by Ellen Jane
Sinéad threw her hands up in the air and stepped backwards towards Heather. It seemed almost unconscious.
“He was stabbed, Tracy, and you were bound by a spell. If you really didn’t do it, then you were perfectly safe to talk to them. Which would have been a much easier option, I swear—”
“What?” Tracy interrupted, face crinkling in confusion. “He was stabbed?”
“This is such a mess,” Heather said in awe, realising at the last second that she had spoken aloud.
Someone knocked on the back door, and without waiting for a response, Ms Watley entered the room, a sheaf of burnt papers in her hand. Everyone fell silent, and Heather felt an inappropriate urge to laugh at the looks on all their faces.
Ms Watley raised one eyebrow and looked around at everyone. “Is it a bad time?”
Heather stepped forward. “It’s fine. What have you found?”
“I thought it was best to show you.” Ms Watley lowered her voice so that only Heather could hear.
She held out the papers. They were singed around the edges and unreadable in parts, but they appeared to be letters.
“I was misinformed,” Ms Watley said. “My nephew’s room was ransacked, but the only things they saw fit to burn were these letters. If the innkeeper hadn’t been up early to take out the bins and spotted the blaze down by the back fence, the fire would have claimed them. She must have missed the arsonist by minutes. As it was, several letters were unsalvageable.”
Heather rifled through them. There was no signature, only the letter ‘P’. She spun around and stared at Patricia in shock.
“I wonder, Miss Millington,” Ms Watley continued, unaware, “if my nephew’s killer was a jilted lover who returned last night to dispose of the evidence connecting the two of them. I thought it best to show you the letters immediately, before I’m forced to hand them over to the police.”
Patricia noticed Heather staring at her and frowned, then her eyes dropped to the letters, and she ran over and snatched them out of Heather’s hands.
“No,” Heather said slowly. “The sender didn’t burn these. Maybe it was someone else? Someone who was jealous of this ‘P’ person.”
But it was too cold, too calculated. These weren’t the enraged actions of a jealous lover. Ms Watley was right: it was like someone was destroying evidence. Which, if it wasn’t Patricia, it had to be someone protecting her, trying to remove all traces of her connection to the Earl.
“Why are we still arguing?” Barbara suddenly snapped, pointing straight at Tracy. “We all know she did it!”
Everyone stared at her.
“She didn’t even know he was stabbed,” Sinéad said slowly. “She clearly left right before it happened, didn’t read the article properly, and everything else we had against her fits her story. What are you talking about?”
“She’s lying! Patricia saw her acting strangely!” Barbara insisted, coming forward to wrap her arm around Patricia’s shoulders. “Tell them!”
Patricia eyed her with faint confusion. “Why are you so insistent about that?” she muttered, shoving Barbara away.
Suddenly, the last pieces fell into place, and Heather gasped. Everyone turned to her.
“You did it,” she breathed, pointing at Barbara. “Your hand’s burned because you set the letters on fire last night, and you weren’t even meant to know about the Earl, but you just told Patricia two minutes ago that he wasn’t good enough for her! You knew! You found out about their plan, and you couldn’t stand the thought of Patricia abandoning all of you, and you stabbed him!”
Her breath was coming in ragged puffs, and as she watched, Barbara’s face morphed into a look of pure rage. But before she could say anything, Patricia turned to her and slapped her right across the face.
“How could you?” she shrieked, picking up the plate of biscuits and smashing it over Barbara’s head.
Sinéad swore and backed away, pulling Heather and Tracy aside with her. Heather fumbled for her phone to call the police, while Sinéad hesitated before running back in and trying to separate the two women.
“I had to do it!” Barbara yelled. “He was taking you away from us! I had to do it, don’t you see? I heard you whispering with him, planning it out, but I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it until I saw that girl tip the Dragonshade into his drink. I knew you were sneaking around with him, but I didn’t know it had gotten like this! You’d gone mad, Patricia, all those lies! He was a terrible man! He was only going to get bored of you within a week, and then where would you be?”
“You burned my letters! They were mine!”
“If the police knew you were tied to him, they would have come looking here! They would have linked you to the poison and accused you of murdering him!”
“You murdered him, you little—”
Patricia just kept smacking her, picking up anything she could get her hands on and screaming incoherently. Sinéad gave up trying to separate them and got out of the way. It became quickly obvious from Barbara’s wailing that not only had she known about the affair for several months, she had tried to sabotage it with little success, growing steadily more irrational and furious. As soon as she’d seen the Earl drink the poison, she’d known it meant Patricia was leaving for good. So she’d grabbed the carving knife, stuck it into his ribs, and then screamed bloody murder over the body, pretending she hadn’t seen who held the knife. It wasn’t until after things had calmed down that she realised that Patricia would be a chief suspect as soon as the police discovered their relationship.
The two of them broke apart, panting heavily.
“How can you pretend you were looking out for me?” Patricia hissed. “And you were trying to pin it on this girl, too?” She stabbed a finger in the air toward Tracy, then gasped. “No, you were trying to get me to pin it on her! That’s why you kept trying to convince me I’d seen something! Oh, you were so careful, too, never giving me too much information, just waiting until I thought of it myself.”
“Well, I couldn’t very well accuse someone myself.” Barbara’s eyes widened. “The police would question me. What if I made a mistake and it all fell apart?”
Patricia launched at her again. When Tracy realised just how convenient a scapegoat Barbara had tried to make her, she ran into the scuffle and gave her a swift kick to the ribs before running out again.
Eventually, the sound of sirens came blaring up the drive, and then the police had Barbara handcuffed and led away.
Heather and Sinéad followed the police down to the car and gave a quick report, and then Patricia was being soothed and helped into an escort car. Within minutes, the police had driven off, and the street was quiet once again. Heather stared after the cars as they faded into the distance, feeling like an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
She turned to Sinéad, and for the first time since this ordeal had started, Heather thought she looked tired—tired and alone. She thought about what Sinéad had said, about fighting to regain the power that had been taken from her. Seeing her like that, it made a little more sense than it had before. Quietly, Heather slipped her hand into Sinéad’s and squeezed it, smiling when Sinéad looked up in surprise.
Sinéad’s shoulders relaxed and she squeezed back. She noticed Tracy look over, her face carefully blank.
“So, you followed Jacob all the way down to Old Wetchhaven just to get your money.” Sinéad gave Tracy a wry grin.
Tracy’s cheeks flushed. “His secretary kept lying for him,” she mumbled. “I didn’t have a choice.”
There was a pause as she shuffled her feet in the thick layer of snow.
“I’m sorry I accused you,” she said.
Sinéad lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I’m sorry I accused you.”
Tracy wrinkled her nose. “At least you actually checked first.”
Sinéad huffed something that could have been a laugh, and then she pulled Heather into a one-armed hug, her hand tucking into the spo
t just above her waist.
Ms Watley came to stand beside Tracy. “Jacob owed you money?”
Tracy’s eyes widened. “Only a little.”
Ms Watley clucked her tongue. “Come with me. I’ll sort it out.” She headed off down the path, muttering something about incompetence under her breath.
Tracy stared after her.
“We’re going to head back now,” Sinéad said to Tracy, and they gave an awkward wave goodbye before setting off down the footpath.
Heather wasn’t sure if they were going to the inn or back to her house, but as the heavy walls of the manor faded behind her, and the distant sound of carollers grew louder, she found she didn’t mind where they ended up at all.
Epilogue
The Shepherd’s Inn was always busy on Christmas Eve. Those who had family commitments were often out of town or otherwise occupied, but everyone else crowded into the little dining area for a giant feast of Old Wetchhaven’s finest. As soon as the biscuits were out of the oven, Heather would be joining them, too.
Heather adjusted her gaudy Christmas jumper—bright red, with the grinning face of a happy Rottweiler in a Santa hat knitted right in the centre—and pulled on her gloves. A timer beeped, telling her that the biscuits were ready to take out of the oven, and she hurried down the stairs just in time to answer the ringing doorbell on her way past.
She flung the door open for Sinéad to come through and hurried to the oven.
“I thought I was meeting you there!” she called over her shoulder.
Sinéad laughed quietly behind her, and then she joined Heather in the kitchen, leaning in the doorway and watching as Heather raced around grabbing baskets and tea towels and plates. She wore a deep purple coat lined with fake fur, with a pair of slim black jeans and high-heeled boots beneath it.
Beside Sinéad, in faded jeans, frizzy blonde curls, and a bright jumper, Heather felt a mess. She smiled sheepishly at Sinéad and then stuttered to a halt—stunned for a second at the breathtaking smile Sinéad gave her in return—and found that, actually, she didn’t care how she looked.
Sinéad’s eyes dropped to her jumper and one eyebrow rose. “That’s a familiar face,” she said with a grin.
Heather looked down at the jumper and laughed.
“This one’s Bear’s,” she admitted. “I wore Teddy’s last year and Lucifer’s for two years before that, because Teddy and Bear had eaten the turkey and I was mad at them.”
Sinéad’s laugh rang through the kitchen, and she crossed the room in three steps to swing Heather into a kiss. Heather laughed in surprise, pulling Sinéad closer and sliding her arms into the opening of her coat, into the warmth beneath. Her fingertips met what felt like wool, and she pulled back curiously.
“Oh my god,” she murmured, staring at the pine green jumper covered in knitted baubles that was hidden beneath the coat. “That’s truly awful. I love it.”
“Isn’t it?” Sinéad agreed happily, stepping back so that Heather could continue packing the biscuits. “I came by because I thought you could use a hand carrying everything. That and Annie’s driving me insane.”
Heather thought of the over-anxious innkeeper and nodded in understanding. “Changing the decorations?”
“Why must the tinsel be colour-coded?” Sinéad gave a heavy sigh. “Is there anything I can do?”
Heather passed her a plate and pointed to the second tray of biscuits. Together, they packed up the last of them and loaded them into the basket. Before long, they were trudging through the snow, the bright lights from the inn’s roof shining like a beacon in the twilight.
“I think we should go in the back,” Sinéad said, leading Heather around to the guest entrance.
The second they opened the doors, a flood of warmth and raucous laughter hit them. Over it all, strict directions were being bellowed in a voice that rivalled a Sergeant Major.
“Told you,” muttered Sinéad.
They snuck through the back entrance to the dining room and around the bar, depositing their baskets on the dessert table and hurrying over to hide in the corner. Heather’s eyes fell on her parent’s chair, still tucked into its dark corner. She felt a twinge of sadness, but she pushed it aside; there were more important things.
Sinéad noticed her looking and cocked her head curiously.
“My parents made that,” Heather said, nodding at the chair. “It’s charmed to be extra soft and comfortable. Lots of people fall asleep in it.”
Sinéad’s eyes widened in horror.
Heather took a step back, alarmed. “What?” she began, but Sinéad was already moving.
She marched over to the chair, grabbed ahold of it, and dragged it backwards, over to the fire, where it had sat before. Within seconds, it was back in its old position, and the painting was obscured.
“What are you doing?” Heather gaped. “You’ve blocked your painting.”
She moved to grab ahold of the chair and drag it away, but Sinéad sat down in it and glared at her.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned. “You should have told me from the start. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.”
Heather stared at her, and then, after a moment, she broke into a faint laugh. “All right,” she said, sitting down next to Sinéad, so that she had to bunch up against the arm to make room. “Next time, I’ll tell you.”
“Good.” Sinéad smiled at her.
“How much longer do you think you’ll stay?” Heather asked, looking over at the chaos that was settling around the dinner table.
She tried to keep her voice casual, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded. She knew Sinéad had decided to stay until Christmas, for reasons tentatively left unsaid, but they hadn’t really discussed anything further. She felt Sinéad turn to look at her, but she stayed watching the table.
“Well,” Sinéad said slowly. “I had planned to head back straight after Christmas. But it occurred to me that we still haven’t resolved the gift I’m giving you in return for all your detective work.”
Heather spun around to stare at her, faintly horrified. “You don’t need to give me anything!”
Sinéad’s lips quirked into a smile. “I’m quite certain we agreed on a gift,” she said, arching one brow.
Heather gaped at her, but before she could protest, Sinéad continued.
“I’ve decided on what it will be. Don’t you want to hear?”
Grimacing, Heather shut her mouth and waited.
“I thought you could come back to stay with me for a week,” Sinéad said, and a hint of self-consciousness entered her voice at the suggestion.
Warmth spread through Heather, starting at her heart and sweeping all the way out through her chest until even her fingers tingled with the sweetness of it. Slowly, she smiled.
“All right, I accept,” she said. “The dogs could do with a holiday.”
Sinéad grinned, but before they could say anything more, the “Sergeant Major” turned her attention to them.
“Oi! Stop slacking and do your bit, girls!” Annie bore down on them and shoved two piles of Christmas crackers into their hands.
“So much for hiding in the corner,” Sinéad grumbled when Annie had marched off to rearrange the lights decorating the curtains. “I thought guests weren’t meant to work.”
“A little effort won’t kill you,” Heather shot back with a laugh.
Sinéad’s expression turned thoughtful as she stared at the Christmas crackers they were holding. “I know this brand of cracker,” she said slowly. “They have little figurines inside them.”
“And?”
“And you have copious amounts of ointment infused with a conversation charm,” Sinéad looked up at her with a wicked grin.
Heather stared at her a moment before she burst out laughing. “Annie would have a fit,” she said, biting her lip and wondering if she dared.
“I was woken up at five o’clock this morning by the sound of someone, who shall remain nameless, set
ting up three extra Christmas trees in the landing.”
Heather only hesitated a second more. Then, she dug her hand into her pocket and quickly pulled out a small jar. In a few moments, they’d dabbed some onto each cracker.
The crackers rustled.
Oi! Who turned the lights off? the blue cracker in Heather’s lap yelled.
ANYONE WANT TO HEAR A JOKE? the pink cracker in Sinéad’s hand answered.
Turn me bloody lights on and I might!
WHAT DO YOU CALL AN OBNOXIOUS REINDEER?
A yellow, spotted cracker baa’d.
“Oh my god,” Sinéad whispered, covering her mouth with her hand and trying not to laugh.
RUDE-OLPH.
Listen, mate, are you gonna help me out here, or do I have to do everything myself?
“Quick, put them on the table!” Sinéad pointed, just as several crackers launched into a rousing rendition of Good King Wenceslas.
Heather rose to her feet, pushing herself away from the tempting comfort of the chair, and held a hand out to help Sinéad stand. Sinéad paused, her eyes meeting Heather’s, full of warmth and light. She reached out and took Heather’s hand, and together they joined the party.
Acknowledgements
Oodles of love and thanks go to, in no particular order: Tom, Brook, Dan, Xanda, Sammie, (oh dear, we’re only halfway) Shane, Katy, Claire, Frida, Zsófia, and Maggie. You’ve all been cheerleaders, beta readers, sounding boards, advice panels, and probably a whole host of other things as well, not just for this book, but all year (and longer). Not to mention you’re all such talented and wonderful humans I’m honoured to even know you.
Special thanks go to Helen Juliet for all your wonderful help getting this process under way! The publishing world is overwhelming at times, but you really made it feel easy to just dive straight into.
And finally, a world of thanks to S. R. Betler for your fantastic editing services. They really made me feel confident to go ahead and publish!