Kate Kingsbury - Mistletoe and Mayhem

Cecily was forced to summon him whenever a death occurred on the Pennyfoot property. No matter how gruesome the situation, Northcott’s main concern was how much food he could consume from the kitchen before he left.

“With any luck at all,” Cecily said, “the constable will be leaving for his annual Christmas visit to his wife’s family.” She frowned. “I suppose, however, that we must inform him of the death, even if it was an accident. Tell Mrs. Chubb to ring the police station, and leave a message for him there.”

“Yes, m’m. Sorry, m’m.” Bending her knees, Gertie dropped a brief curtsey and left.

Madeline lowered her head to press her cheek against her baby’s. “I’m sorry, Cecily. The Christmas curse again. At least this time it appears to be an accident.”

Cecily sat down opposite her again. “We have thought so before, only to have it turn out to be murder.” She stared hard at her friend. “I don’t suppose you…?”

She had left the question unfinished, but Madeline had understood. “I’m sorry, Cecily. My dratted intuition tells me nothing. As you well know, my revelations are far from predictable.”

“Poor Charlie. He had only been with us a short time, but he seemed such a nice young lad. I can’t imagine what he was doing in the rose garden, though. I do hope Kevin gets here soon. I don’t like to think of that poor boy lying out there all morning.”

“Kevin will still be on his rounds,” Madeline said. “Very few of his patients have telephones. We’ll probably have to wait until he gets back to his office.”

“Oh, dear. I hope none of the guests see the body. It’s hard enough getting visitors to stay here this time of year with rumors abounding about the dratted curse. We do our best to keep it quiet but you know how people love to gossip.”

“Well, Clive didn’t see him until he went behind the bushes, and in any case, it’s chilly out there this morning. I doubt that too many people will be strolling around the rose gardens, especially since all the roses have died.”

Cecily reached forward for the teapot. “I suppose you’re right. I know Clive will do his very best to keep the body hidden.”

“He certainly seems competent.” Madeline gave her a sharp look. “He also appears to be far too intelligent to be a maintenance man.”

Cecily concentrated on pouring steaming brown liquid into the delicate china cups. It wasn’t her place to repeat Clive’s history of the alcohol addiction that had cost him not only a teaching career, but his marriage as well. “He seems happy enough working here. I don’t question his motives.”

“I sense something in his past. Something that causes him great pain and guilt.”

Knowing Madeline’s uncanny knack of seeing into people’s minds, Cecily concentrated on placing the cup and saucer in front of her friend. “Well, if so, he appears to have laid his ghosts to rest. He’s an excellent maintenance man and that’s all I ask.”

“He’s certainly strong enough for any task you may give him.” Madeline rolled her eyes. “Those muscles are quite impressive.”

Aghast, Cecily stared at her. “Madeline! Let us not forget you are a married woman and a mother.”

Madeline’s lyrical laugh rang out. “I’m teasing you, Cecily. Forgive me. I was trying to lighten your mood. This is not the time, I know. You’re upset about your footman, and rightly so, but try not to worry for now. Wait and see what Kevin has to say.” She lowered Angelina to the carpet and laid her on her back. “Let us eat breakfast. It will make you feel better.”

She sniffed with an appreciative air. “I’m starving, and this food smells delightful. There’s nothing like the smell of bacon and sausage to torment the appetite. It’s not my usual fare for breakfast but I’m willing to indulge myself once in a while.”

Cecily wasn’t at all sure she could eat anything. In spite of Madeline’s apparent lack of concern, Cecily couldn’t help worrying that the curse was upon them again. The Pennyfoot Christmas curse, which always brought death, and always by someone’s hand.

All she could do for now was wait for Kevin Prestwick’s verdict and pray that this time would be different.

Pansy’s hand trembled when she lifted it to knock on J. Mortimer’s door. The shock of hearing about poor Charlie’s death had made her feel sick, and she was in no shape to face the sinister Mr. Mortimer. Indeed, she was sorely tempted to place the tray on the floor and knock on the door, then run down the stairs before the spooky old gentleman could open it.

The fear of reprisals should Mr. Mortimer complain, however, kept one hand lifted in the air while she balanced the tray on her knee with the other. She would count to ten, she decided, then rap on the door with her clenched knuckles. One, two, three…

The door opened without warning, sending her off balance. Uttering a shrill shriek, Pansy clutched the tray. The poached eggs started to slide off their bed of toast, and she had to jiggle them to get them back in place.

“Good heavens, girl! Do you have to make that unearthly noise?” The tray was snatched from her hands and the door slammed in her face before she even had time to draw breath and apologize.

Grumbling to herself, she fled down the stairs. Next time someone else could take up the tray to room nine. If Ellie had been there like she was supposed to be then she would have taken up the ogre’s tray.

Pansy stomped down the last few steps, deciding that the very next time she saw Ellie she’d give her a piece of her mind for making her do twice the work.

She was about to cross the lobby to the kitchen stairs when she heard a soft whistle over by the front entrance. Pausing, she saw the face of a young man peering around the door, smiling at her.

It was a nice face, with twinkly blue eyes and a cheeky grin. A hand appeared next to the face, with a beckoning finger. “Here! Come over here.”

Pansy hesitated. She’d seen the young lad on the roof earlier, when she’d gone out to fill the coal bucket. He’d whistled at her, the sort of whistle that made her blush. She’d given him a wave of her hand before going back into the kitchen, and that whistle had warmed her right through, making her forget how cold the kitchen could be before the stove was lit.

“Come here! I want to talk to you!” The words hissed across the empty lobby, inviting and dangerously exciting.

Pansy glanced at the reception desk, where Philip, the desk clerk, sat huddled over a newspaper. He hadn’t even looked up. Pansy hesitated a moment longer, then darted across the lobby to the front door.

Slipping outside into the chilly air, she crossed her arms to hug herself against the cold wind. “Whatcha want?”

“I just want to talk to you, that’s all. Tell me your name.”

“Pansy.” She stared boldly into the laughing eyes. “What’s yours?”

“Lenny. I’m working up there on your roof.”

“Yeah, I saw you.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Did you hear about the footman what got killed, then?”

Lenny’s eyes clouded with concern. “Yeah, I did. Poor bugger. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s what.”

“Yeah, he was.” She shivered as a gust of wind whipped her skirt around her ankles. Across the street the empty sands stretched out to the rows of frothy waves racing to shore. The water looked dark and gray, signaling the onset of a storm. Maybe even snow, though it didn’t usually last long if it came. Looking back at Lenny, she added, “Mrs. Chubb says as how your boss will be in trouble.”

Lenny’s eyebrows shot up, giving him a comical expression, though his eyes were anything but amused. “Mick? What’s he got to do with it?”