Contents
Cover
Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series
About the Book
The Authors
Main Characters
Secret Santa
Copyright
1. A Perfect Night
2. Lighting the Tree
3. An Empty Room
4. A Look at the Snow
5. A Christmas Goose
6. The Trouble with Bill
7. Questions
8. Hot Soup and Suspicion
9. A Chilling Wind
10. The Invisible Man
11. A Little Cash Withdrawal
12. At the Home
13. Stakeout
14. The Truth about Bill
15. A Deal for Santa
16. Christmas Eve
Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series
“Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series” is a series made up of self-contained stories. The series is published in English as well as in German, and is only available in e-book form.
About the Book
Bill Vokes has played Santa at the children’s Christmas show for years. But with the show just hours away, he vanishes with no explanation. The whole village is baffled. Did something bad happen to loveable Bill: upstanding citizen, churchgoer, life and soul of the party and the holiday season?
Jack and Sarah are on the case — and soon discover there are secrets about this Santa that no one could have imagined …
The Authors
Matthew Costello (US-based) is the author of a number of successful novels, including Vacation (2011), Home (2014) and Beneath Still Waters (1989), which was adapted by Lionsgate as a major motion picture. He has written for The Disney Channel, BBC, SyFy and has also designed dozens of bestselling games including the critically acclaimed The 7th Guest, Doom 3, Rage and Pirates of the Caribbean.
Neil Richards has worked as a producer and writer in TV and film, creating scripts for BBC, Disney, and Channel 4, and earning numerous Bafta nominations along the way. He’s also written script and story for over 20 video games including The Da Vinci Code and Starship Titanic, co-written with Douglas Adams, and consults around the world on digital storytelling.
His writing partnership with NYC-based Matt Costello goes back to the late 90’s and the two have written many hours of TV together. Cherringham is their first crime fiction as co-writers.
Main Characters
Jack Brennan is a former NYPD homicide detective who lost his wife three years ago. Being retired, all he wants is peace and quiet. Which is what he hopes to find in the quiet town of Cherringham, UK. Living on a canal boat, he enjoys his solitude. But soon enough he discovers that something is missing — the challenge of solving crimes. Surprisingly, Cherringham can help him with that.
Sarah Edwards is a web designer who was living in London with her husband and two kids. Three years ago, he ran off with his sexy American boss, and Sarah’s world fell apart. With her children she moved back to her home town, laid-back Cherringham. But the small town atmosphere is killing her all over again — nothing ever happens. At least, that’s what she thinks until Jack enters her life and changes it for good or worse …
Matthew Costello
Neil Richards
CHERRINGHAM
A COSY CRIME SERIES
Secret Santa
BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT
Digital original edition
Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG
Copyright © 2016 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany
Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Edited by Eleanor Abraham
Project editor: Kathrin Kummer
Cover illustration © shutterstock: xpixel | suns07butterfly | furtseff | Andrew Roland | USBFCO
Cover design: Jeannine Schmelzer
eBook production: Urban SatzKonzept, Düsseldorf
ISBN 978-3-7325-2845-5
www.bastei-entertainment.com
1. A Perfect Night
Bill Vokes stepped onto the balcony of the village hall and looked out at the festive scene.
It had stopped snowing, and from up here the night sky looked brilliant and clear, the clouds moving on for now. All around, the rooftops sparkled white under the rising moon.
Wood smoke drifted lazily from chimney pots.
He breathed deep, a wonderful mix of scents drifting up from the High Street below: pine needles, toffee apples, cinnamon, mulled wine …
Hmm, was that doughnut too? Or perhaps that delicious German cake, what the devil did they call it? Ah yes, Stollen, that was it. Must remind Emily to pick one up this evening!
His wife loved that cake almost as much as he did.
He looked down at the High Street: good Lord, what a rare view from up here! Dammit, the parish council should open this balcony all year round. We could charge those day-trippers a fortune!
He rested his hands on the old sandstone parapet, and looked out across the village.
The Christmas Market stretched all the way down to the Ploughman’s and Cherringham Bridge Road, and he could see throngs of people lit by the warm, orange glow from the strings of lights hanging on the stalls.
Locals, tourists, visitors from other villages, children everywhere (throwing snowballs, of course, but who cares? Let them have their fun!). People chattering, laughing, smiling, carrying balloons, buying gifts, sipping the mulled wine, sharing bags of piping hot chestnuts.
Immediately below him he could see the shape of this year’s big Christmas tree, its fairy lights still dark, the switch soon to be thrown.
To one side, the village’s very own impromptu brass band was making a pretty decent attempt at Jingle Bells.
In front of the players, a handful of very small children danced with the total abandon of giddy kids at Christmas time.
Bill watched them, delighted. Every now and then one would lose balance and fall in the fresh snow, then — just too excited to cry — would pick themselves up for another go.
Another perfect Cherringham Christmas! he thought. Does life get any better than this?
Of course, it was no surprise to see such a magnificent crowd — there were just twenty minutes to go before the ceremonial switching on of the Cherringham Christmas lights.
And then the handing out of presents to all the children. An early treat from Santa! The main event! His very own starring role!
He couldn’t quite remember how he’d first been persuaded to dress up as Santa for this Cherringham tradition. Though the size of his tummy might have had something to do with it — least that’s what dear old Emily said.
But he’d never, ever once regretted it. Ten years as the Cherringham Santa, and each year more fun than the last.
“Fantastic turnout — isn’t it, Bill?”
Bill turned to see Praveer Singh, Chair of the Rotary Club and dear friend, stepping out onto the balcony.
“Oh, yes. Somebody up there is looking after the weather,” said Bill shaking his hand.
“That’s for sure,” said Praveer. “If the snow holds off for the evening, we should clear a pretty sum.”
“Night like this? And for such a good cause? You’d have to be a miserable sod not to put your hand in your pocket.”
“Exactly.”
“Best Christmas lights in the Cotswolds, I reckon,” said Bill. “Course with Todd we’ve got a head start — best electrician this side of Oxford!”
“Couldn’t agree more,” said Praveer. “Have you seen him, by the way?”
“He just popped down for one last check,” said Bill. “I think he’s a bit nervous about the new set-up.”
Bill gestured toward
s the small table with a laptop and microphone.
“Aha — Cherringham goes digital, hmm?” said Praveer.
“I must admit — I rather miss the old brass lever,” said Bill. “Sense of power, seeing the tree go ‘up’, then the lights go all the way down the High Street.”
“I’m surprised you never went up with it,” said Praveer. “Right old death trap that switch was.”
“At least we’ll still be doing the countdown — computer can’t do that yet,” said Bill. “Talking of which — how long have we got?”
He saw Praveer check his wrist watch.
“Half an hour, I make it. You all organised?”
“Don’t you worry, old boy,” said Bill. “Costume’s down in the caretaker’s office. Only takes me a couple of minutes to slip it on.”
“Beard too?” said Praveer. “Sure you don’t need a hand?”
“Got it down to a tee,” said Bill. “Years of practice.”
Bill saw two more figures emerge onto the balcony through the open glass doors.
“Roger! Cecil!” he said. “What a pleasure to see you both!”
That’s a damn lie, thought Bill, without taking the welcoming smile off his face.
Roger Reed, manager of Cherringham’s only bank, had treated Bill like dirt when he’d first arrived in the village all those years ago.
And Cecil Cauldwell — boss of Cauldwell’s Fine Properties and a first rate snob (according to Emily) — had patronised him all the way through the purchase of his first cottage.
But live and let live, thought Bill. After all, ’tis the season …
“Got your eye on the clock?” said Roger, tapping his watch. “Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?”
“Timing’s of the essence, you know, Bill,” said Cecil at his side. “We’ve never been even a second late.”
As if I’d disappoint the village, thought Bill. However: “You’re right chaps,” said Bill. “Better go and get into character, hadn’t I?”
“Hmm, yes, well,” said Cecil, puffing out his jowly chin even more than usual, “don’t want to let the kiddies down.”
With a sneaky wink to Praveer, Bill headed back through the big glass double doors into the upper room of the village hall, and made his way to the stairs.
*
Bill peered into the mirror and carefully gummed the fluffy white beard onto his chin.
The smell of the glue always took him back to his school days in West London, that tight backstage room crammed with sixteen-year-old boys made up as unlikely Shakespearian kings and noblemen.
Fifty years ago, he thought. Hard to believe.
He reached down into the costume box, took out the big red hat with its white fur trim and bobble and carefully put it on over the white wig.
Then — he stepped back from the mirror and scrutinised the whole outfit.
Not bad, he thought. Maybe a little … saggy.
He adjusted the stuffing under his red tunic, and tightened the belt.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he said.
There we are! Perfect.
He checked that the white gloves were in his trouser pockets, then glanced at his watch. Twenty to six.
Hmm, he thought, just time for a quiet ciggie … especially out of Emily’s scolding purview.
He reached into his jacket pocket, took out his lighter and a single cigarette from the pack. Then he stepped out of the caretaker’s storeroom and headed down the hallway. He remembered from last year, the little door they used for deliveries. Fingers crossed it wouldn’t be locked.
At the door, he lifted the latch and tugged hard.
Yes!
He pulled the creaking door open and stepped straight out onto the pavement.
Quiet here, away from the expectant hubbub.
A nice moment.
He was careful not to shut the door behind him.
Don’t want to get stranded out here while the show goes on!
He popped the cigarette into his mouth, lit up and looked around. The village square was dark: all the street lights had been turned off to show off the strings of Christmas lights, looped from one side of the High Street to the other.
Needs me to turn ’em on first though! he thought.
The Bell Hotel was lit up of course, across the road. And some light spilled out of the Angel on this side.
Shame I can’t pop in there now for a quick pint, he thought.
Have to sneak down to the Ploughman’s soon as I’ve handed out all the prezzies …
There were no market stalls at this end of the High Street — just parking for all the vans that belonged to the stall holders.
Standing here all alone, Bill could hardly believe the hubbub of activity just the other side of the village hall.
He took another deep drag on the cigarette, and blew the smoke up into the night air. He shivered with the cold, getting even chillier under the clear sky.
He took a moment to just gaze at the street and pavements, hard with flattened snow, the ice crystals twinkling with the light from the pub.
More snow was predicted but, so far, so good.
Wouldn’t want to be driving home on these roads tonight, he thought.
And, as if on cue, a van crept down the High Street towards the village hall, and took the turn slowly into the square.
Bill watched as it came closer, then drew up just level with him, its engine ticking quietly.
Must be arriving late for the festivities, whoever it was.
They’d better hurry …
The windows were all misted up, so Bill couldn’t see inside the cab.
He waited for it to move on, but it didn’t.
Looking for a parking space, thought Bill. Some hope!
He checked his watch.
Ten to six. Time to head back up to the balcony, make his dramatic entrance, wave to the cheering crowd, press the new button for the lights, and officially start Christmas in Cherringham.
But still time to finish this ciggie, he thought. At my age — can’t rush any of life’s little pleasures …
And he took another drag and blew a perfect smoke ring into the night air.
2. Lighting the Tree
“How about one more mulled wine?” said Sarah, steering Jack towards the warm light of the stall.
“Sure,” said Jack, following her through the bustling crowd. “Night like this, I could do with another warm layer.”
At the stall he waited while Sarah paid for the drinks. The girl (who Jack recognised from her day job in the sandwich shop) ladled them out from a massive steaming tureen into tiny Styrofoam cups. Sarah handed him his wine.
Funny how they always do their drinks Hobbit-sized here in England, thought Jack.
“Cheers,” he said, carefully taking a sip of the scorching concoction.
“Cheers,” said Sarah.
“Wow, that hits the spot,” he said.
They stood for a minute at the edge of the crowd, sipping their steaming drinks and taking in the atmosphere.
Jack had been to a few of these Cherringham Christmas events over the years, and each time they seemed to get bigger, more popular. Though he recognised a lot of the faces in the crowd, there seemed to be more visitors than ever.
It all added up to a lot of fun and a great atmosphere: the busy stalls, a happy crowd jostling together in the street.
And to cap it all, two days of snow had made the whole place look like a scene from a Dickens novel.
Long way from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, he thought.
“Come on, dreamer,” said Sarah, seeing him take it all in. “Don’t want to miss the big ceremony.”
“It does look like a movie set though — doesn’t it?”
“You’re right,” she said. “I shouldn’t take it for granted.”
“Lucky you — bringing up kids in a place like this.”
He saw her smile and nod.
“The first year they put this on, with the stalls and everything, Chloe was
seven, I think. Daniel must have been around five. He sat in the snow by the tree and absolutely refused to move until Santa turned up to hand out the presents.”
“The kids here tonight?”
Time passes, thought Jack.
“Somewhere. Chloe’s helping sell raffle tickets. And Daniel’s hanging out with his pals trying to get a sneaky beer off one of the stalls, I imagine.”
“Well, they might not be so interested in the ‘lighting up’ ceremony any more — but I sure am,” said Jack.
“Me too,” said Sarah, checking her watch. “And in fact — it’s time we headed up to the hall.”
She turned, and started to gently push her way through the crowds, and Jack followed.
*
When they reached the village hall, a big crowd had already gathered around the Christmas tree.
Sarah recognised some of the younger village mums. It seemed like half of Cherringham Primary School was camped out, eagerly waiting for Santa to arrive. Sarah saw excited children everywhere — chattering, playing, jumping up and down, sliding on the packed snow.
And though she and Jack couldn’t get any closer in the packed crowd, Sarah could easily see the balcony of the hall from where they stopped.
“This okay?”
“Fine,” he said. “How long till countdown?”
“Couple of minutes,” said Sarah.
She saw Jack look from the balcony, to the crowd, then back to her.
“You think so?” said Jack. “They don’t look too ready up there.”
Sarah looked up at the village hall — and things certainly didn’t seem to be going smoothly.
Normally — right about now — the Mayor and the Chair of the local Rotary Club gave a little speech about this year’s good cause, and offered a thank you to all the organisers.
Then Santa would step forward, while everyone cheered and waited for the chimes from the church to start. That would be the signal for the countdown to the lights switch being thrown and the fun to begin.
But already, it was two minutes to six and the speeches hadn’t even started.
Cherringham--Secret Santa Page 1
