Mistletoe Mystery

by Sally Quilford

  “So what about your ideas? Meg, you said something about the Mistletoe and Mystery weekend.”

  “Yes, I Googled that name, Dominique DuPont and guess what?”

  “She’s a schoolgirl who went missing from Bedlington Hall when it was a boarding school.”

  “Oh. Did you Google it too?”

  “No, I remembered something about it. I’m sure you’ve found out more.”

  “Not much more. It happened in nineteen sixty-three. Dominique, who was seventeen at the time, simply upped and disappeared one day. The girl, her belongings, everything. There was a nationwide hunt, but they never found her. The odd thing is that when the school tried to contact her family to ask if she’d returned home, they’d disappeared too. It was said they weren’t known at the address given.”

  “That is odd.”

  “Yet children from the school were saying that they saw her in Midchester, or other places for years after. A bit like Elvis packing groceries in a Texas supermarket I suppose. So, I thought, what if we use that story for the Mistletoe and Murder? It was nearly fifty years ago, so anyone connected with it will probably be dead by now. It also cuts down on the number of people we’d have to use. Dominique could be played by one of us, then we could ditch her persona and be someone else. It should work as long as we made sure those two characters weren’t in the room at the same time. We could come up with our own reason for her disappearance. I’m thinking international espionage.”

  “In Midchester? It’s hardly the place for spies.”

  “But Bedlington Hall was a military hospital for a short time. What if one of the soldiers recuperating here had enemy plans for a secret weapon and had hidden them somewhere, then died before he could hand them over? Dominique was a teenage spy, sent to search for them, but was popped off by the British government.”

  “I should have let you write the plays before, Meg,” said Philly. “You’re much better at them than I am.”

  “I’ll be James Bond,” said Puck. He put his hand into the form of a gun. “Licensed to thrill.”

  “Ooh yes,” said Meg. “Though you are much better looking, darling, despite what Philly says.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t good looking. I just said I didn’t fancy him.”

  “And the knife twists again,” said Puck, theatrically pulling an imaginary dagger from his chest. “I’m telling you, Philly, this Matt bloke had better be blooming fabulous now. I shan’t settle for being cast asunder for anyone less than drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “Yes, Puck, I dumped you years ago for a man I only met today. Though…”

  “What?” Meg and Puck said in unison.

  “Nothing. It’s silly. I just had that feeling, when you meet someone and feel as if you’ve known them for eternity. Do you know what I mean?”

  “We know,” said Meg, looking lovingly at her fiancé. Puck took her hand, raised it and kissed it.

  Pushing aside the familiar pang, Philly asked, “What was your idea, Puck?”

  “Oh yeah. I nearly forgot with all this romance in the air. You remember my sister, Rachel? She just got a job as a presenter for a local news station in this area. I phoned her this morning to ask if we could get a spot on one of the programmes. She’s going to put it by her producers, but she thinks it’s just the sort of thing they’ll love, especially in the run up to Christmas.”

  “That’s brilliant!”

  “Rachel said,” Puck continued, “that sometimes these things go national too, if it’s considered interesting enough. So I reckon we should go looking in the attic, and get out some of the old stuff. Rachel said that the more antiques we can show the better, as it gives the place atmosphere.”

  Philly clapped her hands together. “This is so exciting. I don’t know what I’d do without you two, honestly.”

  Puck’s sister phoned the next morning to say that she would be coming at the weekend to film the house, so to have as many details of the mystery weekend as possible ready.

  The three friends spent the next few days searching the attic for suitable furniture, paintings and ornaments. The nineteen seventies orange and brown dralon suite in the drawing room had been artfully covered in some chintz curtains to make them look more Victorian, and Puck had carried an old chaise longue down from the attic to add to the atmosphere.

  They decorated the piano in the ballroom with old family photographs, many of whom Philly did not know. Meg had thrown some patterned scarves, which she found in the trunks, over the standard lamps in every room to give each one a warm, comforting glow.

  By the time they had finished, the downstairs rooms, such as the drawing room, sitting room and dining room, had a look of genteel clutter. They swept out the ballroom, and polished up the crystal chandeliers, hiring a polishing machine to make the wooden floor gleam. When they had finished, Puck took Meg in his arms and swung her around the ballroom.

  “Ah,” said Philly, from the door, “It’s just like Beauty and the Beast.”

  “Don’t talk about the woman I love like that,” said Puck, earning himself a nudge in the ribs from Meg.

  “It’s a pity,” Philly said, as they all worked hard to get the rest of the house ready, “that we could not have at least one room as a classroom. You know, for the story. I wonder why there are no old desks in the attic.”

  “I suppose the people who ran the school took them with them when they left,” said Puck. “Maybe we could hunt some down from a bargain sale, or something.”

  “I don’t think I can afford it. We’ll just have to make do.”

  “We could ask some of our friends who work behind the scenes in television,” Meg suggested. “There must be loads of desks left over from Grange Hill.”

  “There’s no time to do it before the weekend,” said Philly, “but we’ll look at that option before the guests arrive. It would be great, because we want the story to be realistic. I know what to do! We could have the guests as extra schoolchildren. Hunt down some old lesson plans from the fifties. There must be some online. There’d be some fun in that and it would fill in some of the plot, to give the story realism.”

  “I agree!” said Meg. “See, you are good at this.”

  “The only trouble is,” said Puck, “this was a girl’s school. Might be difficult to know what to do with any male guests who come for the weekend.”

  “Oh we could gloss over that and make it unisex for the purposes of the story,” said Philly. “It doesn’t really matter too much, since we’re making it all up anyway. But that does give me another idea. What if we involve the guests properly? Not just as visiting sleuths, but as people in the story. Once we know who’s coming, we could write a part for them. They won’t have to remember any lines. We’ll just tell them who or what they’re supposed to be and let them improvise. To keep it simple, and so we don’t get confused, they can use their own names. We could even let one of them be the murderer, so that they all suspect each other. I bet they’d love that. And it’ll help us get over the problem of not having enough actors.”

  “Genius!” said Puck.

  “Absolutely!” said Meg.

  They thrashed out the details whilst they finished preparing the house. By the time Friday evening came they were exhausted, but happy.

  Matt arrived just before dinner, driving a sleek black Mercedes, and looking every bit as handsome as Philly remembered. She had spent the week trying to convince herself that she would not be as attracted to him on their second meeting. The flip her heart did on seeing him belied that notion.

  “Okay,” said Puck, after the introductions were made. “You were right, Philly. He’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

  Philly poked him in the ribs, whilst Matt smiled. “What else has she been saying about me?”

  “Oh” said Meg, “that you’ll break her heart. But we’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “I have a feeling I should be very scared,” said Matt.

  “You should,” said Puck. Philly g
ot the impression that neither of her friends were joking.

  “Right,” said Philly, “can we stop the Godfather stuff now and just enjoy ourselves. Matt, you don’t mind if we order food in, do you? We’ve been working hard all week.”

  “That’s fine by me.”

  “Chinese?”

  “Chinese is perfect. What have you all been up to?”

  Philly told him about their plans as she showed him around the house. Meg and Puck had tactfully made themselves scarce.

  “It should be alright,” she said, doubtfully. “I mean it was about fifty years ago, so we shouldn’t be hurting anyone, should we? Even if Dominique was still alive, she’d be in her mid to late sixties, so her parents would be long dead or at least extremely old.”

  “Oh sure, yeah,” said Matt. “It’s strange, isn’t it, that no one ever came forward?”

  “Yes. It’s almost as if she didn’t exist. Except she did, because there are pictures of her online. She’s a favourite on all those unsolved crime websites. There are all sorts of conspiracy theories. We’re going with the spy angle.”

  “A schoolgirl spy, hey? Sounds good. This house is great, Philly. No wonder you fight so hard to keep it.”

  “I love it. It’s the only home I’ve ever known. Or at least the only home I remember. I don’t recall much about where I lived with mum and dad. I get the feeling we moved around a lot, as I have vague recollections of different houses and flats. I’ll show you around outside tomorrow, if you want.”

  “That would be great.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. There’s a film crew coming. You don’t have to be on telly if you don’t want to though.”

  “I’d rather not be. Besides, this is your project.”

  “Mine, Meg’s and Puck’s.”

  “They seem like good people.”

  “They are good people. They’re my family now.”

  They had arrived at the drawing room. “These pictures are interesting,” said Matt. “Where did you get them from?” He pointed to some paintings of family scenes. They looked vaguely Dutch to Philly, although she did not know where she got that impression.

  “The attic. There’s loads more up there.”

  “Really? Are they originals?”

  “I doubt it. I don’t even recognise half the artist’s names. Sadly there are no Van Gogh’s or Holbein’s hanging about the place. I haven’t heard back from your friend about the Robespierre painting yet.”

  “These things take time,” said Matt. “Don’t worry, Sebastian’s legit.”

  “Oh I’m sure he is. I wasn’t suggesting…”

  “No, I know you weren’t, Philly.” He turned to face her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “It is good to see you again.”

  “You too…”

  Matt pulled her towards him, and gave her a long, lingering kiss. “Very, very good to see you,” he whispered. “Today couldn’t come quick enough for me.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  There was the sound of a car horn outside. “That’ll be the food,” she said, pulling away. He stopped her and, drawing her back into his arms, kissed her again.

  Dinner was a lively affair. Matt seemed to very quickly pick up on the quirky sense of humour shared by the three friends, and joined in easily. It helped Philly to relax more. She had been eager for Meg and Puck to like him, and it seemed to her that they did.

  “Philly says your family are in insurance,” said Puck. “Expensive stuff.”

  “That’s right. Ships, yachts, works of art. You name it, we insure it. We even insured an athlete’s legs for ten million bucks not long back.”

  “Wow,” said Meg. “That’d be some pay day if he ever trips over a paving stone.”

  Matt laughed. “To get the full pay out, the paving stone would have to remove his legs from his body.”

  “There are streets just like that in some parts of Britain,” said Puck. Everyone laughed, and a conversation ensued where everyone had a story to tell about knowing someone who made a fortune for breaking a toenail on government property.

  “So when are you having this Mistletoe and Mystery weekend?” asked Matt.

  “A couple of weeks before Christmas,” said Philly.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” said Puck. “Tony called while you were showing Matt around the house. He can’t make it that weekend. He’s got a proper gig on a television drama. So we don’t have a headmaster.”

  “Oh no,” said Philly.

  “A headmaster?” said Matt.

  “Yes,” said Philly. “Tony was going to play the headmaster, but he was also going to be the master of ceremonies. You know, explaining to everyone what’s what when they arrive. Can’t you do it, Puck?”

  “I’m cooking dinner on the first night, remember?”

  “Oh yes. Puck is the only one amongst us who can really cook,” Philly explained to Matt.

  “That’s why I keep him around,” said Meg. “Pity though. Tony was perfect. He has this really authoritarian voice, like Patrick Stewart as Jean Luc Picard. Make it so,” she added in a deep voice.

  “Could I do it?” said Matt. “I don’t sound like Patrick Stewart, but I did a bit of acting in school. I think I could manage to be a headmaster. And you Brits love an American accent, right?”

  “Mmm,” said Meg, smiling. “I think a lot of the female guests will gladly suspend disbelief when they see you, Matt.”

  Puck frowned, but grinned widely when she blew him a placatory kiss.

  “You … you’d really want to?” said Philly.

  “Yeah, I’d love it. You guys make it sound like so much fun. Not that I want to push myself forward. I realise you hardly know me. But I’m yours if you want me. I promise I come really cheap. A Chinese meal and a kiss from Philly will be payment enough.” Philly hardly knew how to answer that. “Just tell me what I have to do,” said Matt, when no one replied.

  “It’s simple really,” said Philly. “There’s no real script, just an outline. You greet the guests, then there’s some health and safety stuff you need to do, then you explain the nature of the game. We can tell you all that before the day. As long as you get the basics right, you can improvise as much as you like.”

  “But you can’t be the murderer,” said Puck. “We’re saving that honour for one of the guests.”

  “Damn,” said Matt with a grin. “I really wanted to be an evil headmaster. I could have based him on the one at my school.”

  “We can make you evil in some other way,” said Philly. “Everyone will need at least one motive.”

  The details were thrashed out over coffee and fortune cookies.

  Later, Philly showed Matt to his room.

  “Where’s your room?” he asked, when they reached his bedroom door.

  “I don’t think I’m ready to tell you that yet.”

  “Things moving a little bit too quickly for you?”

  “Yes, a little.”

  “That’s fine,” said Matt, pulling her into his arms and kissing her again. “I can wait. I’m kinda tired anyway. I had a great night tonight.”

  “Yes, me too.” Philly had been delighted by how well he fit in with her friends. It meant a lot to her that Meg and Puck liked him. “If you’re cold there’s an extra blanket in the wardrobe. This is a draughty old place this time of year.”

  “I feel pretty warm at the moment,” said Matt, pulling her closer still.

  “I won’t be in the wardrobe,” Philly said, laughing.

  “Pity.”

  “Goodnight.” She managed to extricate herself from his embrace, albeit reluctantly.

  Later that night, when she was laying in bed, unable to sleep because her thoughts were full of Matt, Philly thought she heard footsteps on the floor above her. There was no reason for anyone to go up there. None of the bedrooms was habitable. They were either empty or full of junk. She intended to renovate them at some point, when her finances improved.

  She crept out of bed
and put on her dressing gown, opening the door the hallway. She did not bother with the lights, as she had walked the hallway lots of times and her bedroom light cast a glow for part of the way. Tiptoeing to the junction of the stairs, Philly listened for any noise, but it had gone quiet. She decided she must have imagined it.

  Turning, she screamed when she bumped into a solid, warm body. She recognised him by his cologne.

  “Oh, Matt, you scared the life out of me. What are you doing?”

  “I went down for a drink of water and got lost on the way back to my bedroom. This place is like a maze. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “That’s okay.” Philly took a deep breath, trying to slow down her heart rate. “Your room is that way.” She pointed to the right hand corridor. “Second door on the left.”

  “Oh yeah, easy when you know how. Goodnight.” He kissed her lightly on the lips.

  She watched him walk back to his bedroom with a frown on her face. Actually his bedroom was easy to find. She had made sure of that when she chose it. Plus each room had a small hand basin with a clean glass, so a trip downstairs for water was not necessary.

  Had Matt been creeping around upstairs? And if so, why?

  Chapter Four

  Philly spent a sleepless night worrying about Matt. What had she been thinking inviting a perfect stranger to stay in her house for the weekend? True he was handsome and charming, and he kissed like a dream, but what did she really know about him?

  Her infatuation had got the better of her. Now she really did wonder if he were some sort of conman. All she knew about him was what he had told her. At around two in the morning she got out of bed and fetched her laptop from the dressing table. She would do what all self-respecting paranoid people did in modern times. She would Google him.

  A search for Matt Cassell turned up several Facebook pages, a couple of Twitter accounts, and finally a company called Cassell & Keep. True to his word, Matt was pictured on the company page as one of the directors. His father, who was a very handsome older version of Matt, was pictured above him. Perhaps, she thought, her imagination running riot as usual, he set up the webpage because he knew she would look for it. But there were also pictures of Matt and his father with celebrities and other high profile clients, some dated several years earlier. Unless the photographs had been mocked up, she doubted it was all thrown together in a few days. Unless he had a long running swindle going and the website was part of that. But if that were the case, he was telling people how to find him. The contact page gave the company address, and when Philly did a search for that, it was listed in several directories as genuinely belonging to Cassell & Keep.