Menace at the Christmas Market

Book 5: Murder on Location

by Sara Rosett

Genres: Holiday books; Traditional Mysteries; Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; International Crime & Mystery; Female Sleuths; Crime & Mystery

Synopsis

A Christmas Novella

With the holidays nearing, Kate has time off, a rare occurrence for a location scout. The Jane Austen documentary series is in a production lull, and she plans to spend her time searching for the perfect Christmas gift for Alex, which has turned out to be a task as difficult as finding an unspoiled location for a medieval-inspired fantasy series.

Kate goes to the local Regency-themed Christmas Market in search of a gift, but a new acquaintance is poisoned. Kate is drawn into the investigation and soon realizes she must discover who wants to make sure she doesn’t ring in the New Year.

Menace at the Christmas Market is the fifth standalone installment in the Murder on Location cozy mystery series. Celebrate the holiday season with this fun Christmas novella from USA Today bestselling author Sara Rosett today! 

 

Release date: May 4, 2016

Publisher: McGuffin Ink

Print pages: 102

Sample

CHAPTER 1

 

 

NETHER WOODSMOOR

 

“AND HOW ARE the Canary Islands?” I asked as I looked out the kitchen window into the sodden garden behind my cottage.

 

“As advertised, it is a mellow sixty-seven degrees, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky.” Alex’s voice came through the phone clearly, sounding as if he were in the next room, not off the coast of Africa. “What is it like there?”

 

“Rather dreary, actually.” “Raining again?”

 

“Yes, but I meant the lack of company.”

 

Alex’s laugh sounded in my ear, then he dropped the volume of his voice. “Believe me, I wish I was there, too. Sun or no sun.”

 

“So it’s not going…well?” Alex didn’t talk about his parents much, so my knowledge about his family was sketchy, but I did know his parents were divorced and interactions with his mother were the one thing that made his easy-going nature vanish and put him on edge. As far as I could tell, his mother didn’t have a fixed address. She seemed to go wherever the sun was shining. It sounded as if she was more interested in her tan than her children—thus the Christmas visit to Gran Canaria, the largest island of the chain.

 

Yes, I’d looked it up on Wikipedia when Alex announced he was heading there for the holiday. Had I felt a smidgen of envy, gazing at pictures of sandy beaches and palm trees? No, of course not. Alex and I had only been dating a few months, and I certainly wasn’t anxious to introduce the complication of extended families into our relationship equation. No, simply finding an appropriate Christmas gift for Alex was driving me batty, so I doubted we could handle the complexities of parental expectations and demands.

 

Our mothers seemed to be complete opposites. His mother disappeared off the radar for months, then suddenly demanded things of Alex, like this command visit during the holiday, while my mother had only one demand of me. She wanted me married—about five years ago. According to her calendar, she should have two grandchildren at this point.

 

So I hadn’t felt the least bit slighted when Alex announced he had to go to the Canary Islands for a family Christmas celebration and hadn’t invited me. Truthfully, I was relieved. However, looking at the beautiful tropical island did stir a twinge of homesickness for Southern California, where I had lived until last spring when I took a job as a location scout for a documentary series about Jane Austen’s life. The dusty, parched hills covered with scrub were such a contrast to the lush countryside of Derbyshire that it almost seemed the two places could be on different planets.

 

I’d wanted a change from the congested, fast-paced lifestyle of L.A. I’d certainly gotten it. There was a reason it was so green in Nether Woodsmoor. Rain was a constant. At first, the showers had been refreshing, but after several months, I caught myself complaining a few times, just like the locals, about the irritating rain that never seemed to stop. In all fairness, it had been a wet summer. My friend Louise, the owner of the local pub, told me, “Don’t worry, luv. Soon it will change to snow.”

 

Alex said, “The atmosphere is tense, conversations are constantly misinterpreted, and everyone is mentally counting the days until we can pack our bags.”

 

“That sounds…terrible, actually.”

 

“It’s about normal for the Norcutt family. Typical Christmas holiday.”

 

Alex’s tone was breezy, but I detected some genuine strain in his voice. “So no good holiday memories, at all?” I asked.

 

Alex paused, then said, “Well, the time in Malta wasn’t bad.”

 

Alex’s dad worked in the U.S. diplomatic core, and Alex had moved all over the world as he grew up.

 

He continued, “Sophia was our nanny, and she let us bake these green sugar cookies. She called them holly cookies. We put those tiny red candies on them for the berries. That was a good time. Dad was always busy, even on holidays. He always took extra work so his staff could have time off. I understand that now. At the time it made for a really long day of waiting around for him to come back. What about you?”

 

“I never thought my holidays were especially jolly, but compared to yours, mine are practically a Hallmark movie. After my dad left, it was just me and my mom, but she loves to cook and entertain, so she always went way overboard and cooked too much food. Every January, I vow I’m not ever eating turkey and dressing again. She always tries to get someone to come over, too, so we usually had company.” I left out the fact that my mom’s invitations were usually extended to friends who had eligible bachelors for sons. My mother’s matchmaking never took a holiday.

 

I wondered who she had lined up for next week when I flew back to Southern California. Despite telling her about Alex, she refused to believe I had a real live boyfriend. If she hadn’t met him, he didn’t exist. I knew she’d have someone there at the table with us for our delayed Christmas dinner. The price of airline tickets dropped during the week after Christmas, so that’s when I was traveling. Alex would return from his tropical Christmas, and we’d have one day to exchange gifts and celebrate Christmas before I left on my trans-Atlantic flight.

 

Well, we could exchange presents, if I found some‐ thing to give him. I’d spent quite a few hours pondering what to buy for him. So far, I had zero options.

 

A faint female voice sounded through the phone line. Alex said, “Got to go. I’ll call you later.” We set a time to talk later, and I told myself there was no reason to feel down. Surely I wasn’t one of those clingy women who couldn’t enjoy themselves without a man on their arm. No, I’d never been like that. More often than not, I’d been alone and just fine with that. Missing someone was a new sensation, one that made me slightly uncomfortable. I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted my happiness to be so dependent on another person’s presence. With Alex living in the cottage just down the lane from mine and with both of us working on the same documentary series, we had slipped into an easy routine during the last few months, riding to work together and often having dinner or stopping to pick up groceries on the way home. It was all very domestic and cozy and…nice. To have him suddenly gone, left me feeling off-kilter. It was as if the last step on the stairs had suddenly disappeared. The expected was gone, and I was stumbling around as if I’d missed a step, trying to find my footing.

 

The last thing I wanted to do was mope around, contemplating the benefits and pitfalls of relationships, so I slipped on my black peacoat, wound my scarf around my neck, and took my temporary house guest, Alex’s greyhound, Slink, for a swift walk. Slink would have preferred a run, but I’m more of a walker than a runner, but she had a long leash and spent the time surging ahead, then loping back to me as if to say, What’s taking you so long? I figured she covered twice the territory I did. Back at my cottage, she settled in for a long nap on her cushion, and I set out for the pub. Even though it was afternoon, I wanted a good cup of coffee.

 

The rain had stopped for the moment, but dark gray clouds seemed to hover only feet above the barren tree branches, darkening the afternoon so that it felt more like twilight. The little copse where the lane dead-ended was fuzzy and indistinct with mist. I tucked the umbrella under my arm and headed away from the copse toward the village, nodding as I passed a woman with short black hair who was emerging from a gray hatchback parked a few cottages down the lane. She looked startled and touched her black rectangular-framed glasses as if to see me better. She looked a bit familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen her. Probably somewhere around the village. Nether Woodsmoor was small enough that I saw the same people frequently, although it wasn’t so small that I knew everyone’s name.

 

The aptly named Cottage Lane was positioned on a rise slightly above the village of Nether Woodsmoor. And with no houses on the other side of the lane, I had an unimpeded view of the village, which was made up of cottages and shops constructed of mellow golden stone clustered around the village green and the sturdy church with its pointy spire, which today was shrouded in mist. The wide swiftly moving river cut through the village, reflecting the dark sky. Tiny white lights had been strung across the main thoroughfare, and the shops were decked out in lights, garlands, and bows. Even the street‐ lights had been wrapped in greenery. I cut down to the main road and joined the people on the sidewalk. With three days until Christmas, the shopping rush was on, even in tiny Nether Woodsmoor. I hurried on, the chilly damp air plenty of motivation to get to the pub quickly.

 

I stepped into the warmth of the White Duck Pub and made my way to the bar because all the tables around the crackling fire were filled. As I unwound my scarf and settled on a barstool, I caught sight of Louise’s ponytail. Her black hair was often tinted a black-cherry color, but today her hair was an even more festive candy apple red. With her plump figure and protective manner, she had a motherly air, especially when she dealt with her employees, but her bright, ever-changing hair color seemed to hint that she was a bit of a risk-taker. For some reason, I thought if she lived in the States, she’d own a Harley.

 

“Is it the usual today? Takeaway?” she asked. “No, I’m off today.”

 

She leaned back and blinked at me. “Off? You?” “Oh, come on. I don’t work that much…do I?”

 

Louise filled several pints and placed them on her tray. “Let’s just say, when you stop in here you’re either on your way to or from work.” It was the sort of state‐ ment my mom had made frequently, which always set me on the defensive immediately, but I didn’t have the same reaction to Louise. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, merely factual. She was one of those people who had a knack for making you feel comfortable. With her unhurried manner, I felt as if she had all day to listen, a pretty good characteristic for a pub owner.

 

“I suppose that’s true,” I allowed. Being a location scout did fill most of the hours of my day. Maybe that’s why I was a little blue. Going from a million miles an hour to…well…full stop was a bit disconcerting. Hours of uninterrupted peace and quiet to do whatever I wanted sounded lovely in the abstract. In reality, I felt adrift. “The production is shut down until after the New Year. Shopping is the only thing on my agenda. So I will have lunch, but not to-go.”

 

Louise took my order for fish and chips as she lifted the tray. I pulled out my Moleskine notebook and studied the list of gifts I needed to purchase. I’d lined through every name on the list except for Alex’s. I took out a pen and prepared to jot down a few ideas.

 

Louise returned with my food. “You’ve been frowning at that paper for a long while.”

 

“I’m stumped. I have no idea what to get Alex for Christmas. He isn’t into possessions, you know? I can’t think of a single thing he really wants.”

 

“What’s that thing he used to do? Not skiing…” she asked.

 

“Snowboarding,” I supplied as I picked up a crisp, or what I thought of as a french fry. “But he’s got all the gear for that, and he doesn’t do it much now, anyway.”

 

She nodded and rang up a check, then returned later to ask, “What about something for his camera?”

 

“I could get him a new lens or even a new camera, but that would be work-related. That seems…I don’t know, not personal enough.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I want to get him something that strikes the right balance. Not anything too extravagant, but nothing too frivolous either. Nothing that puts the pressure on, but on the other hand, I want to show him how much I…appreciate him.”

 

Louise’s eyebrows, which were normally hidden behind her long bangs, lowered into view as she frowned. “That’s a lot for one present to do, luv.”

 

“I know. I’ve thought and thought and can’t come up with anything. The days are ticking away. I have to get him something. At this point, I’ll have to buy him a tie.” I sighed. A tie would be the worst gift for Alex, who was laid-back and relaxed. His idea of dressing up was wearing khakis instead of jeans. “Or maybe a wallet.”

 

Louise looked at me sympathetically, then tossed the dishrag she’d been holding into a bucket. “You should come with me,” she said, decisively.

 

“Where?”

 

“To the Christmas Market in Upper Benning. Ella is here for the rest of the day. I have to finish my Christmas shopping. The market is huge. It’s Regency-themed, too, so you can call it research.”

 

“That could be interesting.” At our last production meeting before we broke for the holiday, the producer of the documentary series, Elise DuPont, had said that when we reconvened in January, she wanted us to pitch her ideas for future episodes. “Dazzle me, people,” she’d said.

 

The relationship between Elise and I had recently moved to a more solid footing after a shaky start, and a good pitch would keep everything positive between us. I wanted things to stay positive. I did not want to be on her naughty list again. A possible future Christmas-themed episode might be worth exploring. “And you think there will be a gift there that Alex would like? He’s not that into the Regency stuff.” He had read a few Austen novels because I recommend them, but he was far from a fanboy when it came to Jane Austen.

 

“The vendors dress in Regency costumes, but there are all sorts of stalls: food, crafts, artisan beer and wine, collectables. They have entertainment, the whole bit. And Harriet Hayden has a booth,” she said in a tone that conveyed this fact should be the clincher for me.

 

“Who?”

 

“Harriet Hayden, the author. Surely, you’ve heard of her?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh, I can’t believe you didn’t know. And you, being such a big Jane Austen fan. In fact…” Louise bent and looked under the bar. “Yes, I thought Patricia said she’d finished it.” Louise stood and held out a paperback book.

 

The cover showed a woman in a Regency walking dress and bonnet looking shyly up at a gentleman with an elaborate cravat, high collar points, and a well-fitted coat. A stately home filled the hazy distance in one corner of the cover while the title, Lasting Impressions, in an elaborate cursive font dominated the bottom third of the cover. I took the book from her and read the subtitle aloud, “A Pride and Prejudice Variation. What’s that?”

 

“It means it takes place in the same world as Austen’s P & P, but the story goes in a different direction than in Austen’s book. It’s a ‘what if’ scenario. You know, what if Elizabeth hadn’t refused Darcy’s first proposal, or what if her mother somehow forced her to become engaged to Mr. Collins? How would the story play out?”

 

“Oh, I get it. It’s fan fiction.” I flipped the book over and skimmed the list of titles by the author, which was quite long. “Your Harriet Hayden is prolific.”

 

“We’ve read them all. The book club, I mean. My personal favorite is Miss Bingley Suspects. It’s a spin-off, really, and starts a completely new series that has a lot of mystery in it as well as romance. Miss Bingley has to solve a murder at a house party and becomes quite a bit less stuffy in the process. Great fun.” Louise pointed out the title, the first of six in the series then tapped another title. “If you like a sweet romance, you should read To Ardently Love and Admire. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s backstory. That’s one of her best. The Page Turners loved it.”

 

“Page Turners? Your book club?”

 

“Yes. You should come. We meet once a month and read something Austen-related, either one of Jane’s books or something based on her work.”

 

“I’ve never read any Jane Austen fan fiction,” I said, thinking of Elise’s demand that we amaze her with our pitches.

 

Louise had been leaning, elbows on the bar, but she straightened. “Anyway, Harriet Hayden is the main reason I’m going to the Christmas market. She’s had a booth there the last few years. It’s the only place to get an autographed copy of her latest book.”

 

“She doesn’t do book signings?”

 

“No.” Louise frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand it. The chap at Slightly Foxed acts like he’s never heard of her,” Louise said, naming the only book‐ store for miles around, which was located in Upper Benning. “The owner says he doesn’t carry her books because she publishes them herself instead of through a big company.” Louise shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Harriet Hayden’s new books are always best sellers. At least, online.”

 

Nether Woodsmoor had plenty of tea shops, restau‐ rants, and stores carrying quaint items that appealed to the weekend tourists who arrived in the area to bike and hike, but purchasing anything from books to housewares required either a trip to the next larger town, Upper Benning, or an online order.

 

Louise shrugged. “So, if I want an autographed copy of Georgiana’s Intrigue it will have to be at the Christmas market. That’s her latest. I already read it on my e-reader, but I like to have the autographed paper copy, too. Are you coming with me? It’s just what you need to take your mind off this,” she said with a nod at my Christmas list. “Come on, who knows what you’ll find.”

 

I closed the Moleskine notebook. “Sounds great. I’ll run home and get Alex’s car. He’s letting me borrow it while he’s gone.”

 

Louise waved the idea away with an easy flick of her wrist. “Ride with me. My car’s right here.” She removed her green apron and greeted Ella, the teenager with long red hair who had stepped behind the bar.

 

I bundled up and followed Louise out of the pub. As we circled around to the back where her royal blue Ford Fiesta was parked, a movement along the street caught my eye. The road was busy with pedestrians toting shop‐ ping bags and compact cars zipping along, but my atten‐ tion focused on one woman across the street, probably because she was staring at me. It was as if I could feel her gaze on me, which drew mine. It was the same woman I’d seen on Cottage Lane. She took a hesitant step forward, then stopped as a car tooted its horn at her. She stepped back on the curb as the car whisked by.

 

“Kate, are you coming?” Louise called from a few feet farther down the narrow alley that ran between the pub and another shop. “If you changed your mind and want to get your car, I’ll wait. You can follow me.”

 

I took a couple of steps down the alley. “No, that’s fine.” As I turned away, I got a last glimpse of the woman.

 

She stood, her face ambivalent as she watched me. Then she turned and got into the gray hatchback. I picked up my pace and joined Louise at her car. It almost seemed as if the woman was following me. But that was crazy. Why would anyone follow me?

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2

 

 

“WHAT’S      WRONG,      LUV?”     LOUISE  ASKED as she signaled to turn into  the parking area reserved for the Christmas market.

 

I pulled my attention away from the side mirror. I couldn’t think of a single reason anyone in the world would follow me, and I would have written off the two sightings of the woman as coincidence, except that she had been staring at me.

 

Both times.

 

I had watched the road behind us as Louise pulled out of her parking space behind the pub. A small gray hatch‐ back had fallen in behind Louise’s car before we crossed the bridge and left Nether Woodsmoor. The gloomy day made it hard to see the driver, but the hatchback never passed us or closed the distance. A few times, another car slipped in between us and the gray car, but eventually the other cars passed or turned off, revealing the headlights of the gray car still shining in the side view mirror.

 

“I saw a woman as we left the pub. She was outside my cottage earlier. Both times, she was watching me.”

 

Louise gave me a worried look as she swung into a parking place.

 

“And I think she followed us here.” I twisted around and looked out the back window, but no silver car cruised by. I opened my door and stepped out, scanning the parking area.

 

“It could have been just one of those things,” Louise said. “Plenty of people out shopping today. Lots of silver cars, too.”

 

“I suppose you’re right.” I picked up my purse. “On to the market,” I said, trying to put some enthusiasm into my voice, but I continued to look at the cars as we walked to the green and its towering Christmas tree.

 

A petting zoo with several reindeer dominated one open area while a couple of stages ringed the tree. A country dance was in progress on one stage, the men and women lined up on opposite sides, stepping forward and back and weaving through the lines in elaborate patterns as music played over loudspeakers. We paused to watch the dancers, who were in Regency dress. I thought some of the women looked cold.

 

Bundled up children swarmed around a puppet show on another stage. Booths decorated with evergreen, twinkling lights, holly, and mistletoe ran around the perimeter of the green and spilled into some of the side streets, selling everything from evergreen wreaths to refrigerator magnets. The aroma of roasted chestnuts drifted our way from the food area, where I also  spotted a tent serving hot chocolate and snacks. Most of the vendors were in traditional dress, the women’s long skirts swishing as they moved and the men repeatedly lifting their chins as they tugged at their fancy cravats.

 

We browsed through the stalls, Louise picking up gifts for some of her employees, until I came to a stop in front of a booth selling antique prints. I saw one with a vintage car and flicked through the stack, stopping at a print ad with a red MG Midget convertible. The MG symbol floated in the background behind the images of the car. The text at the bottom of the ad touted the slogan, “Safety Fast!” It wasn’t the same year model as Alex owned, but I knew he’d like it. I pulled it out and showed Louise. “I think Alex would like this.”

 

“See, I knew you’d find something.”

 

The owner stepped forward. “Sorry, but that one is sold.” He pointed to a tiny sticker near the price tag. “I may have another one at my shop. Should I check for you?”

 

“Yes, please do,” I said with a sigh. Of course the only potential gift I’d found was sold.

 

“I’ll have to take your name and call you tomorrow.” He reached for a pen and paper.

 

I gave him my phone number and found Louise outside the booth, consulting the free map of the booths that we’d picked up on our way in. “Where to now?” I asked. “Should we find your author?”