A Very Murder Christmas Box Set: Books 1-3 by Rosie A. Point

Author:Rosie A. Point [Point, Rosie A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

10

“No growling this time, please.”

My dachshund friend had a low tolerance level for mean people who didn’t like dogs. Last time we’d been around Mr. Pringle together, he’d asked me not to bring her along. Was it wrong that that made me suspect him of murder even more? I wasn’t a fan of non-dog people. Unless they were cat people. That was OK—if they liked dogs as well.

Dixie gave me a tail wag of encouragement. I knocked on the study door.

“Come in,” Mr. Pringle called.

We entered and found him seated behind his walnut desk, that wisp of white hair at his crown sticking up again.

“Ah,” he said. “Miss Jameson. Have you come to pick up Ollentine?”

“Kind of,” I replied.

On my list of things to do, avoiding arguing with people was way at the top. Maybe that made me a weak person, but was it so much to ask that people played by the rules and got along?

“Kind of?” Mr. Pringle frowned at me. “What on earth does that mean? Are you going to walk Ollentine or not? Need I remind you that Roberta’s last wish was to have the owl cared for appropriately.”

“I want to care for him appropriately,” I said, and withdrew my wallet from my pocket. I walked to the desk, removing a hundred dollar bill as I did. I placed the fresh note in front of Mr. Pringle. “That’s why I can’t accept your money for this job. You’re keeping a Snowy Owl as a pet which is illegal in New York. If you don’t release him, I’m afraid I’m going to have to alert the authorities.”

Mr. Pringle’s eyes widened at the accusation. He rose from his chair, and I couldn’t help noticing his pants. They were tartan!

This was shocking for two reasons. First, the lack of fashion-sense. I wasn’t smart when it came to fashion—heck, I’d spent the last few weeks wearing Christmas sweaters and beanies—but tartan pants jarred the senses. And second? The tartan swatch of fabric I’d found in the living room.

Could it have come from Mr. Pringle’s pants? If so, why would Mr. Pringle have been climbing in and out of the window of his own living room?

“Excuse me,” Mr. Pringle thundered. “Is there a reason you’re staring at my pants?”

I blushed profusely. “They’re a strange pattern.” It was the first thing that sprang to mind, other than, well, him having climbed through a window and maybe having poisoned his wife.

“Since when are you the fashion police?” he asked.

“Since never.”

“And since when are you the owl police?”

I pressed my lips together, forcing myself to remain in place and have a backbone about this. Dixie barked at him, letting out a growl despite our conversation prior to entering the room.

“I’m not the owl police, sir,” I said, “but I try to do the right thing, especially when it comes to animals. And I’m sorry, but you’re not allowed to keep an owl as a pet in New York. They’re meant to be free. Even

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