Snowed In With Death

by Ruby Loren

  Snowed in with Death

  Holly Winter Mysteries

  Ruby Loren

  Copyright © 2017 by Ruby Loren

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  British Author

  Free Book!

  Books in the Series

  Snowed in with Death

  1. The Dunce Detective

  2. Let the Games Begin

  3. Trolley Dash of Terror

  4. The Murderer in their Midst

  5. Dining with Death

  6. A Shot in the Dark

  7. Scooby Doo

  8. Just like Nancy Drew

  9. Lucky Number Seven

  10. Agatha Raisin

  Read on for the first two chapters of A Fatal Frost!

  A Fatal Frost

  1. The Enviable Emerald

  2. The No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency

  Books in the Series

  A review is worth its weight in gold!

  Free Book!

  Also by Ruby Loren

  British Author

  Please note, this book is written in British English and contains British spellings.

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  Grab your FREE copy of The First Frost - the companion mystery to the Holly Winter series!

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  Books in the Series

  Snowed in with Death

  * * *

  A Fatal Frost

  * * *

  Murder Beneath the Mistletoe

  * * *

  Winter’s Last Victim

  * * *

  Prequel: The First Frost

  Snowed in with Death

  The Dunce Detective

  Holly frowned at the first flurry of snow when it splattered wetly on her windscreen. Her wipers soon cleared her vision of the road again, but the white stuff was definitely here to stay.

  She bit her lip and wondered if she’d make it to Horn Hill House before the road became impassable. There’d been a weather warning for snow when she’d left her cottage in Little Wemley (a village in deepest, darkest Surrey) early that morning. She’d driven away sooner than she’d originally planned, but the bad weather had also been annoyingly punctual.

  “A bit of snow won’t keep me away,” she muttered under her breath. Even if volcanoes popped up like pimples, and frogs started raining down from the sky, she was certain she’d still figure out how to get to Horn Hill House. The event she was on her way to attend was the chance of a lifetime. Nothing would persuade her to miss it. She could only hope that the other esteemed guests attending the convention were just as committed.

  The competition win had been a complete surprise.

  Even the most talented detective in the world couldn’t predict blind luck. Holly had been thrilled when she’d received the email inviting her to the annual meeting of the greatest private detectives in Britain. During her time off - between occasional small-time mystery cases and her evening work as a professional lounge pianist - she was a coffee break ‘comper’. This particular competition win had seemed like fate.

  It’s going to be amazing finding out what it’s like working as a real private detective! she thought, turning down a narrow country lane and swerving to avoid a wandering sheep that had momentarily looked unnervingly like a walking snowman.

  Holly had already investigated her fair share of mysteries.

  She’d recently traced and recovered her next door neighbour’s stolen dog. Her discovery had resulted in the prosecution of a group of exceedingly nasty human beings who’d been organising dog-baiting events. Holly had been incredibly relieved that she’d managed to solve the mystery and save ‘Smosage’ the sausage dog, before he’d been thrown into the ring as bait.

  Well… sort of relieved.

  The tiny dog had shown his gratitude by latching onto her ankle and refusing to let go when she’d tried to put him in her car. He’d topped off his thank you by being sick all over the upholstery.

  Still… her neighbour Doris had been suitably grateful for his return, and Holly would never admit that she’d been very tempted to keep on driving when the silly dog had spotted a rabbit by the side of the road and launched himself through her unwisely open window. They’d been bombing along a dual carriageway at the time.

  There’d also been the case of the mayor’s missing chain. The Little Wemley mayor’s chain was something rather special. It was an antique from the Victorian period and - for no apparent reason other than the decadence of whomever must have been the mayor at the time - it was encrusted with rubies.

  In truth, it was rather unsurprising that somebody stole it.

  It hadn’t even been the first time that the chain was ‘borrowed without permission’. Holly had been called upon to solve the mystery twice before.

  In the case of the first disappearance, it had transpired that the mayor had only mislaid the chain. The missing village heirloom had turned up a few days later in a drawer. The second time, the mayor forgot that he’d asked his secretary to arrange for the chain to be cleaned.

  On the third occasion the chain disappeared, it really had been stolen. Holly had searched for clues and managed to trace the thief’s whereabouts to the local pub, where she’d found him loudly boasting about the success of his theft. It wasn’t really a case worthy of Sherlock Holmes, but it had got her name in the paper again.

  Holly had definitely started to build a reputation for solving mysteries. Or, if you asked her arch-enemy - sorry - sister, Annabelle: ‘sticking her nose into other people’s business’.

  Holly brushed a stray strand of her dark brown fringe out of her eyes and vaguely wondered what to get Annabelle for Christmas. She couldn’t remember if she’d already given her a lump of coal…

  The strand of hair fell back down and tangled with her eyelashes. Holly huffed a breath out, blowing it skywards. She knew she should have had a haircut before leaving for Scotland, but there hadn’t been time. Her schedule in the run-up to Christmas was always packed - as was her pianist’s brain with every Christmas song ever written. There hadn’t been time for a trim.

  She frowned at herself in the rearview mirror, wondering if it was worth risking a quick snip with the nail scissors she’d packed in her suitcase. The last time she’d cut her own fringe, she’d ended up with a patch of stubby hair sticking straight up above her forehead, but then, she had only been five-years-old at the time. Haircutting ability was something you naturally developed with age… right?

  Her preoccupation with her infuriating fringe almost made her miss the turning. The signpost was already half-crusted with fresh snowfall. It was only some extra sense that turned her gaze and revealed the words: ‘orn Hill Hou’ - the other letters already concealed by feathery flakes.

  She slammed the brakes on and then remembered how important it was to not do anything sudden (like slamming the brakes on) in icy weather. “Fudgecicles!” she said (or at least, something that sounded similar) when her car slid around the bend and gently bumped against a hedge. The branches immediately shed their full-load of snow onto her roof.

  Holly twitched her head from side to side and was relieved to discover that no one had witnessed her little bump. She didn’t want to appear anything less than competent when she met her professional idols. She’d already researched each of the seven detectives who were attending their annual convention at the house. She’d even made a fact file. They were so w
ell-known it had been easy to read up on all of their greatest cases. She only hoped that they might see some spark of the same potential in her…

  “This has to be it…” she muttered under her breath when she turned a corner on the long driveway. The imposing outline of Horn Hill House loomed over the bleak landscape, silhouetted on the brow of a hill against the curiously orange sky.

  Holly drove onwards, her wipers furiously swiping the snow away. Every time her car’s wheels skidded a little on the settling snow, her heart jumped in her chest. She hoped that the seven detectives had shared the same foresight and had chosen to arrive early. It didn’t seem likely that the drive up to Horn Hill House would be passable for much longer.

  Please don’t let me be the only one here! she suddenly thought and wondered (in a slight panic) what would happen if she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, without any way of getting into the house? Visions of her having to break-in popped into her head. She crossed her fingers on the wheel. It wouldn’t come to that.

  She drove into the gravelled car park, her wheels making squeaking noises against the snow. Six cars were already parked. Holly suddenly wondered if she was late after all… before realising that the detectives were one step ahead of her. She shook her head in amazement and felt a thrill of uncertainty. Holly suspected that she was already out of her league, and she hadn’t even met the seven, yet!

  The snow blew straight into her face when she opened the car door and stepped out into the arctic landscape. With an almost audible ‘ping’, Holly’s fringe sensed the cold weather and curled up of its own accord. She swore and desperately patted the rest of her now-maniacal hairdo.

  So much for first impressions.

  Holly felt a swirl of emotion twist in her gut when she looked at the bright lights that shone from within Horn Hill House. In the midst of the snowstorm it should have been an inviting image, but her hands shook with the same stage-fright she always suffered from whenever she played the piano at big events.

  These detectives were already on their way to becoming legends. She’d found a lost dog and a chain - stolen by a man who was more ‘village idiot’ than ‘master-criminal’. Why would any of them give her the time of day?

  A little voice in her head whispered that even the greats had to start somewhere… She didn’t even have any serious aspirations to be a professional, right? She was perfectly happy solving mysteries in her spare time and being a professional pianist by night.

  The little voice inside her head laughed at her transparent attempt to convince herself that she lacked ambition. Holly pretended not to hear it. She also ignored the stab of unease that grew in the pit of her stomach - putting it down to a fresh attack of nerves.

  But it wasn’t just a bad case of the jitters. It was a ghostly premonition of a terrible future that was lying in wait within Horn Hill House.

  The next twenty-four hours would be a deadly dance with death.

  And not everyone was going to make it out alive.

  Let the Games Begin

  Six heads turned her way when she walked into the living room.

  The front door had been open a crack, so Holly had let herself in. She’d patted her hair down as best as she could, being simultaneously grateful and regretful that there’d been no mirror in which to check her reflection. She wasn’t particularly vain, choosing to dress in clothes that suited her, rather than the latest fashions. She also never did anything fancy with her hair and makeup; but extreme weather conditions tended to transform her from Little-Miss-Normal into the swamp beast from the black lagoon. She hoped that the detectives would use their famed powers of deduction to deduce that she didn’t always look this terrible.

  The smile jumped onto her face a couple of seconds too late when she realised they were all staring, waiting for her to say something. “Hi, I’m Holly,” she supplied, pleased that her voice sounded pretty level. “You must be the detectives. Although, there are only six of you…” She’d looked around and had picked up on the obvious.

  “Ah, yes… Holly Winter - our lucky competition winner. I’m glad you made it through the bad weather.” A woman clutching a large and ornate organiser got to her feet and flashed Holly the brightest smile she’d seen in a long time. Pale-pink stained lips, a hint of blusher, and natural honey blonde hair - that seemed unfairly neat and tidy - completed the other woman’s perfect first impression.

  “You’re not one of the detectives,” Holly said and then bit her tongue. She was letting her mouth run away with her!

  Fortunately, the woman didn’t mind. She even laughed. The high, tinkling sound would have been more appropriate coming from a fairy.

  “That’s right. I’m not! Much like you, I’m a fan of these legendary private detectives’ work. Every year, it’s my job to select a venue and organise this event. This year, it was a bit of a challenge,” she added, looking thoughtful for a moment. She shook her head, before sliding a pair of designer glasses up her nose and glancing down at her organiser. “I’m afraid that one of our number called me early this morning to let me know that he couldn’t make it, due to fears about the weather.” The woman looked sideways out of the window. “Regretfully, I may have hinted that he was being a little overcautious, but looking out there now… he had a point.” The smile faded for a second, before it was renewed with an even more luminous one. Holly wondered if she’d be willing to part with the number for her dentist. “Still! We’ll have a cosy time up here together, swapping exciting stories about what’s happened during the past year.”

  Holly caught the two female detectives glancing at one another and flicking their gaze upwards. She got the message - this organiser was trivialising all of the work and risk they put into their jobs and their life. However, she also observed that the moment was over in a second. Some people were just sweet and fluffy by nature. These detectives bore their organiser no ill will. It was clearly just her way.

  “Oh, how could I?!” the bubbly blonde exclaimed, looking so horrified Holly wondered what dreadful thing she’d done. “I haven’t introduced you to anyone! My name’s Miranda Louis. As I said when I was chattering away back then, I’m the event organiser. This gentleman is Jack Dewfall.” She pointed to the man seated to her left. He was in his early thirties and sported an army regulation hair cut. His physique, however, was not regulation. He’d developed a strange soft paunch that seemed premature in relation to his age. Being familiar with his cases, Holly was a little surprised by his personal appearance - but she suspected it was a classic reminder that appearances are often deceptive.

  “Next to him is Lydia Burns.” One of the two other women present - a well-kept lady in her forties, with an enviable sheet of dark hair and perfectly applied red lipstick - inclined her head.

  “You’ve probably heard about her cases,” Miranda carried on. Holly nodded in what she hoped was a non-committal manner. She knew them all, but after Miranda’s admission to also being a fan, and the almost-eye rolling that had passed between two of the detectives, she’d decided to keep that information close to her chest.

  “And then we have Pete Black…”

  “Adventurer, detective, and everyday hero at your service,” the man finished with a slanting grin and a wink at Holly. His flashy blonde hair was decisively parted in a style reminiscent of a bygone era.

  The sound of a hastily-stifled cough came from the other side of the table. Pete narrowed his eyes and shot daggers in the direction of the remaining female detective. She pretended not to notice his gaze and made a big deal of examining her deep-green, manicured nails.

  “And this is Emma White,” Miranda said with false brightness.

  Holly could almost touch the building tension.

  Emma smiled at Holly - the most genuine smile she’d seen so far. Holly couldn’t help but like the other woman, who was in her late twenties - close to Holly’s own age. She and Pete were the youngest detectives there, but they had both already achieved so much during their careers.
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  “Don’t worry, I’ll skip the entirely unnecessary introduction where I try to jump straight into your pants,” Emma said airily, studiously ignoring the fist-clenching and head-shaking that took place on the opposite side of the table.

  Holly risked a little smile back, privately wondering what had happened to make relations so frigid between the pair. She supposed it was the obvious, given Emma’s larger than life dyed auburn hair, natural prettiness, and fast tongue. Team that with Pete’s good looks and arrogance, and you had a perfect recipe for disaster.

  “Anyway, this is Lawrence Richards,” Miranda finished, visibly pleased to have completed all of the introductions without any physical fights breaking out.

  The front door banged and juddered as it was thrown open, pushed by the howling wind. Heads turned again when a new visitor entered the room.

  “Sorry I’m late. Can you believe this weather? I did not see it coming. I set out this morning in shorts and a t-shirt,” the new arrival said with an easy grin.

  All around the table, the detectives muttered their derision at this inexcusable lack of foresight, as the man - who could only be Rob Frost - sauntered inside. Holly felt a rush of exhilaration when she realised - with an odd kind of relief - that he wasn’t the one who’d cancelled his invitation.