This time it isn’t the housekeeper who answers the door – nor is it the woman we are seeking. A girl with a pale face, huge dark eyes and her hair in disarray gingerly opens the door and peers out at us.
“We’re looking for your Mum...?” I venture, assuming this waif-like creature must be the daughter of Thomas and Alexandra. My mind whizzes back through data we were given by the agency and yes, I recall there being a daughter. Yes. Of course, it was her party the other night. Meredith. That’s right. I remember thinking what kind of cruel parents name their offspring Meredith Merry.
Her eyes flash anxiously between the two of us. “Who are you?” she huddles deeper into her oversize jumper which ends somewhere down near the knees of her black leggings.
Jake does the honours with his CCIA badge. “Can we come in? Are your parents at home?”
She steps back to allow us inside and nods. “Mum’s in the lounge. Come through.”
Alexandra is reclining on a chaise longue. She has the elegance of a woman who still looks like she could grace a catwalk even when she’s relaxing at home. Silk paisley pyjamas, designer moccasins, full jewellery and make-up, her hair pulled back into a perfect chignon. And perfume. The same perfume I smelt in Bernie’s dressing room and which we found in Kitty’s locker. Interesting.
I’ve seen a lot of guilty people in my time spent working for the CCIA and I have to say that unless she’s an excellent actress, the only crime this woman has committed is looking so immaculate while chilling out – well, it’s a crime in my book! I struggle to look glamorous even in my absolute finery and after a visit to the spa and hairdresser. Guess I’ll always be the girl-next-door type no matter how much I try to be glam.
Meredith introduces us and then scurries from the room, shutting the door behind her.
“We’re sorry to interrupt your evening,” Jake begins, glancing meaningfully at the sofa opposite Alexandra.
She takes the hint. “Not at all. Please, do take a seat.”
Before we’ve even sat down I’m starting with the questions. “Could you prove your whereabouts today?”
She frowns. “Why would I need to do that?”
“There’s been an incident,” Jake butts in before I can reply. “At the TV studios your family owns. We need to ascertain where people were at the time of said incident.”
“Am I a suspect?” she checks, leaning forward and placing the copy of Vogue she was reading on the coffee table.
“We’re eliminating people from a very long list of possibilities,” Jake replies.
Alexandra sits back and crosses her legs. “Well, I was at the spa and then I did some Christmas shopping. After that I had lunch with a friend. Then I came home.”
“So, no alibi then?” I hustle. “Your spa said you didn’t visit today.”
Alexandra narrows her eyes at me. “So, I am a suspect then. You’ve already been asking around about me. How on earth will that look at the spa? The receptionist is bound to have gossiped. Everyone will be talking about me. I can’t go back there now. You’ve ruined my reputation. How dare you?”
Irritation flares inside me. “We’re talking about a murder here, Mrs. Merry. I think that’s more important than your social reputation, don’t you agree?”
Jake nudges my leg with his; a reminder to chill and not go revealing too much information about the crime we’re investigating.
“Murder? Oh, my goodness! Who has been murdered? At the studio? I need to know – now!”
“The details are still under wraps for the majority,” Jake cuts in. “So, you can’t confirm your whereabouts today, except for the friend you had lunch with?”
She shifts uncomfortably on her chaise longue. “That is indeed correct.”
“The perfume you’re wearing, it smells divine. What it is?” I ask, an idea forming in the back of my mind.
“It’s very exclusive and expensive,” she says dismissively, casting a quick look of disdain at my clothing and general appearance.
“But what is it called?” I persist.
“It isn’t available to the general public,” she snips.
What a snob!
“I have contacts in the perfume world. I’m sure I could track a bottle down.”
“I very much doubt that,” she counters.
“Look, we haven’t got all day here, Mrs. Merry,” Jake intervenes. “May I remind you we are official government agents investigating a murder? Please tell my colleague the answer to her question.”
Alexandra casts her eyes downwards. “Charm. It’s called Charm.”
“And could I see the bottle? So that I know what it looks like for future reference.”
“So that you can check I’m telling the truth, you mean?” she challenges.
I smile back.
“I won’t be a moment,” she says, getting to her feet.
She’s more than a moment. In fact, it’s well over ten minutes before she returns. “Well, this is awkward but I don’t seem to be able to locate the bottle in question. It’s always on my dressing table but it’s... gone.”
Jake raises a questioning eyebrow. “Gone?”
“I’m so sorry. I have no idea what’s happened. I promise I’m not being uncooperative here. The bottle was there earlier, I know it was, I used the perfume. Please, search the house if you wish but it will be a waste of time. It isn’t here.”
“So, you have no alibi, plus a perfume bottle we found in suspicious circumstances may well be your own perfume bottle,” I say, standing up. “We can confirm your fingerprints were found on the bottle we located in another suspect’s locker. Things aren’t looking good here, Mrs. Merry.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” she protests, fear and anxiety flushing in her eyes and colour rising in her cheeks. “You have to believe me.”
Strangely enough, I kind-of do believe her. My instinct is still shouting that this woman isn’t the one we’re after. I look over at Jake and in a millisecond I know he’s thinking the same thing.
“I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder,” I say.
“No!!!!” shrieks Alexandra. “Search the house, call my friend to confirm we had lunch, and call the shops I visited. They might remember me. Anything! Please! I didn’t murder anyone!”
“It’s too late for that,” I snap. “You’d better call your lawyer. How do you feel about spending Christmas in jail?”
“No!” she shrieks again. “Please! I beg of you! You’ve got the wrong person!”
We’re well aware of that but need to push on in the hope that...
The door bursts open. “Stop! Leave my Mum alone! She didn’t do it! I did!”
Bingo. Just as we’d suspected.
Merry Meredith looks even more gaunt and more freaked out now than she did when she let us into the house. At the time I’d thought she looked like a teenager with an awful lot on her mind. Turns out she’s a murderer – no wonder she’d looked so on edge and panicked.
“What?” Alexandra stares at her daughter, her eyes uncomprehending. “No! Darling, don’t go lying to try to protect me. I swear I didn’t do anything and the family’s lawyer will prove as much. It just might take a little time.”
“I’m not lying,” Merry insists, tears running down her face. “I killed her. That Bernie tart is the one Dad has been having a fling with. I spotted them together. I so don’t want you and Dad to get a divorce. I thought if she was dead then you and Dad would be able to patch things up. I don’t want to come from a broken home. I love you and Dad and living here. I love my life. So I killed her.”
Wow.
Seriously wow.
Alexandra looks as though she doesn’t know whether to hug her daughter or throw her out of the house. “But...” she begins and then shakes her head, collapsing onto the sofa in shock.
“We’re arresting you on suspicion of murder,” I say to Meredith, who simply nods, accepting her fate.
Case closed.
It’s now Christmas Eve and I’m waiting in my
car outside agency HQ. The official CCIA festive gathering is going on inside the building. Everyone who isn’t still working a case has to attend. I kind of wish we hadn’t cracked the Bernie case after all, then I’d have an excuse not to be here. I tug at the hem of my sparkly navy dress. Sequins. What on earth made me buy this? What on earth made me think I could pull an outfit like this off? I’m a jeans and jumper kind of girl. Then Jake’s smiling face flashes into my mind. Jake. Handsome, charming, a brilliant special agent. My stomach flutters. Okay. So I like him. But can I cope with...?
A sharp rapping sound makes me jump and I see Jake standing outside my car, knocking a hand to the glass to get my attention. He opens the door and I nervously step out of the car.
He slowly looks me up and down. From my equally shiny stilettos, up past my shimmery cocktail dress to my professionally made up face and my elegantly styled hair.
I hold my breath.
“Wow,” he says on a long exhale. “You look sensational.”
I tug self-consciously at the hem of my dress.
“Don’t,” he says softly, reaching for my hand. “You’re beautiful.”
Beautiful. Me? Villains, murder, shoot-outs, safe cracking – all things I can handle without as much as a flicker of an eye. Dressing up for a party – well, that’s a whole different challenge.
The last person who called me beautiful was Adam. My heart clenches. It was a week before Christmas two years ago when I got the dreaded visit from the Royal Marines telling me that Adam had been killed in the line of duty. He always told me that if he was going to go, that was how he wanted to do it – fighting for his country. With our lines of work, we both knew the risks were ever-present. It didn’t make it any easier to deal with though. So, I shut my heart down after his funeral. I knew there would never be anyone else who could make me laugh, challenge me, and make me feel loved, special and safe the way Adam had. Then, eighteen months later, I met Jake when we worked together on a CCIA case and my emotions got all confused.
Still, even if I did, one day, allow these fledgling feelings for Jake to grow, he could never replace Adam in my heart. But maybe, just maybe, I could let myself fall in love with the man now standing before me. He’s wearing a black suit with simple white shirt. His hair looks recently trimmed and he’s had a shave. He’s full of confidence and charm and possibilities. There’s a definite James Bond air about him as he offers his arm for me to link with. “Shall we head into the party? It’s freezing out here and that dress, gorgeous as it is, is no match for this biting wind.”
I take a deep breath. It’s just an official work party. It’s not like it’s a date or anything. “Yes, let’s go and get the merry making over with.”
At the mention of the word merry, my thoughts whiz back to our latest case. “I feel sorry for Meredith Merry. Yes, she’s a murderer and that cannot go unpunished but she’s so young and she’s ruined her life, that of her family, as well as Bernie’s life and her friends and family.”
“She’s a brave and devious little madam, no matter why she did what she did,” Jake says as he slowly leads me across the icy stretch of car park. “Gaining access to the studios by showing her ID at the gate. They weren’t about to refuse the daughter of the family who own the TV company admission to the studios, were they? Spinning some tale about how she wanted to retrieve a scarf her mum had left there the day before. Good cover story. Then she’d figured out how she needed to frame someone for the murder to throw the scent – no pun intended – off of her. She knew about the bitter rivalry between Bernie and Kitty through the gossips and thought Kitty would make a good person to try and frame.”
“But she made the mistake of bringing the fancy perfume bottle from home, spilling it in the dressing room to leave the scent and hopefully raise questions, leading to framing Kitty. The bottle from home still had her Mum’s prints on it which she forgot to remove – major error.” I butt in.
“So, we had prints, being identified as being in the building at the time of the crime, motive and confession. Plus, the woman she tried to frame had a rock solid alibi at the GMEX Craft Show. Only the prospect of her mother being tried for the crime she committed made Meredith crack and confess, Jake adds.”
“Yes, because at the age of fifteen, she’ll be tried as a juvenile and because of that will get a lighter sentence than her mother would have.”
“Still, another case all done and dusted,” Jake says, flashing that killer smile of his in my direction.
“Yes. And it turned out the blackmail we were originally put on the case to solve wasn’t even related to the murder. Pure coincidence. Someone at the studio with a drug problem who desperately needed money spotted Bernie in a dodgy area at a scruffy bakery pigging numerous cream cakes every Tuesday afternoon. Bernie had this super healthy image to protect and told everyone she lived on fish and vegetables – classic blackmail opportunity.”
“No more talking shop. Let’s go and party. Can I request the first dance with you?”
“Maybe,” I tease. “If I don’t spot anyone more handsome.”
As he holds the door open for me with the look and confidence of a man who knows he can get whatever or whoever he wants – even if he has to wait a while – he replies, “That would be impossible. So, I’ll have a word with the DJ and get him to play a nice slow smoochy number for our first dance together, shall I?”
“You’ve got a nerve, Mr. CCIA Agent,” I say, shaking my head and laughing as I scoot indoors.
“And you will make things as difficult for me as possible and make me wait an eternity before our first kiss. But I can live with that. I know you’re still hurting after what happened to Adam. I know you’re worth the wait because you, Ms. CCIA Special Agent, are one amazing lady.”
THE END... for now!
Find out more about Zanna Mackenzie’s books and download a free wedding day cozy mystery at www.zannamackenzie.co.uk
The Mystery of the Holiday Cards by Ani Gonzales
THE MYSTERY OF THE HOLIDAY CARDS
Magical Curiosity Shoppe #2
by Ani Gonzalez
The Mystery of the Holiday Cards Copyright © 2018 by Ani Gonzalez. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
About the Book
As keeper of the Magical Curiosity Shoppe, Dora Pendragon has guarded the dangerous and mysterious objects in inventory for millennia. But the dimension-hopping store has now arrived in Banshee Creek, and that, she is sure, means trouble is coming her way. When a deck of antique holiday cards shows up at the shop and a vision of death hovers over one of Dora's customers, she has no choice but to step in before the shop's tragic curse strikes again.
Note: This story takes place between The Mystery of the Halloween Mask and The Mystery of the Christmas Doll.
Chapter One
"MAIN STREET Secret Santa Group Meeting Tonite at the Banshee Creek Library!!!"
I stared at the red and green letters on the flyer, feeling a tight knot of anxiety low in my belly. Did I really want to do this?
The answer was no, but I still found myself walking down Main Street, heading towards the library. I had even dressed up, wearing a teal-colored tunic that my new Banshee Creek friends—Kat, Fiona, Patricia, and Luanne—had convinced me to buy last week.
Not that there was anything to dress up for, really. It was just a meeting of the town's shopkeepers. Nothing special, but Kat had mentioned that everyone who owned a Main Street business would come, and the headquarters of the local paranormal investigations organization, PRoVE, happened to be located on the town's main road.
So the
PRoVE staff may be coming, and that included Thomas Lane. Not that I cared, of course.
Oh, who was I kidding? I'd dressed up. I'd put on makeup. I'd even straightened my hair, which I hadn't done in millennia.
Main Street was full of workers taking advantage of the last fading daylight as they draped lights around the lampposts and hung evergreen wreaths. Thanksgiving had just ended, and the residents of Banshee Creek were now installing their winter solstice decorations. No, not just the solstice, which would be in three weeks, on December 21st. Most of them called it Christmas and it was celebrated on the 25th. I had to remember that.
Little things like that could expose me. After all, I had only been in Banshee Creek for a few weeks. And when was the last time I had even been in this planet? For that matter, this dimension? Decades? No, much more.
I couldn't quite remember. That was the problem with my curse. I was tied to The Magical Curiosity Shoppe, ceaselessly teleporting from city to city, from century to century, from dimension to dimension. The last time I'd been in Banshee Creek, as far as I could recall, had been a century ago. A young girl in Victorian clothes had stopped by the shop and left a Japanese sword behind, her eyes wide with fear.
That had happened on a warm summer evening. The town had been smaller then, a single street lined with gas lights and peppered with shabby shops and run-down houses.
But Banshee Creek was now a bustling little metropolis getting ready for a holiday. I smiled as I glimpsed the figure of a jolly fat man in a red suit behind a shop window.
It was a roly-poly Santa Claus, all cherry-red cheeks and twinkling eyes. I gave him a jaunty wave and kept on walking, enjoying the crisp evening air.
I wasn't one to judge, but Santa had come a long way from his original solstice incarnation— a bloody sacrifice offered amidst evergreen trees to ensure the sun's rebirth. I liked the cheery elf with the white beard a lot more--
Candy Canes & Corpses Page 44
