by Sara Rosett
Menace at the Christmas Market
A Novella in the Murder on Location Series
Sara Rosett
Contents
About Menace at the Christmas Market
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
The Story Behind the Story
About the Author
Other Books By Sara
Menace at the Christmas Market
a novella in the Murder on Location series
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Sara Rosett
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Copyright © 2015 by Sara Rosett
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All rights are reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this work may be used, stored, transmitted, or reproduced in any manner or form whatsoever without express written permission from the author and publisher.
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This is a work of fiction and names, characters, incidents, and places are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, incidents, and places is coincidental.
Editing: ManuscriptProofing.com
Cover: Alchemy Book Covers
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About Menace at the Christmas Market
A Novella in the Murder on Location series
With the Christmas holidays nearing, Kate has time off, a rare occurrence for a location scout. The Jane Austen documentary series is in a production lull, and she plans to spend her time searching for the perfect Christmas gift for Alex, which has turned out to be a task as difficult as finding an unspoiled location for a medieval-inspired fantasy series. Kate goes to the local Regency-themed Christmas Market in search of a gift, but while she’s there a new acquaintance meets with foul play. Kate is drawn into the investigation and soon realizes she must discover who wants to make sure she doesn’t ring in the New Year.
“I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings…”
—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Chapter 1
NETHER WOODSMOOR
“AND HOW ARE the Canary Islands?” I asked as I looked out the kitchen window into the sodden garden behind my cottage.
“As advertised, it is a mellow sixty-seven degrees, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky.” Alex’s voice came through the phone clearly, sounding as if he were in the next room, not off the coast of Africa. “What is it like there?”
“Rather dreary, actually.”
“Raining again?”
“Yes, but I meant the lack of company.”
Alex’s laugh sounded in my ear, then he dropped the volume of his voice. “Believe me, I wish I was there, too. Sun or no sun.”
“So it’s not going…well?” Alex didn’t talk about his parents much, so my knowledge about his family was sketchy, but I did know his parents were divorced and interactions with his mother were the one thing that made his easy-going nature vanish and put him on edge. As far as I could tell, his mother didn’t have a fixed address. She seemed to go wherever the sun was shining. It sounded as if she was more interested in her tan than her children—thus the Christmas visit to Gran Canaria, the largest island of the chain.
Yes, I’d looked it up on Wikipedia when Alex announced he was heading there for the holiday. Had I felt a smidgen of envy, gazing at pictures of sandy beaches and palm trees? No, of course not. Alex and I had only been dating a few months, and I certainly wasn’t anxious to introduce the complication of extended families into our relationship equation. No, simply finding an appropriate Christmas gift for Alex was driving me batty, so I doubted we could handle the complexities of parental expectations and demands.
Our mothers seemed to be complete opposites. His mother disappeared off the radar for months, then suddenly demanded things of Alex, like this command visit during the holiday, while my mother had only one demand of me. She wanted me married—about five years ago. According to her calendar, she should have two grandchildren at this point.
So I hadn’t felt the least bit slighted when Alex announced he had to go to the Canary Islands for a family Christmas celebration and hadn’t invited me. Truthfully, I was relieved. However, looking at the beautiful tropical island did stir a twinge of homesickness for Southern California, where I had lived until last spring when I took a job as a location scout for a documentary series about Jane Austen’s life. The dusty, parched hills covered with scrub were such a contrast to the lush countryside of Derbyshire that it almost seemed the two places could be on different planets.
I’d wanted a change from the congested, fast-paced lifestyle of L.A. I’d certainly gotten it. There was a reason it was so green in Nether Woodsmoor. Rain was a constant. At first, the showers had been refreshing, but after several months, I caught myself complaining a few times, just like the locals, about the irritating rain that never seemed to stop. In all fairness, it had been a wet summer. My friend Louise, the owner of the local pub, told me, “Don’t worry, luv. Soon it will change to snow.”
Alex said, “The atmosphere is tense, conversations are constantly misinterpreted, and everyone is mentally counting the days until we can pack our bags.”
“That sounds…terrible, actually.”
“It’s about normal for the Norcutt family. Typical Christmas holiday.”
Alex’s tone was breezy, but I detected some genuine strain in his voice. “So no good holiday memories, at all?” I asked.
Alex paused, then said, “Well, the time in Malta wasn’t bad.”
Alex’s dad worked in the U.S. diplomatic core, and Alex had moved all over the world as he grew up.
He continued, “Sophia was our nanny, and she let us bake these green sugar cookies. She called them holly cookies. We put those tiny red candies on them for the berries. That was a good time. Dad was always busy, even on holidays. He always took extra work so his staff could have time off. I understand that now. At the time it made for a really long day of waiting around for him to come back. What about you?”
“I never thought my holidays were especially jolly, but compared to yours, mine are practically a Hallmark movie. After my dad left, it was just me and my mom, but she loves to cook and entertain, so she always went way overboard and cooked too much food. Every January, I vow I’m not ever eating turkey and dressing again. She always tries to get someone to come over, too, so we usually had company.” I left out the fact that my mom’s invitations were usually extended to friends who had eligible bachelors for sons. My mother’s matchmaking never took a holiday.
I wondered who she had lined up for next week when I flew back to Southern California. Despite telling her about Alex, she refused to believe I had a real live boyfriend. If she hadn’t met him, he didn’t exist. I knew she’d have someone there at the table with us for our delayed Christmas dinner. The price of airline tickets dropped during the week after Christmas, so that’s when I was traveling. Alex would return from his tropical Christmas, and we’d have one day to exchange gifts and celebrate Christmas before I left on my trans-Atlantic flight.
Well, we could exchange presents, if I found something to give him. I’d spent quite a few hours pondering what to buy for him. So far, I had zero options.
&
nbsp; A faint female voice sounded through the phone line. Alex said, “Got to go. I’ll call you later.” We set a time to talk later, and I told myself there was no reason to feel down. Surely I wasn’t one of those clingy women who couldn’t enjoy themselves without a man on their arm. No, I’d never been like that. More often than not, I’d been alone and just fine with that. Missing someone was a new sensation, one that made me slightly uncomfortable. I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted my happiness to be so dependent on another person’s presence. With Alex living in the cottage just down the lane from mine and with both of us working on the same documentary series, we had slipped into an easy routine during the last few months, riding to work together and often having dinner or stopping to pick up groceries on the way home. It was all very domestic and cozy and…nice. To have him suddenly gone, left me feeling off-kilter. It was as if the last step on the stairs had suddenly disappeared. The expected was gone, and I was stumbling around as if I’d missed a step, trying to find my footing.
The last thing I wanted to do was mope around, contemplating the benefits and pitfalls of relationships, so I slipped on my black peacoat, wound my scarf around my neck, and took my temporary house guest, Alex’s greyhound, Slink, for a swift walk. Slink would have preferred a run, but I’m more of a walker than a runner, but she had a long leash and spent the time surging ahead, then loping back to me as if to say, What’s taking you so long? I figured she covered twice the territory I did. Back at my cottage, she settled in for a long nap on her cushion, and I set out for the pub. Even though it was afternoon, I wanted a good cup of coffee.
The rain had stopped for the moment, but dark gray clouds seemed to hover only feet above the barren tree branches, darkening the afternoon so that it felt more like twilight. The little copse where the lane dead-ended was fuzzy and indistinct with mist. I tucked the umbrella under my arm and headed away from the copse toward the village, nodding as I passed a woman with short black hair who was emerging from a gray hatchback parked a few cottages down the lane. She looked startled and touched her black rectangular-framed glasses as if to see me better. She looked a bit familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen her. Probably somewhere around the village. Nether Woodsmoor was small enough that I saw the same people frequently, although it wasn’t so small that I knew everyone’s name.
The aptly named Cottage Lane was positioned on a rise slightly above the village of Nether Woodsmoor. And with no houses on the other side of the lane, I had an unimpeded view of the village, which was made up of cottages and shops constructed of mellow golden stone clustered around the village green and the sturdy church with its pointy spire, which today was shrouded in mist. The wide swiftly moving river cut through the village, reflecting the dark sky. Tiny white lights had been strung across the main thoroughfare, and the shops were decked out in lights, garlands, and bows. Even the streetlights had been wrapped in greenery. I cut down to the main road and joined the people on the sidewalk. With three days until Christmas, the shopping rush was on, even in tiny Nether Woodsmoor. I hurried on, the chilly damp air plenty of motivation to get to the pub quickly.
I stepped into the warmth of the White Duck Pub and made my way to the bar because all the tables around the crackling fire were filled. As I unwound my scarf and settled on a barstool, I caught sight of Louise’s ponytail. Her black hair was often tinted a black-cherry color, but today her hair was an even more festive candy apple red. With her plump figure and protective manner, she had a motherly air, especially when she dealt with her employees, but her bright, ever-changing hair color seemed to hint that she was a bit of a risk-taker. For some reason, I thought if she lived in the States, she’d own a Harley.
“Is it the usual today? Takeaway?” she asked.
“No, I’m off today.”
She leaned back and blinked at me. “Off? You?”
“Oh, come on. I don’t work that much…do I?”
Louise filled several pints and placed them on her tray. “Let’s just say, when you stop in here you’re either on your way to or from work.” It was the sort of statement my mom had made frequently, which always set me on the defensive immediately, but I didn’t have the same reaction to Louise. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, merely factual. She was one of those people who had a knack for making you feel comfortable. With her unhurried manner, I felt as if she had all day to listen, a pretty good characteristic for a pub owner.
“I suppose that’s true,” I allowed. Being a location scout did fill most of the hours of my day. Maybe that’s why I was a little blue. Going from a million miles an hour to…well…full stop was a bit disconcerting. Hours of uninterrupted peace and quiet to do whatever I wanted sounded lovely in the abstract. In reality, I felt adrift. “The production is shut down until after the New Year. Shopping is the only thing on my agenda. So I will have lunch, but not to-go.”
Louise took my order for fish and chips as she lifted the tray. I pulled out my Moleskine notebook and studied the list of gifts I needed to purchase. I’d lined through every name on the list except for Alex’s. I took out a pen and prepared to jot down a few ideas.
Louise returned with my food. “You’ve been frowning at that paper for a long while.”
“I’m stumped. I have no idea what to get Alex for Christmas. He isn’t into possessions, you know? I can’t think of a single thing he really wants.”
“What’s that thing he used to do? Not skiing…” she asked.
“Snowboarding,” I supplied as I picked up a crisp, or what I thought of as a french fry. “But he’s got all the gear for that, and he doesn’t do it much now, anyway.”
She nodded and rang up a check, then returned later to ask, “What about something for his camera?”
“I could get him a new lens or even a new camera, but that would be work-related. That seems…I don’t know, not personal enough.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I want to get him something that strikes the right balance. Not anything too extravagant, but nothing too frivolous either. Nothing that puts the pressure on, but on the other hand, I want to show him how much I…appreciate him.”
Louise’s eyebrows, which were normally hidden behind her long bangs, lowered into view as she frowned. “That’s a lot for one present to do, luv.”
“I know. I’ve thought and thought and can’t come up with anything. The days are ticking away. I have to get him something. At this point, I’ll have to buy him a tie.” I sighed. A tie would be the worst gift for Alex, who was laid-back and relaxed. His idea of dressing up was wearing khakis instead of jeans. “Or maybe a wallet.”
Louise looked at me sympathetically, then tossed the dishrag she’d been holding into a bucket. “You should come with me,” she said, decisively.
“Where?”
“To the Christmas Market in Upper Benning. Ella is here for the rest of the day. I have to finish my Christmas shopping. The market is huge. It’s Regency-themed, too, so you can call it research.”
“That could be interesting.” At our last production meeting before we broke for the holiday, the producer of the documentary series, Elise DuPont, had said that when we reconvened in January, she wanted us to pitch her ideas for future episodes. “Dazzle me, people,” she’d said.
The relationship between Elise and I had recently moved to a more solid footing after a shaky start, and a good pitch would keep everything positive between us. I wanted things to stay positive. I did not want to be on her naughty list again. A possible future Christmas-themed episode might be worth exploring. “And you think there will be a gift there that Alex would like? He’s not that into the Regency stuff.” He had read a few Austen novels because I recommend them, but he was far from a fanboy when it came to Jane Austen.
“The vendors dress in Regency costumes, but there are all sorts of stalls: food, crafts, artisan beer and wine, collectables. They have entertainment, the whole bit. And Harriet Hayden has a booth,” she said in a tone that conveyed this fact should be the clincher for me
.
“Who?”
“Harriet Hayden, the author. Surely, you’ve heard of her?”
“No.”
“Oh, I can’t believe you didn’t know. And you, being such a big Jane Austen fan. In fact…” Louise bent and looked under the bar. “Yes, I thought Patricia said she’d finished it.” Louise stood and held out a paperback book. The cover showed a woman in a Regency walking dress and bonnet looking shyly up at a gentleman with an elaborate cravat, high collar points, and a well-fitted coat. A stately home filled the hazy distance in one corner of the cover while the title, Lasting Impressions, in an elaborate cursive font dominated the bottom third of the cover. I took the book from her and read the subtitle aloud, “A Pride and Prejudice Variation. What’s that?”
“It means it takes place in the same world as Austen’s P & P, but the story goes in a different direction than in Austen’s book. It’s a ‘what if’ scenario. You know, what if Elizabeth hadn’t refused Darcy’s first proposal, or what if her mother somehow forced her to become engaged to Mr. Collins? How would the story play out?”
“Oh, I get it. It’s fan fiction.” I flipped the book over and skimmed the list of titles by the author, which was quite long. “Your Harriet Hayden is prolific.”
“We’ve read them all. The book club, I mean. My personal favorite is Miss Bingley Suspects. It’s a spin-off, really, and starts a completely new series that has a lot of mystery in it as well as romance. Miss Bingley has to solve a murder at a house party and becomes quite a bit less stuffy in the process. Great fun.” Louise pointed out the title, the first of six in the series then tapped another title. “If you like a sweet romance, you should read To Ardently Love and Admire. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s backstory. That’s one of her best. The Page Turners loved it.”
