A Festive Kill: A chilling holiday thriller novella that lingers long after the snow melts (The Killing Seasons FBI Crime Mystery Series Book 9) by JK Ellem

Author:JK Ellem [Ellem, JK]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 28th Street Multimedia Group
Published: 2025-12-22T00:00:00+00:00

10

BREAKING POINT

Smoke drifted in lazy ribbons through the room, carrying the scent of scorched liquor and blood. The fire hissed, half smothered by the spilled liquor.

Carolyn’s ears rang. Every sound felt distant. Morelli’s uneven breathing, Janice’s muffled sobs, the faint creak of the floorboards where Todd had been.

Had been?

Carolyn looked up to see Janice standing in the kitchen doorway, a revolver pointed at⁠—

Carolyn glanced back to where Todd was standing and saw—nothing—thin air.

“I… I think I shot him,” Janice moaned, tears streaming down her cheeks.

But Todd was gone.

Carolyn’s mind whirled briefly, trying to take it all in. Where was Todd?

Then she saw Morelli, slumped against the overturned table. Blood seeped between the fingers of one hand he had pressed into his gut.

She was on her knees in front of him before she even realized she’d moved. “Clay.”

He gritted his teeth, hand clamped over the wound. “Just a nick.”

“It’s more than that,” she said. She pulled his hand away. Blood oozed through the shirt. She pressed his hand back in place. “Pressure now.”

Morelli nodded.

Janice stumbled beside them, shaking, eyes wide and glassy. “He—he stabbed Clay—oh, God—I tried. We keep a gun. In the kitchen drawer.”

Carolyn took the gun from Janice’s trembling fingers and placed it down, then shoved a cloth napkin into Janice’s hands. “Press hard here. Keep him upright. Don’t move unless I say.”

“But Todd⁠—”

“I’ll handle him.”

The words came out flat, automatic. She didn’t look at her own hands that were slick with Morelli’s blood, trembling just enough to betray adrenaline.

A draft of cold air slid through the room. The front door stood ajar, swaying slightly. A small bullet hole was lodged in the edge of the hallway wall.

Janice had missed, and Todd was gone.

Morelli tried to push himself up. “Go,” he said. “He won’t⁠—”

“I said stay down,” she cut in. “You’re no good to me if you bleed out.”

Picking up the gun, she rose and scanned the floor. Footprints smeared in blood and cognac led toward the open front door. The knife was gone.

The lights went out again, and Janice cried out.

“Don’t worry,” Carolyn said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m used to the dark.”

“Carolyn,” Janice whispered as she knelt next to Morelli. “Who was he? What did he want?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t know yet.

But she had a feeling the answer was worse than she could imagine.

She handed Janice the gun. “If he comes back, shoot him. Just make certain it’s him, not me.”

The hallway beyond was dim, lit only by the flicker of the fire behind her. Every surface gleamed faintly: the photos on the wall, the mirror's brass frame like eyes in the dark.

She moved silently, picking up the poker again. Her pulse was steady now. Controlled.

“Todd,” she called just to be sure he had fled. Her voice echoed, low and sharp. “You’re injured. You won’t get far.”

For a moment, silence.

Then, to her shock, his voice floated back, soft, conversational, from behind her. “Funny how quickly you take charge when the men start falling apart.”

She whirled around.

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