Holiday Heist
A Celebrity Mystery
By Zanna Mackenzie
Holiday Heist (A Celebrity Mystery) © 2015 Zanna Mackenzie
The moral rights of the author have been asserted. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All plots, incidents, characters, locations, organisations, names etc. are fictitious, created from the author’s imagination and any resemblance to real persons, incidents, locations, organisations, names is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be stored, shared, copied, transmitted or reproduced in any way without express written permission from the author.
It’s Christmas Eve and Lizzie Carter’s been engaged for the grand total of one hour when her private investigator fiancé Jack announces he has a confession to make - their holiday season plans need to be put on hold so that Jack can take on a new case!
ABOUT THIS BOOK:
A priceless necklace has been stolen from the hotel bedroom of a movie star actress and the woman in question insists Jack’s the man to track it down and bring it back safely.
Lizzie decides to turn amateur sleuth and tag along to help Jack out – two heads have got to be better than one, right? Plus, she can’t miss out on a chance to get inside the fabulously exclusive Roseby Hotel and admire their amazing festive decorations.
Can they solve the mystery, catch the thief who masterminded the holiday heist, return the necklace to its rightful owner, and still get to celebrate Christmas Day as planned?
The Celebrity Mystery series and the Amber Reed Mystery series combine amateur sleuths, secret agents, celebrities, romance, comedy and adventure into fun cozy mysteries.
CHAPTER ONE
“I have a confession to make.” My fiancé-of-one-hour says as he walks back into my farmhouse kitchen.
I stop mixing the snowflake truffles I’m making for Christmas Day and look at him warily. “Oh?” The diamond engagement ring he just gave to me glistens on my finger. It’s all shiny and new and… well, exciting. “You’re not already married, are you? Hiding a wife somewhere?” I tease. “Or have you changed your mind about wanting to marry me and you want your gorgeous ring back?”
Jack walks over, slips his arms around my waist and nuzzles my ear. “Nope. Definitely not changed my mind, and no, I don’t have a wife, secret or otherwise.”
His hand snakes towards the mixing bowl, and I playfully tap it away. “Not until they’re finished! So, don’t keep me in suspense then, what’s your big confession?”
Jack steps back and runs a hand through his dark blonde hair. When he was a special agent for the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency - otherwise known as the CCIA - he used to keep it closely cropped. Now, eighteen months after ditching the agency and setting up his own private investigator and security business, his hair is more casual and enticingly ruffled. He tilts his head towards the door. “You know that phone call I just took?”
My heart sinks. I have the dreadful feeling I know what he’s about to confess. “Oh, Jack, you didn’t, did you?”
Shooting me a smile I know is meant to sweeten my mood, he nods. “Sorry. I did. Look, I know tomorrow is Christmas Day and we have a whole family gathering thing planned with my brother and Emma and the kids, but work is work, I’m self-employed now, and this woman who called, well, she sounded pretty desperate.”
He’s right, I know he is, but still…it is Christmas.
“If I scoot over there right away, I might even have the case wrapped up before tomorrow’s big Mathis Family Festive Gathering,” he says persuasively, taking my hand and planting a string of kisses from fingertips to wrist.
I tingle inside, knowing he’s just trying to wheedle his way around me, but even so, his kisses are warm and inviting and so deliciously tempting. Pushing my thoughts back towards the issue at hand I reply, “You’re good, Jack Mathis, but even you’d be stretching it to solve a case in little more than twenty four hours!” I gently trace a finger over my beautiful engagement ring. “We were going to make our big announcement tomorrow.”
“And we still can,” he reasons. “Even if I have to work in the morning, I should be back in time for dinner, and then we can tell everybody we’re getting married.”
“OK.” I sigh. “What’s the case anyway?” A horrible thought pops into my head. “It’s not another murder, is it? I think the village has only just fully recovered from Armand’s death and, especially at this time of year, another one would be totally horrific and…”
Jack stops me mid-sentence. “Don’t worry. No murder this time around. It’s a stolen necklace at one of the posh hotels in the tourist area. An actress says her priceless family heirloom has vanished from her bedroom. She’s in a complete meltdown about it. I have to get over there and figure out what’s going on. Want to come with me? You could ditch the cake making for now and finish it later.”
“It’s not cake, it’s going to be snowflake truffles.” I glance at the mixing bowl. I’ve only just managed to create cakes and desserts which are actually edible. Before that they were either burnt on the top or raw inside.
Or both.
Which I why I chose this particular recipe. Even I can’t get it wrong.
“I really shouldn’t get involved,” I say to Jack. “I mean, it’s not like last time, when I was a suspect and we ended up figuring the case out together.”
Jack and I met when he was suspended from working for the CCIA for bending some rules to catch a killer. Whilst he was off work he came up to Cumbria from London so he could help his brother Frazer run Wellbeck Farm, whilst Frazer’s wife Emma had their third child. Wellbeck is just down the lane from my own much-smaller place, Eskdale Top, which I inherited from my Uncle Joe. A while back I used to be a waitress at a local restaurant to help make ends meet and my boss, celebrity chef Armand, was murdered. As I was the last member of staff to leave the kitchen on that night the police put me at the top of their suspects list. Jack helped clear my name and catch the real killer.
“I know, but you could still come along and help me out. The actress in question is staying at the Roseby,” he adds, knowing how much I love that particular hotel.
My chances of getting through its doors as a legitimate guest are zero due to its scarily high prices and its exclusive clientele, but I’ve read about it in magazines and have adored it from afar for ages. The Roseby nestles in the hills about the tourist honeypot of Delamere. It’s set in acres of grounds and has stunning views out over the lake. It’s also the place for the rich and famous to stay in this part of the beautiful Lake District.
“Come on, you know you want to see what the Roseby’s Christmas decorations are like,” he says with a cheeky grin, tugging at my hand invitingly.
He knows me so well.
I debate for almost a second and then shove the truffle mix in the fridge. I’ll finish it later.
“Oh, and did I mention the actress who rang me about the case is Arabella Saunders?” he says, revealing his trump card.
I stop stock still in the middle of the kitchen. “What? NO!” I gasp, coming over all fangirlish.
“Yep.” He nods, knowing he’s got me now.
“Give me five minutes to get changed,” I yell as I sprint for the stairs.
“You don’t need to change. You look great as you are,” Jack shouts after me.
“Jack,” I yell back, halfway up the staircase. “We’re talking the Roseby here! And Arabella Saunders. I can’t go in like this.” Glancing down at my scruffy jeans, fluffy slippers and one of Jack’s old
sweatshirts, my cheeks colour at the very thought of turning up at the uber-smart hotel in this outfit.
He shrugs. “OK. You’ve got five minutes, and I’m clock-watching.”
Ten minutes later I arrive back in my rustic farmhouse kitchen wearing a mocha-coloured wool dress and brown knee-high boots. My blonde hair is brushed and pulled back into a neat ponytail – mainly because I haven’t got around to washing it yet today. I even managed to slick some lip gloss on whilst flying down the stairs without falling over and twisting my ankle in the process.
“Do I look OK?” I ask Jack, who is slumped on the battered sofa next to the Aga, checking something on his mobile.
He lifts his eyes from the phone and grins, getting to his feet. “Better than OK, I’d say. Definitely worth the extra five minutes waiting time,” he adds cheekily. “Come on, let’s get a move on. We’ve got a case to solve and a necklace to find. The Roseby awaits.”
CHAPTER TWO
The roads in this part of Cumbria are often narrow and twisting, but the journey between my nearest village Amswick and the holiday area of Delamere necessitates going over Green Beck Fell pass, taking tricky driving to a whole new level. It’s bad enough in good weather but today it’s been snowing, making it even more treacherous. Its narrowness and sharp turns are combined with numerous sheer drops lurking just off the side of the road, making my stomach perform triple somersaults. A far too familiar flicker of anxiety and nausea bubbles up in me as Jack steers his 4x4 towards the top of the pass, changing the gears to cope with the steep incline. After what happened here the other year with Daisy… Well, let’s just say I try to avoid driving up here as much as possible. Daisy is my yellow VW beetle, and I resolutely refuse to get rid of her for something more practical, like Jack’s four wheel drive.
“OK?” Jack asks, reaching across to squeeze my knee.
He knows I’m mentally reliving that dreadful night up here. I nod, paste a smile on my face and squeeze his hand. “I’m fine. Honestly.” It’s something of a little white lie but I don’t want Jack to worry.
I inwardly heave a sigh of relief once we coast safely down the other side of the pass and head into the slate and stone town of Delamere. Popular with hikers, climbers and lovers of the great outdoors in general, it sits on the edge of a pretty lake and is bustling all year round. People are out in their droves today, holiday shopping in the craft shops, art galleries and clothing stores. We queue through the main street, past the traffic lights, and head out of town towards the road which snakes along the edge of Delamere Lake. Soon, the fancy metal gates of the Roseby come into view and Jack pulls in and speaks into the hotel’s security console at the entrance, announcing our arrival. We’re buzzed through and chug up the long driveway towards the parking area. Jack parks the 4x4 amongst the flash sports cars and latest model BMWs without so much as a hint of unease or inferiority, and we head for the Roseby. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of the twenty foot high real Christmas tree which sits centrally in front of the grand entrance. It’s covered with lime green baubles the size of soup bowls, red bows adorning every branch. A perfect gold star dresses the top of it, and the whole thing is criss-crossed with white fairy lights, shimmering in the gathering afternoon dusk.
I want to stand and admire the tree but the Roseby is too efficient for that. We’re immediately met at the door by a waiting member of staff named Roy who hastily escorts us inside. Roy must be a man on a mission because he’s almost jogging down the fancy hallway as Jack strolls along behind him and I break into a little half-run to keep up with both of them. The heels of my boots are sinking into the thick red and gold carpet as I scurry along, glancing all around me and trying to drink in every inch of my gorgeous surroundings. The gilt-edged picture frames, the chandeliers, the high ceilings. I’m inside the Roseby! Yay!
We pass a sweeping staircase with another real fir Christmas tree sitting at the bottom like a glamorous full stop at the bottom of an elegant question mark. This tree must be over fifteen feet high and is dressed beautifully in apricot and purple baubles with strings of gold beads draped perfectly over its branches. It’s breath-taking. I just manage to spot the pretty gold fairy crowning this festive masterpiece before Roy turns down another corridor and the tree sadly disappears from sight. The doors on either side of us now each have brass plaques on them and it looks as though they’re all function and meeting rooms. There’s no sound of raucous Christmas Eve office parties emanating from behind said doors, though. The Roseby’s gatherings are far more sophisticated affairs, I’m sure. We traipse up another stately-home-worthy staircase, and Roy stops outside a room with a Florence Suite plague beside the door. He knocks lightly and a tall older man opens it.
“Thank you, Roy. I’ll take things from here,” he says.
The man beckons us into a luxurious bedroom with a separate lounge area, a dressing area and a bathroom. Wow. This is extremely impressive. I wonder how much one of these rooms cost per night. A frightening amount, no doubt about that, but somebody like Arabella Saunders can easily afford such luxury. Widely regarded as a national treasure, she’s been in every episode of all four series of the TV period drama Compton Abbey. She’s an amazing actress.
The tall man with a harassed look about him introduces himself as Gerald Dickenson, the manager of the Roseby, and then turns to the woman sitting on the room’s red velvet sofa. “May I introduce Arabella Saunders?”
Oh wow. It’s her! It’s really her!
“Mr Mathis.” A hand flutters to her mouth and anxiety flickers in her eyes as she gets to her feet. “I’m so grateful you were able to rush over here, especially as it’s Christmas Eve and I’m sure I’ve dragged you away from far more pleasurable things.” Her eyes flicker to me, then back to Jack. “You were highly recommended by Gerald when I said I wanted somebody discreet and efficient to deal with this…incident.”
“Please, call me Jack,” he replies and turns to introduce me. “And this is my fiancée Lizzie. She’ll be helping me out on this case.”
My fiancée. I’m his fiancée. I forgot – it’s all still so new. Glancing at the stylish silver clock above the sofa, I figure it’s less than three hours ago that he proposed to me on a snowy hilltop and we celebrated with champagne and my first-ever edible baked goods – a frosted carrot cake.
Arabella clasps my hand and beams a smile. I think I’m about to dissolve into a puddle of goo on the floor. I’m having a delirious fangirl moment. “Lizzie, I’m so sorry to be interrupting your festivities like this but the necklace, well, it means the world to me. I hope you can forgive me for the intrusion.”
“Of course.” I can’t believe I’m standing in the same room as her. She’s even prettier in real life - raven-coloured hair hanging loose around her shoulder, English rose complexion and deep blue eyes - and there’s a genuine warmth about her.
“You’d have thought you’d have been more careful with it then, wouldn’t you?” A woman appears from the bathroom, a fierce scowl spoiling her beautiful features. She looks just like an older version of Arabella.
Looking even more angst-ridden now, Arabella forces a weak smile and says through gritted teeth, “And this is my mother, Barbara.”
“I’m hoping you find my necklace promptly and efficiently,” Barbara says to Jack, ignoring me completely.
“Sorry, I thought the missing necklace belonged to your daughter Arabella,” Jack checks.
“It used to belong to my grandmother, not my mother,” Arabella clarifies. “But now it belongs to me.”
“It did until you went and lost it!” snaps her mother.
Arabella spins round and glares at Barbara. “I didn’t lose it, Mum! It was stolen from my room.” She looks close to tears and keeps clenching and unclenching her hands. I want to give her a reassuring hug.
“And you should have been more careful!” Barbara retorts.
I can’t help wondering if tensions are running so high between them because of the missing j
ewellery or if they’re always at each other’s throats like this.
Jack opens his notebook and prepares to start firing questions. “When did you notice the necklace had disappeared?”
“I was deciding what to wear for dinner and went to the safe in my room to choose some jewellery to try on. After that, I put everything away again and went out for a while. When I got back the safe was open and the necklace gone,” Arabella explains, looking distraught.
Jack scribbles some notes. “How long ago was this?”
“About two hours. I had a thorough search around all my luggage and cupboards before I asked Gerald for assistance, just in case it had somehow been mislaid.”
Barbara gets to her feet and flounces towards Jack, flicking a hand dismissively at his notebook. “There’s no need for you to bother with the questions and spending days and days going over and over everything and wasting all of our valuable time. I can tell you right now who stole this necklace!”
Jack inclines his head in interest. “You can? Excellent, then please do enlighten me.”
“Her fiancé took it,” Barbara snorts derisively.
“MUM!” Arabella gasps and tugs anxiously at a curl of hair.
“Well, we both know he did it, so what’s the point in pretending otherwise?”
“Vincent did not steal the necklace,” Arabella replies, her voice quiet but still insistent.
“He’s a no-good gold digger. I told you that before. I have no idea why on earth you’re marrying him, other than his looks of course!”
The hotel manager meets my eyes and shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. It looks as though he feels every bit as awkward as I do, witnessing their squabbling.
“Because he loves me, and I love him,” Arabella retorts, her voice betraying her exasperation.
Barba tuts and shakes her head dismissively. “Foolish girl! He loves your fame and your money, oh, and himself. He does not love you as a person. It’s high time you grew up and accepted the realities of life and someone in your position.”
Holiday Heist: A Humorous Romantic Mystery (A Celebrity Mystery Book 2) Page 1