Three Carols of Cozy Christmas Murder

by Carolyn L. Dean

  It was the best thing she’d experienced since she’d been stranded in Brightwater Bay.

  Chapter 2

  She should’ve known a policeman in a town like Brightwater Bay would know everyone who had a room available for a stranded traveler. It had only taken a couple of phone calls for him to line up a place for her to stay for the night. He’d already confirmed that her car had been towed safely to the local mechanic, and explained that it was within walking distance of where she’d be staying. After a short drive, they’d pulled up in front of a line of four pastel-colored cottages with bright white trim, their front doors facing toward the lapping waves of the nearby bay. This close to the water, the breeze was clean and smelled vaguely of sea salt. Several tall fir trees hung drooping branches over a cracked walkway that led from the curb to the house.

  A thin woman with short, dark hair was peering through the front window of the third tiny cottage in the line. By the time Claire had grabbed her dog and her one suitcase, the lady was already standing in the doorway. She had a small smile on her face as she watched Darryl and Claire walk toward her. She was wearing a large, dark blue ski coat with a hood, her arms crossed in front of her.

  “Darryl says you could use a place to stay tonight,” she called out, waiting until Claire was standing in front of her before she put out a welcoming hand. “I’m Daisy Monroe. You’re welcome to use one of my cottages if you want, while your car is getting fixed.” She peered at Claire. “My rules are no parties, no smoking, and no drugs. You okay with that?” she asked, and as Claire opened her mouth to answer, Daisy grinned and reached over to pet Roscoe. “Good dogs are always welcome,” she said. “And I can tell you’re a very good boy, aren’t you?” she asked the wriggling dog, drawing her words out as if talking to a small child. “Yes, who’s a good boy?”

  Roscoe panted in return, his little pink tongue hanging out while he wagged his tail wildly.

  “Um, I really appreciate it, Miss Monroe,” Claire said. “I’ll be happy to pay,” she added, even as she mentally winced when she remembered how tight her budget was for the trip. She was already paying for an unoccupied rental house. She’d already called the host and told them the situation, but he had cited the exact wording of the cancellation agreement to her. His only suggestion was that she hurry up and get her car fixed so she’d be able to enjoy the lovely place on Lopez Island that was waiting for her.

  “You can call me Daisy. If you can pay, that’s fine, but if you can’t, that’s fine, too,” she said, leading them inside. The small front room was cozy, with a newly-built fire crackling in the brick fireplace. An overstuffed armchair and long sofa lined the walls, and through an arched doorway Claire could see a kitchen with butter-yellow walls. It was bright and clean, even if the appliances had been bought years ago and the Formica countertops showed signs of wear.

  “Bedroom’s through there, along with the bathroom,” Daisy said, pointing toward the left. “If you need anything just give me a call. I’ve written my number down on the little pad of paper on the fridge.”

  Within minutes, Claire was alone in the house. Sitting on the side of the queen-sized bed, her unopened suitcase next to her, she cradled Roscoe on her lap. She’d already poked around in her temporary home a bit, especially happy to discover an old-fashioned clawfoot bathtub and new coffeemaker. The kitchen was small but serviceable; with a stove but no microwave, a deep farmhouse sink, and a toaster that had seen better days. She’d methodically opened the kitchen cupboards and fridge, finding a few basics already stocked, and a mismatched set of pots and pans. The chill of the unused cottage was receding, courtesy of the blazing fireplace, but after having come from the overly-decorated Dogwood Café, so full of people chattering and the rich smells of food, the cottage seemed almost bland and lifeless. The rest of Brightwater Bay may have been getting ready for Christmas, but in the rental cottage it was as if the holidays were in another world entirely.

  Roscoe looked up at her, his dark brown eyes worried, as if reading her thoughts. Claire hugged him a little tighter. “It’s okay, buddy,” she told the dog, as if he understood every word she said. “We’ll be out of here tomorrow.” It seemed like no matter where she went, her past and her broken heart always went with her.

  One more day. One more trip away from an empty house and the reality of how hard it would be to go home.

  At least Roscoe didn’t seem to mind the single teardrop that slid into his fur.

  Chapter 3

  “Are you kidding? Tomorrow?” Claire’s voice had an unattractive edge of desperation in it, but she couldn’t help it. She needed her car and the oil stained mechanic standing in front of her with a very confused face was keeping it from her.

  Wiping his hands on a dirty work towel, the young man was shaking his head. “Look, lady, I’m really sorry but there’s nothing I can do. The new part isn’t coming until tomorrow and it’ll take me a few hours to fix the car after I get it. There isn’t anywhere around here that has the specific part for an imported car like yours, even if I drive into the nearest big town. I hate to tell you this, but it’s definitely going to be tomorrow before I can get everything completed.”

  Claire closed her eyes, her lips pressed together as she tried to tamp down a sudden surge of anger. Maybe it wasn’t this guy’s fault that her car had chosen to die here in Brightwater Bay, and maybe it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get the part to fix it, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. She could feel her one chance to explore this area and the nearby islands slipping away from her.

  It didn’t help that she was budgeting so carefully during her trip. She’d used up almost all the insurance money in her account, and didn’t regret it at all. It had been worth it to see a different part of the country and to experience someplace she’d never been before, even if it meant she’d have to get a job the moment she got back to Arizona.

  “Can you give me a call when it’s done, please?” she asked. When Jimmy, the mechanic, nodded she scrawled her cell number on the back of her receipt and handed it to him. “Look, I’m sorry if I sounded like a jerk before.” She said, feeling embarrassed that her usual polite manners had gone completely out of the window when she heard she was stuck in town. “This just isn’t how I thought I’d be spending my vacation.”

  Jimmy grinned at her. “Miss Mayfield, you’ve got nothing to apologize for, trust me. I’ve definitely had worse. At least you didn’t throw nothin’ at me.” He put the paper with her phone number on it carefully on his desk, weighing it down with a small wrench so it wouldn’t blow away. “I’ve had to duck a couple of times.”

  With a sigh, Claire looked around her. It was a rare, clear day in the Pacific Northwest, full of bright winter sunshine and no rain. The street in front of the mechanic’s garage was fairly quiet. She’d seen a couple people on bicycles chatting together as they pedaled past, and an old man with a plaid fedora who was continually looking around as he walked his German Shepherd. A block over she could hear someone slam their car door, then shout at their child to hurry up.

  Jimmy leaned against her car. “You know, if I were you I’d be wondering what there is to do in this one-horse town,” he said knowingly, and Claire suppressed a smile.

  “Maybe.” She didn’t want to offend him by telling him that was exactly what she was thinking.

  He gestured vaguely toward the bay. The low waves were glistening in the sunlight, and Claire could see several cars waiting in line to get onto the large ferry. “You know, you can just walk onto the ferry and do a round trip for less than fifteen bucks. It stops at four different islands today.” He looked at Claire. “Since they had that Dungeness crab festival over on Orcas, I think that they’re running the shuttle bus from the dock up to Eastsound this week. Normally only operates in the summer, but you should be able to catch a ride from the ferry up to the main town. Our ferry’s not as big as some of the other ones that run out that way, like the ones from Anacortes, but it still gets around really
well. There are some great shops and restaurants in Eastsound. Tourists love it.”

  Claire mulled over the idea. It seemed like a terrible waste to just sit in Brightwater for an entire day, and the thought of being able to actually see the San Juan Islands was tempting. She’d done a lot of research online about this area, and had been drawn to it by its natural beauty and the fact that you could only get to the islands by floatplane, ferry, or small boats.

  She glanced down at Roscoe, who was running around on a nearby strip of grass. He’d definitely made a new, furry friend. Jimmy’s little brown and black dog, Watson, had taken an instant liking to Roscoe and they were romping together happily by the garage’s wide driveway. Chasing his new friend and growling in play, Roscoe seemed the happiest he’d been since they left Arizona. Jimmy followed Claire’s gaze and seemed to realize what she was considering.

  “You can leave your puppy here, if you want,” he offered. He bent down to pet the small dogs and Roscoe rolled over on his back, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in complete contentment as he accepted belly scratches. “He’s no trouble.”

  “Are you sure?” She hesitated, then finally admitted, “You know, that would be great. I’d actually really like to see the area because I never did make it any further than Brightwater Bay, but I don’t want my dog to be a bother,” she said, but Jimmy shook his head.

  “No bother at all,” he assured her. “I’ve got a nice fenced area in the back where I put Watson during the day, and he’d love to have a buddy to play with. If you could pick him up before 8 o’clock tonight that would work out great.”

  Claire smiled. What she had thought was going to be a day of boredom and frustration was now starting to shape up to be a day of exploration and adventure. She shook Jimmy’s grimy hand. “Thank you so much. I’ll be sure and bring Watson some treats to thank him for showing Roscoe a good time.”

  ***

  It hadn’t taken her long to jog back to her cottage and pack a few things into her day pack. Jimmy had given her a final warning about how windy it might be on the ferry, so she dutifully pulled a fleece hat down over her ears and tossed a pair of warm gloves into her bag.

  Walking down to the dock, she could see the line of cars waiting on the concrete pad had gotten bigger. Built wide for stability and painted a bright white with forest green trim, the ferry loomed over a two-lane ramp leading up to it. Claire counted three levels on the huge boat, with the small upper deck probably for the crew. An observation and passenger deck was underneath, with another row of windows under that for the truck and car parking. She followed the signs to the ticket office then, ticket in hand, to a waiting area by the ticket outside the office door, while the cars were methodically loaded on board. Two men in bright yellow vests with orange stripes were carefully waving the creeping vehicles into the right positions, directing them up the outer edges and guiding them into a tightly packed line. The tall, open space of the center was reserved for trucks and trailers. Claire had heard that the Washington State ferries were very busy during tourist season, but since it was December there were less than a dozen cars and only two RVs that drove onto the ship.

  Finally, an attendant opened the gate and let passengers without cars walk onto the ferry. There were only a handful of people who walked on, with three cyclists pushing their bikes and one woman with a large golden retriever on a leash.

  Claire quickly found the stairwell up to the passenger deck. It was her first time on a ferry and she walked through the large, open cabin, exploring. The engines were already thrumming with power, ready to get underway. There was an outdoor walkway all the way around the boat, with slat-backed benches set out of the wind and weather for those who wanted to brave the cold for an unimpeded view. Inside, booths with tables were lined up by each of the large windows, and rows of individual seats in the center. A small cafeteria was ready to provide coffee or snacks to the scattered passengers who clustered near the railings or looked out at the view, and a few old videogames were tucked in an alcove.

  Claire went outside to peer over the tall handrail and watch the last minute car arrivals being guided onto the boat. She saw the workmen doublecheck that there were no more cars coming, then set up a waist-high cable net across the entrance to the boat. One of the men had added a jaunty Santa hat to his workday outfit. It was a nice touch, a little holiday cheer that made Claire smile. As Mr. Santa Hat used his radio, probably to call up to the ferry boat captain to let him know that everything was secure, he glanced up and saw Claire smiling, leaning over the railing. He grinned back, flashing a set of even, white teeth and raised a gloved hand to give her a cheerful wave.

  It may have been just a little gesture, but Claire instinctively shrank back, almost as if trying to make herself invisible. The worker looked her way for another second or so, then turned and went back to his duties.

  She still wasn’t used to dealing with men. Maybe someday she’d understand how to do that, but right now she was just trying to get from one day to the next.

  Walking back into the main cabin, she tossed her day pack onto the seat of the nearby booth and slid over so she could look out the window. Tall wooden pylons lined the dock, as if guiding the ferries in when they arrived. White-headed seagulls topped several worn timbers, hopeful for any scraps that the passengers might throw or any fish that they could spot down below. The water of the bay glowed an almost jade-like green, the winter sunshine glinting off the top of its small waves. With the previous day’s mist cleared, Claire could see the dark shapes of nearby islands, the rolling hills giving them the appearance almost of a pod of enormous, motionless whales. The deep green of the trees grew fainter and fainter the farther away the islands were, but she could make out a gray line of rocky shore, meeting the sea on the island closest to her.

  The huge engines of the ferry began to throb with extra effort, and Claire could feel the vibration underneath her as the ferry began to pull away from the dock. Even with the sounds of the people in the boat around her, it almost felt as if they were gliding, at first slowly as if being cautious when they left port. As they slipped farther away from the dock, and the trees on the shore started scrolling by her window, Claire could feel the boat accelerating as it reached deeper, open water. After Darryl had made sure she had the right schedule, she’d studied it carefully, and knew that there were going to stop at a couple of islands before they’d reach Orcas Island, where she’d walk off. Pulling a novel out of her bag she set it on the table in front of her, meaning to read it, but as the boat continued to push through the sparkling waters of the San Juan Islands, she was much more interested in everything around her than putting her nose in a book. The beauty outside her window somehow reminded her of a perfect oil painting, with pearlescent piles of white clouds snagged on the fabulous landscapes beneath them. White gulls flew past effortlessly, heedless of the strange, lumbering ship that toiled on the water’s surface.

  She looked around the passenger deck. The people near her were an interesting lot. A young family with two energetic little boys was sitting in the middle section, the father trying to keep the kids entertained with a remote-control car. A couple booths ahead of her was a heavyset, blonde woman, who was facing her. She had pulled out a knitting project and was industriously working while looking out the window, her fingers moving in automatic rhythm. A short man with dark-rimmed glasses was walking back from the snack shop, his pleased smile showing his satisfaction with the two hot dogs he just bought. On the other side of the ship, several groups of people had pulled out cards or books to entertain themselves, and a lone man in a ski coat and a ball cap leaned against one of the windows, and was scanning the view with a pair of high-powered binoculars. Every occasionally, someone would walk outside by Claire’s window, apparently enjoying the outdoor view, even if it was a bit windy.

  Glancing up, she noticed the blonde lady looking at her, then ducking her head down again as she continued to knit. Claire quickly glanced away, watc
hing the waves and island go by, but when she looked back the blonde lady was obviously watching her again. Feeling awkward, Claire braved a shy smile and the young woman smiled in return, setting down her knitting.

  “Didn’t I see you get on at Brightwater?” she asked over the empty booth in between them. After getting an answering nod, she grinned in smug satisfaction. “I knew it. I thought I saw you there, and I never forget a face. Just passing through?”

  Claire paused. The conversation was loud enough that anyone nearby could hear. She glanced over at the other people in the room, but no one seemed at all interested in a casual conversation between two strangers. The blonde woman continued to smile at her.

  It wasn’t like Claire to sit with someone she knew, but there was something welcoming and open about the friendly lady. Maybe it was her sweet smile. Mustering her courage, she picked up her neglected book and daypack and walked over to where the young woman was sitting.

  “Just visiting for a bit. My car broke down there and I’m waiting for it to get fixed. Do you mind if I join you?” she asked shyly, and her new friend gestured to the seat across the table from her.

  “That’d be great. I’m Molly Kincaid. Hope you don’t mind if I knit while we talk, but I’m trying to get this scarf done before Christmas and right now I’m way behind.” She pulled up her project to show it off, an oatmeal-colored strip of knitting with a subtle cable pattern running its length. “What do you think? It’s for my aunt.”

  “Gorgeous,” Claire said, honestly. “I can’t knit to save my life.” She leaned back against her pack with a sigh, suddenly at a loss for words. It wasn’t every day that she’d sit down with a stranger, but Molly’s face had been friendly and open when she’d caught her glance.