A Merry Murder
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Praise for the Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries
“A true holiday gem.”
—Mystery Scene
“The author draws as much from Fawlty Towers as she does from Agatha Christie, crafting a charming . . . cozy delicately flavored with period details of pre–World War I rural England.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Kate Kingsbury adds life to such wonderful characters. . . . A fantastic story.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Another superb homicidal historical holiday cozy. The Upstairs, Downstairs class difference just before WWI comes alive, as it always does in the Pennyfoot saga, in this exciting amateur sleuth.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Full of wonderful characters, a welcoming home setting, and many surprises, this one is a keeper! . . . These are characters you will want to visit time and time again!”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Likable characters, charming surroundings, and eclectic guests continue to make this an enjoyable series. Bravo, Kate Kingsbury . . . for making this a holiday tradition.”
—MyShelf.com
“A pre–World War I whodunit in the classic style, furnished with amusing characters.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Kingsbury continues to delight fans with well-thought-out mysteries that will challenge and entertain for hours.”
—Debbie’s Book Bag
Visit Kate Kingsbury’s website at katekingsbury.net
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Kate Kingsbury
Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries
NO CLUE AT THE INN
SLAY BELLS
SHROUDS OF HOLLY
RINGING IN MURDER
DECKED WITH FOLLY
MISTLETOE AND MAYHEM
HERALD OF DEATH
THE CLUE IS IN THE PUDDING
MULLED MURDER
A MERRY MURDER
Pennyfoot Hotel Mysteries
ROOM WITH A CLUE
DO NOT DISTURB
SERVICE FOR TWO
EAT, DRINK, AND BE BURIED
CHECK-OUT TIME
GROUNDS FOR MURDER
PAY THE PIPER
CHIVALRY IS DEAD
RING FOR TOMB SERVICE
DEATH WITH RESERVATIONS
DYING ROOM ONLY
MAID TO MURDER
Manor House Mysteries
A BICYCLE BUILT FOR MURDER
DEATH IS IN THE AIR
FOR WHOM DEATH TOLLS
DIG DEEP FOR MURDER
PAINT BY MURDER
BERRIED ALIVE
FIRE WHEN READY
WEDDING ROWS
AN UNMENTIONABLE MURDER
Bellehaven House Mysteries writing as Rebecca Kent
HIGH MARKS FOR MURDER
FINISHED OFF
MURDER HAS NO CLASS
Raven’s Nest Bookstore Mysteries writing as Allison Kingsley
MIND OVER MURDER
A SINISTER SENSE
TROUBLE VISION
EXTRA SENSORY DECEPTION
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019
Copyright © 2019 by Doreen Roberts Hight
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Kingsbury, Kate, author.
Title: A merry murder / Kate Kingsbury.
Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley Prime Crime, 2019. | Series: A Pennyfoot Holiday mystery; 10
Identifiers: LCCN 2019020781 | ISBN 9781984805928 (paperback) | ISBN 9781984805935 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Christmas fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Historical. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PR9199.3.K44228 M47 2019 | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019020781
First Edition: October 2019
Cover art by Dan Craig
Cover design by Judith Lagerman
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To my husband, Bill, for all the years of listening to me whine, for celebrating the good times with me, and for the unique understanding of what it takes to be a writer. I love you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my new editor, Grace House. I have been extremely fortunate to have had exceptional editors in my career, and I’m delighted to have yet another. Thank you for working so diligently on this book and for appreciating the discrepancies between Edwardian England and modern-day America. It is a pleasure to work with you.
To my agent, Paige Wheeler. Thank you for your support and great advice, and for your patience when faced with my grumbling. I value our relationship and look forward to future projects.
To Ana-Maria Bonner. Thank you for taking such good care of my books and for all your help with the tedious side of this profession. It’s comforting to know I can rely on you.
To my good friend Ann Wraight. Thank you for keeping me in touch with England, and all the memories. I hope you know how much I appreciate it.
To my readers:
Six years ago, I closed the doors of the Pennyfoot Hotel. I felt I had gone as far as I could go with the characters. Those characters, however, were not done with me. They continued to haunt me, popping into my mind while I watched TV, or waking me up in the night to remind me they were still alive and kicking. I ignored their pleas to reopen the hotel, but when you, my dear readers, kept begging me to write another Christmas Pennyfoot book, I could no longer resist.
You are the reason the Pennyfoot Hotel opened its doors again. Your loyalty, your support, and your messages mean so much to me, and I am excited to bring you another saga in the lives of the Pennyfoot clan. They thank you, and I thank you. I wish you all the merriest Christmas ever and another year of great books to read.
Doreen
aka Kate Kingsbury
CONTENTS
Praise for the Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries
Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Kate Kingsbury
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
CHAPTER
1
Pausing to catch her breath at the top of the backstairs, Gertie McBride shifted the pile of linens she carried higher in her arms. From the kitchen below, she could hear the clatter of pots and pans, and Michel’s strident voice bitterly complaining in his stupid French accent that didn’t fool anyone.
The volatile chef always got frantic at Christmastime, and today was no exception. Mrs. Chubb could be heard screeching at him to shut up. Shaking her head, Gertie thanked the heavens that, for a change, she wasn’t the one on the business end of the housekeeper’s wrath.
Breakfast had been served over an hour ago, but already the midday meal was being prepared. Gertie could detect a faint whiff of onions, but the smell was overwhelmed by the fragrant aroma of pine and cedar that wafted across the hotel lobby.
In just a few days it would be Christmas Eve. She cast a glance at the grand curving staircase leading to the upper floors, where huge boughs of evergreens hung on the railings. Bright red ribbons decorated the wreaths as well as little silver bells that tinkled when Gertie’s skirts brushed against them on the way down from the guest rooms.
In the far corner the magnificent Christmas tree glowed a welcome to the arriving visitors. Gold and silver stars covered the branches, while little white angels with silvery gowns and red and green balls sparkled in the light from the massive chandelier above. A couple of guests passed by the tree, pausing to admire the decorations before strolling on toward the staircase.
Heaving a sigh, Gertie stomped down the stairs. The sooner she got the linens down to the laundry room the better. Mrs. Baxter—or “madam,” as everyone called her—would get testy if she saw her chief housemaid carrying dirty washing across the foyer.
The Pennyfoot’s owner was always kind and considerate to the downstairs staff, as long as they obeyed the rules and minded their manners. She could be an ogre, however, if one of them did something to upset the hotel guests.
Normally the sheets and pillowcases would be sent down the chute to the downstairs hallway, but the upstairs door was stuck again and Archie would have to mend it. Thinking about the new handyman reminded Gertie of Clive, who used to have the job.
She tried not to think about Clive these days.
She had always loved this time of year. Besides the housekeeping, Mrs. Chubb also baked, and nothing spelled “Christmas” like the enticing smell of her mince pies and plum puddings. Unless it was the sound of Phoebe Fortescue’s dance group practicing their horrible out-of-tune singing in the ballroom, or the decorations brightening the halls of the Pennyfoot, or the excitement in her own twins’ faces as they eagerly awaited the visit from Father Christmas.
This year, however, was different. It didn’t seem possible that it had been a whole year since Clive had proposed. She’d been so excited and happy. She’s accepted on the spot, and by rights she should be celebrating the season with a new husband and father to her twins.
It was only three months later when everything fell apart. Clive—the gentle, considerate man she’d fallen in love with—had turned into a domineering, selfish bugger.
When she’d told him that after she was married she still wanted to work at the Pennyfoot, he’d thrown a bleeding fit. He’d told her no wife of his would be anyone’s maid, and that her place was in the home, taking care of him and her children. He’d made it sound as if her work was too blinking beneath him to be worth anything. As if she wasn’t worth anything.
Well, that did it. Just because he’d left his job as the Pennyfoot’s handyman and bought that flipping toy shop didn’t make him bleeding royalty. He was no better than she was, and she’d wasted no time in telling him that. They’d had a good old blowup and she’d told that snot to shove off.
Reaching the floor, she closed her eyes for a moment to picture the scene, as she had done so many times since the spring. She’d missed him at first, but she’d kept reminding herself that she’d had a lucky escape. He would have dominated her whole life, and no one dominated Gertie Brown McBride. Still, the memories kept coming back to taunt her, making her wonder what might have been if she’d done what he asked.
In the next instant she heard a grunt of pain as she smacked into something soft.
Opening her eyes, she stared into the gaunt face of Lilly Green, one of the latest maids to have been hired at the Pennyfoot. Lilly was almost as tall as Gertie, who towered over the rest of the staff with the exception of Michel. While Lilly was as skinny as a rake, however, Gertie was fighting a tendency to balloon out of her clothes.
She was built like a bloody bull to begin with, but had always managed to keep everything in proportion until this last year. No matter how little she ate now, it all seemed to end up on her blinking hips. She’d soon be as plump as Altheda Chubb. The bossy housekeeper was always complaining that her corset was pinching her.
“You smacked me in the stomach with those,” Lilly said, frowning at the linens in Gertie’s arms.
“Sorry, luv. I wasn’t looking where I was flipping going, was I.” Gertie paused for a moment, silently chiding herself. She’d promised herself so many times that she’d try to stop the curse words that seemed to explode from her lips with no way to stop them.
She’d grown up hearing that language from her dad all day long, and sometimes all night, too, and it had become so much part of her speech, she didn’t even know she was doing it until someone said something. Usually Mrs. Chubb, who was always on at her to talk like a lady. Some bleeding hope of that.
“Why weren’t you?” Lilly seemed about to cry. Then again, Lilly looked like that much of the time. She’d been working at the Pennyfoot for over a year, and she still acted like she’d wandered into a house of mirrors and couldn’t escape.
There was an air of desperation about her that Gertie simply couldn’t understand. It had taken Lilly months to get used to the work, and at times she still turned her nose up at some of the tasks, as if the whole thing was beneath her. She was finicky about everything, and went out of her way to avoid contact with the guests. Especially the men.
Gertie tried to get along with her, but was irritated by such a lack of gumption. As for herself, she would tackle anyone or anything that got in her bloody way. Besides, it irked her that Lilly always had her cap on straight and the straps of her apron sitting firmly on her shoulders. Gertie, on the other hand, rarely accomplished either. “Why wasn’t I what?”
“Looking where you were going.”
“Oh!” Gertie frowned. “I was thinking about something, that’s why. Where are you off to anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the silver?”
Lilly raised her hand to tuck her hair more securely beneath her cap. “Mrs. Chubb sent me to tell madam that she’s baking the Christmas puddings. She wants to know how many madam wants her to make.”
“Then you’d better get on with it, hadn’t you.” Gertie stepped past her, adding over her shoulder, “You don’t want Chubby after you for loitering. She’ll have your bloody guts for garters.” Bugger it, she thought. She was swearing again.
She could hear Lilly’s black patent leather shoes clicking on the stairs as she hurried up them. Shaking her head, Gertie headed for the laundry room. If she didn’t get back to the kitchen right away, it would be her guts turning into bloody garters.
Mrs. Chubb was like a mother to her, and to the rest of the maids. Her sharp tongue, however, would give them all a lashing if they got behind in their work. Gertie grinned as she shoved the door open with her shoulder. Chubby didn’t take no nonsense from anyone. Not even madam or Mr. Baxter. Gertie liked that. You knew where you was with her.
Stepping inside the empty room, she marched
over to one of the sinks and dumped the linens into it. Three of the ironing boards were stacked against the wall, while a fourth stood a few feet from the window. One of the maids had forgotten to put it away.
Gertie was tempted to leave it there and get back to the kitchen. She had actually turned toward the door when habit, engrained by years of following the strict rules of the Pennyfoot Hotel, forced her to turn back and fold up the ironing board.
As she carried it over to its place against the wall, something caught her attention in the dark corner by the sinks. A bundle of dirty clothes. Someone must have been in a hurry, chucked them at the sink, and missed. She probably hadn’t even noticed that they’d landed on the floor. Most likely it was the same bloody twit who’d left the ironing board in the middle of the room.
Cursing under her breath, Gertie stomped across the room to pick up the bundle. As she drew closer, however, cold shock slammed into her chest. It wasn’t a bundle of clothes after all. It was a man, lying curled up on his side, his eyes open and staring blankly into space.
“Here!” Gertie demanded, backing up a step or two. “What the bloody hell are you doing in here? You’d better get out of here before I call the copper and have you thrown in the bloody clink.”
The man didn’t even twitch, and looking at the bloodless face, Gertie thought she knew why. This man wasn’t getting up again. He was bleeding dead.
* * *
• • •
Upstairs in the lavish suite overlooking the bowling greens, Cecily Sinclair Baxter watched her husband settle into his comfortable armchair with the latest edition of the Illustrated London News.
It had been almost a year since a bout of pneumonia had come close to taking Baxter’s life. Every time she looked at him, she felt again the anxiety and dread that had filled her very soul when Dr. Kevin Prestwick had turned to her in that dim, candlelit room, his face grave with concern. She had lost her first husband in that same room. She could not bear to lose another.