Yule Be Sorry--A Christmas Cozy Mystery (With Dragons)

by Kim M Watt

  The cat glanced over his shoulder, then trotted down the hall while Alice called him something rather unladylike and hung her coat up. She followed him to the kitchen in her socks, shivering as rain slipped off her hair and down her collar. The cat was sitting expectantly by the fridge, his amused green eyes watching her.

  “What are you after, then? I’m not a cat person. You should go back to Gert.”

  The cat jumped onto a chair at the little kitchen table and settled down on his haunches, yawning.

  “Do not get comfortable.” She glared at the tom and flicked the kettle on. “I’m going to get changed. You just—” She glanced out the window, where the rain had become heavier, streaking the glass, then back at the cat, his fur matted in damp clumps. “Ugh.” She went upstairs.

  The cat had moved to the mat in front of the AGA by the time she came back down, her hair dried and her comfortable clothes on. She doubted she’d have any company this afternoon, so she’d dug out some fluffy trousers and a big green jumper with holes in the elbows that might have once belonged to her missing husband. Her hands were still aching faintly, and she sighed as she looked at the cat. He paused his grooming and looked back at her with interest. It was still raining, even heavier than before.

  “Fine. But don’t think this is going to become a regular occurrence.” She found a tin of tuna in the pantry and spooned some into a bowl. “And if you’re a spy, you’re a terribly obvious one.”

  The cat investigated the bowl, then nibbled the tuna, purring loudly.

  “Although, I suppose you’re only obvious if one realises there are such things as feline spies.” She rubbed her forehead, and decided a hot toddy was in order. If the weather weren’t enough, the possibility of harbouring furry enemy agents would do it.

  She started up her laptop on the kitchen table while she waited for her drink to cool. The cat jumped up on her lap and she scowled at him. He purred placidly, and started to bed into her trousers, claws working rhythmically.

  “How on earth is that comfortable for anyone involved?” she demanded.

  The cat rubbed his head on her arm and settled himself where he could keep an eye on the screen.

  “Bloody animal,” she muttered, although she had to admit that he was reassuringly heavy and warm. After a couple of false starts, she found eBay and searched for Modern World Enchantments. They had a new listing, this one titled Magically Aggrandising Model Boats!

  “There’s that thesaurus again,” Alice murmured, taking a sip of hot toddy and making a face. It was still too hot, and rather stronger than she’d intended.

  Be amazed! Be awed! Highly technical materials combine to create a boat that not only floats, it grows! Order yours today before stocks run out!

  Alice followed their advice and ordered one. Then she opened another tab and started a new search, with more confidence this time. She didn’t much like computers, but certain things she was quite familiar with. The cat looked on with interest. “How’s this for spy stuff, kitty?” she said to him. “Learning anything?”

  The cat just purred.

  6

  Miriam

  Miriam staggered into the dusty little post office/village shop, carting two enormous shopping bags full of carefully packed baubles and boats.

  “Am I in time?” she asked the big-bellied man behind the counter. “The post hasn’t gone yet?”

  “No, you’re good.” He glanced at his watch, then winked at her. “Just.”

  “Oof, that was lucky.” She pushed the boxes over the counter, watching him weighing them up and entering details on the computer. “So someone’s covering the route, then?”

  “Yes, Royal Mail got someone sorted.” The shopkeeper shook his head. “I’ve heard nothing else about Sam, though. You know, the usual postman. Terrible happenings, really.”

  “Oh, it is,” Miriam agreed. “Awful.” She checked the date on some milk in the little display fridge and put it back again. She always tried to buy a few things as well as do the post here, but it was a risky business. The last lot of digestives she’d bought without checking had a family of moths living in the bottom of the packet. She hadn’t even realised until she’d eaten two.

  “And Christmas time, too,” the shopkeeper said. “As if we’re not stretched enough as it is.” He ran a hand over his thin hair, looking mournful, and Miriam glanced around the empty shop. The tinsel that had been pinned up over the door had escaped and was hanging down one side of the frame like a furry anaconda waiting for a victim, and the only other concession to the season was a display of biscuits in faded souvenir tins that she was sure had been out every year she’d lived here. She smiled encouragingly.

  “It must be quite a worry.”

  “It is. People’ll take their custom elsewhere, if they can’t rely on the post here.” He dropped the last of the boxes into the sack behind his chair and pushed the card machine toward her. “Don’t know what I’ll do then.”

  “I’m sure it’ll all work out,” Miriam said, wondering if she should buy a tin of biscuits just to cheer him up. The total on the machine soon changed her mind.

  “Well, you know what the police are like. More important things to do, I imagine.”

  “There’s a missing person. That seems quite important to me.”

  “We’ll see.” He retrieved the machine, tore off the receipts and handed one to her. “Season’s greetings and all that.”

  It was another grey and rather unpleasant day, and Miriam had built the fire up in the living room before she left. It was comforting to come home and see the smoke curling from the chimney, and to know she’d be inside in the warm and dry in just a few moments. She loved Bessie, her old Volkswagen Beetle, even with all her temperamental behaviours, but it had to be said that she wasn’t wonderful in the winter. The heater might manage to blow some tepid air, but it was more than overwhelmed by all the freezing draughts coming in around the doors and windows. Never mind that every puddle she drove through came up through the floorboards, and Miriam had to wear wellies so her feet didn’t get wet.

  She let herself in and pottered through to the kitchen, carrying some fresh bread from the bakery and a bag of veggies from the greengrocer, humming as she went. Her hangover was completely gone after a good night’s sleep, no doubt helped by a large serving of shepherd’s pie the night before, and the fact that everything seemed to be running as usual with the post made the missing postman seem rather remote and unlikely. There had to be an explanation, and it wasn’t going to have anything to do with dragons or the W.I. She just knew it.

  A rather fierce face popped up at the window as she dropped the carrots in the sink to rinse them, and she jumped back with a squeak. The face split in a terrifying grin, and Beaufort waved, breathing hot dragon breath all over the window and steaming it up.

  “There you are, Miriam,” he bellowed. “We were just about to leave.”

  A smaller face appeared next to him, looking apologetic, and Miriam thought she should have bought more bread. Or maybe even some of the moth-eaten digestives. Dragon appetites were every bit as prodigious as legend suggested.

  She went to the door to let them in.

  “So, you see,” Mortimer said, “I’m not being unreasonable, am I?”

  Miriam looked at the empty plate on the coffee table and said, “Shall I make more sandwiches?”

  “You think I’m being unreasonable,” Mortimer said, flushing an ashamed yellow. “But I’m not!”

  Alice, who had arrived not long after the dragons, bearing a large apple cake (which was almost gone, as Mortimer appeared to be comfort eating), chuckled softly. “I don’t know much about dragon nature, Mortimer. But humans are quite like that, too. It’s not even necessarily about having something better than everyone else, although some are like that. Mostly it’s just about not being the same as everyone else.”

  “You see, lad?” Beaufort said. “It’s just people.”

  “I don’t think I much like people,�
�� Mortimer muttered, squeezing his wings against his back in annoyance. “Scaled or otherwise.”

  “Why don’t I make some hot chocolate?” Miriam suggested. “That would be nice, right?”

  “Maybe,” Mortimer mumbled, and Beaufort tweaked his tail. “Ow. Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m being really horrible, aren’t I?”

  “It happens to the best of us,” Alice said. “But the key is not to wallow around in it. Have a bit of a complain, then get on with things. Otherwise you just sit there being grey and grumpy until no one wants to talk to you ever again.”

  Mortimer looked thoroughly alarmed, the yellow rushing away and being overtaken by a very solid grey indeed, and Miriam said, “Are you sure no one wants hot chocolate?” She rather fancied one herself, but guaranteed if she went and made one, everyone else would want one five minutes later. Or two of her current guests would.

  Alice’s phone rang, a business-like little trill. She gave a humph of annoyance and left the room to answer it.

  “Yes?” Miriam heard her saying. Then, “I see. Oh. One moment, please. I’m just going to put you on speaker phone.” She came back into the lounge and set the phone on the coffee table, motioning the dragons to silence. “Frank,” she said, “My friend Miriam is here with me – she’s helping me arrange the charity dinner. Can you tell me again what’s happened, please?”

  “Ah, yes. Hello?” the disembodied voice on the phone said.

  “Hello,” Miriam replied dutifully.

  “Sorry about this, ladies, I really am. I know you were relying on my turkeys for the dinner, seeing as they’re local and free-range and all the rest. But, well. I’ve been robbed.”

  Four variations of “you’ve what?” came back to him, and he said, “Uh, hello?”

  “I’m sorry, Frank. There seems to be a bit of an echo,” Alice said, glaring at the dragons. “When you said the turkeys were missing I hadn’t appreciated that they’d been stolen. I thought it was maybe foxes.”

  “Oh, no. No feathers, no blood, no broken latches. The pens were opened neat as you please, sometime last night. I’ve reported it to the police, but they said it was probably PETA or some such, even though I’ve never had any complaints or threats. The police seem to think the birds have just been released and will come back on their own, but I don’t think so. If that were the case they’d be home already.” He sounded very concerned considering he was raising the birds to kill them, but Miriam supposed the sudden loss of Christmas income likely had at least a little to do with that.

  “Well, Frank, I’m very sorry this has happened,” Alice said. “Thank you for letting us know.”

  “No problems, Ms Martin. I’ll be in touch if they come back.”

  “Wonderful.” Alice tapped the speaker off and walked back into the hall. “Now, about our deposit …”

  The dragons and Miriam looked at each other.

  “It can’t be Gilbert,” Mortimer said. “Not after last time, when he took all those chickens from the rescue. He knows he has to leave well enough alone.”

  “Hmm,” Beaufort said.

  “Well. It can’t be related, anyway, can it?” Miriam asked. “I mean, no one goes about stealing the post and poultry.”

  “I’d like to say no,” Beaufort said, “but I’m not sure. If it’s not Gilbert, it’s a very odd coincidence.”

  Alice walked back into the room, frowning. “Well, that does put a spanner in the works. I don’t know where we’re going to get another half-dozen nice turkeys at such short notice.”

  “At least this morning’s baubles got off okay,” Miriam said brightly. “And you should get that counterfeit one soon—” She stopped, wincing. By silent agreement, she and Alice hadn’t mentioned the strange eBay listing. Not with Mortimer so emotional about Amelia’s little side trade already.

  “What?” he said now, his eyes wide.

  “I’m going to put that hot chocolate on,” Miriam said, and scuttled out the door.

  “This really isn’t the end of the world, Mortimer,” Alice said. He was an ashen grey, lying flat on his belly with his paws pressed over his snout.

  “Well, no,” he said, his voice muffled by the carpet. His hot chocolate was now a tepid chocolate, an unpleasant skin forming on top of it. “Uncontrolled scale distribution and counterfeit baubles, not to mention missing postmen and stolen turkeys. Of course it could be worse. I’m just not sure how.”

  “We have no reason to think any of this is linked,” Miriam said.

  “Hmm,” Beaufort said again, and she glared at him, mouthing not helping. He looked faintly surprised, but cleared his throat and said, “See here, Mortimer. We’re going to get to the bottom of all of this. It’ll be absolutely fine.”

  “I see no way that this can be absolutely fine.”

  “That’s not the attitude, lad.”

  Mortimer growled at the carpet. “I bet none of this would have happened if there hadn’t been a black market in scales going on.”

  “And I bet none of this would have happened if you’d just stayed in your caves like good little dragons,” Alice said. “Honestly, Mortimer. Pull yourself together, or I’ll have to come over there and tweak your silly tail.”

  Mortimer stared at her with wide eyes, then sat up.

  “That’s better. Now drink your hot chocolate, and we’ll talk about this like the grown-ups we are.”

  Mortimer picked it up and made a face. “It’s—”

  “Drink it.”

  Mortimer squeaked, and drank the cold chocolate in one hurried gulp.

  “Good man. Dragon. Now, let’s—” Alice was interrupted by her phone again, and she gave a small, rather dragonish growl that make Mortimer squeak again. Miriam didn’t blame him. She was just glad Alice wasn’t angry at her for mentioning the baubles. Or not yet.

  Alice poked the phone irritably, and said, “Yes? Oh, hello, Jasmine, love.” She listened, then said, “I see. Well. That puts a rather interesting light on things.”

  Miriam shivered. She didn’t like the sound of interesting.

  “Right. Call Priya, Rose, and Gert, would you? I want everyone who’s available here at Miriam’s within the hour. Thanks, Jasmine.” She hung the phone up decisively, looking like she wished it were an old-fashioned one she could slam into a cradle. Mobile phones were rather less satisfying, Miriam thought.

  “What’s happening?” Beaufort asked. He was the only one other than Alice who looked, if not happy, at least energised. Of course they were. They both loved interesting.

  “We’re calling an emergency meeting,” Alice announced, standing up.

  “Now?” Miriam asked, confused.

  “Yes. Right now. Immediately. We need to get as many of the W.I. to meet here as can manage it, and we’ll spread the word to the others afterward. This may be a direct attack on either the Toot Hansell Women’s Institute or the Cloverly dragons.” She paused, thinking. “Or both. Either way, I. Am. Not. Having it!”

  Miriam looked at Alice with something close to awe. She looked furious, standing ramrod straight next to the windows with her hands on her hips, and it occurred to Miriam that she was rather happy not to have known Alice in her RAF days. Civilian Alice was more than enough.

  “Wonderful,” Beaufort said happily.

  Miriam sighed. This was sounding awfully like investigating on a grand scale. “Shall I make sandwiches?” she suggested.

  Alice stared out the window, frowning and tapping her phone against her leg. “Not right now,” she said. “Miriam, do your neighbours have a silver Audi, by any chance?”

  Miriam frowned. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “It’s probably not important.” She stared into the grey day for a moment longer, then shook her head and started scrolling through her phone. “Can you call Rosemary and Teresa? I’ll deal with everyone else.”

  Miriam looked at Mortimer. His colour had come back a little with the tepid chocolate, but he was still very subdued. “Beaufort,” he whispered, “shoul
d we go?”

  “Of course not, lad.” The old dragon’s eyes were bright and eager. “It’s time for some action!”

  Miriam thought that, with any luck, there would be more cake and tea than action, but said nothing. She had a horrible feeling that once the W.I. were involved, she and Mortimer would be very much in the minority when it came to wanting to stay out of things.

  There certainly was a lot of tea and cake, and Gert had turned up carting a catering box of mugs as well as some of her fearsome cordial. Carlotta had brought mulled wine, and the house was overflowing with mince pies and Christmas cookies, turning the emergency meeting somewhat festive as the ten available members of the Toot Hansell Women’s Institute (which also happened to be all current members of the Toot Hansell W.I.) crowded into Miriam’s little living room. They perched on dining chairs brought through from the kitchen and crammed together on the sofa and the window seat, while the more flexible women (including Rose) sat on the floor with the dragons. The combination of fire and mulled wine and bodies made the room hot and a little stuffy, and everyone looked flushed and excited. Primrose alternated between barking at the dragons and snarling at Alice until she shoved the yappy little thing into the hall and closed the door on her. Miriam nibbled on her thumbnail and tried to enter in the spirit of things. She couldn’t. She was pretty sure they were about to – once again – embark on Obstructing a Police Investigation and Withholding Evidence. She felt a little ill.

  Alice clapped her hands together sharply, silencing the clamour of excited conversation and drawing all eyes to her. “Ladies,” she said gravely. “We have a situation.” No one answered, and she examined each person as if she were divining their commitment before she continued. “We believe that the missing post may have something to do with the W.I. as well as the dragons.”

  A ripple of surprise passed through the group, and she waited it out patiently.