Death of a Christmas Card Crafter

by Peggy Ehrhart

Genres: Holiday books; Mystery; Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

It’s time for a homespun holiday—until a crafty culprit weaves murder into the festivities. . .

Slay bells ring when the body of Arborville High School’s beloved art teacher (and annual Christmas card designer), Karma Karling, is discovered on the first day of the Holiday Craft Fair . . .
 
Now, Pamela Paterson and the Knit and Nibble crew must swap swatching for sleuthing in order to put a Christmas killer on ice.

Previously published in Christmas Card Murder

Release date: September 27, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 120

Sample

“Very nimble,” Pamela Paterson agreed. “And Sorrel’s knitted creations make perfect Christmas tree ornaments—so colorful, but light enough that they don’t weigh down the branches.”

“They’ll go fast,” Bettina said. “We’d better put some aside if we want any for our own trees.”

Pamela nodded, but she was distracted by making change for a woman who had just handed over a fifty-dollar bill for a knitted scarf that Pamela herself had knit.

“You always have such nice things at this booth,” the woman said. “I know I can find all my last-minute gifts here.” She tucked the scarf, indigo blue and featuring a lacy stitch that Pamela had enjoyed mastering, into a canvas tote and held out a hand for the twenty and the ten Pamela offered.

It was the first day of the Arborville Holiday Craft Fair, held in St. Willibrod’s church hall, with proceeds going to the Arborville High School art, drama, and music programs. Pamela was the founder and mainstay of the town’s knitting club, nicknamed Knit and Nibble, and the group had organized a table selling yarn creations. Many of the creations had been made by Knit and Nibble members, among them Bettina, who was also Pamela’s neighbor and best friend.

Pamela surveyed the large room, which echoed with conversation, laughter, and Christmas music. Residents of Arborville, as well as people from neighboring towns, browsed from table to table, admiring—and buying—the offerings: fanciful pottery creations, wall plaques with inspiring sayings, handmade aprons and children’s clothes in gay prints, jewelry fashioned from exotic and not-so-exotic materials, bowls carved from intricately gnarled wood, dolls with whole wardrobes of fashionable clothes, and much, much more. There was also food: Christmas cookies, of course, and cakes and pies and muffins and brownies and homemade candy.

The tables were ranged around the periphery of the room, and in the center a giant Christmas tree decorated with ornaments made by the children in the St. Willibrod’s grammar school lent its piney aroma to the scene.

Pamela’s gaze roamed here and there, but her eyes lingered for a moment on a small dark-haired figure in a violet jacket, a young woman who was just turning away from a table across the room. The table was bare except for a small stack of boxes, the sort of boxes that might contain Christmas cards.

The young woman surveyed the room too, and when her eyes met Pamela’s, her already bright expression became even brighter. Bettina exclaimed, “Penny’s here!”

Penny was Pamela’s daughter, home from her college in Boston for Christmas vacation. She waved and then began making her way through the crowd. She was carrying one of the boxes, and as she got closer, she held it up.

“I hadn’t seen Karma’s Christmas card yet,” Penny said as she got even closer. “It’s really good—but I’m kind of sad because it might be the last one.”

“Karma” was Karma Karling, one of the art teachers from the high school. She’d been Penny’s favorite teacher when Penny was a student there. Every year since Karma had been at the high school, she had designed a Christmas card to benefit the art program. The cards were sold all around town starting in early November.

“The last one?” Bettina raised her carefully shaped brows. “Is she leaving Arborville?”

Penny had reached Pamela and Bettina’s table and she displayed the box, which had a clear lid through which the card could be seen.

“ ‘Twelve drummers drumming,’ ” Penny said. “She’s been at Arborville High for twelve years and she’s used up all the days of Christmas.”

“Such a cute idea,” Pamela murmured. “I remember the first one—‘a partridge in a pear tree.’ You were only in fourth grade. But she’ll think of another theme, I’m sure. Karma is such a creative person.”

Penny opened the box and handed a card each to Pamela and Bettina. “I already sent my Christmas cards,” she said, “but I’ll use some of these for my Christmas thank-you notes. The twelve days of Christmas only start on Christmas Day.”

The card design was charming. The twelve drummers were old-fashioned drummers in red, white, and blue uniforms that made them resemble toy soldiers, and they were marching in a tight formation, four abreast. Their drums were snare drums, trimmed with silvery chrome, and suspended from straps that crossed smartly from each drummer’s right shoulder to his left hip.

As Pamela was studying the card, Penny had been fingering one of the tiny sweater ornaments. “How could anyone do this?” she asked. “So tiny, and these mittens are even tinier. I have to buy some.” Penny reached for the small purse dangling from her shoulder.

Besides the sweaters, Sorrel Wollcott had knit mittens and little stockings, all in bright colors and all furnished with yarn loops for hanging.

“We certainly don’t need ornaments.” Pamela laughed, picturing the boxes of ornaments she’d brought down from her attic only the previous day. She and Penny would be decorating their tree that evening. “But I can’t resist them either—and it’s for such a good cause.”

“My treat.” Penny dipped a hand into her purse and came up with her wallet. “I loved my art classes at Arborville High, and Karma was just the best!” She set aside a tiny blue and yellow striped sweater, a red mitten, and a yellow stocking.

“The sweaters are five each and the mitten and stocking are three each,” Pamela said as Penny counted out eleven dollars. Meanwhile, Bettina was dispensing change into the outstretched hand of a woman who had just bought a set of hand-knit pot holders.

Shoppers crisscrossed the gleaming floor, some carrying bags containing the treasures they’d selected, others carrying boxes holding baked goods, as a lively version of “Jingle Bells” provided a soundtrack. Some shoppers carried nothing yet, but greeted friends and formed conversational clusters. Near the Christmas tree, two little boys were engaged in a teasing game that involved circling in opposite directions and then shrieking in mock alarm when they came face-to-face.

But the cheerful din suddenly muted, in a wave that seemed to emanate from the double doors that faced Arborville Avenue. And most motion ceased, except for the circling of the little boys—until a worried-looking young woman grabbed each by an arm.

At the knitting table near the back of the room, Pamela had at first heard nothing out of the ordinary. But as the atmosphere became more muted still, she could make out the droning rise and fall of a siren.

Bettina finished tucking a matching hat and scarf set into a recycled Co-Op bag and extended it toward a woman who started to reach for it, but then turned away.

“Something’s happened,” she said as she turned back. “Look—over by the entrance.”

A police officer was visible through the milling crowd, just pulling back one of the heavy glass doors. The siren had drawn much closer. Then at its high-pitched peak, it cut off abruptly, trailing away in a resentful moan.

As the officer entered, a few men exited. Pamela recognized one of them as Gus Warburton, who worked for the rec department and could be counted on whenever a community event needed extra hands.

Penny, meanwhile, had circled the table and was standing between her mother and Bettina. Pamela lost sight of the officer as part of the crowd coalesced into a tight knot around him. Other people began to retreat from the entrance in pairs or larger groupings, bending toward one another and engaged in conversations whose seriousness was marked by the somber expressions on their faces.

Pamela caught a few words here and there. Something had happened in the Christmas tree lot and the police had been called—thus the sirens. The Christmas tree lot was set up every year not far from St. Willibrod’s by the Aardvark Alliance (named for the Arborville High School football team). Proceeds benefited the school’s sports programs.

Bettina stepped out from behind the table and into the path of a middle-aged woman who was among those retreating from the entrance. Before Bettina could open her mouth, the woman spoke.

“There’s a dead body,” she said in a tone that implied she scarcely believed her own words. She paused and looked back in the direction she’d come from. “The police. . .” Her voice faltered and she swung around to face Bettina again.

Pamela was about to join Bettina, but Penny seized her arm. And anyway, Bettina had begun to edge toward the table, drawing the middle-aged woman along with her. Th. . .