Slay Bells Ring (A Christmas Cozy Mystery Series Book 2)

by Mona Marple

  The person barely moved, leading the choreographed set with a subtle head movement, a shift of a leg, and the click commands.

  “Wow,” I said, my breath forming a cloud as if I were a dragon breathing smoke.

  “She’s very talented, isn’t she?”

  “Its incredible,” I admitted.

  We continued to watch, until Lila gave a short, sharp blow of a whistle, at which point the reindeers stopped being perfectly synchronised acrobats and returned to their natural animal state. They ran and played in the snow, tussled with each other’s antlers and dug around for grass to eat.

  Lila began a leisurely walk across the field, appeared to stop in her tracks when she saw us, then gave a big wave and burst into a jog. She closed the gate of the field behind her so that the reindeer could continue playing safely.

  “Mrs Claus! Is everything okay? I didn’t know you were here, sorry,” Lila said. Her cheeks were rosy red.

  “That’s quite alright, dear. We were passing and I realised that Holly hadn’t seen your skill with the reindeer.”

  “You’re amazing,” I gushed.

  “Oh, thanks. They do all of the work, though,” Lila said with a shrug. She turned and gazed at the animals as she spoke. It was clear that she was mad about them.

  “You must have been doing this for years,” I said.

  “Since I was a child,” Lila agreed with a nod.

  “She’s like the Cesar Milan of the reindeer world,” Mrs Claus said with a wink.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I say a trainer is only as good as their animals,” Lila said.

  “You’re modest. But you do great work here, and the way you set up the Ball was amazing too.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Lila shifted in her snow boots at the mention of the Ball.

  “It was a shame it ended the way it did,” I said.

  “Yes, you could say that,” Lila said.

  “Sorry, it’s insensitive of me to mention it.”

  “It’s just… I’ll never plan an event again, will I?”

  “Won’t you?” I asked.

  “Who would want to book me after what happened? People are giving me odd looks now. I’m better here just throwing myself into my reindeers. Speaking of which, I need to get them back into their stables,” Lila said.

  She gave a click and I watched in amazement as the reindeers lined up by the gate in height order, smallest first. Lila unclipped the gate and lead the animals to the stables, where each reindeer entered its own stable in turn.

  I looked at Mrs Claus with my eyes wide.

  “Are you thinking what I am?” I asked.

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “That there’s no way someone as competent as Lila didn’t fix that glitter ball to the ceiling properly.”

  Mrs Claus nodded. “It would certainly be a shock.”

  Lila closed all of the stable doors and returned her attention to us.

  “I have to make up their food now, but if you want to come into the kitchen I can make us all a hot chocolate?”

  “That sounds perfect,” Mrs Claus accepted.

  We all filed into the building through the back door, stomped our feet on the hard floor of the utility room, and we were then in the kitchen, where a roaring fire burned.

  “So, you’re finding that people are being different with you after the Ball?” I asked.

  Lila sighed as she filled a pan with milk and switched on the hob. “I don’t blame them, exactly. But I’ve been doing events for a long time and nobody ever died before. I get that it’s suspicious.”

  “With Greasy being your ex?”

  “Exactly. I can see people thinking that maybe I was distracted and didn’t quite secure it properly.”

  “Do you think there’s any chance that’s what happened?”

  Lila closed her eyes tight. “It must be what happened. No matter how good I like to think I am at my jobs, I made a mistake. A fatal mistake. And poor Greasy paid the ultimate price.”

  “There’s no other explanation?” I pushed.

  “Like what?”

  “Well… Mrs Claus said sometimes you have helpers? Did anyone else go near the glitter ball?”

  “Absolutely not. The helpers get to set out the tables, maybe polish the glasses although most of them aren’t too great at that job. They’re kids looking to earn a bit of money. I wouldn’t trust them with the glitter ball.”

  “You can’t beat yourself up too much,” Mrs Claus soothed.

  “Of course I can! I should! A man has died because I didn’t do my job properly.”

  “It does look like a tough work environment, up there with the beams,” I said.

  “It’s fine. The beams are wider than they look. There’s a staircase up there and good lighting. As long as you don’t mind heights, it’s perfectly safe. And I’ve been doing the Ball for so many years, I could probably work out my way around there with my eyes closed.”

  Lila finished talking, and gasped.

  “Listen to me. With my eyes closed! It’s that attitude that caused this tragedy.”

  “You’re being very hard on yourself, dear. Everyone makes mistakes at times.”

  “Do you remember fixing the glitter ball up there? Were you paying attention like you normally would?” I asked.

  Lila considered the question as she stirred the milk. “I’ve replayed it in my mind so many times.”

  “The glitter ball falling?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, not that, I didn’t see that happen. I was… erm… I mean, I didn’t stand still all night. I was working, not partying. So, no, I mean, I’ve replayed setting the glitter ball up.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “I secured it the same way I always have. That glitter ball has been the main feature for years. And so, I’m thinking, did I just get complacent? But I honestly don’t think I did. I remember fixing it up there like I always have. Trust me, that thing was pressure tested before I went ahead with it.”

  “I’m guessing it’s pretty heavy?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, it’s not as heavy as it looks. Gosh, that sounds awful. It’s too heavy to land on a person, obviously. But in terms of it staying up there, it’s not that hard. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.”

  “Do you think anyone imagines that you rigged the glitter ball on purpose to hurt Greasy?” I asked.

  Lila gasped as she walked across to the kitchen table with a tray of hot chocolates and set them out in front of us.

  “Are people saying that?” She asked.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “I don’t see how that would even be possible. It’s not as if it’s on a timer or anything. How could I have made it drop at a certain time?”

  “I don’t know. I was just thinking how you said it’s suspicious that it landed on your ex,” I said.

  “Oh, but there was no animosity between Lila and Greasy, dear,” Mrs Claus said.

  “No?” I asked. I should have guessed that in Candy Cane Hollow, even former partners still got on well. Was this place really real?

  Lila shook her head but focused her gaze on her hot chocolate.

  “But in theory, anyone could have got up that staircase to the ceiling beams? Or is it closed off?” I asked.

  “It’s not closed off. It’s just a staircase, sometimes the teenagers go up there for a bit of privacy,” Lila explained.

  “You’re really being very helpful, Lila,” Mrs Claus reached across and gave her hand a squeeze.

  “I am? I don’t even know why you’re asking these questions. Has someone accused me of something?”

  “Oh, no. Although someone from Sleigh A While made a casual comment the other day about how you’d be the best person to rig a glitter ball,” I said, then sat back and watched her reaction.

  “Sleigh A While? Do you mean Drayton? He didn’t say that, did he?”

  “I’ve probably said too much,” I took a long sip of the hot chocolate. It had a slight kick to
it. Chilli, perhaps. It was delicious.

  “I guess in theory I would be the best person, but I can’t believe that anyone would imagine it was done deliberately. Is Wiggles treating this as a murder?”

  “You’d have to ask Wiggles that,” I said with a shrug.

  “Do you think he should be treating it as a murder, dear?” Mrs Claus asked.

  “There’s no right answer, is there? Either I say it can’t be a murder, and then I know my carelessness caused his death. Or I say it was murder and it just seems as though I’m trying to avoid responsibility.”

  “But what do you think, dear?”

  Lila sighed. “I think I have to feed the reindeer now. And I also think I secured the glitter ball properly.”

  “Then it could be murder. If that’s the case, Lila, help us. Who would want to kill Greasy?”

  “He had a lot of enemies. He was a big character, always saying whatever he wanted and not minding if it upset someone. Just last week he wrote that horrid article for the Chronicles about Peggy-Sue.”

  “What article?” I asked.

  “That was him?” Mrs Claus asked at the same time.

  “Peggy-Sue complains about everything, and she’s always writing letters of complaint. Last week, there was an anonymous article complaining about her complaining, saying it was having a really bad impact on local businesses.”

  “And Greasy wrote that article?”

  “It had to be him. Nobody else would dare, and I know his writing style. That’s just one example of him upsetting someone. He didn’t get along with Drayton, either, and I don’t know why. They’re both great chefs and foodies. They should have been friends, surely?”

  “It sounds like Greasy could be stubborn,” I suggested.

  Lila rose from the table and went over to the cupboards, where she pulled out carrots and hunks of what looked like weeds. “You’re welcome to stay, please don’t think I’m being rude, but I have to get the food ready now.”

  “I think we’ll be off now, dear,” Mrs Claus said. We each drained the last of our hot chocolates and left Lila to her work, and her guilt.

  9

  The High Street was empty as we approached the GP surgery. The surgery was just as empty as the street and it needed to be inhabited again. It was such a feature of a small town, the GP surgery, and my heart sang as I looked at the building and considered that it could be my new workplace.

  Mrs Claus had a set of skeleton keys for all of the businesses in Candy Cane Hollow and she unlocked the door and let us in.

  “What did you think of Lila, dear?” Mrs Claus asked as she turned the dial on the radiator up and switched on the lights.

  “She’s not telling us everything,” I said. I remembered how flustered she had grown at certain points of our conversation and wondered what she was hiding, or lying about.

  “Does anyone? We all have our little secrets. Don’t tell Father Christmas, but I’m a natural blonde,” Mrs Claus said with a wink. I glanced at her white hair and smiled.

  “Your secret’s safe with me. What could Lila have as a secret, that’s the question,” I said, as I surveyed the space.

  “All shall be revealed, I’m sure. Are you still believing that it was no accident?”

  “Even more so. Watching Lila work, it’s clear that she’s very talented. If she’s just a touch as talented in her events work, there’s no way she would have made such a deadly mistake.”

  “I agree,” Mrs Claus said.

  “You do? That’s brilliant. I’m so pleased to have someone on my side. Do you still want to help me investigate?”

  “Of course, dear. What else do I have to keep me busy? Now, how about names for this place? I’m thinking of Knock on Wood.”

  “Really?” I asked, unsure whether a play on words was appropriate for a medical clinic.

  “It’s what you say when you’re hoping you’re well, isn’t it? Knock on wood.”

  I shook my head a little and let out a laugh. “Knock on Wood. It has a certain ring to it. I’ll need a receptionist.”

  “Of course. We should place an ad in the Chronicles and start the interviews right away,” Mrs Claus beamed.

  The bell rang out to signal that someone had come in the door, and we both turned to see Peggy-Sue in the doorway.

  “Hello, dear,” Mrs Claus greeted her.

  “I saw the lights on.”

  “Yes, we’re just starting to get this place ready for the new doctor,” Mrs Claus said.

  “It’s taken too long. Over a week now, we’ve been without a doctor. It’s not good enough,” Peggy-Sue grumbled.

  “Well, it was important to find the right person, not rush into anything. And the medics at the hospital are always just a phone call away.”

  “It’s not the same. You won’t get a bigwig hospital doctor looking at my bunions, I can tell you that for nothing. Who is he, then? The new doctor?”

  I cleared my throat. “It’s me. I’m Holly Wood.”

  “This is a joke, right?” Peggy-Sue eyed Mrs Claus.

  “No, dear, Holly is a doctor. We’re very lucky to find her,” Mrs Claus said.

  “Women are nurses. Men are doctors. Call me old-fashioned, but that’s the way it is. Imagine I come in here with a bleeding head, she’d probably faint,” Peggy-Sue looked at me with a sneer.

  “I can assure you, I’m strong enough for this job. Both physically and mentally. And in my experience, it’s the doctors who are shielded from some of those things more than the nurses.”

  Peggy-Sue shook her head. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. Next thing you’ll be telling me your receptionist will be a man!”

  “It will be whoever is the best person for the job,” I said. I’d had several male receptionists over the years and had learned long ago that the only thing that mattered when judging a work colleague was their aptitude for the role. Could they calm down an irate patient? Could they handle a growing queue? Whether they were a Daniel or a Danielle made no difference in my book.

  “It’s all politically correct nonsense,” Peggy-Sue said, then turned and stormed out of the surgery. Unfortunately, the door was one of those that moved incredibly slowly, so her attempts to bang it behind her were thwarted.

  “She’s a character,” I said. I already had the sinking feeling that Peggy-Sue would be a frequent patient in the surgery. Every town had their difficult patients, even Candy Cane Hollow it appeared.

  “Lonely, I think. She lives alone with her daughter. Will you change anything in here, dear?” Mrs Claus asked.

  I considered the space and nodded. “A fresh coat of paint, just to freshen things up. I don’t want to make it too different, because it’s a space that people know. But a paint job would be good.”

  “Excellent! I’ll help. We’ll make quick work of it. Gilbert might even lend a hand, he’s quite creative you know?”

  “He is?”

  “Oh, yes. Although he swore he hung up his paintbrushes when he came to work for us. I did encourage him to continue his art, but he swore he had no time for such foolish things anymore.”

  “That’s intense,” I said.

  “I agree. But this project, as it’s work, may just tempt him. He won’t want to refuse a cry for help.”

  We finished up at the surgery, with Mrs Claus promising to call the sign maker, and plans made to begin painting the very next day.

  By the time we locked up, the snow was really coming down, and I wished we had planned ahead and not set out on foot. As beautiful as the snowy landscape was, it was freezing.

  No sooner had I finished that thought than a car beeped behind us, and we turned to see Wiggles inside his tiny Fiat, his favourite Christmas song playing on repeat as always.

  “Hop in, ladies,” he leaned over and called.

  We dove into the car without an ounce of grace but with a huge amount of gratitude.

  “Where can I take you fine ladies to?”

  “Home, please. Have yo
u had a busy day?”

  Wiggles frowned. “I’ve been inundated with phone calls about Greasy’s death.”

  “Really?” I asked, from the back seat.

  He nodded. “Two people want to sue someone because when the glitter ball fell, shards of it tore holes in their clothes. Another got some dust on him and wants to be reimbursed for the dry cleaning. Four people rang in sick from work today because of the trauma of seeing the accident, and wanted me to sign their sick notes since we don’t have a GP.”

  “We do have a GP, dear. Holly here will be getting set up at then surgery very soon,” Mrs Claus said.

  “Congratulations, Holly. I’m pleased to hear that. A lot of folks seem to think that if one emergency service isn’t available, any of the others will do. But trust me, I know nothing about how to cure an ear ache.”

  “Wear earmuffs,” Mrs Claus advised.

  “Thank you, Mrs C, I’ll forward the medical calls to you from now on,” Wiggles said with a laugh so infectious we were soon all giggling away, until the chorus on his favourite song came on, at which point he insisted we all belt out the lyrics as loud as we could.

  “Do you ever listen to anything else?” I asked, in the brief pause when the song ended and before it began again.

  “Sure, I like to consider myself an open-minded kind of guy. A few years ago, I heard a different song. It was okay. Not bad at all.”

  I watched him closely for any signs of irony, but there was none.

  “Wiggles, do you think Greasy’s death might have been planned?” I asked.

  “Of course not. The glitter ball fell and Greasy happened to be down there. It’s a very tragic accident,” Wiggles said. His head still bopped to the music as he spoke.

  “Couldn’t there be more to it than that?” I asked.

  “I guess someone could have climbed up onto the beams, waited for the moment Greasy was in the right place, and then cut the glitter ball down. But, come on, it’s not plausible really, is it?”

  “Wiggles, you’re a genius!”

  “Erm, thanks?” He said with a chuckle.

  “What is it, dear?” Mrs Claus asked from the front seat. She held her handbag on her lap and had reapplied her lipstick during the drive.