Christmas is Murder by C. S. Challinor

Author:C. S. Challinor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: rex graves mystery, mystery novels, mystery, murder mystery, murder, fiction, cozy, christmas, c.s. challinor, amateur slueth
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2008-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

“Here we are,” Rex said, a quarter of a mile down a street lined on both sides with stationary, snowed-over cars. He knocked on the green door of a semi-detached Victorian, and a cheerful-looking woman in her mid-fifties answered. He stuck out his hand. “Mrs. Bowles? Rex Graves, QC. I’ve come to see your husband about an important matter. Sorry I couldna phone in advance, but the phones are out up at the Manor.”

“Marjorie,” the woman introduced herself, taking the proffered hand. “The phones are down here too. And you can’t get through on a mobile because people are resorting to those, and everyone calling because it’s Christmas.”

“This is my friend Helen d’Arcy, a guest at the hotel.”

The women smiled at each other.

“Well, you best come in out of the cold. So you skied down? Just leave those on the mat and come on through. John has the flu but he’s out of bed now.”

She led them through the front room, past a narrow stairway and into the living room.

A television blared in front of the prostrate form of John Bowles wrapped in a blanket on a recliner, surrounded by the minty menthol smell of Vicks VapoRub. When he saw them, he picked up the TV clicker and turned down the volume on the soccer game. “Don’t get too close,” he warned through a clogged nose. “This one’s a rotter.”

“I hate to be disturbing you on Christmas Eve, especially when you’re ill,” Rex said, “but I understand Dahlia Smithings called you two days ago regarding a death at the hotel …”

John Bowles stared up at him in surprise, watery eyes streaming tears down his blotched face. “I don’t think so.”

Marjorie fluttered her hands. “She did call, John, but you were in bed. I told her you had the flu. She never said what it was about.” While her husband gave vent to a phlegmy coughing fit, which he tried to confine to a wad of tissues, she poured two glasses of eggnog and set them down with a plate of mince pies on the coffee table. “Please sit down,” she told the visitors. “When the snow started, John went out to help an elderly man who’d succumbed to hypothermia. That’s when he caught cold.”

The constable snorted mucous up his nose. “What’s this about a death?” he asked Rex. “I feel like death warmed up myself. Margie, any chance of a toddy? Lots of lemon and honey and a dash of brandy. It’s the only thing that really helps,” he informed his visitors as his wife went into the kitchen. “The Vicks soothes the chest and clears the nose passages a bit, but the hot toddy works best.”

Rex was beginning to wonder if their visit would serve any purpose other than to contaminate them with the flu germs that were almost palpable in the air. He imagined green gargoyles on legs winging around spewing virus.

“Will you be getting home for Hogmanay?” Mrs. Bowles called from the kitchen.

“Hopefully,” Rex said, raising his voice.

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