Table of Contents
Cover
Also by Amy Patricia Meade
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Also by Amy Patricia Meade
The Marjorie McClelland mysteries
MILLION DOLLAR BABY
GHOST OF A CHANCE
SHADOW WALTZ
BLACK MOONLIGHT
The Tish Tarragon series
COOKIN’ THE BOOKS *
THE GARDEN CLUB MURDER *
The Vermont mystery series
WELL-OFFED IN VERMONT
SHORT-CIRCUITED IN CHARLOTTE
* available from Severn House
THE CHRISTMAS FAIR KILLER
Amy Patricia Meade
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This first world edition published 2020
in Great Britain and the USA by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.
Trade paperback edition first published
in Great Britain and the USA 2020 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.
eBook edition first published in 2020 by Severn House Digital an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2020 by Amy Patricia Meade.
The right of Amy Patricia Meade to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8989-8 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-708-8 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0429-5 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described
for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are
fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
ONE
‘If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with “Merry Christmas” on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart,’ boomed the top-hatted figure from the center of the stage.
‘Oh, how I love the Williamsburg Theater Group!’ Julian Jefferson Davis exclaimed as he took a sip of cocoa. ‘I so wanted to see them perform Cyrano when they were in Mechanicsville this June, but both dates sold out and then they were off to South Carolina. But this – this is better. And talk about being in the stalls! We’re so close to the action you can almost make out the edges of Scrooge’s prosthetic nose. If these were actual theater seats instead of a concession stand, we’d have paid top dollar.’
Letitia ‘Tish’ Tarragon, owner of Cookin’ the Books Café and Catering, unpacked a stack of recyclable cardboard containers from a corrugated cardboard box and loaded them on to a shelf beneath the front counter of the ten-foot-by-eight-foot canopied food-vendor booth. The wooden edifice had been rented just for the occasion. ‘This is only the dress rehearsal. Just imagine the fun when there are children and families in the audience. Personally, I can’t wait to see their evening performances of Twelfth Night.’
‘A matinee of A Christmas Carol during the afternoon and a performance of Twelfth Night at night, four days in a row,’ Jules mused. ‘That’s a tough schedule.’
‘So is ours. Let’s not forget we’re here to feed people, not just to take in shows.’
The Hobson Glen Holiday Fair was the largest of its kind in the county. Drawing entertainers, food vendors, and craftspeople from Richmond and beyond, the festival stretched far beyond the thirty-foot stage and the horseshoe-shaped array of food stalls encircling the grassy viewing area. In the row just behind Tish’s booth there stretched tent after tent of artisans – woodworkers, fabric artists, glass blowers, florists, bakers, candy-makers, and the like – selling their wares. Behind the food booths opposite, there stretched a carnival midway to rival those of the best state fairs, with cotton candy and popcorn carts, rides for children of all ages, and games to match or challenge any skillset.
Jules understood the importance of the event. ‘Don’t worry, your trusty barkeep is on the alert. I have several canteens of hot tea and coffee already brewed, and my hot cocoa is, as usual, a paean to perfection.’ He took another sip. ‘By the way, my boss gave me the go-ahead to cover the festivities, so I’ll be at your disposal for the entirety of the Holiday Fair.’
Julian’s primary occupation was as weatherman and occasional anchor for the local Channel Ten evening news, but that never prevented him from pitching in with Tish’s business whenever possible.
Tish’s blue eyes danced. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Be sure to thank your station manager for me. I have a feeling I’m going to need all hands on deck for the next few days.’
‘You’ll be fine. You wouldn’t have been given a prime spot at the fair if the committee didn’t think you could handle it.’
‘My prime spot is due to Augusta May Wilson and the rest of the library board speaking on my behalf,’ Tish explained. ‘The library had state money that needed to be spent before year’s end, and Augusta came up with the excellent idea of purchasing illustrated children’s editions of A Christmas Carol and Twelfth Night to be distributed in themed box meals to accompany the theater performances. Part of the boxed meal proceeds go to the library; the rest is mine. The hope is to promote literacy, the arts, and proper nutrition by making reading, healthy food, and theater fun for kids and parents.’
‘That’s an awesome idea. And she picked just the right person to help pass along their message.’
‘Well, Sam Noble, the owner of the Hobson Glen Bar and Grill, might disagree with you.’
‘Noble? Why should he care?’
‘Because he thinks he should have had first shot at partnering with the library.’
‘Oh, please. Noble doesn’t have the chops – pun fully intended – to do what you do. I happened to check out the blackboard outside his tent earlier, and do you know what he’s serving? Fried catfish, fried chicken, baked beans, French fries, and coleslaw. The most festive o
ffering he has is a turkey leg, not served with gravy and mashed potatoes, but smoked and drenched in barbecue sauce to be eaten by hand. Why anyone would order such a thing is beyond me, unless they wanted to walk around the fair looking like some hillbilly Henry the Eighth.’
Tish burst into laughter. ‘That’s awful, Jules.’
‘What’s awful is his menu. Holiday food should be like a warm hug. His is like the sudden grip of cardiac arrest. So, honey, tell me what sort of boxed meals you’re serving.’
‘For the matinee performances of A Christmas Carol, adults can choose from The Bob Cratchit – a sandwich of turkey, apple butter, sage, and English cheddar on potato bread, with a clementine and Mrs Cratchit’s Christmas pudding bonbons – or The Ebenezer Scrooge – a slice of sourdough bread, moldy cheese (in this case, Stilton), a bitter greens salad with stringent mustard vinaigrette, and lumps of coal.’
Jules raised a well-tweezed eyebrow. ‘What are the lumps of coal?’
‘Dark chocolate, cinnamon, and chili truffles. They’re dangerously good. Children will be given a Tiny Tim tin, which isn’t a tin, but a recyclable foil container featuring half a grilled cheese sandwich or half a turkey sandwich, a cup of either Peter Cratchit’s vegetable alphabet or Jacob Marley’s bean and barley soup, a clementine, and a gingerbread cookie. All the lunchtime meals have gluten-free and vegan options.
‘Night-time is a bit less structured,’ Tish continued. ‘No boxed meals, but a hearty menu of either beef or root vegetable stew with exotic spices, savory cheese pies, veggie pies, Twelfth Night almond cake, mince pies, and a gluten-free golden fruitcake.’
‘My mulled wine, hot cider, and winter ale selection should pair nicely with your evening menu,’ Jules stated. ‘And, of course, I’ll still have the afternoon selection of coffee, cocoa, tea, and soft drinks available.’
‘Perfect. As I told you when I asked you to create drinks, Twelfth Night feasts were all about warmth and seasonings.’
‘Dost thou think because you are virtuous there shall be no more cakes and ale?’ Jules quoted.
‘Did you actually read the play?’ Since Tish, Jules, and their best friend, Mary Jo Okensholt, had graduated from University of Virginia, Tish hadn’t known Jules to read anything beyond the headline news.
‘I perused.’ Jules drew out the letter ‘u.’ ‘But I got lost. I may have to order one of your Tiny Tim tins to get the children’s version.’
‘Seeing the play should help clarify things.’ She smiled. ‘However, I can’t help but notice the only line you remember involves cakes and ale.’
‘You know me. Food, booze, and clothes, not necessarily in that order.’ He ran a hand through his impeccably coiffed head of chestnut hair. ‘Speaking of cakes, where’s our resident sugar plum fairy?’
‘Celestine? She’ll be here shortly. Her youngest granddaughter is performing in a Christmas pageant.’
As if on cue, Cookin’ the Books’ baker, Celestine Rufus, arrived, wheeling a handcart of lidded plastic storage containers across the Hobson Glen Recreation Park main field. Bundled in a dark purple coat that clashed with both her unnaturally bright-red hair and the hot-pink frames of her eyeglasses, Celestine had added some seasonal sparkle to her workday wardrobe with a pair of jingle-bell earrings and red-and-green laces on her trademark white sneakers. ‘Ho, ho, ho, darlin’s,’ she greeted as she drew closer to the booth.
‘Ho, ho, ho,’ Tish echoed.
‘Hey, Celestine. You sound like an elf with those earrings,’ Jules teased before giving the woman a warm hug.
‘That’s all grandmas are this time of year. Great big elves.’
‘How was the pageant?’ Tish asked.
‘Fun. Those kindergarteners sure are cute. Seems like only yesterday my own kids were that little.’
‘What part did your granddaughter play?’ Jules enquired.
‘The angel, if you can believe it. I don’t know who came up with the casting for this little play, but, boy howdy, that person better not have any dreams of Hollywood.’ With a loud cackle, Celestine reached a candy-cane-stripe manicured hand into her coat pocket and extracted a handful of homemade dog treats. Leaning down, she proceeded to feed them to Julian’s recently adopted Bichon Frise, who was curled up in a heated dog bed. ‘My word, what an adorable Santa sweater Biscuit is wearing.’
Much to Celestine’s delight, Jules unzipped his fur-lined parka and proudly stuck forth his chest to display the same garishly colored Christmas sweater. ‘Lookie there! You’re twinsies. Where on earth did you find matching sweaters?’
‘I didn’t. My mother knitted them for us and mailed them from West Virginia last week. Aren’t they terrific? I have lots of ugly Christmas sweaters—’
‘Lots,’ Tish emphasized as she stacked hot cups and lids in a cubby adjacent to the beverage dispensers.
‘But nothing I had coordinated with the dog Christmas sweaters I saw in the pet stores, so Mama decided to rectify the situation.’
‘Sweet. You seein’ your mama for Christmas?’ Celestine inquired.
‘No, she’s spending Christmas with my sister in Tennessee. My sister is a born-again Christian with six children who doesn’t approve of my “lifestyle choices”’ – Jules drew quotation marks in the air – ‘so Biscuit and I haven’t been invited. But I’ll make a trip to see my mama when she gets back home. We’ll celebrate New Year’s together.’
‘Jules, Mary Jo, Schuyler, and I will be celebrating Christmas at the café,’ Tish explained to Celestine. ‘Mary Jo’s folks live out in California, and she and Glen always packed the family up for a holiday visit, but what with the divorce, Mary Jo can barely afford to heat her house, let alone pay for airfares for herself and two kids.’
‘What about her folks? Can’t they travel out here?’ Celestine asked.
‘No, her mom hasn’t been very well as of late. Not only would the flight exhaust the poor woman, but she and Mary Jo’s dad have had to dip into their savings to pay for Medicare deductibles, copays, and the treatments and medications the plan doesn’t cover.’
‘Getting sick ain’t for poor people, that’s for sure,’ Celestine lamented. ‘What about your daddy, Tish? Is he comin’ down from New York?’
‘No. I offered to pay for a train ticket, so he didn’t have to drive, but he still had no interest in traveling all this way.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘He’ll be fine. He’s always had lots of … friends.’
‘Well, y’all are more than welcome to spend Christmas at my house. We have a crowd, what with my four kids, their spouses, and the grandkids, but there’s always plenty of food and drink to go around, so long as you don’t mind sitting in patio chairs and eatin’ off TV trays.’
‘That’s very generous of you, Celestine. Thank you’ – she gave the woman a warm embrace – ‘but I think we’ll stick with having dinner at the café. I’m not sure Mary Jo is quite up to a big noisy holiday.’
‘Of course, honey. I understand. It’s Gregory’s last Christmas before he heads off to college, ain’t it?’
‘It is,’ Jules confirmed. ‘And since Kayla and Gregory are spending the evening with their dad, it’s also the first Christmas Eve MJ will be away from the kids. But we have plans to keep her busy. We’ll be with y’all at the interfaith center dishing out hot meals for those on hard times. Then, for afterwards, I’ve picked up a few bottles of Prosecco and pomegranate liqueur for my signature Poinsettia cocktails and, because I did a nice spot welcoming their business to town, the new Thai restaurant gave me a bunch of free meals.’
‘Which are in my freezer waiting to be defrosted and warmed in the oven,’ Tish interjected.
‘Then Christmas Day is gifts under the tree with the kids, classic movies, some board games, and roast turkey.’
‘Which I’m cooking, along with the stuffing and giblet gravy.’
‘It’s dressing, not stuffing,’ Jules jokingly corrected. ‘You’re in the South, girlfriend. But for fun
, and to ease Tish’s workload, each of us is bringing a side dish that reminds us of Christmases of our youth. I’m making my memaw’s collard greens. Mary Jo’s making some California avocado, orange, and shrimp appetizer. Mary Jo’s kids are baking up some dinner rolls. Tish is making Brussels sprouts with chestnuts. And Schuyler is … what is Schuyler bringing?’
Hobson Glen attorney, Schuyler Thompson, was both Tish’s landlord and newly established main squeeze. ‘Schuyler ordered a Yule log from Sub Rosa Bakery, because the apple pie he once baked for me looked far better than it tasted.’
‘Oh, I remember that pie. He brought it to your grand opening party. I thought it was potato or jicama, not apple.’ Jules brought a hand to his mouth.
‘In other words, Schuyler figures if he doesn’t cook, no one can get sick and sue him,’ Celestine paraphrased.
‘Pretty much,’ Tish confirmed.
‘Oh, well. He’s handsome, successful, likable, and kind.’ Jules ticked Schuyler’s best traits off an invisible list. ‘You can’t have everything.’
‘I’m certainly not complaining.’ She turned to Celestine. ‘Since Jules, Schuyler, and Mary Jo will be around to help at the interfaith center next week, I don’t necessarily need you to come along, should you want to spend that time with your family.’
‘That’s mighty thoughtful of you, but nah,’ Celestine declined the offer. ‘I’m actually looking forward to doing some good this holiday. Every year, my family and I get together and do the same thing. Serving up some of our café food to folks who’ve got nowhere else to go appeals to me greatly.’
‘Are you sure? Not that we don’t love having you around, but I know it’s Christmas Eve and you may not get home until after eight. I don’t want you to miss out on time with the little ones or your Christmas Eve dinner.’
The Christmas Fair Killer Page 1