Homicide at the Holidays: A Delicious Cozy Mystery (Saltcliff Mysteries Book 3) by Nancy Stewart

Author:Nancy Stewart [Stewart, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-12-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Irose once in the wee hours of the morning to attend to Santa’s plate of cookies in the lobby. I thought there was a chance that the kids’ parents might have thought to take care of it, but I wanted to be sure. We’d put a similar plate up on the mantel inside the apartment too, where Taco couldn’t find it in the middle of the night.

The plate in the lobby had been cleared, and I smiled at the overflowing stockings hanging over the dying embers of the fire. I put on a couple more logs, spacing them out to burn slowly, and then went back inside to fill Diantha’s stocking.

Almost-teenaged girls were—luckily—fairly easy to shop for if you knew who to ask. Amal had suggested lip balm and lotion, bath bombs and hair accessories. I’d also put in a small electrical programming project I thought would be fun, along with a Rubik’s cube. I was all for encouraging Diantha to use makeup and lotions if she wanted to, but I also wanted to encourage her to use her brain.

I broke off a few pieces of the cookies on the plate and took a long swig of the milk, second-guessing that last bit as I swallowed the lukewarm liquid. And then I headed back to bed, satisfied that the morning would unfold as it should, with everyone sure that Santa had made his rounds.

When the first rays of sunlight slanted through the tops of my windows, I stretched and yawned. It was the first Christmas in many years that found me waking up with a sense of excitement glowing in my chest, an eagerness to meet the day and revel in the surprises it might hold. I had a family, I realized with an expanding sense of wonder. And a boyfriend, maybe. And friends, and a whole new life. And it was all thanks to the one person who wasn’t here to enjoy it with me.

I spent a long moment in the warmth of my covers, thinking about my sister. Though the memories were old and worn with time, I did my best to pull out a few of the Christmas mornings I remembered from childhood, where Daisy and I hopped out of bed way too early to pick up our stockings and take them back to our bedroom to open together. We’d been allowed to open them before Grandmother was awake, but we had to wait for the rest of the presents until she’d had her second cup of coffee.

Those quiet mornings were joyous—just the two of us, whispering excitedly over the little gifts we found, the thrill of the day to come settling around us like a sparkly blanket.

“I miss you, Daisy,” I told her, finally opening my eyes and taking a deep breath.

I dressed in jeans and a warm, soft green sweatshirt, and slipped my feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers. After a quick pass through the bathroom, I headed out to the kitchen to finish breakfast for the guests and get the cinnamon rolls baking for our own Christmas.

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