by Edie Claire
Exactly forty minutes later, Leigh joined her handsome husband and son at the front of the church’s sanctuary. Darkness had just fallen, and the candles were lit. Brass candlesticks of all sizes sat in every windowsill and upon the altar, and a giant Christmas tree covered with twinkling white lights filled the corner. Colorful poinsettias spilled across the chancel and out into the aisles, while green garlands with fragrant pine cones capped the ends of the pews. In a few hours, hundreds of people would gather to celebrate the church’s regular Christmas Eve service. But for now, the space’s quiet beauty was Lydie and Mason’s to enjoy.
“You look beautiful,” Warren told Leigh, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“So do you,” she praised, meaning it. The wedding was a small gathering of close family only, with the male guests consisting of Leigh’s father, her husband, her son, and Cara’s husband and son. All the men looked dashing in their dark suits, even Leigh’s normally sloppy-looking father. But it was Mason in his jet-black tuxedo who stole the show.
“You clean up nice,” Leigh teased him, noting his clean-shaven face. The wily charmer looked more fetching than she’d ever seen him, no doubt because he was radiating such high spirits.
“Thanks, kid,” he replied, looking anxiously at the back of the church. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
Everyone else laughed.
“You’ve waited over forty years, Dad,” Cara said, hugging him. “What’s five more minutes?”
“Too long,” he proclaimed.
“Go ahead and start the music!” a familiar voice yelled loudly from somewhere in the back of the church.
Everyone laughed all over again.
“Classy, Mom!” Cara chastised, signaling the pianist.
“That’s my Lydie,” Mason chuckled warmly, taking his place up front by the minister. “Enough with the stuffy nonsense. Let’s get married!”
Chords of familiar holiday music filled the air, and the family gathered in an informal cluster near the altar, just as Lydie had requested. There was no wedding party, per se. Just a bride, a groom, and a cloud of family as witnesses. Lydie might not have opted for a ceremony even this formal, but as a little girl growing up in the church, she’d often dreamed of walking down this very aisle. Their hasty elopement had precluded that happening before, but this time, Mason insisted she should realize her dream.
Of course, over a lifetime fully lived, Lydie’s dreams had changed a little. And when the music swelled to a crescendo and the bride appeared, she was not clinging to the arm of a patriarch, nor was she wearing a dress of white.
Lydie stood all by herself, proud and straight and strong, in a dress of the brightest, boldest, cheeriest Christmas red this side of the North Pole. Lydie’s hair was dyed to its natural soft brown, and it curled gently around her face in a modern, chin-length do. Her dark eyes were those of a movie star, thanks to Cara’s skill with more makeup than Lydie’s face had ever seen before.
She began walking forward, confident and unhurried, and Leigh almost laughed to watch the men’s jaws drop. The bride’s red satin dress was corseted and cinched at the waist, hugging curves no one knew Lydie had. The bodice’s sweetheart neckline was complemented by a smart, tight-fitting shrug jacket of softer chiffon, and the straight skirt was of cocktail length, showing off way more than anyone normally saw of Lydie’s smooth, lean legs.
The bride didn’t just look beautiful. She looked beautiful and sexy.
And Mason looked like a very, very happy man.
Lydie made her way to the front of the church, her face glowing with satisfaction at the expression on her future husband’s face.
“Surprised?” she whispered, smiling at him.
“Not a bit,” he grinned back.
Lydie leaned in to kiss him.
“Um, excuse me?” the minister said, laughing. “We haven’t performed the ceremony yet. The kiss is supposed to be at the end, remember?”
“That’s okay,” Mason answered, leaning in. “We never have done things the regular way.”
They kissed as the music continued to play. Leigh shot a glance at her mother and found Frances smiling. Everybody else was smiling, too, except Cara, who was spouting happy tears.
Leigh let out a sigh of satisfaction.
It was a very merry Christmas.
Author’s Note
If you enjoyed this book, I hope you’ll enjoy all eleven novels in the USA-Today bestselling Leigh Koslow Mystery Series. To read an excerpt from the next book in the series, skip ahead now! If you’re new to the series and would like to start reading where it all began, click here. Several of the mysteries are also available as audiobooks, narrated by the award-winning Gabrielle de Cuir!
If you’d like to be notified by email when new books are released, you can sign up for my New Book Alert. To find out more about these and other books by Edie Claire, including my novels of humor, romantic and women’s fiction, and comedic stage plays, please visit my website or check out my Facebook or Pinterest page. I always enjoy hearing from readers via email, so if you’re so inclined, please drop me a note. Thanks so much for reading!
Books and Plays by Edie Claire
www.edieclaire.com
ROMANTIC FICTION
Fated Loves Collection
Long Time Coming
Meant To Be
Borrowed Time
Pacific Horizons Series
Alaskan Dawn
Leaving Lana'i
Maui Winds
Hawaiian Shadows Series
Wraith
Empath
Lokahi
WOMEN’S FICTION
The Mud Sisters
LEIGH KOSLOW MYSTERIES
Never Buried
Never Sorry
Never Preach Past Noon
Never Kissed Goodnight
Never Tease a Siamese
Never Con a Corgi
Never Haunt a Historian
Never Thwart a Thespian
Never Steal a Cockatiel
Never Mess with Mistletoe
Never Murder a Birder
HUMOR
Work, Blondes. Work!
COMEDIC STAGE PLAYS
Scary Drama I
See You in Bells
Excerpt from Never Murder a Birder
Copyright © 2017 by Edie Claire
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
Leigh could barely contain her enthusiasm as the airplane at last popped out from under the clouds, granting her first view of the topside of Corpus Christi, Texas. The sight was less than impressive, given that it was midwinter, raining steadily, and the Gulf of Mexico was on the other side of the aircraft. But Leigh didn’t care. She was too happy to be here, or anywhere the temperature stayed in double digits and she had the chance to feel warm sun on her skin. Maybe she was getting seasonal affective disorder, or maybe she was just being a crab, but this last Pittsburgh winter had been getting to her. Vitamin D from a bottle wasn’t cutting it anymore, and she couldn’t bring herself to do the tanning bed thing. Sometimes, a person just needed sunshine.
“Sorry about the rain,” Warren said sympathetically. He squirmed in his seat and stretched one long leg out in the aisle, attempting to avert a cramp.
Leigh watched him with a guilty feeling. Her husband had made preparations for this consulting gig a month ago, including securing comfortable exit row seats for himself. But when she had decided to tag along at the last minute, he’d given up those seats to take whatever two were available together. At least on this commuter hop from Houston he’d snagged a spot on the aisle. On the longer haul from Pittsburgh he’d had to choose between window or middle, which in either case meant his knees had been wedged against the seat in front of him for the duration.
“It can’t rain forever,” Leigh replied optimistically. “I won’t allow it. Anyway, it won’t snow. And it’s supposed to be at least sixty degrees all week. Comparatively speaking, that’s tropical
.”
Warren smiled at her. “I’m glad you decided to come, even if I am working so much I’ll hardly see you. It’s been ages since we got away together, just the two of us.”
Leigh smiled back. He was right, and it was mostly her fault. They had taken many lovely family vacations over the years, but she had never felt completely comfortable leaving the twins behind. Even now, though the kids were safely stashed at their Aunt Cara’s place with multiple grandparents and a great aunt to look in on them, Leigh was nagged by “bad mother” guilt. Never mind that the kids were twelve years old and had practically pushed her out the door. Her son Ethan, who usually replied to her texts with a cheerful “will do,” had greeted her last missive of helpful reminders with the comparatively rude, “Yeah, Mom. Geez!” Her daughter Allison had shut off her phone.
Apparently, the kids really didn’t mind if their mom spent a few days away on the Gulf Coast, doing absolutely nothing but walking on the beach and soaking up some sun. Who knew?
“You won’t be working all the time,” Leigh encouraged. “This nonprofit may be desperate for your help, but they do expect you to sleep, don’t they?”
Warren’s brown eyes twinkled mischievously. “They do. And I hope I won’t be sleeping alone.”
Leigh grinned back. “You will not.”
The airplane’s landing was smooth, and even though Leigh could swear it took longer for everyone to clear off the plane than they had been in the air, she maintained her cheerful disposition. As they walked to the baggage claim area, she watched out the airport windows, willing the skies to grow brighter. “The sun will be shining by the time we reach the hotel,” she said confidently. “I proclaim it.”
Warren laughed. “Assuming it’s not dark by the time we find the place.” They reached the baggage carousel and found a spot in the crowd. The flight had been completely full, and as the conveyor belt cranked into action people stood along the curved track elbow to elbow.
“I hope our accommodations don’t fall too far below the high standard to which you’ve become accustomed,” Leigh teased, feeling slightly guilty again. Before her impulsive decision to join him, Warren had made reservations at a comfortable, albeit perfectly boring chain hotel near his client’s offices in downtown Corpus Christi. Leigh would have been fine with that, too, as long as she could drive herself to the ocean in his rental car.
But no.
Once news of Leigh’s plans had reached her mother and aunts, an inescapable chain reaction of family interventions had followed. Didn’t Leigh remember that their dear cousin Hap lived somewhere around Corpus Christi now? Her great-aunt Eliza’s son? The one with the awful harelip that looked so much better after the second surgery and who used to be married to dear, sweet Maureen before she passed away from pancreatic cancer, God bless her soul? And didn’t he manage a hotel or something? Surely, he would want Leigh to come and see him and meet his new wife? They might even have a spare room she and Warren could stay in…
The ensuing conversations had been awkward. But in the end, all had turned out well enough. Leigh’s cousin Hap — whom she had always liked, but hadn’t seen since her Aunt Eliza’s funeral over a decade ago — lived with his second wife in a fifth-wheel at an RV park, so he had no guest room. But he did work at a historic hotel on a barrier island about forty-five minutes away from downtown Corpus, and he was sure he could arrange for a family discount, as well as provide Leigh with access to his own car and plenty of home-cooked meals during their stay. Since Warren claimed not to mind the scenic commute, Leigh had been happy to make everyone else happy by accepting Hap’s offer. His hotel was walking distance to the beach, after all. She wouldn’t even need a car!
“Well, I am used to the lap of luxury on such jobs,” Warren teased back. “Nonprofits always put their contractors up in penthouse suites, you know, particularly when they’re hiring said contractor because they’re in financial straits. That said, you have to admit that Hap’s hotel looks — how shall I put it — quaint.”
“I like places with character,” Leigh insisted. “The Silver King is nearly a hundred years old and it’s survived four hurricanes and a fire. You could even say it survived five hurricanes, if you count salvaged wood.”
“You can’t,” Warren argued. “But four is impressive enough. I just hope the bedframes aren’t a hundred years old, or I’ll be sleeping on the floor. Is that your bag?”
Leigh looked down the slowly populating carousel. “That green one? No, I had to bring Allison’s, remember? The wheel broke on mine. Look, this is going to take forever. Why don’t you go ahead and get the rental car while I wait for the suitcases? We’ll get out of here faster.”
Warren nodded. “Deal.”
Leigh fidgeted in place for another five minutes before her bright blue bag at last came into view. The Silver King Hotel. She couldn’t wait to see it. It was pure luck that dear Cousin Hap happened to be associated with such a storied piece of Texas history, as opposed to some two-bit, crumbling motor inn. For that matter, once her mother and aunts got involved, she and Warren could have wound up sleeping on somebody’s living-room pullout couch just to avoid hurting a relative’s feelings.
Truly, she had been fortunate all around.
How odd.
She pulled her daughter’s distinctive bright blue bag from the carousel and placed it at her feet, then jumped, startled, to see another woman’s hands reaching for it.
“Excuse me!” a cultured voice proclaimed. “I’m afraid you have the wrong bag. This one is mine.”
Leigh looked up to see a woman about her own age, well dressed and impeccably groomed. The woman had a large designer travel bag slung over one shoulder and a phone in one hand, and she smiled awkwardly as she rested her other hand possessively upon the suitcase.
Leigh’s grip tightened involuntarily on the handle. She looked down at the case again and lifted the colorful plastic Disneyworld ID tag she knew darn well had her daughter’s name and address on the other side of it. “No, it’s mine,” she assured the woman. “Look. See?”
The woman’s face promptly drained of color, and her hand dropped back. “Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. Mine looks exactly like it! How stupid of me. I’m terribly sorry.” She lifted both hands in supplication, then backed away.
“No problem,” Leigh answered. She caught sight of Warren’s bag and made haste to retrieve it. As she headed away from the crowd with both bags in tow, she stole a glance over her shoulder. The woman was now standing with a companion, a very large man with one suitcase already at his side. The woman continued to watch the carousel with one eye, even as she chatted with the man and punched buttons on her phone simultaneously.
Leigh was half tempted to wait around and see what suitcase the woman pulled off the belt next, since it seemed incredible that anyone wearing Gucci shoes on a plane would be traveling with a bright blue bag in an abstract bubble pattern. But she didn’t care enough to bother. The woman was obviously distracted. Perhaps she was just a flake.
The rain had stopped falling by the time Leigh met up with Warren and they walked out to the rental car, and as they drove away from the airport the clouds gradually began to thin and the sky to lighten.
“Texas likes me,” Leigh announced with a contented sigh. “And so far, I love Texas.”
Warren chuckled warmly. “Happy to hear it.”
They drove out of the city and across the bay over a causeway before reaching the thin strip of sand and rock that was Mustang Island. To the Pittsburgh born-and-bred Leigh, the most predominant characteristic of Texas thus far was that it was flat. The second most notable descriptor was that it was overwhelmingly, uniformly brown. The grass in western Pennsylvania stayed a cheery green all year round, at least when it wasn’t white with snow, which made the inland area of Texas seem bleak by comparison. But here on the shore, all was forgiven. The choppy waters of the Gulf changed color with every movement of cloud and sun, the landscape rolled with high sand dunes and low br
ackish ponds, and tall grasses rippled in the endless wind. The couple cruised through the undeveloped part of the island, passed by the state park, and unhurriedly made their way toward their final destination, the small tourist town of Port Mesten.
The sun was just beginning to dip low in the sky when Leigh’s trusty phone app led them along a zig-zagging path of two-lane streets flanked by modest houses, restaurants, beachwear stores, bars, ice cream shops, small motels, and a plethora of RV parks. “That’s it,” Leigh said excitedly, pointing. “That peach-colored building with the white trim.”
Warren parked the car and Leigh hopped out. “It’s perfect!” she gushed, looking it over. “Can you believe this place was originally an army barracks?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Warren replied dryly, popping open the trunk.
“Oh, stop,” Leigh chastised. Architecturally, the building was no marvel. For the most part, it was a long, rectangular, two-story block with two levels of porches and an array of doors and windows marching across its face with military precision. But one end of the building featured an octagonal wooden tower complete with a catwalk and cupola three stories aboveground. Both the wooden plank siding and the decorative trim were freshly painted, and rocking chairs and ceiling fans graced the hotel’s long, wide porches.
“Surely that didn’t survive four hurricanes,” Warren commented, throwing a skeptical glance at the obviously more modern, yet somehow less sturdy-looking tower section.
“No, I’m pretty sure that’s a fairly recent addition,” Leigh agreed. “The original tower was destroyed in the second hurricane. There’s even a ghost story about it on the website. Some woman was watching for her lover’s boat to return in the storm, and she fell to her death from the old catwalk—”
“Enough about ghosts and dead people,” Warren ordered sternly, pulling their suitcases from the trunk. “We are on vacation. Well, you are, anyway.” He threw her a meaningful look, which Leigh had no trouble interpreting.
