Christmas Scarf Murder

by Carlene O'Connor, Maddie Day, Peggy Ehrhart

Genres: Holiday books; Mystery Anthologies & Collections

Synopsis

Stocking stuffers like handknit scarves make the coziest of Christmas gifts—unless they’re used as accessories for murder!

CHRISTMAS SCARF MURDER by CARLENE O’CONNOR
When grinchy thefts steal the good cheer at a local nursing home, Siobhan O’Sullivan manages to identify one missing item before Kilbane, Ireland’s Christmas tractor parade—a hideous shamrock scarf wrapped around a very dead body. Now, with her holiday farmhouse bash approaching, Siobhan must dash to stop a deadly Secret Santa from gifting another unwanted surprise.

SCARFED DOWN by MADDIE DAY
It’s beginning to taste a lot like Christmas at Pans ‘N Pancakes, as twelve days of menu specials dazzle hungry locals. But the festivities go cold the instant a diner dies while knitting a brilliant green scarf. With Aunt Adele tied into a murder investigation, it’s all on Robbie Jordan to find out who’s really been naughty or nice in South Lick, Indiana.
 
DEATH BY CHRISTMAS SCARF by PEGGY EHRHART
Suspects pile up faster than New Jersey snow when frosty-tempered Carys Walnutt is found strangled by a handmade scarf auctioned at Arborville’s tree-lighting ceremony. Between a winning bidder hiding behind the alias “S. Claws” and a victim who deserved coal in her stocking, can Pamela Paterson and the crafty Knit and Nibble ladies freeze a killer’s merry murder plot?
 

Release date: September 27, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Siobhán O’Sullivan stood in the kitchen of her new stone farmhouse, leafing through holiday recipes and insisting yet again to her younger brother Ciarán that Santy wasn’t bringing him a tractor for Christmas, when her husband opened the front door and poked his head in. She grinned. Her husband. Six months of marriage and it still didn’t feel real. Cold air blasted in from the outside but when Siobhán caught the worried expression on Macdara’s handsome face, she dropped all plans to scold him. “The Grinch paid a visit to the elder care home,” he said. “The residents have all been robbed.”

“You’re joking me.” The Kilbane Elder Care Home was small and exclusive, catering to wealthy clients. It was located outside of town in a beautiful Victorian-style house painted a cheerful yellow. They had immaculate gardens and every year the grounds were decorated to the hilt for Christmas. Mechanical reindeer, Santy and his sleigh, and every tree on the property would be wrapped in colorful lights. It was so lavish it nearly made Siobhán wish she was old enough to move in. Siobhán had been looking forward to visiting this year, only she was worried her younger siblings Ann and Ciarán would insist they decorate their new fields in the same over-the-top fashion. Although they certainly had the room, and Siobhán loved decorating for Christmas, she wanted something rustic and cozy. White lights and a gorgeous wreath for the door—maybe a candle or two in the window. And this year she wanted them to cut down a live Christmas tree. It was their first Christmas in their new house, and she wanted that Christmas tree smell. Macdara’s news was troubling indeed. Who would rob an elder care home a fortnight before Christmas? “The poor pets,” Siobhán said. “Is everyone alright?”

“Thank goodness no bodily harm to anyone, but I hear some very dear items have been taken and everyone is in quite the state.”

“It’s a frightening thing when you’re robbed,” Siobhán said. “They must feel so vulnerable.”

Macdara nodded. “I know it’s your day off, but nearly everyone has taken their holidays.”

“Say no more, Detective Sergeant,” Siobhán said. “I’ll get me uniform on.”

Macdara nodded. “I’ll be out here, Garda O’Sullivan.” He leaned in for a kiss.

“You promised you’d stop doing that before brekkie,” Ciarán said. “I’ve lost me appetite. Again.”

They broke apart and laughed. “You already had two Irish breakfasts,” Siobhán said.

“It’s a good thing I horsed them into me before all the mushy stuff then isn’t it?” Ciarán responded. Macdara clapped Ciarán on the back. Ciarán shook his head. “I deserve a tractor for this.”

Siobhán wished she could bottle this moment, their first Christmas as husband and wife, as a family. The entire brood would fill the house to celebrate. Even James, Gráinne, and Eoin, Siobhán’s siblings who were now independent and free, would camp out for the holidays. Her minor siblings, Ann and Ciaran seemed to be adjusting to living at the farm house, and chuffed to the bits that they each had their own room. James, Gráinne, and Eoin were still living above the bistro, with a lot more room to spread out. Was it only seven months since they moved from above their former bistro in town to the farm house? The time had flown by. Siobhán’s five siblings had lived with her ever since their parents had been killed by a drunk driver in a road accident eight years prior. There were times she wanted to keep them with her forever. Luckily, Eoin and James were building a farm-to-table restaurant on their new farm, and Grainne was chomping at the bit to help decorate it. Siobhán saw them nearly every day. Family was everything, and yet change was inevitable. But this year, they would all be together. And to top it off they had invited their friend Doctor Jeanie Brady, an esteemed state pathologist, to join them for Christmas dinner. She had let it slip that she was taking the holidays off this year and had lamented not having a big family to share it with. Siobhán was thrilled when she accepted the invitation. She handed Ciarán back his Christmas wish list. Tractor was the only item on it. “Better add to this,” she said. “Unless you want a toy tractor.”

Ciarán shook his head. “Typical.”

His voice was so low now, puberty well underway. And she still wanted to squeeze his cheeks until he howled. “Isn’t it enough we get to decorate our very own tractor for the parade?” Siobhán asked. Before they’d moved outside of town Siobhán was barely aware there was a Christmas tractor parade. James had grown close to some of the lads participating and had volunteered the rest of the O’Sullivans to decorate a tractor, most of them either a Massey Ferguson or a John Deere. They were due at Bill Casey’s farm this weekend to map out a route and start decorating.

“Not unless I get to drive it home after,” Ciarán said. “I could mow the field.”

He said “mow the field” but she could see it now. Ciarán O’Sullivan speeding down the road in a tractor, mowing everything in his path but the grass. Never.

“There will be plenty to keep you busy when Eoin breaks ground on the new restaurant,” she said. “You’ll forget all about tractors.” Their property used to contain an old dairy barn, and although it had burned down as a result of arson, Eoin was going to rebuild and open a farm-to-table restaurant. Luckily, the property was zoned for both home and business. Not that the O’Sullivans were turning into instant farmers, none of them had the experience for that, but Eoin was already making connections with local farmers to source the needed ingredients, and in the spring they were sure to at least have a vegetable garden and chickens. It was crazy how swiftly one’s life could change, and although somewhat dizzying, Siobhán was finding it an absolute thrill.

“I’ll never forget about tractors,” Ciarán said. “I was born to ride.”

“What about a hoverboard?” Macdara asked. “Santy might be able to spring for one of those.”

Ciarán shook his head. “What about a Vespa?”

“No,” Siobhán said.

Ciarán put his hands on his hips and lasered her with a look. He was nearly as tall as she was. “You have one.”

“I’m an adult.”

Ciarán threw his arms open. “Where am I going to ride a hoverboard? In the field?”

Siobhán sighed. The truth was, they were probably eventually going to have to get a tractor. But it would be the family tractor and not teenage transportation.

“You need new hobbies,” Siobhán said. “Why don’t you do some brainstorming to see what you fancy?”

“I’d rather do some barnstorming,” he said. “With my new tractor.”

Siobhán laughed. “No planes, tractors, motorcycles, cars, or scooters.”

“Fine,” Ciarán said. “I’ll take the hoverboard.”

Siobhán threw Macdara a look and he was smart enough to grimace. “We’ll have to see what Christmas morning brings. Why don’t you get out our decorations while we’re gone?” She went to pat Ciarán on the head, but he ducked and she swiped air. It was starting to look like there was going to be more than one Grinch in Kilbane this year.

As they pulled into the lovely manicured grounds for the elder care home, Siobhán found herself wishing it was under happier circumstances. The yellow Victorian house with blue trim popped against the green fields. Lush hedges and gardens created a virtual Eden that blossomed in the spring, but during the Christmas holidays the grounds were transformed into a winter wonderland, complete with a snow machine. Everyone was hoping it would snow for real this year, although most likely it would not, and Siobhán had a feeling the snow machine would be on the ready. Lovely paths curved through gardens featuring sculptures, birdbaths, and benches. A gardener stood near a hedge with clippers, shaping the first row into large candy canes. The residents were so lucky to live in such a magical place—the thought of anyone robbing them infused her with anger. Respect for one’s elders was an ironclad principle for the O’Sullivans, something the young ones of today seemed to be sorely lacking.

The house sat on a high elevation with sweeping views of hills and valleys, topped off by the curves of the Bally-houra Mountains. Christmas decorating was full steam ahead, with large plastic bins lining the drive and in the gardens, overflowing with garland, lights, and bows. Despite the cold, residents stood outside in hefty robes and slippers clutching mugs of tea or coffee, some with winter coats, others with just hats and scarves. The minute the pair exited the vehicle they could hear the excited hum of voices. It seemed the break-in had infused the home with a bit of excitement. “The guards are here,” an old man shouted, waving both his hands at them as if he was stranded on an island and they were circling above in a plane. Siobhán waved back; it was nice to feel appreciated. Soon they were surrounded by the elderly residents, all speaking at once.

“They stole Oscar’s cane, it was a lovely carved wood with a golden handle.”

“And Nuala’s precious emeralds.”

“Nuala doesn’t have precious emeralds, she’s messing with us!”

“I did so have emeralds and they’ve been stolen!”

“Maybe it was your grandson. He’s always poking around.”

“Wash that filthy mouth out with soap, you old grouch you, or I’ll do it for ya.”

“Don’t forget Rory’s money.”

A short man with black spectacles stepped forward, brown eyes blinking rapidly. He looked like an adorable little owl. “Five hundred euro they took. All me Christmas shopping money.” He held his hands palms up as he shrugged. “What am I going to do now? This may be me last Christmas and I have to buy gifts for all me grandkids.”

Siobhán’s heart squeezed. “I’m so sorry. We promise ye, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Don’t forget me scarf!” A plump woman in a flowered bathrobe and a bulky winter coat shoved her mobile phone at them, forcing them to look at the screen. On it was a hideous red scarf with green shamrocks.

“Beverly, Beverly, Beverly. Didn’t you hear the lads warn you about that scarf?” an old man said. His winter coat was zipped up but he was wearing pajamas and slippers. He pointed to a spot in the distance. Siobhán followed the trajectory to a birdbath where a pair of twenty-somethings were standing, a lad and a colleen. It was nice to see young people on the grounds. He turned back to the plump woman. “That scarf is too long. You could wrap a giraffe’s neck with that yoke and still have bits hanging off him. Did they not warn you about long scarf syndrome?”

“Bah humbug,” Beverly said. “It was a work of passion. You can’t stop knitting when you’re filled with passion!”

“Excuse me,” a small voice next to Siobhán piped up. She turned to find a tiny older woman clasping her hands together. She was dressed in a lovely fawn coat and had a red bow pinned in her hair. Her lips were heavily lined in a matching red. “I’m missing me Virgin Mary statue. It isn’t very dear, but my mammy bought it at the very first Christmas Market in the town square, with money she’d been saving the whole year. It has great sentimental value. I can’t bear the thought that it’s gone.”

Siobhán placed her hand on the woman’s shoulders. “What’s your name, luv?”

“Sinead.”

“Sinead, your statue sounds most dear to me.”

Sinead nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “It makes me feel connected to her. It’s like a piece of her.”

Siobhán nodded. She understood very well. They had items from her late parents that felt like an extension of them. “We’ll treat your missing statue with the same value we do the missing emeralds.” She turned to the crowd. “I promise ye, we are going to do everything we can to sort this out.” They all started talking at once. “Give us a minute to speak with the director,” Siobhán said. “We’ll soon have a proper sit-down with each one of you.” The residents stopped jabbering and stared, their faces stamped with hope. Siobhán wondered if she should warn them that it’s very rare to recover items in a robbery. The thieves could be long gone by now.

As they took a step toward the house, an exuberant border collie bounded their way, a small stuffed elf in his mouth. He dropped it at Siobhán’s feet and looked up expectantly.

“Aren’t you a wee dote,” she said.

“That’s Max,” the man with the black spectacles said. “He’s visiting us for the holidays. Insanely intelligent that dog.”

“And adorable,” Siobhán said, leaning down. “Who’s a good boy?” The dog, tongue hanging out, swung its head in Macdara’s direction.

“Did you see that?” Macdara said. “He’s smirking at me.” Macdara bent down to pick up the elf. The dog snatched it and laid it at Siobhán’s feet. “Cheeky dog,” Macdara said. “He only wants you to throw it.”

Siobhán picked up the elf. “Do you hear that, love? Me husband is jealous of a dog.”

“I think we might be looking at our thief right here,” Macdara said, wagging his finger at the dog.

Siobhán laughed, then tossed the elf. The dog bounded after it. Macdara gave her a look. “You’re like a magical woodland creature,” he said. “Beloved by all your subjects.”

She punched him in the arm. “Sort yourself out, maybe you’ll grow on him.”

“Look at that complexion,” a sweet old woman to her right said, reaching for Siobhán’s face. “Like a bowlful of cream.”

“And that gorgeous red hair,” another cooed. “You must have all the lads after ya.”

“And all the woodland creatures,” Macdara repeated, ducking as Siobhán went in for another swipe.

Her hair was really auburn but it was futile correcting people. Some saw the world in a variety of shades, others couldn’t be bothered. Siobhán didn’t dare look at Macdara, she knew he was struggling to contain a cheeky response. She’d give it twenty-four hours before he made a “bowlful of cream” remark.

“What a handsome detective,” a woman cooed at Macdara. “How can you catch criminals with that sweet face?” Siobhán rather enjoyed watching his sweet face turn red and wondered if that made her a terrible person.

“They’ve designated a meeting room inside for our inquiries,” Macdara said, clearing his throat and trying to regain a sense of order. “But first we need to speak with the director.”

“Are you going to take fingerprints?” Sinead said. “I’ve only seen it on Law & Order.”

“It’s highly likely that the thieves wore gloves,” Macdara said politely.

“What a pity,” she said, smacking her lips together. “I so wanted to see how you do it.” Sinead seemed to shrink with disappointment, her little red bow dipping lower and lower.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Macdara said. “It never hurts to arrange a little demonstration.” She grinned, stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on Macdara’s cheek. He turned red enough to make the lipstick marks blend in with the rest of his face.

“You can handcuff me too,” she said. “I don’t mind.” She held up her wrists for inspection. Macdara took out his mobile and walked a few feet away to make a call. He returned moments later with a satisfied grin on his face. Before Siobhán could ask him what that was all about, a middle-aged man in a gray suit was hurrying up the path toward them, his hand extended.

“I’m Cathal Ryan. You must be DS Flannery, we spoke on the phone.” He was a handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair feathered back and light blue eyes accentuated by his blue tie and pocket square.

“That would be me,” Macdara said. “And this is Garda O’Sullivan. Otherwise known as me wife,” he said with a wink.

Siobhán groaned. Cathal raised an eyebrow. “Six months so far,” Siobhán said.

“Congratulations.” He flashed perfectly straight and white teeth.

“So far?” Macdara said.

“Do tell us about the break-in,” Siobhán said.

“Follow me,” Cathal said. They headed up the path toward the house, and soon stepped onto the grand front porch. More bins were stacked, one on top of the other. Some had their lids off, revealing a mountain of garland and lights. A pair of lads, also in their early twenties, stood nearby, listening to opposing decorating instructions from a nearby cluster of residents.

“String them up along the roof.”

“No, not the roof, are ya mad? String them along the windows.”

“What about the porch rail, lads? Do you think ye can manage that?”

Max, stuffed elf in his mouth, sat happily watching the hubbub.

Cathal nodded to the younger men. “We have a small group of lads from the tractor parade helping us decorate this year.”

“Grand,” Siobhán said. She hated her next thought—it was cynical—but she had a job to do. Could one of them be the thief? There were four of them, a lad and a lass by the birdbath and two lads on the porch. Were they good-hearted young people giving their time to their elders at Christmas, or scheming thieves out to swindle them? It was the nature of this job that one had to explore all possibilities. Cathal pointed to the front door. It was made of oak, with a small stained-glass window and a lion knocker. Siobhán loved it. “Isn’t this gorgeous,” she said to Macdara, pointing out the lion. “Maybe Santy will bring me something similar.”

“Maybe you should be happy with your bowlful of cream,” Macdara retorted.

She gently punched his arm and he laughed. That hadn’t taken long at all. Why hadn’t she placed a bet with someone?

Potted holly bushes flanked the door, and a pair of gas lamps were situated on either side. She could imagine how gorgeous it looked in the evening, with the flames dancing.

“This is the main entrance,” Cathal was saying. “There were no signs of a break-in per se.”

“When did the robbery occur?” Macdara asked.

“Residents only discovered their items missing this morning after breakfast. But we assume it took place yesterday when most of us were on an outing.”

“An outing?” Siobhán asked.

He nodded. “We helped decorate the town square for the Christmas market,” he said. “It was a grand day.” His grin soon faded. “Followed by a wretched morning.”

“Wait,” Siobhán said. “Why did you add—per se?”

“Pardon?”

“You said there were no signs of a break-in per se.”

Cathal nodded. “Yes. I’d rather show you once we go inside.”

“Did you have any items stolen?” Macdara asked.

Cathal shook his head. “I live off-site, and nothing in my office seems to be disturbed. To be honest, I’m puzzled. Only five residents had items stolen, and coincidentally they were the five residents that remained behind.”

That didn’t sound at all like a coincidence to Siobhán. “Their items were nicked yesterday but you’re only reporting it today?”

“I’m afraid it was chaos here last night—in a good way. There was the excitement of the residents who returned from the market showing off their wares, along with the items we shopped for the five who remained behind, and then we had carolers pay us a visit. A few residents said they had been looking for their items, but misplacing things is a common occurrence around here. It wasn’t until the next morning, when they started looking in earnest and comparing stories that we realized this was more than just misplacing their things, that they had indeed been robbed.”

“Do these same residents usually stay behind?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact they do,” Cathal said. “Are you saying the thief knew that? That this was an inside job?”

“Anything is possible,” Macdara said. “We’ve a long ways to go before we make any declarations.”

“Perhaps he or she was interrupted before they could steal from anyone else,” Siobhán said. “But why start with the five residents who were still on the grounds?” That seemed very risky. Was this a thief who thrived on the risk of being caught?

“Downright nonsensical if you ask me,” Cathal said. “The money and emeralds—if they exist—makes sense alright. But he also steals a cane, a scarf, and a Virgin Mary statue? Who does that?”

“What makes you so sure the thief is a he?” Siobhán asked.

“Pardon me, Garda,” he said. “You’re quite right. The thief may be a member of the fairer sex.”

Inwardly she groaned at the phrase, but she wasn’t here to school others on their parts of speech. “How long was the outing to the Christmas market?” Macdara asked.

“We were there for most of the day,” Cathal said. “From ten a.m. to four.” The town square hosted the Christmas market every year, attracting nearly the entire village. It was a grand place to find Christmas gifts, drink hot cocoa, and sample desserts. It was also where the yearly Christmas pantomime was held. Every year the pantomime was based on a fairy tale and given a comedic twist. The panto, as everyone called it, was a cherished tradition. Siobhán’s own brood had starred in one a few years back, a hearty rendition of “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

“All but the five residents who had items stolen attended the outing?” Siobhán asked.

“That is correct,” Cathal said. “Our front office manager, Nancy Martin, remained on-site as well.”

“And what about our four young volunteers?” Siobhán asked. “Where were they?”

“They accompanied us on the outing as well,” Cathal said. “Although I did not have eyes on them the entire time. They’re young, they come and go as they please.”

“And no one saw any strangers on the property?” Macdara asked. “Or did anyone hear anything odd?”

Cathal sighed. “Unfortunately, aside from the one room in the house I need to show you, no one reported hearing or seeing a single thing out of the ordinary. It was as if we were robbed by a Christmas mouse!”

“More like a Christmas rat,” Macdara said.

One of the young lads approached. He had a mop of blond curls and intense blue eyes. He wagged his finger at them. “If you wanted someone to blame, look no further than the house manager, Nancy Martin.”

Cathal stepped toward the young man, a look of panic stamped on his face. “Blame Nancy Martin? Whatever do you mean?”

“I was at the Christmas market but returned early,” the young man said. “None of them heard a thing because Nancy was blasting Christmas songs.” He glanced at Siobhán and Macdara. “Nancy is a mad one for the Christmas music.” He grinned, stuck out his hand. “I’m Finn Doyle, Nuala’s grandson.”

Cathal leaned in. “Nuala is the resident who claims she’s missing precious emeralds.”

Finn’s face clouded over. “If me granny says her emeralds were stolen, then her emeralds were stolen.”

“Of course, of course,” Cathal said. “It’s just . . . none of us have ever seen these emeralds.”

“I’ve seen them,” Finn said. “We were just arranging to have them valuated.”

“Then why hasn’t she shown them to anyone else?” Cathal asked.

“Because they’re too valuable to flash around.” Finn tapped his forehead with his index finger. He turned to Macdara. “That’s why she kept them in her safe. And now they’re gone.”

Cathal turned to Siobhán and Macdara. “He’s right about one thing. Nancy does like to blast her Christmas tunes.”

“Who doesn’t?” Siobhán said. She loved everything about Christmas.

“How many residents and staff do you have in total?” Macdara asked.

“We only have twelve residents at a time,” Cathal said. “Our waiting list is very long.”

Macdara leaned into Siobhán’s ear. “Should we put our names in now?”

“Definitely yours,” she said. His chuckle warmed her insides.

“As far as staff goes, we have myself and Nancy, the kitchen staff, and housekeeping.” He began to count on his fingers. “Fifteen of us in all.”

“Fifteen,” Macdara said. That was a lot of suspects.

“But many are on their Christmas break,” Cathal said. “Leaving three kitchen staff and three housekeepers.” That certainly helped. “We’re lucky to still have Nancy.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Her husband is running for mayor of Cork in the spring. Isn’t that exciting?”

Siobhán didn’t get particularly excited about politics and was trying to come up with a polite response when they were interrupted. “Don’t plug it in yet!” They turned to see a red-faced old man berating a young lad with red hair and spiked fringes. He jumped at the reprimand, jostling the string of Christmas lights in his arms. He wrapped the string around his neck and mimicked hanging himself. Max barked and began tugging on the Christmas lights.

“I’m only messing, Max,” the redheaded lad said. “Let go.” The dog immediately let go. “Good boy.” He removed a treat from his pocket and the dog snatched it up.

“Quit horsing around,” the old man yelled. “Do you think this roof is going to decorate itself?”

“I’m not deaf.” The young man removed the string of lights from his neck. He towered over the old man. “You don’t have to shout.”

“Ease up,” Macdara said. The young man shot a withering look at the detective sergeant but took a step back.

Cathal, eager to move on, pointed once more to the ornate front door. “As I’ve mentioned, there were no signs of a break-in at our front or our back doors. They are the only two means of entry.”

“Except for the roof.” The comment came from another young lad stepping onto the porch. His head was shaved, but he had a baby face and fawn-brown eyes. “Down the chimney?” he added. “Santy and his sleigh?”

“Shall I introduce you to our helpers?” Cathal said.

“Makes us sound like elves,” the one with the shaved head said with a laugh.

“No one would ever mistake you for an elf, Shane Boyd” Cathal said. “And that’s your introduction sorted.” He pointed to the redhead. “Michael Walsh.” Still holding the lights, Walsh bowed. Max barked, then dipped down.

Macdara pointed at the dog. “Did he just bow?”

“He’s fierce intelligent,” Michael said. “Meet my wonder dog, Max.”

“And I’m Bonnie Murphy.” The one female of the group of young ones stepped onto the porch. She had gorgeous black hair cascading down her back in waves. She was probably six years younger. . .