Read Online Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) by Kate Kingsbury - Free Book Online
Authors: Kate Kingsbury
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looking forward to the carol-singing ceremony.”
“Something must have happened to him,” Mrs. Chubb said slowly.
Gertie exchanged a significant glance with her. She hoped it didn’t mean what she thought it might mean. The last thing they needed on top of everything else was another death in the Pennyfoot.
As if to confirm her fears, a sharp tap on the door turned everyone’s heads. Gertie caught her breath as P.C. Northcott strolled into the kitchen.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got any more of them mince pies lying around, just begging to be eaten?” The constable looked around, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I do love coming in here this time of year. It always smells of sugar and spice.” He rubbed his belly and licked his lips, reminding Gertie of the fat tabby cat that invaded the courtyard now and then.
Mrs. Chubb clicked her tongue, but walked over to the large tin box where she kept the mince pies. “I can only spare two,” she told him. “I have to make some more this afternoon.”
“Two’s plenty,” Northcott, said, his eyes lighting up. “Hand ’em over, then.”
“First you tell us why you’re here for the second time in two days.”
Gertie gripped the tea towel when she saw Mrs. Chubb’s face. She knew by the look on it that the housekeeper thought the same thing she did. She wasn’t really surprised when Northcott cleared his throat, then said quietly, “There’s been a murder, and I’m h’investigating it. That’s all I can say.”
“Is it Mr. Evans?”
Gertie hadn’t realized she was speaking out loud until she saw everyone looking at her.
Northcott looked up at the ceiling as if sending up a prayer. Then he lowered his chin. “I suppose you’ll all find out soon enough. Yes, it’s Mr. Gerald Evans. Mrs. Fortescue and the colonel found him on the beach. Stabbed through the ’eart, he was.”
Lilly made a choking sound, grabbed her throat, and slowly backed out of the kitchen.
Mrs. Chubb threw up her hands. “Now you’ve done it. It’ll be all over the hotel. Gertie, go after her. Remind her of the Pennyfoot code. Nothing of what she sees and hears here gets past her lips.”
“Yes, Mrs. Chubb.” Gertie dropped the tea towel, picked up her skirts, and charged out into the hallway.
She was just in time to see Lilly’s heels rounding the bend at the top of the stairs. Putting her head down, she chased after her.
• • •
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Northcott yet?” Baxter asked, when Cecily joined him in the suite. “I was hoping he would have cleared up this mess by now.”
“He’s probably still trying to find out where the victim lived.” Cecily sat down in front of the fire. “We both looked at the register yesterday but Mr. Evans had simply signed his name. He’d given no indication of where his home might be.”
“That’s odd, if you ask me.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Quite a few people don’t bother putting down an address. Like the gentleman who registered this morning. Mr. Fred Granson. He just signed his name, too.”
Baxter raised his eyebrows. “What if this Granson chap simply disappeared at the end of his visit without paying? You’d have no way of recouping that money.”
Cecily smiled. “Fortunately, most people are honest. In any case, Mr. Granson paid in advance. Just like Mr. Evans did. So now we have a full house again.”
“He was lucky we had a vacancy.” Baxter leaned forward to stoke the coals in the fireplace. “It always amazes me how some people come down to the coast on the off chance they’ll find a room. Especially at Christmastime.”
“It might have been a last minute decision. After all, he’s traveling on his own. Perhaps he decided that he didn’t want to spend Christmas alone and simply had an impulse to leave for parts unknown.”
“There should be a law that says guests have to write down an address when they book into a hotel.”
“Or country club,” Cecily said, with a
“Something must have happened to him,” Mrs. Chubb said slowly.
Gertie exchanged a significant glance with her. She hoped it didn’t mean what she thought it might mean. The last thing they needed on top of everything else was another death in the Pennyfoot.
As if to confirm her fears, a sharp tap on the door turned everyone’s heads. Gertie caught her breath as P.C. Northcott strolled into the kitchen.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got any more of them mince pies lying around, just begging to be eaten?” The constable looked around, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I do love coming in here this time of year. It always smells of sugar and spice.” He rubbed his belly and licked his lips, reminding Gertie of the fat tabby cat that invaded the courtyard now and then.
Mrs. Chubb clicked her tongue, but walked over to the large tin box where she kept the mince pies. “I can only spare two,” she told him. “I have to make some more this afternoon.”
“Two’s plenty,” Northcott, said, his eyes lighting up. “Hand ’em over, then.”
“First you tell us why you’re here for the second time in two days.”
Gertie gripped the tea towel when she saw Mrs. Chubb’s face. She knew by the look on it that the housekeeper thought the same thing she did. She wasn’t really surprised when Northcott cleared his throat, then said quietly, “There’s been a murder, and I’m h’investigating it. That’s all I can say.”
“Is it Mr. Evans?”
Gertie hadn’t realized she was speaking out loud until she saw everyone looking at her.
Northcott looked up at the ceiling as if sending up a prayer. Then he lowered his chin. “I suppose you’ll all find out soon enough. Yes, it’s Mr. Gerald Evans. Mrs. Fortescue and the colonel found him on the beach. Stabbed through the ’eart, he was.”
Lilly made a choking sound, grabbed her throat, and slowly backed out of the kitchen.
Mrs. Chubb threw up her hands. “Now you’ve done it. It’ll be all over the hotel. Gertie, go after her. Remind her of the Pennyfoot code. Nothing of what she sees and hears here gets past her lips.”
“Yes, Mrs. Chubb.” Gertie dropped the tea towel, picked up her skirts, and charged out into the hallway.
She was just in time to see Lilly’s heels rounding the bend at the top of the stairs. Putting her head down, she chased after her.
• • •
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Northcott yet?” Baxter asked, when Cecily joined him in the suite. “I was hoping he would have cleared up this mess by now.”
“He’s probably still trying to find out where the victim lived.” Cecily sat down in front of the fire. “We both looked at the register yesterday but Mr. Evans had simply signed his name. He’d given no indication of where his home might be.”
“That’s odd, if you ask me.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Quite a few people don’t bother putting down an address. Like the gentleman who registered this morning. Mr. Fred Granson. He just signed his name, too.”
Baxter raised his eyebrows. “What if this Granson chap simply disappeared at the end of his visit without paying? You’d have no way of recouping that money.”
Cecily smiled. “Fortunately, most people are honest. In any case, Mr. Granson paid in advance. Just like Mr. Evans did. So now we have a full house again.”
“He was lucky we had a vacancy.” Baxter leaned forward to stoke the coals in the fireplace. “It always amazes me how some people come down to the coast on the off chance they’ll find a room. Especially at Christmastime.”
“It might have been a last minute decision. After all, he’s traveling on his own. Perhaps he decided that he didn’t want to spend Christmas alone and simply had an impulse to leave for parts unknown.”
“There should be a law that says guests have to write down an address when they book into a hotel.”
“Or country club,” Cecily said, with a
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