Snowed In With Death Read online

  She was in the presence of the man who had solved every single unsolved robbery case he’d turned his hand to. Gold bullion, hidden for decades, had been dug up by him, and bounty worth millions was recovered and returned - no matter how smart the thieves had been. Rob was a personal favourite of Holly’s. She even privately thought that his off-the-wall cases and style of investigation could easily be turned into their own book or TV series.

  “Wow, Tom… you look different. But hey, I’m not judging,” Rob said, grinning at Holly and raising his hands in mock defence.

  Miranda cleared her throat and belatedly introduced Holly, who was already blushing under Rob’s scrutiny.

  She did the only thing she could think of doing and scrutinised him right back.

  Rob was in his mid-thirties, and would definitely have looked more at home on an assault course than the army specialist, Jack. He was probably a little over six-foot-three tall, with broad shoulders and an easy way of standing that let you know he was completely at ease with himself. His hair was dark and trimmed close at the sides with some longer growth on the top. The only thing that really made him stand out as a detective was his dark eyes that seemed to be taking in a hundred observations to every one that Holly made. She felt like she may as well be standing naked in front of him.

  The blush rose in her cheeks again and she finally broke eye contact - just catching a glimpse of the small smile that danced on Rob’s lips, before he spun a chair around and plonked himself down on it.

  “So, what’s been happening guys? I want the real stories this time, not all of that PR spin your agents sold to the papers. Lydia, did it really take you three whole months to figure out that it was poisoned lipstick that killed all those supermodels, or were you just playing dumb to claim more on your expenses? Come on, you can tell me.” He winked at the other detective.

  Lydia sat back in her chair and made a huffing sound that let them all know this kind of taunting was beneath her.

  Her superior silence didn’t last for long. “You’d understand the magnitude of the challenge if you saw just how much gear those girls use to get ready!” she protested.

  Rob’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re telling me they were all on drugs as well? Surely that was the first thing you told them to avoid?” He shook his head in amused disapproval.

  Lydia reached a hand up - as if to tear her own hair out - but then thought better of it.

  Rob just grinned. “Only kidding, Lyds. I wouldn’t have cracked it that much faster than you. I reckon it would have taken me at least a week,” he said, his tone serious.

  Across the table, Pete spluttered out a laugh. “I could have done it in days…” he claimed, making Emma snort.

  “I doubt you’d have ever solved it. You’d be too busy chasing tail to catch the killer,” she sniped.

  Holly noticed Miranda wincing. Confrontation was clearly something she hated.

  “Let the games begin.” Rob grinned, spreading his hands wide.

  “How about we kick off the story telling? That way, everyone can have their say,” Miranda suggested, like she was talking to a group of unruly school-children.

  To Holly’s surprise, the tension immediately diffused and the detectives mumbled their agreement. Miranda’s overly sweet, patronising way of speaking to them, strangely had the desired effect on the highly-strung detectives.

  “By the way… who drove into the hedge on the way in here? I thought all of you super-sleuths would have seen a little corner coming,” Rob said, laughing at his own joke.

  Holly subtly covered her face with her hand.

  Great.

  So, this was what it was like spending time with people who noticed every single detail. She had a feeling this weekend was going to keep her on her toes.

  If she’d known what was waiting just around the corner, she’d probably have wished herself at a convention for bankers instead of detectives.

  Then again… even death may be more preferable than that.

  “Okay, let’s do a little show-and-tell, shall we?” Miranda suggested, still in primary school teacher mode. After everything she’d heard during the last five minutes, Holly understood why. “Rob, you were the last in, so how about you go first?” Miranda asked, flashing the male detective a beautiful smile.

  Holly’s heart sank to the floor. She frowned and ignored the unwelcome sensation.

  Rob sat back and ruffled his hair, somehow contriving to make it look even more attractive. “Well, I don’t like to brag… but I’ve beaten you all again. I think it’s only right that everyone else goes first.” He grinned around the room.

  Holly heard a couple of grumbles, from which she inferred that Rob made a similar claim every year.

  Rob Frost just shook his head and raised his eyes heavenwards in mock exasperation. “Now, now, Jack… no need for jealousy. I know you work with the military to prove how tough you are, but some of us don’t have to compensate for anything… if you know what I mean.” Rob winked at Jack, who tried very hard to act as though he was above all of this.

  Fortunately for everyone’s sanity, there was someone in the room who was struggling to stay silent.

  Trolley Dash of Terror

  “Listen up people! Once you hear about my case, you won’t be laughing about murderous schoolgirls any more,” Pete began.

  “Why? Is your story not about murderous schoolgirls? And if not, why mention them at all?” Rob asked, looking genuinely confused.

  Pete’s bottom lip jutted out a little. “Technically, there were murderous schoolgirls… but the case was a lot more intricate and deadly than it might initially have appeared, given the dismal way the press reported it.”

  “I seem to remember reading that you were obliviously dating the leader of the crime ring. I can’t believe you’d sink as low as dating a schoolgirl. Wait… actually, I can, ” Emma commented.

  Pete was looking sulkier by the second. “She wasn’t a schoolgirl! She just employed and influenced a gang of highly-violent, armed schoolgirls,” he explained. It was with an effort that he managed to summon up a halfhearted slanted smile. “What can I say? I like bad girls.”

  Emma mimed sticking her fingers down her throat.

  “You dated the leader of the entire operation without knowing that she was the leader of the entire operation?” Jack said, disbelievingly.

  Pete looked like he might be about to explode. “Well, what may have started out as one thing, soon became the key to my undercover success…” he began again, but was cut off by another loud snort from Emma.

  Holly was starting to wonder if she had issues with her sinuses as well as issues with Pete.

  “I read that you were still hooking up with her until the day she was arrested. For some reason, the killer schoolgirls managed to evade every sting operation the police planned. Probably because you were blabbing about it to their boss. Then, when the game was up - after the police finally caught one of the little terrors - you happened to be staying at the leader’s house and managed to overpower her, just before the police arrived. For some reason, someone was stupid enough to credit you with solving the case and being a big hero.” Emma pretended to look thoughtful. “Seriously, who is your publicist? They really know how to work miracles.” She flashed a cruel smile in the other detective’s direction.

  He sighed and looked towards the ceiling. “That’s not how it actually went down, but you’ve basically ruined the story, and I really cannot be bothered to correct you. Believe what you want, but that was a tough case, and I got to the bottom of it. No more schoolgirls wielding sharp objects,” Pete said, crossing his arms and sinking down into his chair.

  Emma smirked around the room, but the other detectives were all pretending to be engrossed in drinking their various beverages. The rivalry between Pete and Emma was too much for any of them to stomach, and no one wanted to pick sides.

  “Seeing as you’re all so quiet, I think it’s time for me to tell you all about my greate
st case of this year. Pete, you might get bored. It doesn’t involve any schoolgirls.” Emma shot a look of mock concern across the table.

  Pete pretended to be removing an imaginary spot of lint from his shirt.

  “The case of the Tommy Gun murders wasn’t one I was initially assigned. It was just a result of me being in the right place at the right time - something which does seem to happen a lot to me,” she admitted with a great deal of false modesty.

  “It’s because you’re always sticking your nose into other people’s business,” Pete sniped.

  Emma pretended he didn’t exist. “I was doing some shopping in Hull when I heard the gunshots. Naturally, I went to see what was happening.”

  “While normal people ran the other way…” Pete muttered.

  “By the time I got there, the action had finished, but the man who’d been attacked was still there, lying in a pool of blood. I was just in time to hear his final words ‘Tommy Gun’. I knew then that I had a case. I had to find out the meaning of the dead man’s mysterious last words. Of course, I went on to singlehandedly bring down the mafia gang who’d been extorting money from Hull’s businesses for years. Although, I had no idea that I’d achieve all of that back on that fateful, tragic day…”

  “I heard that you neglected to mention to the investigating officers that the dead man had spoken to you before he died. Didn’t the police nearly arrest you for withholding evidence?” Pete interjected.

  Emma frowned. “If they wanted the evidence, they should have been there to collect it. I’m not responsible for lazy police work. Anyway, they thanked me in the end!” she said brightly, and then frowned, forgetting where she was in her story.

  “We get it. You found out ‘Tommy Gun’ was a guy with a stupid name. You stuck your nose into lots of people’s business and made such a big noise about the local mafia that the police had to take action, or publicly lose confidence. Jolly well done,” Pete said, his arms firmly folded.

  Emma smiled at him. “Thanks Pete, that means a lot coming from you.”

  Pete opened his mouth to argue that he had definitely not meant it, but shut it again.

  Emma smirked triumphantly.

  “Hey, Lawrence, I never really hear about your successes. It’s only the messy, messy failures that hit the headlines. What have you been up to this year?” Rob asked.

  Lawrence’s eyes darted around the room for a second. “You know I can’t say what I’ve been doing. Everything is classified information!” he squeaked, his voice thin as a reed.

  Rob nodded enthusiastically. “Sure, sure… Official Secrets Act and all that jazz, but what about hypothetically? Just make something up! If they’re still alive, we’ll know you did a good job - and hey, just hypothetically, right? Between old friends?” he wheedled, but Lawrence’s lips were zipped shut.

  “There are no secrets with my cases,” Lydia began, flicking her dark hair back over her shoulders. “The case of the lipstick killers was my greatest success of the past year. It all began when…” Everyone around the table exchanged looks, and Lydia faltered.

  “Sorry Lyds, you should be pleased… but that case was in practically every magazine and newspaper because of the models dying. I think I know every single detail inside and out. But you looked great in all the press shots!” Emma said, surprisingly tactfully.

  Lydia’s smile only wobbled for a second before it lifted again. “They were quite flattering, weren’t they?” she said, and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  Holly had also heard about the case back when it had all taken place. Emma was right to claim that it had been impossible to avoid. The press had flocked to cover the murders of the beautiful people and had reported the crimes in glorious, technicolor detail.

  “I suppose that means it’s my turn,” Jack said, before launching into a story so convoluted and full of military jargon that Holly barely understood a word of it. If that wasn’t confusing enough, half of the information was classified, so as well as jargon to contend with, there were also large holes in the plot. By the end, all she could figure out was that Jack may have averted a bomber from attacking a local supermarket by bundling him into a trolley and pushing him down a hill - so that he exploded away from innocent civilians.

  “Wow, Jack… that was killer! I won’t need to read any of the Andy McNab books I brought with me now,” Rob said with a smirk.

  Jack scowled at him. “Your turn, Rob. How many holes have you dug yourself out of this year?” Jack asked, trying to rile the other man.

  “I think what you meant to ask was ‘How many holes have I dug myself into?’,” Rob corrected, a stupid grin on his face.

  “I’m guessing the answer is a lot of them,” Emma said, her mouth twitching up at one side.

  Miranda glanced down at her rose gold and sparkly diamanté watch and gave a squeak of alarm. “Sorry, Rob. You’ll have to tell us over dinner. You should all go and freshen up. We’ll meet back down here in fifteen minutes. Otherwise, the roast will be ruined,” she said, before rushing off in the direction of the kitchen.

  “What a shame. I pity you all having to wait in such suspense,” Rob said, doing his best to look truly concerned.

  “Don’t worry, Rob. That’s fifteen minutes more you can use to make up something good.” Jack’s smile was frosty.

  “Ah well… at least I won't have to be too creative this year to wipe the floor with your trolley dash of terror.” Rob shot another grin at Jack, and then swiftly exited the room before the other man could reply… or throw anything heavy at him.

  The Murderer in their Midst

  Arriving on time was apparently not cool.

  While waiting for the others to arrive, Holly had ventured into the dining room to find it was decorated ready for the evening meal. Gold, bauble-adorned wreaths hung around the room, and even the mounted head of a roaring red deer stag hadn’t escaped. Tinsel was woven through its antlers. Despite the big day still being weeks away, crackers were out on the table and candles were lit. The fireplace was disappointingly empty, but the room’s heat was kept in by the thick, dark-blue velvet drapes that blocked out the snow scenes.

  “Do you know what the roast for dinner is yet?” Emma White called, sashaying down the staircase in a beautiful beige dress with colourful flowers splashed all over it. Holly suddenly wondered if her white mini-dress and beige tights were a little plain. She wished she’d thought to pack something in a different colour. With so much snow around, she’d probably disappear if she wasn’t careful.

  “I don’t know. It smells like something is being deep fat fried,” Holly confessed, already wondering if this was some secret test. Could all proper private detectives pinpoint what was for dinner, just by smelling the air in the hallway? Emma tilted her head and then nodded in vague agreement.

  “Whatever it is, I don’t know about you… but I’d take Rob Frost over dessert any day. I think he’s been spending more time in the gym than on the case recently, but I am not complaining about that.” She flashed a conspirator’s smile at Holly, who echoed it back, weakly, wondering if it was always like this in the world of investigating. Did everyone constantly swap partners? It seemed a little incestuous. The annoying voice in her head piped up to tell her that she was just jealous. She’d felt that familiar jolt of attraction when Rob had walked into the room for the first time. Her intuition hinted that the way he’d looked at her was a sign that the impressive detective had felt it too, but her knowledge of his great deeds wouldn’t allow her to believe it. There was just no way she had a chance - especially with Emma, and perhaps even Miranda, as her rivals.

  Fortunately, her tirade of self pity was cut short before she could make a fool out of herself by telling Emma what a perfect couple with perfect children she and Rob would make. Lawrence strolled down the stairs, nodding his thinning head in their direction, before walking straight past them towards the kitchen. Clearly, appetite came before manners. Next down was Jack, who made brief conver
sation, before heading straight over to the drinks cabinet. Holly rather unkindly reflected that this affection for alcohol must be the reason for his curious physique. She swallowed the thought as soon as it appeared in her head, remembering that out of all of the detectives, this military specialist had probably seen harrowing scenes that were enough to drive anyone to drink.

  “Oh, well, that’s just typical,” Emma muttered under her breath. Holly turned to see what she was talking about.

  Lydia Burns was dressed in a floor-length gown that was so deep a shade of red, it almost looked like it had been stained with blood. Despite her more senior years, Holly knew she was currently outsmarting them all when it came to fashion. Her own white dress now seemed positively plain.

  “What did I miss?” Rob appeared at the top of the stairs just behind Lydia. She couldn’t help but wonder if…?

  Emma tutted under her breath. Holly imagined they’d both made the same leap of inference. Perhaps there was hope for her as a detective after all!

  Rob grinned some more. “Oh, you girls… you make me laugh,” he said and walked down in a subtle haze of Jean Paul Gautier aftershave, leaving them all to wonder.

  “Oh good, we’re all here,” Miranda said, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen. She was wearing a ridiculously ruffle-adorned, pink apron. It suited her.

  “Uh, no… Pete’s missing,” Lawrence observed, his voice quiet, but carrying, in its thin way.

  “Shall we get on before the food you’ve worked so hard to cook for us is ruined? I’m sure Pete just wants to draw out the moment for some extra attention,” Emma said, and for the briefest of moments, her gaze rested on Holly.

  “Ah, yes… well, it is ready,” Miranda said, visibly torn between the compliment and the incendiary remark.

  “Don’t sweat it. I’ll go back upstairs and drag him out of bed. He’s probably fallen asleep. The man works too hard. What was his last case? I wasn’t really listening earlier. Schoolgirls with steak knives, or something?” Rob shook his head, still smiling. “Tough crime, tough criminals.”