Murder on the Mistletoe Express

Book 7: Three Dahlias Mysteries

by Katy Watson

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Mystery

Synopsis

The new cosy Christmas mystery in the Three Dahlias series!

Rosalind, Caro and Posy are planning to take a much-needed break from investigating murder cases this Christmas for a winter getaway with their partners in the Swiss Alps. They've been invited to spend three days on a glamorous new luxury sleeper train, the Mistletoe Express, which Posy's boyfriend Kit is planning to invest in.

Travelling with them for the festivities are several other investors in the company. But the morning they depart, the company's administrative assistant, Olivia, is missing - just hours after warning Posy of a problem with the Mistletoe Express's accounts.

The three Dahlias' investigative minds are already whirring when, at their first destination, Olivia is discovered dead, despite never boarding the train . . .

It seems that the Mistletoe Express is brimming with secrets, and murder suspects.

Can the Dahlias catch a killer - and in time for Christmas?

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Praise for Katy Watson

'The perfect mix of cosy, festive, and twisty . . . the best kind of book to curl up with on a cold night by a roaring fire' KRISTEN PERRIN, author of How to Solve Your Own Murder

'Atmospheric, ingenious and fun!' IAN MOORE, author of Death and Croissants

'Pure festive fun' C L MILLER, author of The Antique Hunter's Guide to Murder

'Writing as crisp and gorgeous as the snow' ALEX HAY, author of The Housekeepers

'A cracking Christmas mystery' S J BENNETT, author of The Windsor Knot

Release date: November 5, 2026

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 80000

Sample

‘Why are we spending Christmas with strangers, again?’ Johnnie griped, as the car made its way up the long, winding driveway to the grand hotel in the distance.

Dahlia gave him a look. ‘Would you rather spend it with family?’

Johnnie settled back in his seat. ‘Good point. Carry on.’

Dahlia Lively in Christmas with Strangers

By Lettice Davenport, 1981

The lobby of the grand hotel on the edge of Lake Geneva sparkled and glittered with festive flair. As did she and her friends, Posy reflected as she caught a glimpse of the three of them in a large, gilt-edged mirror behind the Christmas tree laden with silver and gold decorations.

The three Dahlias were dressed in their finest, ready for the dinner ahead. Rosalind King, the eldest of the Dahlias, wore a deep, forest-green dress in a rich velvet, her white hair styled immaculately away from her face with sparkling vintage silver clips. She’d chosen little other jewellery, which only showed off the large diamond on her left ring finger to greater effect. Caro Hooper was draped in burgundy satin that clung to her curves, then billowed out over her lower half. Her dark curls were also pinned back, her lips painted in a dark red that perfectly matched her dress.

Posy, meanwhile, was wearing the gold gown she’d worn to an awards ceremony earlier that year, and hoping no one would notice – or care. Or maybe they’d think it was a good thing. Eschewing fast fashion and repeating outfits was in vogue, wasn’t it? Well, she was doing it regardless. She knew from experience that if anyone in the hotel spotted them tonight and posted their photos to social media – which they almost certainly would – some people would hate whatever she wore. But others would inevitably love it, and since the two groups tended to be equally vocal when they showed up in the comments pages, regardless of what she actually looked like, there was little point worrying about it.

You won’t ever please everybody, Caro had told her once. So I say, please yourself and be done with it.

Technically, the three Dahlias were actresses – all famous in their own way for playing that quintessential fictional Golden Age detective, Dahlia Lively, on screen. Rosalind had first starred as Dahlia over forty years ago, back in her twenties, in the original movies of the first few books. Caro had played her the longest – filming every single one of the Dahlia novels written by Lettice Davenport for TV audiences, until the series was cancelled five years earlier, when Caro was already deep in a crisis about being only two years off forty – the age when actresses tended to disappear. Posy, meanwhile, was the newest Dahlia, starring as the detective in the latest big-screen movie reboot, which had premiered the year before – thankfully to both critical and audience acclaim.

That movie was also where she had met Kit Lewis, her now boyfriend, who played Dahlia’s detective sidekick-cum-beau, DI Johnnie Swain. Their relationship was equally adored by some fans and hated by others, for reasons Posy had decided she didn’t even want to know, as it would only make her angrier with the world.

But acting wasn’t really what brought the three women together. It was solving murders that did that. Although, hopefully not on this particular adventure. Kit had promised them all a relaxing, rejuvenating winter holiday this year – partially to make up for last year’s festive nightmare, where the Dahlias and partners had ended up trapped in a snowed-in castle in Scotland, trying to solve a murder and get out before any of them were killed. Rosalind’s fiancé, Jack, had experienced a particularly close call on that front.

Not something any of them wanted to repeat.

But this Christmas was something totally different – Posy hoped.

Getting the three of them, plus partners, all together in the same place at the same time was often quite a feat, given their busy schedules. Aside from their various filming obligations, they all lived very different lives. Rosalind and Jack now lived most of the year in Wales – although Rosalind did have her bolthole flat in London, which she escaped to whenever she ‘needed the spark and atmosphere of the city’ according to her and ‘missed them’ according to Caro’s wife, Annie. Caro herself might be doing less acting work these days, but she co-ran a detective agency in London with her friend Ashok, and had a very successful publishing career, writing up the three Dahlias cases for an enthralled public.

Posy was in London too, when she wasn’t filming, but with Kit’s career taking off she found she was just as often wherever he was, or flying out to meet him somewhere glamorous for a long weekend when he had a break in his schedule.

Maybe that was why everyone had agreed to the trip so readily – it was Kit’s idea, and he was so obviously excited about having them all together for it, rather than spending his holidays with any of his new up-and-coming A-lister pals. Posy had to admit she’d been quite touched by that – the idea that her found family was his as well, now.

These days, Kit was rather more of a household name than any of the rest of them. The latest blockbuster he was starring in was filming in the Swiss Alps, where an old friend of Kit’s also had a new venture – a luxury sleeper train traversing the mountains between Switzerland and Austria. And when Kit told them that the company would be running its first journey for investors, supporters and friends for three nights over Christmas that year . . . well, who could resist? They’d all made plans there and then to join the trip.

Tonight was the night they’d be meeting their fellow festive travellers – the people joining them on their Christmas train journey. If only Posy could concentrate on the evening at hand, instead of the offhand comment Kit had made as they were heading down from their suite to join the others, she might even be enjoying it.

‘You look mesmerised by the sparkles.’ Caro nudged her in the ribs with a grin. ‘Thought you’d be used to shiny things by now, given all those awards Kit keeps bringing home.’

Posy managed what she was sure was only a wan smile in return. ‘This is true.’

Caro didn’t seem to notice her lack of excitement, though – or maybe the middle Dahlia just had enough excitement for all of them. It often seemed so. Caro tucked her hand through the crook of Posy’s elbow and pulled her forward towards the hotel bar, with its roaring fire, warming scents and seasonal greenery everywhere. Outside, the mountains, roofs and streets might be covered with snow, but in here everything was cosy and snug.

She really should be more relaxed than this. This was the luxury trip of a lifetime. She wanted to enjoy it.

Christmas had been a sensitive time of year for Posy for a long while – certainly since she became estranged from her parents as a teenager, after learning they’d embezzled all her earnings from her child stardom. For years, Christmas was just another day – one spent with people who claimed to be her friends but were mostly using her for her fame and connections, and usually with all of them too drunk or high to even remember that it was Christmas.

But then she’d taken charge of her own life, got clean, moved to London, landed the part of Dahlia . . . and, most of all, met Rosalind and Caro. Over the past few years they had cobbled together their own sort of family to spend the holidays with, and it meant more to Posy than anything. She couldn’t spend all of Christmas stewing over one passing comment from Kit. Not when she didn’t even know when the six of them would all be together again.

Kit was already at the bar with Jack and Annie, while Rosalind had found a large table that was presumably the right distance from the fireplace – Posy had spotted her standing near various other tables first, clearly testing their proximity to the flames. The one she’d picked was, Posy guessed, close enough to feel the warmth but not so near as to be too hot. Rosalind did like things exactly the way she wanted them. Posy sort of admired that about her.

‘It’s lovely to all be together for Christmas again, isn’t it?’ Caro said, with rather more sentimentality than Posy was used to from her.

I love us all being together, I just wish I had more time with you on my own. Kit’s words from earlier still hummed around inside her head.

Posy swallowed. ‘It is. I just hope it’s a rather more peaceful trip than last year’s.’

‘Has to be, really, doesn’t it?’ Caro raised her eyebrows with an impish grin.

Of course, if you move in with me in LA, once the house is finished, we could be together all the time.

He’d phrased it as a hypothetical, but the hope in his eyes had short-circuited Posy’s brain, just the same. He’d been talking for a few months now about renovating a property he’d bought in the Hollywood Hills, planning for it to be a new home base for him between movies, but this was the first time he’d mentioned her living in it too.

Was he serious? Could she really leave London? Did she want to?

And, most of all, could she really go back to LA, after everything?

Posy had no idea.

And she wasn’t going to worry about it tonight. Tonight was for enjoying, not overthinking.

Tossing her blonde hair back over her shoulders, she forced a real smile and followed Caro towards the table Rosalind had commandeered. Jack and Annie arrived moments later with drinks, followed by Kit, who brought with him not just a brightly coloured mocktail, but a jarringly handsome man around their own age with floppy blond hair and a festive waistcoat embroidered with what looked like all the gifts from ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’.

‘Everyone, meet Bash.’ Kit handed Posy her drink then gestured to his companion, who twirled his hand in the air before giving them an elaborate bow.

‘The Honourable Sebastian Foyle, at your service,’ he said, as he reached the lowest point of the bow. Then he looked up with twinkling eyes and a smile that showed his straight, white teeth. ‘But you can call me Bash – all my friends do, and I’ve heard so much about you all from Kit that we simply have to be friends, don’t you think?’

Posy had heard plenty about Bash, too, although they’d never met until now. He and Kit had connected in London years ago at some awards ceremony, long before Posy came onto the scene. Bash was there as the date of some actress or another, but had spent most of the evening chatting with Kit after they hit it off. Posy couldn’t imagine what they’d found in common, given that Bash appeared to be minor aristocracy and Kit had grown up as the son of a single mother in a less than salubrious London borough, but they’d become fast friends and stayed in touch over the years.

Posy had gleaned that, while Bash’s official job was something in finance, his real interest was getting involved in all sorts of entrepreneurial schemes, keeping him busy jetting around the world. Kit had told her about some of the more laughable failed enterprises but, this time, Bash’s latest scheme had caught his interest.

Maybe it was because he was filming out in the Alps, and with Bash working out there too they’d spent more time together. Or maybe – and Posy thought this was probably more likely – it was because Kit was a diehard Dahlia Lively fan even before he was cast as DI Johnnie Swain, and he couldn’t resist the lure of an old-fashioned, luxury sleeper train, drenched in seasonal glamour.

Whatever the reason, Kit was looking to invest in Bash’s latest project – the Mistletoe Express – and he’d brought them all along for the ride.

Despite all she’d heard about Bash over the last few years, Posy wasn’t sure anything Kit could have said would have quite prepared her for the experience of meeting Sebastian Foyle for the first time. Before she could find words to respond to his greeting, he was already making his way around the table, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, until he reached her and stopped, stepping back to give her an affectionate smile.

‘Ah, Posy Starling. You know how they say you can miss people you haven’t even met yet? Well, I think I missed you most of all. Come here.’

Posy had definitely never heard anyone say that, but all the same, she was powerless to resist the warm and welcoming hug Bash pulled her into. ‘It’s, uh, nice to meet you too?’

‘Of course it is!’ Bash stepped away with another grin. ‘Now! Who else do you need to meet . . . ah! Adrian!’ He waved across the bar to a tall, dark-haired man in an expensively tailored grey suit, who looked over with an expression of extreme forbearance – until he spotted Kit, at which point his face brightened, and he made his way across to them in quick order. A younger woman – very early twenties, Posy thought – in a similarly grey skirt suit and heels, followed, her phone and a file of papers clutched in her hands.

Neither of them had any amusingly festive items of clothing on. If Posy had to guess, even the man’s socks were a boring grey. He had that look about him – an incongruous character from a black and white movie here in this technicolour Christmas they were visiting.

Looking at him objectively, she had to admit that Adrian was probably every bit as handsome as Bash, but in a darker, more dangerous way. Something about him made her wonder what secrets he was keeping under that stern expression and impeccable suit.

‘Adrian, I’m sure you already know all these fine people on sight,’ Bash said. ‘But just in case, this is the incomparable Rosalind King and her charming fiancé Jack Hughes, the inimitable Caro Hooper and her delightful wife, Annie, and of course, the impossibly beautiful Posy Starling and our latest investor and cheerleader—’

‘Kit Lewis,’ the woman beside Adrian breathed, as if she couldn’t believe he was real. Then her eyes widened and cheeks pinked as she obviously realised what she’d done. Posy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, in case it looked like she was laughing at the poor girl. It wasn’t like she didn’t know exactly what Kit’s smouldering looks could do to a woman’s good sense.

Strange to think that, when she’d met him at Aldermere just three and half years ago, Kit was just becoming known for a Sunday-night period drama. Obviously the breeches and unbuttoned shirts had propelled him into the big time – first as DI Johnnie Swain in the Dahlia movies, and now he was slated to appear in everything from the latest action movie to at least two romantic comedies and possibly something to do with aliens, next year.

And his fan base had increased along with his work schedule. Caro had a Kit Lewis calendar she kept on top of the fridge and only hung up when he was coming to visit, just to embarrass him.

‘Indeed it is,’ Bash said, with a kind smile. ‘Everyone, this is my business partner and oldest friend—’

‘Because I’m the only one who will put up with him,’ Adrian murmured under his breath.

‘Adrian Moon, and his assistant . . .’ Bash blinked at the still pink-cheeked woman. ‘I am so sorry, I’ve forgotten your name. That’s very unlike me, I assure you.’

‘Olivia,’ she said, in a soft, embarrassed voice.

‘Olivia!’ Bash boomed. ‘Of course. His assistant, the lovely Olivia.’

Adrian took the spare chair remaining at their table, while Olivia perched on an uncomfortable high stool a little way behind, clearly waiting for her boss to intimate that he needed her for something. As Rosalind, Caro and the others fell into easy conversation with Adrian about the Mistletoe Express, and where the idea for the business came from, Bash took Kit and Posy by the arm – one on either side of him and his festive waistcoat.

‘Come on, let’s leave this lot to it, and I’ll introduce you two to the rest of our fellow travellers,’ he said. ‘There’s a couple more joining us tomorrow at the station, but dinner tonight will give you a head start on names and faces at least.’

Posy glanced back at their friends as Bash led them away, just in time to catch Adrian giving Bash a puzzled look, before Jack asked him a question and he turned back to answer it.

At the table nearest the bar, Bash introduced them to a glossy and gorgeous woman called Saskia, and her husband, a slightly paunchy and balding man called Geoffrey Thorpe.

‘Saskia was at Cambridge with Adrian and me and the gang,’ Bash explained as they all shook hands. ‘We actually used to date, back in the day, but then she obviously traded up to marry Geoffrey in a meeting of political minds!’

Posy must have looked baffled by this introduction, as Geoffrey gripped her hand tight in both of his and explained. ‘I was an MP in the last parliament. Saskia was my . . . well, she worked in my department, and that’s where we met.’

He had to be fifteen, maybe twenty years older than Saskia, if Posy was any judge. Probably a second marriage. Workplace romance made sense – she imagined that all that striving for common goals, working all hours to achieve them, was as liable to foster that sort of intense romance as a film set was.

‘And I’m not sure I’d really call what we did “dating”, Bash,’ Saskia added, a frown line settled between her brows. ‘We were students. Basically children.’

‘Some of us still are,’ Geoffrey muttered under his breath, with a glance in Bash’s direction.

But Bash either chose not to hear him or was genuinely distracted by another new arrival at the door. He flitted off to welcome a woman with tight, dark curls and pale skin, and another man, slighter and shorter than Bash himself, with mousy brown hair and tired eyes.

Leaving Kit and Posy with Geoffrey and Saskia. Great.

‘So, uh, what is it you do now?’ Kit asked Geoffrey, then belatedly turned to Saskia. ‘Both of you, I mean. Do you still work in Westminster, Saskia?’

Geoffrey had said he had been an MP, which presumably meant he wasn’t any longer. But he wasn’t listening to Kit’s question, his attention clearly somewhere over Posy’s left shoulder.

It didn’t matter, though, since Saskia seemed perfectly happy to answer for him.

‘Oh, we’re both out of that world now, thank heavens. Geoffrey likes to keep his hand in, though, keep a weather eye on what’s going on in the world. He’s on the board of a few companies now – including the Mistletoe Express, of course – aren’t you, darling?’

‘Yes, yes. Fingers in lots of pies.’ But he still wasn’t looking at them. ‘And a political career is never really over. Merely . . . lying in wait.’

Saskia seemed to ignore that part, waxing lyrical instead about the Grade II-listed cottage they’d bought and were renovating – carefully – in some Home Counties village. Posy casually turned to look behind her under the guise of checking on Rosalind and Caro, to see if she could figure out what had Geoffrey so preoccupied.

He was certainly looking in the direction of the table where they’d left the others with Adrian, but which one of them had his attention? She couldn’t be sure.

She turned back and tried to look interested in thatched roofs and the restrictions on changes to listed buildings, all the while wondering what Kit’s house in LA would look like, and who Geoffrey had been staring at.

At dinner in the hotel’s private dining room, Posy was situated with Olivia on her right, and an empty space on her left. Kit’s name card was across the large, round table, beyond the candles surrounded by festive greenery and several bottles of wine Posy wouldn’t touch. Sitting between Caro and Bash, she was sure he’d have a far more fun evening than she would, with just the starstruck Olivia for company. She’d assumed it was only Kit who affected her that way, but from the sideways looks she was giving her, maybe not. Or perhaps she was just deciding how best to get rid of Posy so she could make a play for Kit herself. She wouldn’t be the first fan to hate Posy for stealing him.

The table was set for fourteen, but even once everyone had taken their seats, the chair on Posy’s left stayed unoccupied – and she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

‘Oh!’ Saskia sat forward in her chair, her eyes wide. ‘We’re thirteen at the table. My grandmother always used to say that was terribly bad luck.’

‘The first to rise will die, isn’t that what they say?’ Geoffrey added, looking around the table at each face, one by one, as if he were deciding who should be the first to go.

Bash leaned his chair back and kicked his feet – and his shiny black leather shoes – up onto the pristine white tablecloth. ‘Shoes upon the table – that’s another one, right? Someone go break a mirror and we’ll have an unholy trinity of superstitions!’

Most of the assembled company laughed, some more cautiously than others, as the woman with the dark curls and pale skin, who Bash had introduced as Fiona, got up from her own seat and knocked his feet down again, sending Bash scrambling to find his balance on his precariously angled chair. Then she bent to whisper some admonishment or other in his ear, and Bash smirked.

Posy snorted a laugh, and looked to Olivia to share her amusement, but the younger woman’s face was devoid of colour, and she looked like she found it anything but funny.

‘Superstitious?’ Posy asked her, with a sympathetic smile.

But Olivia shook her head. ‘No. Not really. It’s just . . . it doesn’t matter.’

Posy put her glass of water down, and focused on the young woman beside her. Now she looked closer . . . Olivia’s pallor seemed more than just the result of being starstruck. ‘Is everything all right? Are you feeling okay?’

‘I’m fine, I promise.’ She forced a tight smile, then glanced around them, clearly checking to see if anyone else was listening in. ‘It’s just been an odd sort of day and now I’m just . . . I’m trying to decide if I should ask you something.’

For a selfie, or an autograph – probably with Kit, not her, if Posy had to guess. She smiled gently at Olivia and said, ‘Ask away.’

Olivia still looked uncertain, though. She glanced across the table at Kit and Bash, then towards where Adrian was deep in conversation with Fiona, then back to Posy once more.

‘Kit . . . he’s a good friend of Mr Foyle’s, isn’t he?’ Olivia said, tentatively.

‘Yes, I believe so.’ Posy gave her a curious look. This was not the direction she’d expected the conversation to go. ‘They’ve known each other for years.’

‘And he . . . he likes him? Trusts him?’ Olivia’s eyes were wide, uncertain, and Posy wasn’t sure what she was hoping for – reassurance or confirmation.

What does Olivia know – or think she knows – about Bash?

‘I think so,’ Posy said, slowly. ‘He wouldn’t be investing in the Mistletoe Express if he didn’t.’

‘No, that’s right.’ Olivia chewed on her lower lip for a moment. ‘That makes sense. That’s . . . that’s good.’

‘Is it?’ Posy wasn’t sure any more. ‘Olivia, has Bash . . . done or said something to you? Something that made you uncomfortable?’ It wasn’t quite as hard as she’d like to imagine the friendly, gregarious Bash taking things just a touch too far – intentionally or otherwise. And really, it wasn’t like she knew the man – let alone what he was like behind closed doors.

But Olivia quickly shook her head, eyes wide and startled. ‘Oh, no! No, not to me. Nothing like that.’

‘That’s good.’ Posy eyed her cautiously. Clearly the girl had some sort of problem with Bash. But what? ‘You’re worried about something, though, aren’t you? You can tell me, if you like. I know how to keep a confidence.’

‘Yes, I think you do.’ For a flash of a moment, Olivia looked much older than her twenty-something years – older, wiser and sadder. ‘It’s nothing, really.’ Her gaze darted across the table once more, back towards Adrian and Fiona – except, when Posy looked, Adrian was no longer there.

‘If you’re sure,’ Posy said.

‘I am.’ Olivia smiled unconvincingly. ‘Although . . . you might suggest Kit wait until after this trip to sign anything, investment wise.’

That made Posy’s spine stiffen. ‘Why? Is there a problem?’

‘Oh, I’m sure there probably isn’t,’ Olivia replied. ‘And I’m only an assistant – really, what would I know?’

Something, Posy was willing to bet, or she wouldn’t have mentioned it.

Olivia gave her a pained smile. ‘Just . . . let them work out all the kinks on this journey. That’s all I’m suggesting.’

Posy nodded slowly, not entirely convinced. But before she could ask any more questions, Olivia gasped as Adrian’s hand landed on her shoulder. Posy jumped a little herself. She’d been so engrossed in their conversation, Posy hadn’t even noticed him approaching from behind her. Now, he loomed over Olivia, dark eyes flashing.

‘Olivia. There are a few emails I need you to deal with, if you don’t mind. You can work out in the bar, I’m sure. I’ll have someone bring your meal to you there.’

Olivia was already scrambling to her feet. ‘Of course. I’ll just grab my laptop.’ She gave Posy a tight smile. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

‘It was,’ Posy replied, easily. ‘I hope we can talk some more once we’re on the train.’

Olivia bobbed her head in agreement, then disappeared out towards the bar, Adrian stalking behind her.

Posy glanced across the table just as Kit looked up and caught her gaze. He clocked the empty chairs either side of her, and frowned. You okay? he mouthed.

Posy nodded, even though she wasn’t, not really. How well did Kit know Bash? Enough to trust him with his fortune?

Posy knew from bitter experience how people you were supposed to be able to trust could betray you when there was enough mon. . .