Cozy Christmas Murder

by Summer Prescott

  She dug into her pocket again to grab the incriminating paper, but stopped when a familiar voice echoed through the chilly air.

  “Not so fast,” Sheriff Carlsbad commanded, stepping into the open circle of trees from behind another one of the snowy bushes. He had his gun trained on the assailant.

  “What the heck? What is this?” Thomas growled.

  “Put your gun down, now,” he shouted.

  The murderer hesitated, his eyes darting from the cop to the woman.

  “Things will go easier for you if you just put that gun down.”

  “Not a chance. You’re not going to prove it was me,” he shouted, stalling.

  “I can bet that gun your holding will match the bullet that killed Henrietta White,” he accused.

  “And what about this note,” Margo got the courage to say.

  “What’s going on, Mom?” Sandra asked, coming to the door.

  “Go back inside,” the concerned mother ordered.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed, her face going pale as she collapsed.

  Thomas looked over as the girl fell, his guard down for just a second.

  It was long enough.

  Like a streak of lightning, the sheriff ran and tackled the gunman to the ground, handcuffing his arms behind his back. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Henrietta White. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  Realizing things were now safe, Margo ran to her daughter’s side.

  CHAPTER 15

  * * *

  Monday, December 25th – Christmas Day

  The melodic ting of a knife against glass rang out over the table as Margo stood up, raising her mug of cider. “Before we dig into this delicious Christmas dinner, I just wanted to say a few words of gratitude.”

  Sandra, Patrick, and Sheriff Carlsbad—whom Margo had invited to eat with them—all looked up from the delicious looking array of turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie with smiles on their faces.

  “I just want to say how thankful I am to have Sheriff Carlsbad with us this evening to celebrate this day of peace and happiness. This day would not exist without all the hard work you’ve done over the past few days.”

  “Hear, hear,” Sandra agreed, lifting her own mug.

  “I can’t take all the credit,” he admitted, raising an eyebrow at the spiky haired woman.

  “Still, you managed to save my life, and possibly the life of my daughter. On top of that, you managed to apprehend the killer of an old friend.”

  “Just doing my job,” he said, his smile widening.

  “In any case, I’d like to dedicate this meal to you. To quote Dickens, To Sheriff Carlsbad, ‘the founder of the feast’.”

  “The founder of the feast, indeed,” Sandra joked.

  The whole group laughed, raising their mugs and drinking the hot mulled cider. “To Sheriff Carlsbad,” they all said.

  “Thank you. This means a lot,” he accepted the praise warmly.

  “You deserve it.”

  “I very much appreciate this meal. I usually spend my Christmas in front of the TV with a beer. Never been much of a family man, I suppose.”

  “Maybe we can change that,” Sandra teased, her eyes passing from him to her mother.

  Margo rolled her eyes. “Let’s eat.”

  The dishes filled to the brim with tasty food were passed around for everyone to get a serving.

  “So, I don’t mean to bring up work, or the murder case, at the dinner table, but what is going to happen to Diego now? I mean, he isn’t the killer.” Sandra leaned in, looking at the sheriff.

  “Nothing is going to happen to him. He was never arrested.”

  “What?” Margo exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry I had to do it, but I lied about the whole thing. Diego has no more of a criminal background than I do, and all of the places I called confirmed his deliveries were at the times he noted.”

  “Now, wait a minute. I don’t understand. Why tell us all of that if it wasn’t true?” Margo demanded to know.

  “It was a diversion. I knew the real killer was probably keeping an eye on your cabin, or at least I had hope. I was still under the assumption that you were potentially the intended victim.” He pointed at Margo.

  “You put me in harm’s way on purpose.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry, I was there the entire time watching everything. Anyway, I knew that the killer would already be waiting around at the scene of the crime, or that he’d come back once he heard we’d arrested someone. Luckily, I was dead on. When he came out of the trees with his gun, I was there as well to stop him.” He raised his glass to Sandra and smiled. “The real hero is you, my dear. If you hadn’t fainted, I might not have gotten my chance to take him down.”

  Sandra’s face flushed from embarrassment.

  Patrick laughed, raising his glass. “To my fiancé.”

  “But he wasn’t coming back to kill me. He was coming back to find that note he’d accidentally left behind,” Margo said.

  “That’s right. He probably assumed that he could easily just grab it and leave without anyone seeing him. Thankfully, you found the note before he could get to it. Altogether, it meant we not only caught the murderer red handed, with the murder weapon, but we also had a note proving that he was there. With the confession from his brother that he’d stood in at the factory, we basically have this case in the bag.”

  “Thank heaven for that,” Margo agreed. She turned to the sheriff, her eye narrowing upon him. “I still don’t like you tricking us like that.”

  “Hey, without you, solving this case might not have been possible,” he complimented her as he cut into his turkey and took a bite.

  “Perhaps,” she laughed.

  “This is really delicious.”

  “It’d be better with this,” she offered, handing him a bottle of her famous chipotle hot sauce.

  “I never say no to hot sauce.” He took the bottle and unscrewed the cap, adding some on top of his food. Scooping up the sauce with a little bit of turkey, gravy, and mashed potatoes, he ate the bite.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Oh my, yes. This is heavenly.”

  “Good, because I got you a present.” Margo stood up and walked over to the tree to retrieve a package.

  “Me?” he asked, surprise in his eyes.

  “Merry Christmas, Sheriff,” she said as she handed over the wrapped box with a little drawing of Santa Claus waving up from the paper.

  Eagerly, he ripped into the package, pulling the box flaps open and peering inside. “Oh, my. You remembered,” he said, lifting the bottle of Christmas Peppers from the box.

  “I’ve also included the gift box of our specialty sauces.”

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better present,” he praised her. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I think he likes it, Mom,” Sandra winked at Margo.

  “Like I always say, most men love their hot sauces.”

  Death

  The

  Halls

  An “Authors of Summer Prescott Books”

  Christmas Cozy

  By

  Karoline Barrett

  CHAPTER 1

  * * *

  “Meowwwwww. Meowwwwww. Meoowwrrr.”

  “Goodness gracious, such a fuss. Sorry, Charlotte, but the tree’s going to be there for a while.” Grace Danning reached down and scooped up an unhappy black cat. She’d just finished stringing multi-colored lights around the red Christmas garland that framed Black Cat Books' bay window. She then had to nail chicken wire from one wall to another to keep Charlotte, and her partner-in-crime, Emily, from upsetting the Christmas tree. Attractive? Not so much, but they couldn't be trusted to leave the tree alone.

  Both cats, named after two of the Brontë sisters, loved stretching out on the padded window seat in the afternoon sun. They didn’t appreciate hav
ing what they considered to be their domain off limits because of a silly tree. Christmas, smismas, was their opinion. She laughed at Charlotte's outraged expression, kissed her head, and set her down. “Go find Emily, she’s probably taking a nap in the children's section. You know that's her favorite.”

  “Meoowwrrr.” Charlotte growled deep in her throat again, eyeing the chicken wire with contempt. Still looking disgusted, she hurried away when the front door opened, letting a frigid gust of air sweep in.

  “Ho, ho, ho!” boomed a deep voice. “Where are my favorite elves?”

  “Blake!” Grace turned toward the visitor. “Merry Christmas! Why didn’t you call? Kate or I would’ve picked you up at the airport.”

  He stamped his feet against the mat protecting the hardwood floor, then shed his coat and gloves, dropping them on the chair by the door. “Merry Christmas, Grace! Glad you mentioned Kate. With you both having the same shade of red hair, green eyes, and sometimes identical mannerisms I still have trouble telling you apart once in a while. Awful of me, I admit. I truly apologize.”

  Grace smiled. She wasn’t offended in the least. “Lots of people have that problem. Including relatives.”

  “Then I’m in good company. There was no need for either of you to come out in the cold if you didn’t need to. I used an app on my smartphone to summon a car to pick me up. Amazing, isn’t it? What if Santa had such technology? He’d have a whole slew of help delivering presents, or should I say a whole sleigh of help.” He chuckled at his own wit.

  She chuckled with him. “He certainly would. Are you staying at Thistlewood Inn?”

  “I am. Jenna had my room all ready, as she’s done the last few times I’ve been here. I came a little early, so I’d have some time to relax and unwind before the tea.”

  “Good idea.” Grace watched as he looked around the bookstore. She, and her twin sister, Kate, had spent the evening yesterday decorating for Christmas after they’d closed. Grace had just finished up. They were running a little late with the decorating this year, but no matter, it looked beautiful.

  Between the fake-but-totally-real-looking Christmas tree heavy with all manner of Christmas ornaments and bows, the Santa snow globes scattered about, the silver and gold sprayed pine cones in the red basket by the front door, and sprigs of evergreen on the fireplace hearth next to bowls of fragrant homemade evergreen soap, it looked more like Christmas central than a bookstore.

  Their customers today had loved it. Grace did as well. Christmas was her favorite time of year. She loved the decorations, the baking, her Christmas tree, family, and the coziness of the holiday. There had still been a crowd in the bookstore when they’d closed at five o’clock. Maybe she and Kate should consider expanding their hours during the holiday season.

  “You’ve done a nice job with my latest investment, I see.” Blake’s warm brown eyes shone with approval. “I love the gnomes outside. They’re terrific.”

  Grace and Kate had recently made Indiana native, and popular best-selling author, Blake D’Arcy, a partner in their bookstore. They were thrilled with their venture. Grace smiled. “Cute, aren’t they? They’re Kate’s. She bought them a few weeks ago. Melchior and Ivy are their names.” She glanced out one of the narrow windows that flanked the front door. “Speaking of Kate. Here she comes.”

  A couple of seconds later the door flew open again, letting another round of frigid air in. Kate’s face broke into a wide grin when she saw Blake. She quickly took off her coat and laid it on top of his. “You’re here! I was afraid the weather might delay you. We got about three inches of snow as you can see, and they predicted only a dusting.”

  “And miss being the guest of honor at Black Cat Books' famous Christmas tea? Never! Besides, I’m playing Santa, remember? I’m looking forward to that. It’ll be a first for me.”

  Kate laughed. “I’m not sure if our Christmas tea is exactly famous, but I can’t wait to see everyone’s expression when they realize this year’s guest, and Santa, is you!”

  “Last year, Judge Mason Gardner played Santa and he bored everyone to tears,” Grace chimed in. “He’s a dear man, but he was simply awful at being Santa. Please don’t tell him I said that in case you run into him.”

  He held an index finger up to his lips. “I won't say a word,” he promised.

  “By the way, Blake, we’ve been keeping your visit a deep, dark secret, so don't let everybody in town see you if you can help it,” Kate warned.

  “I shall stay in my room at Thistlewood until the appointed time,” he said. He checked his watch. “I guess I should get out of here, so you two can lock up and go home.”

  “You stay as long as you want,” Kate said.

  “Do you really think people are going to recognize him?” Grace asked. She thought Kate was being a little ridiculous.

  “You never know. Wouldn't you recognize Belinda Drake if you saw her walking around Sweetwater?”

  Belinda was Grace's favorite author. Next to Blake, naturally. “Okay, yes, I would.”

  “All right then.” Kate looked at Blake. “I just don't want to spoil our surprise. So, what do you think?” She swept her arm out. “Christmasy enough?”

  “Gorgeous! You two are so creative. All we need is some mistletoe, a fire in the fireplace, and a good book to read, and we’ve got the perfect Christmas scene.”

  “Books and fire, no problem.” Grace then pointed up to the archway behind him that led to the children’s and young adults’ sections. “And mistletoe hung.”

  Kate scowled. “I don’t know if that was a good idea. Unless you want every guy in town trying to kiss you.”

  Grace’s swatted Kate’s arm. “Yes, they’ve been lining up all day, didn’t you notice? I’ll have to fight them off with a broom until Christmas is over, I’m sure. Don’t be a prude. You’re too young for that. Whatever you do, don’t turn into Aunt Victoria. She was so sour, she put lemons to shame. Remember how we always had to visit her at Christmas time and she scared us to death?”

  “I’m not a prude,” Kate protested. “And she was probably a lonely old woman.”

  “I'm sure she was. But back to the mistletoe, it depends on who the man is. Have you seen our new mailman? He’s pretty cute.” She turned to Blake. “Excuse Mrs. Scrooge puss here. She and Jeremiah had some sort of argument last night. Looks like she’s not over it.”

  Blake gave a jubilant burst of laughter. “No need to explain anything to me. With three ex-wives, I know how that is.”

  “It wasn’t exactly an argument, Blake,” Kate retorted, throwing a miffed look at her sister. “It was more of a heated discussion. He wants to buy an old car he saw in a barn out in the country somewhere. He thinks he can restore it. Where he plans to do this work, I don’t know, since our garage is already full.”

  “Every man needs a hobby,” Blake told her. “It could be worse. At least he's not hanging out in bars.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but the garage? I swear we have wedding presents we haven’t even opened stacked in there, and we’ve been married for thirty years. But never mind all that. Grace, do you have Blake’s Santa suit ready? I want everything to be perfect for the tea.”

  “Yes, I picked it up yesterday,” Grace assured her. “It’s in my hall closet. Extra-large, like you ordered.”

  “Good.” Kate rubbed her hands together. “I don’t want anything to go wrong. The food is going to be delivered right before the tea, and the Christmas china is all set in the back room.”

  “I think we have everything under control. Nothing is going to go wrong. Don’t worry, sis, we’ve got this.” Grace turned her attention to Blake. “How’s that online class you’re teaching?”

  “It’s a lot of fun, but exhausting. I’ve got some talented people in it, and some not so much, but they all try really hard. It’s been quite an experience. And I mean for me, not my students.”

  “That’s great that you’ve found time to do a class. And I think it’s wonderful how you’ve
done like other writers, and taken on a co-author,” Grace said.

  “Thanks. So far, it’s worked out great, and it's a big help to me. I don't have to work so hard.” He laughed at his own words.

  “Are you going to do it again?” Kate asked. “The online class, I mean. I might take it.”

  Grace stared at her sister. Was she serious? “You’re going to write a book now?”

  Kate stiffened her back and glared at Grace. “I might. You never know. How hard can it be?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Blake interjected. “It can be pretty hard, especially when your ideas dry up, and your characters decide to do the tango after you’ve choreographed a nice mambo for them.”

  “I…um…wasn’t trying to diminish what you do, Blake,” Kate stammered, looking chagrined. “I apologize. But I really do think I’d like to write a book sometime.”

  “No apology necessary. If you want to write a book, write a book,” Blake encouraged. “My next class starts in three weeks.”

  Grace made a face. “Oh Blake, please don’t encourage her. My sister, the queen of unfinished projects.”

  Blake laughed. “Maybe you’re being a little rough on her, Grace?”

  “I certainly am not. She starts things then just loses interest. Ask her what happened to scrapbooking.”