Death at Holly Lodge

Book 3: Daisy Thorne Mystery

by Louise R. Innes

Genres: Mystery; Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries; Culinary Cozy Mysteries; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

T’was the weeks before Christmas,
and Daisy nabs a new case,
when a missing man is found
stuffed above a fireplace . . .
 
Ooh La La hair salon owner Daisy Thorne adores the Christmas cheer in her picturesque hometown of Edgemead, England. Excitement is extra high this year, as international pop star, Mimi Levanté , the village’s newest resident, begins renovating historic Holly Lodge. But the charming country home’s makeover is cut short by a shocking discovery—the body of a man, dressed as Santa Claus, jammed inside the house’s chimney!
 
The secreted Santa is identified as Thom Pierce, a local father who vanished on Christmas Eve two years ago. As the case moves from missing to murder, Daisy and dashing DCI Paul McGuinness begin combing through the clues of Christmases past. But the killer will go to great lengths to keep old crimes under wraps. Now, DCI McGuinness must protect Daisy as she tries to untangle the mystery before a merry murderer embarks on another slay ride.
 
Praise for Death at a Country Mansion
 
“Death at a Country Mansion has more twists than a French braid.”
—Sherry Harris
 
“Everyone who loves a manor house mystery will love this one.”
—Nancy Coco
 
“If you enjoy British manor houses, a touch of budding romance, and a good mystery (like I do), I highly recommend Death at a Country Mansion.”
—Vikki Walton

Release date: September 28, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Daisy sang along to a Christmas song as she pulled into the gravel driveway outside Holly Lodge. December was her favorite time of year. There was something magical in the air. Christmas trees twinkled in front windows, festive music flowed out of the shops, and everybody was in a joyous mood.

She parked between Floria’s racing-green MINI Cooper and a dirty, white van with a building company logo on the side. The sliding side door was open, displaying an assortment of tools, boxes, and a folded-up ladder. Renovations were in full swing.

She turned off the radio and climbed out of the car, her feet crunching on the frosty ground. Holly Lodge was a Georgian-style family house that had once been rather grand, but had fallen into disrepair. She gazed up at the crumbling golden-brick exterior, admiring how it glowed in the weak, midmorning sun. The entrance was framed by rambling roses, which would be glorious in season, but were now a tangle of thorny twigs. Paint peeled off the front door, the porch looked worn and bare, and the windows were dirty and cracked. Only the holly bushes, after which the house had been named, seemed to thrive. Dark green and ripe with little red berries, they lined the drive and surrounded the front of the property.

Daisy breathed in the fresh country air as she took in the surroundings. A patchwork of green fields stretched out before her. In the distance was a hazy wood and beyond that, rolling purple hills. Holly Lodge was situated between Edgemead, where Daisy lived, and the village of Cobham. Once a hunting lodge, it was only accessible by a single narrow lane, flanked on either side by a deep ditch, overgrown foliage and then, endless meadows. In summer, they’d be filled with grazing cows and sheep from the nearby farm, but right now they were empty. Somewhere in the background, a stream tinkled.

“Daisy, you made it!” Floria, her best friend, dashed out of the house and flung her arms around her. “Come inside, Mimi’s dying to see you.”

Daisy hugged her, then followed her inside and into a large entrance hall. “Wow.” She gazed up at the high ceiling from which hung a grubby, but intricate chandelier. The walls were adorned with period features and elaborate cornices that would be lovely if they weren’t covered with cobwebs.

“It needs a lot of work,” admitted Floria. “But the design is classic and has heaps of potential.”

The traditional flagstone flooring was chipped and cracked, and a team of contractors were pulling it up piece by piece and taking the tiles outside into the garden.

“Excuse the mess,” called a lyrical voice from down the hall, and Mimi appeared. “They’re gutting the interior before we can restore it.”

“What a gorgeous place.” Daisy embraced Floria’s half-sister, who’d just arrived from Sydney. “I had no idea it was so spacious inside.”

“Five bedrooms,” Mimi told her, hugging her back. “But we’re going to convert it into four, two with adjoining bathrooms.” Daisy hadn’t seen Mimi since her mother, the great opera diva Dame Serena Levanté, had passed away several years ago. Since then, Mimi had been busy making a name for herself in the music industry in her native Australia.

“How are you?” Daisy asked.

“I’m good.” Mimi gave her a wide smile. She had a lovely heart-shaped face with the kind of flawless, glowing complexion that only celebrities seem to pull off. Her eyes were a striking green—identical to her late mother’s—and she sported a crop of glossy, black hair cut in a fashionable style. A tiny diamante stud glittered in her nose. “A bit nervous about the upcoming European tour, but apart from that, everything’s great.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you,” Daisy said reassuringly. “Your latest single, ‘That Night,’ was a huge hit in the UK earlier this year. They didn’t stop playing it on the radio.” There was a rumor that Mimi had written it the night she’d met her husband, Rob.

Mimi grimaced. “I still feel like a small fish in a really big pond. Come on, let’s sit in the kitchen, it’s the only place that hasn’t been dismantled yet. I’m afraid there’s no heating, the boiler isn’t working.” She rolled her eyes. “Yet another thing that needs fixing.”

“At least we can have a hot drink.” Floria set about making tea. “You don’t need to be nervous, Mimi. Didn’t your manager say that your first gig at the O2 Arena has already sold out?”

“That’s so exciting!” Daisy couldn’t be happier for Mimi. She was so talented and from what Floria had told her, had worked extremely hard to get where she was. After her mother had died, leaving her and her sisters a substantial inheritance, she’d reinvented herself. She’d hired a voice coach, taken dance lessons, and hired a producer to record her demo tape. According to Floria, she’d put her heart and soul into her career, and amassed a legion of young fans in the process. After winning an ARIA, one of Australia’s most prestigious music awards, she was broadening her horizons and exploring the international pop market.

Mimi crossed her fingers. “Let’s hope the rest of Europe sells as well.”

“When is your first concert date?” Daisy took a seat at the rustic wooden table. The kitchen was in slightly better shape than the rest of the house, but the units were old and out of date, and linoleum tiles had been laid over what Daisy suspected was a continuation of the period flagstone flooring. The whole place was crying out for a makeover.

“The fifteenth of January,” Mimi told her, accepting a cup of tea from Floria and straddling a chair opposite Daisy. “You must come. I’ll get you complimentary tickets.”

“That would be amazing.” Daisy grinned at Floria in excitement. “Thank you.”

Mimi ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve taken a month off to get settled, although these renovations are a pain. I’m beginning to regret buying a house that required so much work.”

“Holly Lodge desperately needed someone to take care of it.” Daisy glanced at the paint peeling off the walls. “It’s been empty for so long, and it’s such a beautiful old place. You’ve really done the house, and the village, a favor by taking it on.”

“The grounds are lovely too,” added Floria, sitting down. “The garden extends into the meadows and beyond that, into Hinchley Wood, and there’s a stream behind the cottage with the cutest cobblestone bridge over it.”

“That bridge is falling apart.” Mimi widened her eyes in warning. “Don’t use it until it’s been repaired. The landscapers are coming next week, but trying to find people to work over the holidays is like wishing for a Christmas miracle. I’m having to pay them a fortune.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t get this done before you arrived,” said Daisy. “You’re not living here while this is going on, are you?”

“Oh, gosh no. I’m staying at Brompton Court with Floria and Josh.” She patted her sister’s hand. “They’re putting me up.”

“We’ve moved in for the holidays,” added Floria, who had a townhouse in London’s Chelsea district. She’d inherited Brompton Court, a grand country mansion, from her mother but didn’t live there. Instead, it was run by the capable Violeta and her husband Pepe, the groundsman.

“Is Rob joining you for Christmas?” Daisy asked.

Mimi smiled at the mention of her husband. “Yeah, he’s flying into Heathrow a few days before Christmas. Unfortunately, he has to stay and tie up some loose ends before he can knock off for the holidays.” Rob Fallon was the owner of the Fallon Hotel Group, which boasted a collection of upmarket boutique hotels in most of the world’s capitals, London included. But like Mimi, his base was in Sydney, Australia.

“At least he’ll be here for Christmas,” Daisy said.

“What about you, Daisy?” Mimi leaned forward over the back of the chair. Daisy noticed her nails were painted a shimmering green. “How are things at the salon?”

“Busy.” She pulled a face. “It’s a crazy time of year. We have back-to-back appointments and the staff are run off their feet. The nail bar, a new addition for us, is doing extremely well too.”

“Well, it’s nice of you to take time out to come and see me. We’re all so grateful to you for solving Mother’s murder. How is that handsome detective you were seeing?”

“Oh, I wasn’t seeing him.” Heat stole into Daisy’s cheeks. “I was helping him.”

“They’re still not really seeing each other,” chuckled Floria. “Even though Daisy’s working with the police now in an official capacity.”

“Really? What are you doing?” Mimi asked.

“I’m just helping them with a bit of profiling. It’s a part-time thing.”

“Don’t be so modest, Dais,” Floria interrupted. “She’s a qualified criminal profiler now.”

“Impressive.” Mimi arched an eyebrow. “Pity about that detective, though. I was sure he fancied you.”

A loud crash in the living room made them jump.

Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t know what her relationship with Detective Chief Inspector McGuinness was, so how could she explain it to anyone else?

“What was that?” Mimi leaped off her chair.

Daisy and Floria followed her into the lounge, where two red-faced contractors stood gazing at a sooty fireplace that was big enough to park a car in.

“What happened?” Mimi waved her hand in front of her face. A fine black mist hung in the air and a heap of blackened debris had fallen down the chimney.

“The chimney is blocked,” one of the men told her. “Someone has wedged several wooden slats up it. We’re trying to unblock it now.”

“Wooden slats?” Floria frowned. “Why would they do that?”

“Maybe they didn’t use it and wanted to shut off the draft?” Daisy suggested. These mammoth chimneys were often drafty. The one in her little cottage, which was a fraction of the size of Holly Lodge, had been the same until she had wood-burning ovens installed.

“Could be,” agreed the other contractor. “We’ll get it cleared and working properly, don’t you worry.”

“It’ll look lovely once it’s done,” said Floria. “A real focal point.”

“Why don’t you show me the rest of the property?” Daisy gazed out of the windows at the expanse of garden and in the distance, the unspoiled meadows and the shadowy, purple wood. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid. Back then it was owned by the Lyle family.”

“They went bankrupt, apparently,” said Mimi. “The real estate agent told me it’s been empty since old Mr. Lyle passed away five years ago.”

“So sad . . .” Daisy murmured. She had fond memories of picnicking in the meadows with her friends when she was a teenager, and later walking through the woods with Tim. She blinked. Now where had that come from? She hadn’t thought about her ex-boyfriend in ages. Shaking her head, she followed Mimi and Floria outside, through patio doors that were so cracked and dirty it was impossible to see through them.

“These will have to be replaced,” remarked Floria, echoing Daisy’s thoughts.

“My interior designer, Tamara, is working with the building contractors. She did the Rochester, Rob’s hotel in Mayfair, so I’m trusting her with Holly Lodge. She’s got a wonderful eye for detail.”

“I catered a fiftieth at the Rochester last month.” Floria’s company, Prima Donna Productions, organized events and parties for the rich and famous. “It’s stunning. Tamara knows her stuff. You’re in good hands.”

“Wow, I can see how the lodge got its name. There’s holly everywhere.” Daisy ran her fingers over the distinctive jagged leaves on an oversized bush bursting with red berries outside the patio door. “It looks so Christmassy.”

“Some of it will have to be cut back.” Mimi stood in the middle of the garden and inspected the house. “It seems to have taken over.”

From this angle, Daisy could see the window frames were cracked and peeling and many of the tiles on the roof were missing. It was a big job, expensive too. No wonder the old lodge had remained unoccupied for so long.

A gurgling stream ran through the bottom of the garden, and Floria was right: The curved cobblestone bridge looked like something out of a fairy tale. She could imagine a big, ugly troll hiding underneath amongst the bulrushes. “Once the garden is done, you can sit out here and listen to the babbling brook while you compose your songs,” she mused.

Mimi gazed into the distance. “That’s the idea. As soon as I saw the stream, I fell in love with the place. And the view stretches for miles over the meadows and into the woods. It’s idyllic, and so different from my place in Sydney.”

“Your property over there is stunning,” said Floria, who’d been over to visit. “It’s so modern and spacious, and you have a breathtaking view of the harbor bridge.”

“Yes, but it’s not green and lush like this.” Mimi ran her hand along the top of the low stone wall that separated the stream from the garden and took a deep breath. “I love the smell of fresh country air.”

“That’s probably manure from the neighboring paddock,” Floria pointed out.

Daisy laughed.

A guttural yell made them glance back at the house.

“I hope those guys aren’t destroying that fireplace,” muttered Mimi. “Tamara wants to preserve as many of the original features as possible.”

“We’d better go and see.” Floria set off up the garden path toward the lodge.

“I think you’ll be very happy here,” Daisy told Mimi as they followed her.

“I hope so. This will be our London base, so to speak, so we want to make it as homely as possible.”

An eerie silence greeted them when they stepped through the open patio door into the living room. The two burly men were staring at the fireplace, their faces pale beneath the soot. A handful of other contractors had accumulated around them. All eyes were focused on the chimney.

“Is there a problem?” Mimi asked, then Floria gasped and grabbed her sister’s arm.

“Mimi, look!”

Daisy took a step closer and her heart leaped into her throat. “Is—is that a body?”

Through the black dust, she saw the figure of a man lying in a crumpled heap on the charred bricks. He was surrounded by broken boards and covered in dirt and grime.

“He toppled out of the chimney when we took out the last of the boards,” said one of the contractors. “Goodness knows how long he’s been up there.”

“Oh, Lord.” Mimi’s hand flew to her mouth.

Daisy bent down to have a closer look.

“Careful, Daisy,” urged Floria, who was still clutching her sister’s arm.

Daisy waved away the dust and stared down at the unfortunate man. His skin was sallow and tight across his face like parchment stretched to breaking point. His vacuous eyes were sunken into his head, exposing the sockets. Thin strands of gray hair protruded from his leathery scalp like a zombie version of Einstein. It was then she saw the dark, gaping wound at the side of his head covered in congealed blood. She studied it for some time, before her eyes were drawn away by his beard. Despite the thinning hair and obvious decomposition, he had a full, white fluffy beard. It couldn’t possibly be real. Then, she noticed what he was wearing, and her eyes widened.

“Who is it?” whispered Floria. “Do we know him?”

“I’m afraid so.” Daisy turned to face them. “It’s Father Christmas—and he’s been murdered.”

“Is that who I think it is?” Detective Chief Inspector Paul McGuinness from the Surrey Criminal Investigation Department stared at the crumpled body lying in a sooty heap at the base of the fireplace.

“I’m afraid so,” mu. . .