by: Vicki Delany
Series: A Year-Round Christmas Mystery
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Release Date: November 28, 2017
Publisher: Berkley Prime Crime
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Santa’s summer vacation plans turn deadly in this festive mystery from the author of Rest Ye Murdered Gentlemen and We Wish You a Murderous Christmas.
The town of Rudolph, New York, has the Christmas spirit all year long—but when homicide heats up a summer holiday, it’s up to shop owner Merry Wilkinson to wrap up the case.
In Rudolph, Christmas in July heralds Santa’s arrival by boat to begin his summer vacation at the lake, and Merry Wilkinson, owner of Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, is looking forward to a busy weekend. But she’s caught off guard when her ex-fiancé, Max Folger, unexpectedly arrives with a team from a lifestyle magazine wanting to do a feature on the July festivities.
It’s clear that Max’s visit has less to do with business and more to do with winning back Merry’s heart. Merry has too much on her plate to deal with an old flame, but when Max is found strangled to death in Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, she must find out who wanted him dead—and stop a killer from ruining the summer holiday cheer.
Chapter 1
In Rudolph, New York, we love Christmas so much, we celebrate it twice a year.
Christmas in July. A time to be silly, enjoy our brief hot summer, have some fun. And attract tourists to our town, of course.
I was in the back room of my shop, Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, surrounded by boxes, studying my costume. My Mrs. Claus getup consisted of an ankle-length wool skirt, long-sleeved checked blouse worn under a knitted sweater-vest bearing a decorated Christmas tree design, plain glass spectacles, and a cap with gray curls attached. The forecast for the weekend was for temperatures reaching into the high eighties, and it would be even hotter, taking humidity into account.
Dressed in that outfit, standing in the sun, I might well melt.
I briefly considered going for a seductive Mrs. Claus look, but decided against that for two reasons. I don’t do seductive, and Santa is played by none other than my own father.
“Merry!” Jackie, the shop assistant, called. “Someone here to see you.”
“Back to work we go,” I said to Matterhorn, my ten-month-old Saint Bernard.
I put the costume back on its hanger, left the storage room, and shooed Mattie into my office. He gave me a mournful, pleading look, as if to say, No! Not the office! Anything but the office, before doing as he was told. “You are such a ham,” I said, heading to the front of the shop. I’d have to decide soon what I was going to wear. Today was Thursday and the big weekend was coming up fast.
I expected the caller would be a salesperson waiting to introduce me to their line of goods that I couldn’t possibly live without. But it wasn’t.
I stopped dead in the curtained doorway separating the private areas at the rear of the building from the salesrooms. A man stood at the counter with his back to me. Jackie was behind the cash register, smiling broadly at him, head cocked to one side, her light laugh filling the air.
He didn’t have to turn around. I knew that stance, the broad shoulders, the slim hips, the long legs, the short dark hair. I started to back away, to run through the storage room, out the back door into the alley, and keep on running, but before I could move Jackie said, “There she is,” and he turned. I also knew the high cheekbones, the straight white teeth, the eyes so dark they were almost black, the long lashes, the trace of black stubble on the strong jaw. Jackie widened her eyes, fanned her face, and her mouth formed the word “Wow!”
“Hello, Merry,” he said.
“Mmmm.” I cleared my throat, feeling a wave of heat as color rushed into my face. “Max.”
Even Jackie could sense the tension in the air, and she dropped her comic expression to stare at us. Unfortunately, at this moment the shop was empty of customers. There was nothing to distract Jackie’s attention or provide me with something I could pretend was in desperate need of my services.
He kept his eyes, those gorgeous black eyes under lashes so long and thick they could be used to string tennis rackets, fixed on my face. “Your shop’s very nice, Merry. You have lots of great things. You must be doing well.”
“Well enough.” I struggled to find my voice. “Can I help you find something, Max?”
“Actually, Merry, you can. I’ve lost something very precious, and I’ve come here to get it back.”
“I’d be happy to do what I can. What are you looking for?”
“The love of my life,” he said.
Jackie gasped. I threw her a look over Max’s shoulder. Her eyes threatened to pop right out of her head. She pointed to Max, did the fanning-the-face thing again, and then she pointed at me and mouthed “Wow!” again.
I tried to ignore her. “Max, why are you here?”
“I wanted to see you again, Merry. To talk. But”—he turned toward Jackie—“as charming as your helper here is, I’d like to go someplace private.”
I had a death grip on the curtain. “My office is . . .”
“Not in your office. How about we have dinner tonight? The place across the street looks okay. I’ll make a reservation for seven. Shall I pick you up or meet you there?”
“I’ll meet you. I mean . . . I don’t want to have dinner with you, Max.”
“Sure you do,” he said. “Seven o’clock it is.”
The chimes over the door sounded as the door opened and a woman came in. “There you are. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
Max gave me another long look before turning to face the newcomer. “I’m on a break.”
“No time for breaks. Isn’t that what you always say, Max? Breaks are for losers.” She looked past him for the first time. Her eyes were about to flick over me, but then she did a double take. “Merry, is that you?”
“Willow?” I said. “Good heavens, Willow, what are you doing here?”
She crossed the room, arms outstretched. Max stepped aside, and Willow Rasmon enveloped me in a light hug accompanied by a kiss on the cheek that was more of a peck at the air. At five foot eleven and wearing her customary four-inch stilettos, Willow had to just about fold herself in half to reach me. “Max Folger, you are a naughty boy.” She waived a bloodred nail at the end of a long finger. “Getting us to come here under a false pretext so you could see Merry.”
“Nothing false about it,” he said. “It’s still a great story.”
“Will one of you tell me what’s going on?” I said.
“It was all Max’s idea,” Willow said, “and for once I have to admit it’s a good one. We’re going to do a feature on Christmas in July for the new travel section of the magazine. And what better place to celebrate Christmas than America’s top year-round Christmas destination.”
Jackie squealed. “You’re from Jennifer’s Lifestyle! Oh my gosh. I love that magazine. My mom has a subscription, and she gives me her copy every month when she’s finished with it.”
“How nice,” Willow drawled.
Jackie ran around the counter and almost jumped up and down in front of Willow. “I can help you. I’ve lived here all my life. I know everyone!”
Willow peered down her long nose. “Goodness, I wouldn’t have recognized you for a small-town girl.”
Jackie beamed. I threw Willow a glare. Now I remembered: beneath the air-kissy façade Willow was nothing but a ruthlessly ambitious, stuck-up Manhattan snob.
Max laughed, and I glared at him, too.
Willow’s oversized Michael Kors bag trilled, and she dug into a side pocket for her phone. At least she’d given up wearing one of those ridiculous headsets that made people look as though they were about to be assimilated into the Borg Collective. “We’re at Mrs. Claus’s Treasures.
Across the street from the library.” She hung up and put the phone away.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Our photographer,” Willow said. “He’s been scouting out vantage points around town.”
Jackie squealed. I felt the air move as she ran past us heading for the back rooms.
“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” I said, “Or do I have to guess.”
“Guess away, Merry,” Max said. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”
The door opened once again and a man came in. He wore a beige, multi-pocketed vest of the sort last seen in the pages of National Geographic, carried a large bag, and had a long-lensed black Nikon slung over his shoulder. “This is going to be rich,” he said. “I don’t know what to shoot first.”
“Jason Kerr, meet Merry Wilkinson,” Willow said. “I don’t think Jason did any work for us in your day, Merry.”
He grinned at me. “I’ve heard a lot about you, when we were getting ready for this trip. You left big shoes to fill when you quit.”
I couldn’t help sneaking a peek at Max. Jason, I’m sure, meant when I left my job. Max would have been thinking of something else.
“Welcome to Mrs. Claus’s Treasures.” The curtain was swept aside, and Jackie stood there, framed in the entrance. She’d been gone for only about one minute, but she’d undone the top two buttons on her blouse, twisted the shirttails into a knot so it rode up to give us a peek at her taut belly, tightened the belt on her short denim skirt, applied a heavy layer of rose blush, and pulled her hair out of its clip so it fell in waves around her shoulders. She struck a pose, hip cocked, one shoulder forward, head tilted.
Jason said, “Do you work here?”
“Here? Yes, I’m Jackie O’Reilly. Head of customer service.” That title was new to me. Jackie was my only full-time employee.
Purchase Hark the Herald Angels Slay from:
The A Year-Round Christmas Series:
Rest Ye Murdered Gentlemen ~ Review
We Wish You a Murderous Christmas ~ Review
Places to find Vicki Delany:
Follow
Oh boy. This sounds and looks so fun!
ReplyDelete