The Christmas Thief

Book 0: Lucy Stone Mystery

by Leslie Meier

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Christmas is full of surprises in this holiday whodunit featuring Tinker’s Cove, Maine, reporter and sleuth Lucy Stone, her daughter, Elizabeth, and a gem of a mystery. For fans of cozy mysteries and the acclaimed New York Times bestselling author’s ever-popular Lucy Stone series.
 
Elizabeth Stone is ready to go home to Tinker’s Cove, Maine, for a White Christmas with her mom, Lucy—until a fancy Yule ball at the Florida hotel where she works dumps snow on her plans . . .
 
The event’s sponsor’s jewels have gone missing and the police are asking Elizabeth about her ties to a cute mystery guest. Good thing Lucy has flown down to surprise her. ՚Tis the season for a little investigating . . .
 
[*Previously published in A Winter Wonderland]

Release date: October 1, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 112

Sample

“That bag is to die for.”

As a graduate of the Cavendish Hotel chain’s Guests Come First program, Toni Leone was too well trained to point, but Elizabeth Stone followed her colleague’s gaze, which was fixed on a Chanel-style handbag made of silver quilted leather with a long, woven leather and chain strap. The woman carrying the bag was dressed in tight black jeans, stiletto heels, and a fluttering silk tunic. Her hair was bleached blond and she was hanging onto the arm of an extremely muscular man.

“It’s probably not real,” Elizabeth replied, speaking in a whisper. The two young women were wearing matching forest green blazers and standing behind the reception desk at the very posh, very expensive Cavendish Palm Beach Hotel. It was strictly against hotel policy to comment on the guests, but the staff members all did it, especially during the quiet times. The hotel was a historic landmark and attracted the rich and famous from around the world. Located right on the beach, the pink stucco building had eight restaurants, four pools, a spa, and recreational options ranging from tennis courts and an eighteen-hole golf course to paddleboats and shuffleboard. It was also steps away from Worth Avenue, which was lined with designer boutiques such as Gucci, Armani, Ralph Lauren, and Cartier.

“Of course it’s real,” Toni replied, giving her wavy blond hair a toss. “I saw it in the window at the Chanel store. I can tell the difference between a genuine Chanel bag and a knockoff and I’m surprised you can’t.”

Elizabeth shrugged and tucked her short, dark hair behind her ears. “If it’s real, it’s the only genuine thing about her. Her hair’s bleached, and I bet she’s had quite a bit of work done.” She gazed across the vast, luxuriously appointed lobby—where a round gilt and marble table with an enormous display of pink poinsettias was centered beneath a fabulous crystal chandelier—and through the glass doors, where the sun was shining brightly on a flower bed filled with colorful tropical plants. She shook her head. “I’ve been in Florida for almost six months and I’m still not used to this weather. Eighty-two degrees and sunny—can you believe it’s almost Christmas?”

“Uh, yeah,” Toni said, winding a lock of hair around her finger. “They put the poinsettias and amaryllis plants in the lobby weeks ago.” She’d lived in Florida her entire life and didn’t find the climate the least bit odd, unlike Elizabeth, who had grown up in Tinker’s Cove, a small town located on the coast of Maine. “Don’t tell me you miss the snow—most people come to Florida to get away from the cold winters up north.”

Elizabeth hit a few keys on her computer and went to a favorite site. “It’s twenty-five and snowing in Tinker’s Cove,” she said. “Looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas.”

Toni looked over her shoulder at the live-cam image showing a lighthouse with snow swirling all around it and rough surf crashing on the rugged gray rocks below. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Why do you want to go there for Christmas?”

Elizabeth smiled. “It’s home. There’ll be tree trimming and carol singing. . . .”

“You can do that here.”

“It’s not the same,” Elizabeth said. “You have to go caroling in the snow and have hot chocolate afterward, in front of a roaring fire.”

“I’d rather have a chilled martini on a deck overlooking the ocean, watching the sunset.”

Elizabeth laughed. “That’s nice, too, but Christmas is about family. I miss my mom and dad and my sisters and my brother and especially my little nephew, Patrick. He’s almost three now and he’s very excited about Santa Claus.”

“Well, you’ve only got to wait a little more than two weeks and you’ll be on your way, flying north.” She shivered. “Personally, I think you’re crazy to take your vacation in December. The hotel’s really busy at Christmas and I’m going to be keeping an eye out for Mr. Right.”

“Tell me, again, what makes him Mr. Right?” Elizabeth urged.

“Well, he has to be tall, and good-looking, and sweet, really considerate,” said Toni, just as a very ugly, very short man came through the revolving door, dressed head to toe in Ralph Lauren resort wear and sporting an enormous gold watch on a very hairy wrist. “But I’ll be willing to overlook all that if he’s rich,” she added, under her breath as she pasted on a smile. “Welcome to the Cavendish, Mr. Moore. It’s so nice to see you again.”

“It’s nice to be back,” he replied. “This place feels like home. I don’t know how you do it but I know I’m going to find my bags waiting for me in my room, there’ll be an extra-firm pillow on my bed with a sugar-free chocolate, and my favorite low-cal beer is going to be in the minibar.”

“That’s our little secret,” Toni said. “Is it the same Visa account?”

“No, no.” Mr. Moore produced an American Express platinum card. “I’ve got a new one.”

“Very well.” Toni was clicking away at her keyboard, adding the new information to the extensive database the Cavendish chain maintained about all its customers. That database, envied throughout the entire hospitality industry, allowed Cavendish employees to provide top notch service personally tailored to every guest, and was the reason why Mr. Moore found that extra-firm pillow, sugar-free chocolate, and light beer waiting for him in his room. “Have a pleasant stay,” Toni said, handing him the key card. “Room three-oh-five, overlooking the pool.”

“See?” he asked Elizabeth, holding up the key card. “My favorite room. You guys take better care of me than my wife does.”

“It’s our pleasure,” she said. “Just give us a call if there’s anything we can do for you.”

“Right-o,” he said, giving them a little salute with his key card and making his way to the elevator, pausing here and there to admire the blooming orchids and other holiday decorations.

“You know why he likes room three-oh-five, don’t you?” Toni asked.

“The view of the pool?” Elizabeth suggested.

“Think again. It’s not the pool, it’s the women in skimpy swimsuits.”

“So Mr. Moore is a bit of a voyeur,” said Elizabeth, giggling, just as the hotel manager, Sergei Dimitri, came out of his office, which was located behind the reception desk.

Mr. Dimitri was a neat, middle-aged man with slicked back hair, a small mustache, and a pronounced French accent. Guests adored him, frequently commenting on his warm smile and accommodating nature, but staff members had a somewhat less favorable opinion of him. “Ladies, ladies, how many times must I warn you not to talk about the guests? They pay your salaries, remember that.”

“Of course, Mr. Dimitri,” Toni said with an innocent expression.

His gaze rested on Elizabeth. “I’m surprised at you, Elizabeth. I don’t want to have to place you on probation.”

Elizabeth didn’t like the sound of that—employees who were on probation could not take vacation time. “Oh, please no, Mr. Dimitri,” she said. “I’m terribly sorry.”

Mr. Dimitri’s eyes were hard, like round black buttons, and his mustache bristled. “You’ve been warned. Don’t let it happen again.”

“Oh, it won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

“And don’t forget,” he told them, “there’s a staff meeting this afternoon, when your shift ends.”

Elizabeth felt like groaning, but restrained the impulse. Staff meetings were held off the clock, on employees’ own time, and she had been planning to spend the evening digging her cold-weather clothes out of storage, in anticipation of her vacation.

“We’ll be there,” Toni said. “Never fear.”

“Good,” Mr. Dimitri said, spying an elderly guest exiting the elevator, looking a bit lost. “Mrs. Fahnstock,” he cooed, hurrying toward her. “What can I do for you?”

Mrs. Fahnstock’s wrinkled face immediately brightened. “Oh, Mr. Dimitri, how lovely to see you.”

“Is something the matter, dear lady?”

“Well, this is so silly of me, but I’m supposed to meet my friend, Doris, and I can’t seem to find the Victorian Tea Room. Has it been moved?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

“Never fear, these corridors can be confusing.” Mr. Dimitri snapped his fingers. “Elizabeth, please escort Mrs. Fahnstock to the Victorian Tea Room.”

Elizabeth hurried across the thickly carpeted space and Mrs. Fahnstock’s look of befuddlement was replaced with a serene smile. “You’re such a darling to help me,” she said.

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Fahnstock,” Elizabeth said, taking her arm. “Now if you’ll just come this way I’m sure we’ll find your friend waiting for you.”

Mr. Dimitri stood watching, a thoughtful expression on his face, as Elizabeth escorted the elderly guest through the spacious lobby, which was dotted with numerous luxuriously appointed seating areas. He noticed with approval the way she matched her pace to the old woman’s, and kept up a lively conversation as they proceeded along the paneled and carpeted corridor leading to the tea room.

The hotel’s largest function room, the Bougainvillea Room, was packed with employees when Elizabeth and Toni arrived, and everybody was talking, expressing different expectations a. . .