Murder at Mistletoe Manor: A Mystery Novella

by Holly Tierney-Bedord

  It turns out that Benji/Adaline was living here in Windy Pines, right down the hill in that big old house that’s been divided up into apartments. I guess that’s how she got her hands on the invitations. I don’t know how long she’d been living here, or much more than that about her. Maybe when you get back in town Deputy Franklin can fill you in on more details about the case. I know you didn’t think very highly of him, but he sure has been asking about you!

  Before I forget, because I’m certainly trying to block out the events that happened recently, I’ve set her backpack and its contents on the shelf in the basement of the inn. The police collected the leash and towel.

  In other gossip, Pierre is enjoying his break from running the dining room, and I’m enjoying this hiatus from inn life as well. It’s been great having some time off! We ought to close down for a month every year!

  Rod Showers and I have been seeing quite a bit of each other. I’m gaga for him! Not to mention, it looks like we might be saving some money on our plumbing repairs around the inn from now on!

  I’m looking forward to seeing you when you get home. Bring me some nice seashells in your suitcase!

  Love,

  Myrtle

  Klarinda put the letter back in its envelope and set it beneath her lounge chair. She took a deep breath, and dabbed at the unexpected stream of tears that were running down her face.

  “Adeline Burtz,” she said. It felt important to say it. To know Benji’s real name, and to speak it aloud. Despite that she was murderer, Klarinda felt sorry for her. Just enough to shed a few tears for her. Perhaps it was unfair to the victims to sympathize so much with their murderer, but emotions didn’t always follow the rules of logic.

  The waves were coming in, the frothy foam reaching farther up the shoreline, lapping at Klarinda’s toes. She pulled her feet back, stood up, and gathered her beach tote and the book she‘d been reading. She stuck the letter from Myrtle inside it and then took a long moment to look out at the darkening ocean. She’d meant for this vacation to help her clear her head, but it was impossible to escape from the recent craziness. So she let herself wallow in it for as long as this bout wanted to stick around.

  When the sun had dipped even lower and she was up to her ankles in the cool water, Klarinda brushed the last of her tears away, picked up her things, and walked back to her resort.

  “Hello, Miss Snow! You’re just in time for our dance party,” the concierge announced when she stepped back into the main lobby.

  “In my next life, my inn is going to be somewhere tropical,” Klarinda decided, accepting her nightly complimentary piña colada and heading to her cabana to change into her cutest dance-off attire.

  Afterword

  The backpack stayed on the shelf in the basement for months, untouched. It wasn’t until the morning of a spring cleaning day in April, when Klarinda woke up early and went downstairs to get started ahead of Myrtle, that she ventured to take the backpack down from its dusty perch and give it a second look.

  The clothes and other items, reminders of those terrible December days, had been stuffed back inside, by either Myrtle or the police. Klarinda removed the bag’s contents and set everything on top of the washing machine and dryer, spreading it all out carefully before her, looking for some further insight into the events that had transpired.

  Why the penchant for rust colored clothing? she wondered. And why had the backpack been left at the inn? Had its contents been meant to be disposable, or had leaving it behind been an oversight – the result of escaping in a panicked rush?

  Klarinda had been hoping the contents would lead to some huge revelation, or even some tiny, meaningful observation, but spread out beneath the dim basement lights, the clothes, pens, pencils, and other trinkets just looked like a pile of secondhand castoffs.

  She sighed and gathered the smaller items back together, placing them in little pile in the bottom of the backpack. Then she picked it up, ready to top it off with the clothing and put it back on the shelf. Most likely, to never be visited again. But then she paused, considering.

  For a backpack that only held some pens, pencils, and ponytail holders, it was heavy. Not terribly heavy, but heavier than seemed to make sense. The last time she’d touched this bag, she’d been in a state of panicked exhaustion. But now, calm and clear-headed, she patted the bag, attempting to find some missing pocket or bulky spot. Only the base of it had any substance. She turned the bag around, searching its exterior for a zipper. There was nothing to be found. Then she looked back inside the bag, running her hand along the interior of it. And suddenly, simply, she was pulling a tiny, hidden flap, lifting the false bottom of the bag up, pushing the pens and pencils off to the side, and her fingers were brushing against something cold and smooth. Her fingers closed around a tiny antique locket on a fine, delicate chain. She pulled it out of the bag and opened it. Inside was a photo of two smiling little girls. The older one had red hair. The younger was blonde. Klarinda held the locket up to the bulb dangling from the ceiling, so she could have a closer look. Adaline and Avery read the miniscule engraving on the front of the locket.

  She studied the photo for a moment, and then she took a deep breath, exhaled, and returned her attention to the hidden compartment of the backpack, and to a spiral bound notebook. It looked like an old, battered notebook, the likes of which she hadn’t seen since her childhood. Klarinda pulled it out of the bag and flipped through it, reading the scrawling diary entries:

  I’m here. It’s finally happening. After all my planning. There was a time I didn’t think I was strong enough to do this, but I’m proving myself wrong. I’m stronger than anyone would believe.

  I can’t believe it’s been ten years. Can you see me, Avery? Do you know what’s about to happen? I’m doing this for you.

  You’d think I’d be excited, but I feel tired just thinking about all the work ahead of me.

  They don’t even have fires going in the fireplaces. The low standards of the world depress me.

  There’s no Christmas tree! So far, nothing is like I imagined.

  I still can’t believe there’s no Christmas tree. I’ve added another name to my list and it’s Klarinda Snow.

  Victim #1 went down like butter melting in a pan. Sara never knew what hit her. And these idiots blamed it on a visit from the plumber?? This is going to be easier than I thought.

  I’m feeling more excited. I can do this! It might even be fun.

  I was going to save that idiot Tessa for last, but would you believe she managed to do herself in? It was all I could do to keep from laughing!

  These radiators are so noisy! I hate this place!

  I can’t sleep. I might as well get some more work done.

  Some sleeping pills wiped out Caroline and Jacob. Easy Peasy. With all they had to drink, it seemed like overkill. LOL.

  Could they play some Christmas music around here at least? Dammit. At least they listened to me and got a Christmas tree. Klarinda Snow, you’re lucky you respected my wishes. Very lucky.

  Christopher was supposed to be next, but he seems immune to being poisoned. I’ll have to up his dosage. With everything he’s eating, it’s like he’s not even affected by it. What a pig.

  These police are making this way too easy for me.

  The Christmas tree is very pretty. Just like I imagined! I love it. XXOO

  I’m going to get that little dog next. That will hurt Lannie more than dying. Ha!

  You’re not going to believe this. The bathtub I was reflooding miraculously broke through the floor at the same instant Lannie was untying her dog from the bed. And the dog escaped. That means I’m not an animal abuser. That’s a relief. Deep in my heart, I know I’m a good person.

  I’m getting a feeling that Christopher is going to try to escape. I don’t really care if he stays or goes. My work here is done.

  This was the last entry in the little notebook.

  “Good thing Myrtle ordered that Christmas tree,” Klarinda s
aid to herself, a nervous little laugh escaping her throat.

  She skimmed the entries again, wondering what, if anything, to do next. Part of her wanted to destroy the notebook. Another part wished she’d never found it. Unsure what good could come from sharing it at this point, she placed the notebook back where she’d found it. And when she did, her jaw dropped all over again.

  Nestled there, perfectly wedged into the base of the bag, was the manila envelope that she’d first seen back in December. The envelope Todd Healy had delivered on the day when the mystery had all started. She pulled it from its hiding spot and turned it over in her hands a couple of times, feeling its weight. She peeked inside, confirming it truly was the stack of hundred dollar bills.

  “No way,” she whispered to herself, just as the basement door creaked open.

  “You ready to get this party started?” asked Myrtle, coming down the stairs with a bucket of rags and cleaners.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Klarinda, reassembling the contents of the backpack and setting them aside.

  “Oh no,” said Myrtle, seeing what Klarinda had been up to. “You sure you want to go down memory lane?”

  “I’ve already been there and back.”

  “How was it?” asked Myrtle.

  “Weird,” said Klarinda.

  “Did you find anything new?”

  Klarinda debated this question for a moment. “New? No. I can’t say I did.”

  “Good. Visit the past, but don’t live in it. That’s what I always say. Life keeps moving on, which means you have to, too. Right?”

  “Right,” said Klarinda. And then, without warning, she gave Myrtle a big hug.

  “Well… Thanks. Are you that excited that I’m going to help you clean the basement?” Myrtle laughed.

  “Yes. And I’m happy to have you and Pierre. I’m feeling pretty lucky right now.”

  “So I guess that means you’re still happy to be the innkeeper of Mistletoe Manor?” asked Myrtle, passing a bottle of cleaner and a rag to Klarinda.

  “I’ve never been happier.”

  “Is it because Deputy Franklin eats his lunch here nearly every day now?” asked Myrtle, winking.

  “No! Although he’s not as bad as I thought. Mainly, it’s because of how business is going. Having everything remodeled and updated has eased a lot of stress. And who would have thought that everything that happened would actually make us more popular?”

  “Things are good,” Myrtle agreed. “And I’ve never been happier either.” She sighed, admiring the engagement ring Rod Showers had given her two weeks earlier.

  “Have you two set a date?” asked Klarinda.

  “Soon, if we can have the wedding here at the inn,” Myrtle suggested, smiling hopefully.

  “I think we can arrange that,” Klarinda said.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course, Myrtle. This inn has been your home for years. If you want to have your wedding here, you really don’t even need to ask me.”

  “Well, thank you,” Myrtle said, her eyes growing misty. “I swear,” she said, dabbing at her eyes, and laughing, “We’re nothing but a couple of crybabies.”

  “It’s okay,” said Klarinda.

  “I told you this place was destined for more happy times,” Myrtle declared. “Didn’t I tell you that?”

  Klarinda laughed. “At least a couple of times. And as usual, Myrtle, you really do know what you’re talking about. I may never doubt you again.”

  Thank you to Katie Ripley and Taya Curtis for your excellent proofing skills and helpful feedback. And thanks to my husband Bill for being the very first reader of every book I write, as well as my most supportive fan!

  Thanks for reading Murder at Mistletoe Manor! Please take a moment to leave a review.

  A note about the author:

  Holly Tierney-Bedord lives in Madison, Wisconsin. She is the author of several books including the novels and novellas Bellamy’s Redemption, Right Under Your Nose, Surviving Valencia, Run Away Baby, and Coached.

  Sign up for Holly’s free eNewsletter to receive first looks, freebies, discounts, and news!

  About Surviving Valencia:

  Twins Van and Valencia Loden are killed in a tragic accident shortly after they start college. Charmed, bright, and beautiful, they held their family together and elevated their family to greatness. In their loss, a shadow is cast upon the family, particularly on the remaining child, who lacks the easy grace and popularity her older siblings took for granted.

  As an adult, her life begins to turn from mediocre to amazing when she is saved by cool, artistic Adrian. The kind of happiness once reserved only for others is finally hers, until pieces of the past begin ruining what seems to be a perfect life.

  See more details or purchase Surviving Valencia.

  Enjoy the following free preview of Right Under Your Nose: A Christmas Story.

  Here are the first two chapters:

  Right Under Your Nose ~ Chapter 1

  “I hope you haven’t gotten me a present yet, because I’m not celebrating Christmas this year.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No,” said Ariadne. “I’m one hundred percent serious.”

  “You’re not exchanging gifts, or you’re not celebrating it at all?” asked Jess.

  “I’m not celebrating it at all. No tree, no stocking, no gifts, no Christmas cookies. And definitely no caroling!”

  “But you love those things!”

  “Let me continue,” said Ariadne. “No goofy Christmas sweaters, no Christmas music, no sledding parties, no glittery snow globes.”

  “So are you forgoing Christmas or the entire season of winter?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “You really mean to tell me that you’re going to let Scott make a decision like that for you?” asked Jess.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Ariadne. She’d been about to take a sip of her coffee, but she set the mug back down on the table.

  “I mean, Scott breaks up with you, and…”

  “For the record, that’s not what happened,” Ariadne said.

  “If you’d tell me the details, I wouldn’t have to speculate,” said Jess.

  “I’ll tell you someday.”

  “Fine. So, you and Scott break up, and the next thing I know, you’re going to Grinch it this year.”

  “Grinch it. You’re hilarious. I’m not in a state to celebrate. I’m depressed. Okay? Is it that hard for you to understand?”

  “I get that you’re depressed, Ariadne, but do you really think pouting all winter long and skipping your favorite holiday is going to cheer you up?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Jess. He scratched his beard and took a sip of his tea. He raised an eyebrow at Ariadne, waiting.

  “Because you’re not emotional.”

  “I am too.”

  “Not really.”

  “I can be.”

  Ariadne rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee, not bothering to respond to that.

  “So,” said Jess, “when are you going to tell me what happened with you two? You’re Madison’s two most famous chefs. You seemed like a match made in heaven.”

  “We’re two of many, and we were never a match made in heaven. Did you see that article in the paper?”

  “I’d be lying if I said no.”

  “I can’t believe that bitchy reporter Gabby Gaffney wrote about us splitting up. As if that’s newsworthy. She actually called me at work and attempted to interview me. The nerve! She had all these awful, invasive questions. Really personal stuff that was none of her business!”

  “How bizarre for a reporter to ask invasive questions,” said Jess.

  “Shut up! I told her I had nothing to say, but she managed to write about us anyway.”

  “At least Scott didn’t talk to her either,” said Jess.

  “How big of him.”

  “I guess it
shows you’re the success story you always wanted to be.”

  “I never wanted to be some ‘success story’ or whatever you want to call it; I just wanted to be successful. There’s a difference.”

  Jess laughed. “I remember coming home from college, sitting around the Thanksgiving table with our families, and there you were, all ready to be the next… I don’t know. Gordon Ramsay? Paula Dean?”

  “Hilarious! Actually, I wanted to be the next Giada De Laurentiis, but more baker-ish.”

  “My point exactly. When it was your turn to say what you were thankful for, you said, ‘I’m thankful I’m in culinary school, and acing all my classes, and on the path to becoming a super big deal.’”

  “I was never that obnoxious.”

  “It wasn’t obnoxious. It was intimidating! I was about to flunk out and there you were, setting the bar way too high, as usual,” said Jess.

  “Well, the bar is pretty low for me now, and you’re doing great. Things have a funny way of balancing out.”