A Jolly Little Murder: A Violet Carlyle Cozy Historical Christmas Mystery (The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Book 17) by Beth Byers

Author:Beth Byers [Byers, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2019-11-23T16:00:00+00:00

Violet spied Joan Oates the second that she stepped through the door. The woman sat in the back row and was knitting away despite the open seats at the front. Next to Joan was a woman who had the same wicked gaze and then two younger girls who carried on with the same wittiness of expression. Violet crossed to them, bypassing without regret where the mayor stood waving at her.

“Hullo, hullo!” Violet said with a grin. “How delightful!”

“Oh, Mrs. Wakefield,” the mayor said, calling Vi’s attention despite her sidestepping him. “I have reserved your party seats at the front.”

Denny waggled his brows behind the back of the mayor and one of the mayor’s daughters snorted.

“What an idiot,” his daughter hissed. “He’s blind to anything but his own teeth in the glass.”

“Shush,” the younger version of Joan Oates hissed. “Put a smile on your face, pretend to enjoy yourself. Think dark thoughts if you must—”

“I must,” one of the girls whispered back.

“But keep them to yourself,” her mother snapped.

Violet had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to hide the laugh.

“Just up here,” the mayor told Violet, holding out his hand to take hers.

“We’ve decided to sit here in the back.”

“But you won’t be able to see me there.” His confused expression was just ridiculous.

Violet took in a deep breath. Denny giggled low and then said loudly, “Violet is a bit of a theater connoisseur. You can see the whole stage better in the back, you know. A bit like box seats.”

“Oh, but—” The mayor tried to hold out his hand to Violet again. “No, no.”

“Yes,” Victor snapped. He hadn’t lost the worried expression about Kate, and he wasn’t feeling charitable. “Off with you, man. Violet likes your mother-in-law, and we’d prefer to be a bit farther back.”

The mayor blushed and then nodded. Violet took the free seat next to Joan Oates and said, “Happy Christmas, darling. Have you made all the puddings and whatnots? Only a few more days—”

“I have,” Joan replied. “This is my daughter, Shari. And my treasures, Ruby and Rachel.”

Violet winked at the girls and introduced her party.

“Oh there are a lot of you,” Ruby said. She glanced at her mother and then gestured to the seats next to herself and her sister for Ginny and Geoffrey, who escaped the others happily.

Ginny had a low-level blush since the discussion about relations between men and woman that Rita and Violet had forced on the girl during tea. She hadn’t, in fact, appeared at dinner at all, and Rita had cackled when one of the housemaids said that Ginny wasn’t feeling well.

The play was—to be plain—awful. Nearly every scene had some man fawning over Father Christmas, praising him with illogical lines. Two of the poor women who were playacting waited for laughter as they’d clearly been directed, only no one laughed, barring Denny who did—in fact—laugh enough for most of the crowd.

As the players took the stage the final time and bowed, Denny jumped to his feet, clapping loudly.

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