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

by Kim M Watt

  “Oh, she’s fine,” Jasmine said, coming out into the hall. “She wouldn’t hurt anyone, would you, Primmy?”

  The dog was still on the doormat, and she paused her furious yapping to snarl at Miriam as she reached for the door handle.

  Miriam jerked her hand back. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Primrose! Primrose, come here! Come to Mummy!”

  Primrose looked back at Jasmine, then snapped at Alice’s ankles as she joined Miriam at the door.

  “Primrose! Don’t be naughty!”

  Alice muttered something under her breath that Mortimer couldn’t quite hear, and she and Miriam glared at Primrose. The dog was a furious ball of tan and white fluffiness, legs wide as she obstinately held her position in front of the door. There were also quite a few rather sharp teeth in among the fluff, which Mortimer didn’t much like the look of. The dog seemed to be positively looking for trouble, and Beaufort huffed next to his ear.

  “Horrible little thing,” the High Lord said. “Caused all sorts of trouble last time, too.”

  The horrible little thing had indeed caused all sorts of trouble for the dragons last time, and seemed to be making a point of doing it again.

  “Ooh, look,” Miriam said, and held up a shortbread biscuit. “Amazing the things you find in your pockets.” She waved the biscuit at the dog. “Here you go, pup. Biscuit, look.”

  “That’s a waste of a good biscuit,” Beaufort said. “She won’t appreciate it.”

  Primrose tipped her head to one side and stopped snarling. She whined instead.

  “Mmm, yum. Nice biscuit!” Miriam waved it encouragingly.

  “Miriam, how long have you had that shortbread biscuit in your pocket?” Alice asked.

  “No idea. But I obviously knew it’d come in handy.” She waved the biscuit again, the dog’s eyes following it eagerly. A thin thread of drool descended from her teeth.

  “Such an uncouth animal,” Beaufort said, and Mortimer decided not to tell him he had Christmas cake on his ears.

  “Oh, Miriam, she shouldn’t really have sweet stuff—” Jasmine stopped as Miriam, Alice, the dragons, and Gert, who had stepped out of the living room to see what the fuss was about, glared at her. “But that’s fine. One won’t hurt.”

  “Come on.” Miriam backed away from the door, still holding the biscuit out. “Good dog. Good doggy.”

  Primrose’s tail was wagging, bright brown eyes still fixed on the shortbread, but she didn’t move.

  “Here we go,” Miriam stepped closer to her again, waving the biscuit in front of the dog’s nose so she could catch the scent. “Lovely biscuit. All for you.”

  Primrose took a small step forward, then there was another sharp rap on the door. Miriam gave a squeak of surprise and jumped, and the dog lunged.

  “Ow!”

  “Horrid monster!” Beaufort bellowed, and Mortimer shushed him in alarm.

  “You little—” Alice grabbed Primrose around the belly and lifted her off the floor. The dog was firmly attached to Miriam’s finger, and Miriam was swearing quite fluently between yelps of pain. “Jasmine! Sort this dog out!”

  “Oh, no! Oh, I’m so sorry, this isn’t like her at all!” Jasmine had both hands pressed to her chest and couldn’t seem to move.

  “I don’t care!” Miriam shouted. “Get it off me!”

  “Aunt Miriam? Are you okay?” The man’s voice was muffled by the door, and when no one answered he knocked again, hard enough to shake the wood panels. “Aunt Miriam!”

  “Ms Ellis? Miriam? What’s going on?” DI Adams’ voice now, sharp with warning.

  “Jasmine!” Alice snapped, as the dog wriggled in her grip, still refusing to let go of Miriam. “Come here!”

  The younger woman took a timid step forward, then yelped as Beaufort cantered past her, tail whipping wildly into the walls. He slid on the stone-flagged floor and crashed into a side table, sending a vase flying. It missed the rug and shattered on the stone floor, making someone in the living room scream.

  “Beaufort!” Mortimer hissed, trying to shout without actually being loud about it. How was this happening? How was this kind of thing always happening?

  “Aunt Miriam,” Colin shouted from outside, “Stand clear of the door! Stand clear of the door!”

  “Beaufort, no!” There were quite a few voices shouting this time, and Mortimer was suddenly aware that the ladies of the Women’s Institute were leaning over him, crammed together in the doorway.

  “Beaufort!” Mortimer shout-whispered again. “Stop!”

  Beaufort ignored them all. He recovered from his slide and charged straight for Miriam, eyes fixed on the dog. He was snorting angry yellow steam, and Primrose let go of Miriam with a howl, wriggling wildly as she flung herself out of Alice’s hands.

  Beaufort pounced, trapping the dog under one taloned paw, and Jasmine screamed, “Primrose!” The High Lord spun his body away from the door as it flew open and pressed himself tight along the wall, fading to an off-white that matched the plaster admirably.

  Colin had obviously expected more resistance from the door, and his momentum sent him stumbling into the hall, arms windmilling for balance. He almost recovered, then one boot hooked the rug that Beaufort had rucked up in his headlong flight down the hall, and the inspector went sprawling onto his belly, catching himself with one hand in the broken vase.

  “You b—” He looked up to see the ladies of the Toot Hansell Women’s Institute staring down at him from the living room doorway. “Ow,” he amended, and sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. Mortimer held his breath. If he breathed out now, he’d singe a police officer, which seemed like a Very Bad Thing.

  Colin twisted to look at Miriam, who was holding her injured finger up so that the blood ran down her hand and didn’t drip on the floor. “Aunt Miriam?” he said cautiously. DI Adams was standing in the doorway, looking like she didn’t know who to glare at first. She finally settled on Beaufort, who let his lips hitch up in a small smile, but otherwise didn’t move.

  “Hello, dear,” Miriam said brightly. “Lovely to see you.”

  “What—” Colin looked from her to Alice to Jasmine frozen in the hallway and back to the faces jostling for position at the living room door, but, Mortimer was relieved to note, not at either him or Beaufort. “What on earth are you lot up to?”

  Alice ushered Miriam and her nephew into the kitchen so that she could peroxide Miriam’s bite and Colin’s vase injury, Rosemary and Carlotta following and arguing over the best thing to do with dog bites. Colin was still rubbing his eyes and looking faintly bewildered, and neither dragon moved until he was out of sight beyond the kitchen door. Then Mortimer scuttled rapidly back to the hearth, and Beaufort released Primrose then followed, looking rather pleased with himself.

  DI Adams crouched next to them as they took on the reddish shades of the patterned carpet, while about her the W.I. fussed with making more tea and finding more plates for mince pies.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed at them. Mortimer made a doubtful little sound, and concentrated on trying to stay red. The inspector looked very unhappy, and it was making him want to go the colour of porridge again.

  “It’s a meeting,” Beaufort whispered back. “Regarding Christmas.”

  “Do I look stupid?”

  “You look lovely. A little tired, maybe—”

  “Shut. Up.” DI Adams rubbed her forehead, hard, and Mortimer rather sympathised. Beaufort had the same effect on him sometimes. The inspector looked up at the women perched on the chairs and sofa, all watching her nervously. “Well, talk among yourselves,” she snapped, and they looked at each other doubtfully.

  “We’re terribly sorry,” Mortimer whispered, his voice a little wobbly. “We really haven’t been poking around.”

  “Is that just because you haven’t had time to yet?” she demanded, and Mortimer promptly lost all his colour. He shuffled onto the stone flags in front of the hearth and hoped he’d blend in a little better
there. Beaufort made a little noise that suggested he either had indigestion or was trying not to laugh. “This is not funny,” DI Adams hissed. “There are two people missing.”

  “And you have reason to believe dragons are involved,” Beaufort said. “Yet you’re telling the only two dragons you know to stay out of it?”

  “I don’t know for sure that it involves dragons. And it’s not even my case. I’m tagging along with DI Colin bloody Collins there, and you’re prancing around calling attention to yourself.”

  “We hardly prance,” Beaufort sniffed.

  “Colin Collins?” Mortimer said, and his nose went lilac with embarrassment when the High Lord and the DI both stared at him. “Sorry. I know. Not important.”

  DI Adams looked back at Beaufort. “Can’t you just do what I asked, and stay out of the human side?”

  Mortimer snorted, and covered his snout in horror. “Not funny. I know. Sorry again.” He looked to see if there was anything lilac in the room that he could sit on, and wondered if he might be hysterical. He never had been before, but there was a first for everything. Especially around Beaufort and the W.I.

  “Detective Inspector,” Beaufort said, finally looking away from Mortimer. “Whether or not the culprits are dragons, if they’re making it look like they’re dragons, they’re doing it deliberately. That means they’re trying to stir up anti-dragon sentiment, and possibly frame us. Therefore, you need our expertise, unless your dragon knowledge has improved considerably in the last two days.”

  DI Adams scowled at him, looking like she wanted to disagree.

  “And if there are dragons or other Folk involved, I don’t think you’re going to get too far without us.”

  The inspector started to say something, but Pearl said suddenly, “They’re coming!”

  Immediately everyone tried to look everywhere but at the two dragons taking up a considerable amount of space in front of the fire, and the inspector got up, brushing her trousers off. Mortimer discovered that he could do grey rather easily, after all.

  DI Collins came in with a frighteningly neat bandage on his left hand, carrying an enormous tea pot in the other. He looked anxious, and Mortimer felt an immediate sympathy with the man. It was bad enough when you knew there were dragons involved. The whole situation must be twice as confusing when you didn’t realise that. Alice followed him in with another pot, and there was general fussing with cups and milk and sugar. Mulled wine was poured and cakes were sliced, and Carlotta and Gert wedged DI Collins between them on the sofa. He sat there trying to make himself smaller, with his knees pressed together and his elbows tucked into his sides. DI Adams sat back down on the floor in front of the dragons, clutching a cup of tea that Jasmine had almost dropped on her.

  “Well, then,” Miriam said, smiling at her nephew, “it’s so lovely of you to drop in, and I’m terribly sorry about all the fuss. And your poor hand.”

  “S’alright,” he said around a mouthful of mince pie. “It’s not that bad. And we’re sorry to interrupt, really.”

  “Oh, that’s fine,” Gert said, patting his knee and making him jump violently enough to knock a mince pie to the carpet. “Always nice to have young folk around.”

  “Absolutely,” Carlotta agreed, squeezing his arm. “Always time for the police.”

  “We’re not here in an official capacity,” DI Adams said, taking a slice of Christmas cake from Priya.

  DI Collins frowned. “Speak for yourself.”

  “Well, I mean, we’re not here to accuse the ladies of hijacking a postal van. Ha. Haha.” No one else laughed, and DI Adams busied herself with her cake. Mortimer was astonished to smell something anxious and embarrassed on her.

  “Ye-es,” DI Collins said. “That is quite true.” He finished his mince pie, and no one spoke. Mortimer could clearly hear the horrible little dog grumbling from her place in Jasmine’s lap, and wondered why she hadn’t been put in the garden. Or preferably the cellar.

  DI Collins wiped his fingers on a napkin and said, “Well, you’re a chatty lot. I feel like we interrupted something. You plotting to overthrow the government or something?”

  This time everyone laughed a little wildly, except DI Adams who muttered something that sounded an awful lot like wouldn’t put it past them.

  DI Collins took a sip of tea. “You still sending your Etsy stuff out, Auntie Miriam?”

  “Oh, yes. We’ve been quite busy, really. Me. I’ve been. I mean—” Miriam gulped tea, choking a little as Alice stared at her with frown lines dividing her forehead. She recovered and patted her mouth with a napkin, then said, “We as in the W.I. We’ve been selling through my account. Very busy. Yes.”

  “That’s great,” her nephew said, helping himself to a piece of gingerbread. “Did you have anything in those vans?”

  “Oh. Well, yes. We did, unfortunately.”

  Mortimer looked sideways at DI Adams, and caught her eye. She gave a very small shrug, and looked at Beaufort. He was watching the other inspector with great interest, and Mortimer only hoped he didn’t forget that not only were they not meant to be getting involved, but also not actually meant to exist, as far as DI Collins knew.

  “I hope you didn’t lose too much,” DI Collins said.

  “Well, it was a shame, definitely. But we can try again tomorrow.” Miriam smiled at him more easily, the lines of her shoulders relaxing.

  DI Collins nodded, then said to Jasmine, “Ben been telling tales?”

  Jasmine gave a little gasp of horror as the room froze, cups halfway to lips and biscuits half chewed. All eyes were on the big inspector, and Miriam hiccoughed, slapping a hand over her mouth and slopping tea onto her skirt. Then Primrose flung herself out of Jasmine’s grip and bolted toward Beaufort, yapping.

  “No!” Jasmine cried out, and DI Adams grabbed for the dog, then jerked back as the horrid thing snapped at her, bumping into Mortimer and making him squeak. Primrose turned her attention back to the High Lord, growling and baring her tiny teeth. Beaufort bared his teeth back, and the dog promptly rolled on her back, all four legs in the air, trembling in fright.

  “Is that dog alright?” DI Collins asked.

  “She’s epileptic,” Alice said, before Jasmine could reply. “And, to answer your question, yes. We did know of the second van before you got here.”

  Jasmine buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling, and DI Collins looked uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable, Mortimer thought. He hadn’t really looked comfortable since he and DI Adams had crashed through the door. Miriam hiccoughed again, rather loudly.

  “Now, look,” DI Collins said to Jasmine. “Don’t take on. I’m not going to get him in trouble. We all bring stories home now and then. But this is an active investigation, and it’s just not acceptable. If he really can’t help telling you, you need to keep it quiet, alright?”

  Jasmine looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and hectic patches on her cheeks. “You really won’t get him in trouble?”

  “Not this time. But one day it’ll come back to bite him. Remember that. Now,” he looked around the room. “You ladies know everything that goes on in this place. Anything you want to share with me?”

  Nervous mutterings spread around the room, and various unrelated titbits of gossip were hesitantly offered up, everyone looking like they were picking their words very carefully indeed. Mortimer took a deep breath, taking the chance while the inspector was distracted to shift his legs a little. He seemed to have been trying to grab the stone floor, and he had cramp in his paws. As the discomfort eased, he became aware that Beaufort was trembling next to him. He tried to carefully peer around to see the High Lord’s face without letting his firmly grey snout drift over the red carpet. Beaufort scuffled a bit, still shaking, and now Mortimer could see that Primrose was licking the old dragon’s face eagerly, head butting him as he tried to stay out of range. He couldn’t be shaking with rage, could he? Was he trying to resist incinerating the silly thing, or eating it? That wasn’t like Beauf
ort at all, but the dog truly was a horribly annoying creature— The High Lord sniffled, and suddenly Mortimer was back in the dark of the Christmas market two years ago, watching Beaufort’s dog costume go up in flames.

  “Oh, no,” he whispered, and DI Adams glanced over her shoulder, giving him a fierce shushing look. “Allergic,” he hissed, tipping his head toward Beaufort, and she dropped her plate and lunged for the dog, sending her cup spinning across the carpet in a spray of tea.

  She grabbed Primrose and scooped her up (rather fearlessly, Mortimer thought) while the dog whined and wriggled and strained to get back to the dragons.

  “Adams?” DI Collins said, and Mortimer felt Beaufort take a shuddering breath.

  “Loo,” DI Adams said. “The dog. I think it needs the loo. To go out, I mean.”

  “Oh,” he said, and she gave him an enormous and very unconvincing smile.

  “Shall we take her out?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Will you show me where the door to the back garden is?”

  “Have you adopted that dog?”

  “No, no, just if you come with me—”

  “Adams, I rather think Mrs Shaw—”

  There was a sudden burst of heat next to Mortimer, accompanied by a resounding “AHHH-chooo!”

  The room was very, very still for a moment, then DI Adams said, “I’m terribly sorry. My hay fever seems to be playing up.” She sniffed pointedly, but in Mortimer’s opinion she didn’t sound like she could carry off a dragon sneeze. Miriam gave another strangled hiccough, one hand still over her mouth.

  “It’s December,” DI Collins said slowly. He still had a Christmas cookie halfway to his mouth and was looking at DI Adams with something like wonder.