Three Carols of Cozy Christmas Murder

by Carolyn L. Dean

  It took a while to tell the whole tale of what had happened with Orrin and Edgar, even if most of it had already been printed in a huge article in the local paper, and in several nearby large cities as well. As people peppered her and Darryl with questions the truth finally emerged.

  The best news was that no one else had gotten hurt. Scott had been worried about Claire walking in the snow all the way home, so he had hopped in his SUV and gone looking for her when she hadn’t answered her phone. He’d only caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, but it was enough for him to stop his car and crack Edgar across the back of the head just as he was strangling the life out of Claire. The bruises around her neck was an ugly reminder of how close she’d come to losing her life, but after a day at the local hospital she’d been released to go back to her cottage and convalesced there.

  The next best news was that Mrs. Freeman’s jewels had been recovered. They had been stuffed into the base of the heavy-duty Hobart mixer that had originally belonged to the Brightwater Resort Bakery, and then sold to Daisy. When Officer Bell had gone into the not-yet-opened coffeeshop after they’d already apprehended Edgar, he discovered the heavy mixer pushed over on its side and the bottom plate unscrewed. A quick search of Edgar’s pockets revealed that he had already retrieved the jewels, and was all set to make a quick getaway until Claire found him.

  Mrs. Freeman seemed a bit confused about the jewels, but she’d already said that she would be happy to sell all of them except for one piece she remembered her grandmother wearing. It turned out that Mrs. Freeman had a cousin who had been an excellent trustee of her money in the past. After selling some of the jewels, the trustee had hired a new housekeeper, who could also keep an eye on Mrs. Freeman. There was enough money to stash for any future needs Mrs. Freeman might have, and plans were put in place to pay for a brand-new roof as soon as it could be installed.

  It also turned out that Edgar had been Orrin’s accomplice in the jewel theft, but when Orrin started searching for the bakery equipment, trying to find out where it had all wound up, Edgar had methodically followed behind him. When he’d seen Orrin walking up to Daisy’s cottages, he’d confronted him, quietly shoving a gun in his back. When Orrin refused to tell him where the jewels were, Edgar had shot him and then fled. No one knew where Dexter was, but according to Edgar, he didn’t think he had anything to do with the jewels.

  One of the surprises of the day was that Claire had received two presents. Molly had stopped by on Christmas Eve with two big bags of Chinese takeout food, and had presented her with a pair of pink, handknit mittens, at least a size too big. Claire loved them instantly and gave her new friend a big hug. She’d spent the day making fudge on the little stove in the kitchen, and was happy to give Claire a nice-sized box as a present.

  When Scott had stopped by to pick her up for the Christmas lunch the next day, he’d whistled when he bounded up the front steps, a package in his hand. Claire had kept repeating to herself that he was just a friend and that she didn’t need to be nervous, but he looked especially handsome in a sport coat and new shirt, and she had to admit that she’d taken more effort than she normally did on her makeup and hair. When she’d opened the door for him, his appreciative look let her know what he thought of her appearance, even if he never said a word. She’d ripped the wrapping paper off the gift he handed her with a sense of childlike glee, and revealed a hardback book that detailed the history of the area, including the nearby islands. Flipping through it, they had exclaimed over the amazing, old photos, and how much the area had changed.

  It had been an amazing day. As Mrs. Applegate walked around, chatting with all her guests and delivering slices of cake and pie to everyone, she made a special effort to check in with Claire.

  “Are you having a good time, honey?” she asked, her expression hopeful, and Claire was happy to tell her she was.

  “Oh, I’m so glad,” the older lady said with a warm smile. “It’s been a blessing to have you here this year.”

  Claire hesitated, the question she wanted to ask sticking in her throat. Mrs. Applegate waited, as she could tell Claire had something to say to her.

  “Um, is that job offer still open?”

  AUTHOR NOTES:

  Oh, I’m LOVING getting to learn about all the mysteries of Brightwater Bay, and it’s so fun to meet a whole new set of friends! The San Juan Islands are one of my favorite places in the whole world, and I’ve been there many times.

  Please follow along with us as we find out what mysteries lie in the San Juan Islands, and what Claire, Scott, Daisy, and the rest of the crew will be doing in their next adventure.

  If you liked what you read, please consider leaving a review. Being an independent author means this is my own small business, and I appreciate any feedback you can give, so other readers will know if my writing is their cup of tea or not Thank you for stopping by!

  Want to know be the first to know about new releases, sale pricing, and exclusive content? Visit my website at http://www.CarolynDeanBooks.com/ and my email newsletter is HERE. Spam-free, and only sent out when there’s something new, on sale, or FREE. I PROMISE.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR – Carolyn L. Dean

  I've been writing and making stories in my head as early as I can remember. In third grade I came home, set my lunchbox down, and told my mother I wanted to be a writer. Luckily, Mom was supportive.

  I've been a published author for a few years now, under different names and genres, but the thought of writing about a small coastal town in Oregon, and about its loves and mysteries and holidays and people has been with me for years. To be honest, I am always a bit scared to dump those ideas onto the written page, but hope you'll enjoy getting to meet the people who inhabit my imagination.

  In real life, I'm married with kids, live on the West Coast of the US, and own a hobby farm just outside of my favorite small town. I’m a full-time author. I love to travel, and can often be found strolling down a windy beach, holding onto the string of a high-sailing dragon kite.

  Here are my other books, in the Ravenwood Cove series:

  #1 – BED, BREAKFAST, and BONES

  #2 – DUNE, DOCK, and a DEAD MAN

  #3 – MISTLEOE, MOONLIGHT, and MURDER

  #4 – SEA, SKY, and SKELETON

  #5 – TIME, TIDE, and TROUBLE

  #6 – SUN, SAND, and SECRETS

  #7 – ROCKS, ROSES, and RIPTIDES

  #8 – FRUIT, FLOWER, and FLAMES

  Winter Storms and Deadly Thorns By Angela C Blackmoore

  Copyright 2017 by Angela C Blackmoore, All Rights Reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons, events, or places are purely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  Please leave a review. Reviews are very important for writers, not only for honest feedback from readers, but they help tell other readers if my book is worth reading. You would do me a GREAT service by doing so.

  Chapter 1

  Abby Morgan took a sip of her tea, savoring the gentle flavor and heat that washed over her tongue. Tea was the lifeblood of the Morgan Family house, filling it with the scents of love and caring that permeated the wood of the graceful, old dwelling.

  There were few pleasures that could compare to sipping tea in front of the warm fire. Her eyes strayed to the colorful stone that made up the fireplace accented by handmade wrought iron. Taking a deep breath, Abby curled up in the chair she sat in, hugging her knees to herself in contentment.

  All of this was what had saved Abby when she found herself, lost and aimless, on Hazel Morgan's porch several months ago. Abby had been drifting aimlessly through life after the death of her husband, and she was sure that coming to live in Red Pine Falls was the wisest choice she’d ever made.

  But things had not been calm.

  Abby contemplated the amber liquid in her cup with unfocused eyes as she remembered delving in the treasure room with her grandmother a
few days ago. Hazel had never thought to inspect the other chests the entire time she was their guardian, and within one, they found a diary written by Kat Morgan along with a will, and several old deeds.

  She was still shocked at reading the letter set within the first pages of the diary where Kat had briefly mentioned her circumstances that caused her to flee for her life. More importantly, Kat had signed it with a name that had shocked both Hazel and Abby.

  Katherine Moore Clark. It was the same last name as the senator that had been harassing Hazel for years and had ultimately been behind several of the murders in recent days. More importantly, the thick diary promised to tell the entire tale in depth and Abby was just waiting for Hazel to finish reading it so she could see for herself.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, Hazel shuffled from the kitchen into the living room and sat delicately onto the couch. The older woman was holding the worn diary in her hand, and she just stared into the fire for several long moments before turning to Abby. “Abby,” she said slowly, “I would never have guessed at where the gold really had come from. All of those crazy rumors and stories about the gold that people tell? None of them compare to the real story. It’s truly…amazing.”

  Hazel leaned forward, putting the diary on the coffee table and deliberately sliding it toward Abby. She left it there, sitting like a living thing between them as she sat back and took a deep breath. Abby didn’t reach for it right away, instead choosing to take another sip of her tea and contemplate the diary’s brown, discolored leather cover. It was no longer dusty, but clearly it could use some care from its long rest within the old chests.

  “How can it possibly be better than Kat stealing the gold from a circus?” Abby asked in surprise as she reached over and laid her fingers on the old book. She caressed it for a moment before picking it up and turned to the first page.

  Hazel smiled as she continued to stare into the fire. “Oh, well, that is a difficult one to beat, isn’t it? Perhaps not that crazy, but it’s very interesting nonetheless.” Hazel paused and tilted her head before continuing. “I’ve asked Robert Carrington to the house tomorrow. He’ll need to look at the will and deeds to tell us what they mean.”

  Abby frowned. She suspected those papers were exactly what Senator Clark had been after all these years. She’d glanced through the archaic paperwork, but she didn’t even speak modern legalize, much less that which had been used over a hundred years ago. If they were important enough for a wealthy senator to kill, they were very dangerous indeed.

  “It’s going to become even more dangerous, isn’t it?” Abby said and looked at her grandmother sadly. She wasn’t sure how it could possibly become more dangerous after the past several months, but she suspected it would.

  “I think it depends on what we decide to do with everything we found,” Hazel answered before standing. “Anyway, please read that. It’s…enlightening and while making me sad, it also makes me proud of my great, great, grandmother. She was a strong woman.”

  Abby didn’t answer but nodded, slowly opening the diary and enjoying the smell of the old book. Smiling to herself, she read the opening letter once again before turning to the first page of the diary. Kat Morgan had left her entire life behind, much like Abby had done if for different reasons. Still, she doubted there could be many similarities. Abby had arrived by plane and taxi to the doorstep of the venerable old house but Kat’s journey had to have been far more difficult. And she’d had to build the house.

  Taking another sip of her tea, Abby snuggled deeper into the comfortable chair and began to read.

  Chapter 2

  The snow pattered softly on the umbrella that Katherine held over her head. It was black like the clothes she was wearing and reflected the somber mood she felt. Her eyes strayed over to the casket that was slowly being lowered into the ground by the strong men that worked at the graveyard. Though not dressed in mourning clothes, they were still dressed somberly in respect for the dead.

  After a few moments, she rested her hand on her grandfather’s shoulder as he sat in his custom wooden wheelchair. A frail man, he reached up with his own hand and covered Katherine’s, both giving and receiving comfort. Arrah Moore had once been strongly built with fierce eyes and a strong jaw line. Now, these many years past his prime, his mind was trapped in a failing body.

  Katherine wondered how the loss of his son, her father, would affect her grandfather. She was worried about him since he had decided as a result of the death to come out of retirement to help run the family business. She had faith his mind was up to the task, but running the powerful Moore and Co. business empire they had built would be stressful and Katherine was worried it would cut short his already dwindling years.

  The partner in their business, Daniel Clark, stood opposite of them on the other side of the grave. One of his body servants stood behind him, holding an umbrella above his head while the man himself stood in the rain. For the most part, he stared without emotion at the casket, but occasionally he would look around at the assembled people and sneer slightly.

  Katherine turned her eyes to her husband who stood next to Daniel. Her brows knitted momentarily as she watched him lean over and say something to his uncle that elicited a slight smile on the older man’s lips. While she should be angry about him not attending to her as was proper, she just felt relief. He was also a Clark, son to Daniel’s brother, but the man so resembled his uncle it was like looking at a younger version of the man.

  Unfortunately, they both had the same temper, and while Katherine had only experienced the verbal version of Daniel’s, her husband was another matter entirely. She reached up, touching her cheek. The bruise there was well hidden by powder and makeup, but it still hurt nonetheless. A reward for some imagined slight that Eustice had concocted a few days before the funeral.

  She looked once more at her grandfather and made sure her umbrella was held above him as well as herself. Coupled with the wool blanket wrapped around his legs, he was protected from the worst of the snow. Still, she could see the old man shiver occasionally despite the heavy coat, gloves, and scarf. Reaching down, she gathered his hand in hers and rubbed it even as her own soul shivered at their future.

  “You’re too good to an old man, Kat,” her grandfather said, looking up at her with watery eyes. His stoicism kept him from crying but it was a close thing. Despite her own terrible loss, she couldn’t imagine having a child and then outliving them.

  “Not good enough, Grandfather,” she said as she continued rubbing his hand. She couldn’t tell if she was doing any good through both of their gloves, but she needed the contact herself so continued. She suddenly wanted to ask him about his medicine. It was a habit of hers to ask despite her grandfather being well attended by staff and servants. The problem was, he’d made a game of inventive ways to try to avoid taking his pills so she had made a habit of checking with him.

  But not today.

  She remained quiet, not wanting to belabor him or herself with such a mundane question at the funeral. She roused herself from her introspection as the burly men stepped back from the frozen hole in the ground, signaling they had finished lowering the casket. They moved to stand behind the large pile of dirt that had already accumulated a healthy covering of snow as the preacher once again stepped forward.

  “Please, for those of you who wish it, please step forward and place a flower on the casket,” he said, gesturing toward a large vase that held a number of white lilies and then looked toward Katherine and her grandfather, motioning for them to approach first. Katherine handed her grandfather the umbrella and then moved to push his chair forward but stopped.

  Daniel and Eustice Clark had moved forward, ignoring the priest’s angry glare and each had taken a flower before moving to the pit. Each of them barely glanced down as they flung their offering into the hole like it was refuse, then turned and walked away without another glance.

  Katherine hadn’t moved, standing in the cold and staring at the backs of the two
men in disbelief as others in the small crowd murmured angrily. The priest was frowning, his bushy eyebrows knitted over his brows in anger before shaking himself and turning back and giving Katherine an apologetic look.

  She watched her grandfather’s hands clutch at the arms of the wheelchair, but he didn’t say anything. Now was not the time, and she was thankful he didn’t yell after the men, but she wondered if he would even bring it up later. When he was younger, it would have been a different story, but now he was cautious and quiet around Daniel Clark.

  She stared at their backs for a moment more, imagining the terrible things she would like to do to them for disrespecting her father and herself, but sighed, letting her thoughts go. She knew she’d never have the power to do anything to them, so instead, she pushed the wheelchair forward and let her grandfather take two flowers for them.

  The casket was already covered with snow, perhaps the last time it would ever be exposed to the sky. It was a sad thought, on a very sad day, and the tears she had held back through much of the service broke through her resolve and cascaded down her face.

  Her grandfather handed her a flower, but cupped his own to his chest as she stepped up beside him. She heard him mumble something to himself before holding his hand out and dropping the flower onto the blanket of snow.

  Katherine nodded before holding her own flower out but did not release it. “Father, you were taken from us too soon,” she said in a half sob, feeling the tears trying to freeze on her face. “I need you, but you can’t be here anymore. I’ll do my best, but please, I hope you and mother will watch over us.” She paused, letting the flower fall and land next to her grandfather’s. “I love you.”

  They stood for a few moments longer before Katherine moved behind her grandfather and pulled him back from the grave, then moved off to the car that was waiting for them. One of their house servants had driven them and he leaped down as they approached. Ben Markel was a large man dressed in a dark, wool overcoat and hat. He quickly made his way over to the chair and took it from Katherine, pushing it the rest of the way toward the Strathmore Tonneau.