn’t tend to suffer the wounds she’d seen on Maria in an accidental fashion. Someone had done that to her and left her in the freezer.
A cold thrill ran through Holly’
s body. The turkey had burned, but Maria had probably been the one to put it in the oven. Could she have been killed whilst she and George were in the building, both completely oblivious to what was happening?
She immediately dismissed the idea.
Maria’s body was half-frozen. It was likely that it had been a few hours ago when she’d met her violent end.
“We are going to interview every one of you individually. You will all remain here until the interviews have concluded.” The DCI eyeballed them all, daring someone to contradict him. Holly certainly wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence.
The emergency services had sent three officers along with the DCI to investigate Holly’s call, which meant that the interviews didn’t take too long. It was just unfortunate that Holly’s interviewer turned out to be the detective himself. When Annie exited the room in floods of tears after fifteen minutes, Holly thought she’d probably drawn the short straw.
The Ice Man’s Mystery
“In all the ruckus, I don’t think I introduced myself. I’m Detective Inspector Stephan Chittenden.” Holly almost extended her hand for him to shake, but the moment of insanity passed when he barked out: “Who the devil are you?”
“Holly Winter,” she replied, only just managing to stop herself from adding ‘Sir, yes Sir!’. She was starting to get the idea that any attempts at humour would be frowned upon.
Inspector Chittenden narrowed his eyes at her, making his face even more bull-like.
“You’re a member of this… club?” he asked, making it sound like being a member was a comparable crime to being a murderer.
“No, I’m not!” she said, a little hotly, and then bit her tongue when the detective’s eyes lit up.
“Two things… why are you here, and what’s wrong with the club?”
Holly wished she’d watched her temper. “I’m a pianist. I was hired by George Strauss to play at the annual Amateur Archaeological Society dinner,” she explained, being careful to keep her tone of voice devoid of emotion. Not that she needed to worry. She hadn’t murdered poor Maria!
“And the next question?” Chittenden prompted.
Holly tried not to get annoyed again. “There’s nothing wrong with the club. As far as I can see, it’s a group of people who share a hobby. That’s the impression I got when I came here and met the society for the first time tonight,” she said, wanting to point out that she had nothing to do with the club, and therefore, should definitely not be a suspect.
“If George Strauss hired you, you must have met him before today,” the detective countered. Holly felt a strong urge to kick him under the table for being so ridiculously pedantic.
“Yes, I met George once before. I also know Chrissy from school, and I briefly dated Carl. Quite a few of the others I’ve seen around Little Wemley. That’s the thing with small towns, you get to know everyone,” she explained, shooting a pointed look at the detective. .
He sniffed and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I live in London.” Holly knew she should have guessed that much. No one with such rude manners would last long in a place like Little Wemley. They’d be shunned by the entire town.
“You said that Maria was murdered. May I ask how?” She wondered if the police would release any details.
Stephan Chittenden just stared at her, his forehead wrinkling into a frown. “Holly Winter? Your name sounds familiar,” he said, as if something was just occurring to him. Holly could guess at least half of what was coming next.
“You were up at that Horn Hill place with the Sherlock Holmes gang who all died. Shows just how good their ‘detecting’ skills really were,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk. Holly really bit her tongue this time. If the detective had been stuck in that house with her and the others, she was willing to bet that even a deranged serial killer would choose him as their first victim.
“One of the police officers said that you’re running around with delusions of being a detective yourself?” He looked at her with deep distaste.
This time Holly didn’t hold back. “Sometimes people aren’t satisfied with the way that the police handle their investigations, so they seek a second opinion - much like you would with a doctor,” she explained, dumbing it down - just for the sake of digging into Stephan Chittenden a bit more.
His nostrils flared. “But you aren’t qualified to do anything - except poke your nose into places where it doesn’t belong,” he told her, sounding eerily like her sister, Annabelle. Holly wondered if she could arrange an introduction. They would be best friends.
“Continuing with the doctor analogy, there are also complementary therapists. That’s what I’m like, but for crime rather than illness.”
Chittenden snorted. Holly finally accepted that she was barking up the wrong tree, or more likely, was in the wrong forest altogether.
“You should leave it to the professionals,” he said, as if Holly would suddenly see the error of her ways and shut down her little business immediately.
Rather than continuing to fan the flames, Holly stayed silent, waiting for the detective to remember she’d asked a question. For a moment, she saw that she’d thrown him, but he quickly recovered.
“I’ll be making a further statement once all of the interviews have been concluded.” He glared at Holly, like it was all her fault that the murder hadn’t already been solved.
“I can’t wait,” she replied and wondered if she’d regret it.
Chittenden just glared some more. “Get out. I have better things to do.”
Holly hoped he didn’t see her fists balling up. How could one man be so frustrating? Thinking about it, being frustrating was one thing all men seemed to specialise in.
Fortunately, it was only another five minutes before the detective and his colleagues deemed the interviews finished. Holly noticed that no one was being dragged off in chains. For now, it looked like the case was still wide open.
“While you have all been interviewed tonight, you will also make yourselves available for any further questions that I, or my colleagues, might have,” Chittenden began, his natural lack of charm shining through. Holly noticed he wasn’t asking. He was telling.
He nodded to one of the officers, who stepped forwards and asked if they could all please hand over their car keys, so that the police could check for any evidence. A few members bristled at that and muttered over warrants and being treated like suspects, but Holly handed hers over without complaint, noticing the extra use of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Presumably the other police officers were trying - albeit in vain - to influence their mighty leader.
“Excuse me please, but how did dear Maria die?” Annie, one half of the older couple enquired. Holly was amazed by her courage - given the way she’d looked when Chittenden had finished with her.
He was clearly surprised, too. It possibly worked to her advantage as he actually answered the question. “The official statement will be that Maria Jennings died from trauma to the head, caused by a blunt instrument. There are some other details that we’ll be keeping to ourselves, of course.” He straightened his tie. Holly almost rolled her eyes. He couldn’t resist adding that, could he?
“You mean she was shot with an arrow as well as being frozen?” Milly piped up, her mouth a perfect ‘o’ of horror.
The detective nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise and gestured frantically at the remaining police officer. “Arrest her!” he shouted. There was a ripple of alarm when the man started forward. Milly stuck her hands up, like she was in an American gangster film.
“But… I was just saying,” she tried to say, but the officer was already sliding the handcuffs over her wrists.
George stepped towards Milly, too.
“Come on, DCI Chittenden… you can’t really think she did it? Milly’s 85 years old! You said Maria died from blunt trauma. If there were arrows involved, which I’m not saying there were,” he quickly amended, “I doubt she could shoot a bow. It just seems a little far-fetched, don’t y
ou think?” George fell silent, probably realising that the entire murder case was far-fetched. Why would anyone bludgeon someone to death while they were cooking Christmas dinner, and perhaps shoot them with a few arrows, too? If anything, it was usually the chef whose mood was murderous after enduring stuffing the turkey, and then stuffing it into the oven, only to later be told by diners that it was too dry.
“She knew information we hadn’t released,” Chittenden accused.
Milly’s eyes sparkled. “So, she was shot with an arrow. Poor, poor Maria,” Milly said, sounding sorry and morbidly curious at the same time. Holly wasn’t sure if it had even registered that she’d just been arrested.
“It’s just like the Otzi case,” Dylan muttered.
Chittenden turned his furious gaze on him.
Dylan looked around the room at all of the sealed lips and groaned. “Come on, we all know what this looks like!” He turned back to face DCI Chittenden, who was only moments away from making his second arrest. “Next week, we were going to be talking about the death of Otzi the ice man. He lived 5,000 years ago but was discovered in the Alps in 1991. At first, the experts thought he’d died of old age. 45 years old was pretty senior back in the Bronze Age,” Dylan explained, becoming more animated as he went. “In 2005, his mummified remains were examined using a high resolution CT scanner. It then became apparent that he had an arrowhead in him and had also suffered massive bleeding at the base of his brain, which indicated a serious head injury at the time of death.” Dylan sucked air in between his teeth. “You can probably see the parallels.”
“Usually, we meet to discuss whether or not we think it was murder and argue our cases, but poor old Otzi’s death is pretty cut and dried. The real mystery is who did it, how they did it, and why?” Milly jumped in, looking as cheerful as ever despite the cuffs.
The detective shook his head in disbelief. “We interviewed you all and none of you thought to mention that you meet up to discuss murders?” he said incredulously.
