Snowed In With Death Page 9
She knew that starting a business was never easy, and business was hard to come by until the word spread, but she’d still been hopeful. Perhaps she should ask Rob how he came by his cases and start doing whatever it was that he did. There had to be a way to make a name for herself! For now though, it was the end of an uneventful first day, and she had her resident gig at the Little Wemley Cocktail Bar to play that evening.
The next morning, Holly received a few phone calls, all asking about the job. She also had two ‘business’ phone calls that both turned out to be complete junk. One was a prank call and the other caller had wanted to interview her for his next true crime book - The Massacre of Horn Hill House. Holly had reiterated that she didn’t want to talk about it. After a little more prying, it had also transpired that the ‘writer’ had never actually written a book before. Holly had put the phone down again and reflected that she really did need a good secretary to screen calls like this one.
Her first real job landed around lunchtime.
She received a call from a village local who suspected that someone had stolen her pearl necklace. Holly had popped around, and after a very brief investigation, she’d realised that the woman’s Corgi had dragged the pearls out of the box and under the sofa. Fortunately, the corgi was so ancient it didn’t have many teeth left, so the precious necklace was largely un-chewed. Holly hadn’t had the heart to charge the woman anything like the minimum amount she and Rob had agreed was fair reimbursement for taking on a case, so she’d taken a nominal fee and left to get back to her little office, just in time for some late afternoon interviews.
She had three candidates lined up, but after looking at the CVs they’d sent through, she wasn’t any closer to picking her secretary. With the low wage and hours available, Holly knew she could hardly afford to pick and choose.
The first candidate was still in school, which made her an impossible option, as Holly needed someone to work part-time in the day. The second was a little old lady, who wanted some easy work to make a little extra during her ‘retirement’. Holly felt a bit sorry for her, and would have been tempted, as the woman had years of secretarial experience. The only problem was, she was incredibly hard of hearing and Holly knew she couldn’t answer the phone. That just left her with the last option… and it wasn’t a pleasant one.
Becky Stoney wasn’t a secretarial dream come true. She had skin the colour of light coffee, thick, black hair she swept back into a bun, and a scowl that could make milk curdle at fifty-paces. At the start of the interview, Holly had immediately thought that Becky didn’t like her. It was only later on that she’d discovered it wasn’t anything personal - Becky didn’t like anyone. But unfortunately, she wasn’t still in school and she could hear perfectly well, which automatically made her the obvious choice for the job.
“Could you start on Monday?” Holly asked, half-hoping that Becky would be awkward about working, while her sensible side sternly reminded her that she needed an assistant - and with her budget, this was apparently as good as it got.
“Okay,” Becky said and promptly left the office without a ‘thanks’ or a ‘goodbye’.
I suppose it might show that she’s efficient, Holly mused, but couldn’t help wondering if she’d live to regret employing this cactus of a woman.
The next day and the weekend passed in a blur of little cases (several mislaid items and - you guessed it - lost cats) and piano performances. Holly was using all of her time when she wasn’t solving cases to look through the endless sheets of Christmas piano music she had in her possession, poised to deal with just about any request that her many audiences might throw at her.
She was so engrossed in this practice, she’d forgotten all about Becky starting work on Monday. That was… until the woman herself stomped into the room, threw her ugly, black leather bag down in the middle of the floor, and plonked herself behind the other desk next to Holly.
“Oh! Good morning?” Holly ventured, and then bit her tongue when Becky just stared at her vacantly. Right on cue, the phone began to ring.
Her new secretary immediately seized it. “What do you want?” she demanded.
Holly winced. She could just about hear the caller on the other end of the line.
“Hello, er… is that Holly Winter I’m speaking to?”
Becky stared at the handset for a second before answering. “No,” she replied and put the phone down.
Holly wondered if it was too late to call back the little old lady who was deaf as a post…
“I think we should discuss a phone answering protocol. Perhaps you could start by saying ‘Hello, Frost and Winter Detective Agency. How may I help you?” she suggested.
Becky’s eyes glazed over.
The phone began to ring again. This time, Holly made a grab for it. Becky reached at the same time. They were still playing tug-of-war with the handset when their first ever walk-in client entered the office.
“Good morning! I’m Holly Winter, head private detective at Frost and Winter Detective Agency,” Holly felt compelled to add, in an attempt to hammer home her seniority to Becky.
Becky wasn’t even looking her way. She was on the phone again, and from what Holly could overhear, things were heading in a similar direction to that of the last call. She slapped a smile on her face and properly focused on the visitor.
He was in his late twenties and possessed an unusual head of very pale blonde hair. The hair seemed a little out of place with his dark eyebrows, but Holly could tell he was all-natural, and his eyes were similarly dark. He was dressed in a tailored, navy-blue winter jacket, thrown on over suit-trousers and a shirt. All in all, he looked like he might have just stepped off the page of a magazine, rather than off the street in Little Wemley.
Holly tried to un-notice everything she’d just seen, but it was difficult to ignore the man’s perfect appearance. Even Becky fluffed up her bun and did her best to sound as efficient at getting rid of people on the phone as she could.
“A private detective? I had no idea those things really existed outside of storybooks. What cases have you worked on?” the stranger asked. Holly felt her heart sink a little. Clearly, he wasn’t here with a mystery for her.
“Oh, this and that,” she said airily. “I recently recovered the Enviable Emerald when it was briefly stolen from the Uppington-Stanley family,” she said.
The stranger’s forehead developed a crease, while he studied her intensely. Holly hoped her cheeks weren’t as pink as she suspected they were.
“Now I know where I’ve seen you before! You were in the papers during that Horn Hill disaster.”
Holly decided not to correct him on his use of the word ‘disaster’. A disaster usually signified an event that was unavoidable, and that no one could have predicted. The murders at Horn Hill House had been planned and executed with full knowledge and intention.
“Yes, I was. How may I help you today?” she asked, finding her smile again and trying to move the conversation away from the newspaper clipping and that photo.
Her visitor raised a hand to his head, showing his forgetfulness. “Wow, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m George Strauss, chairman of the Little Wemley Archaeological Society.”
Holly raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea that there was a society of amateur archaeologists so close to Little Wemley.”
Her visitor nodded, his enthusiasm overcoming any reservations Holly may have had. “Indeed. We generally meet to discuss any finds. We also talk about past events of historical interest and argue about what may, or may not, have occurred. The older the event and the evidence, the harder it is to be sure what really happened during that time - which is why it makes for such a compelling debate.” He smiled and Holly found herself hopelessly smiling back at him.
“So, ah, Mr Strauss…”
“George,” he corrected.
“What brings you to the agency?” she finally got round to asking.
George ruffled his pleasantly side-parted hair, clearly embarrassed to ha
ve been sidetracked. “Yes, of course! I’m looking for a pianist for the annual Christmas dinner of the Archaeological Society, and you were highly recommended. I called at the post office and they told me I could find you here,” he said, probably over-explaining a little, so he didn’t come across as a wandering weirdo.
“I’ll just check my diary,” she told him, feeling her heart sink further still. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to accept the piano booking, but an evening playing piano meant she wouldn’t get to socialise at all with this handsome stranger. It would be one night of wistful longing, and then it would be over. Holly wished things could be different.
Had she known what was just around the corner, she wouldn’t have made that wish.
Books in the Series
Snowed in with Death
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A Fatal Frost
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Murder Beneath the Mistletoe
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Winter’s Last Victim
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Prequel: The First Frost
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Ruby Loren
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Also by Ruby Loren
MADIGAN AMOS ZOO MYSTERIES
Penguins and Mortal Peril
The Silence of the Snakes
Murder is a Monkey’s Game
The Peacock’s Poison
A Memory for Murder
Whales and a Watery Grave
Chameleons and a Corpse
Foxes and Fatal Attraction
Monday’s Murderer
Prequel: Parrots and Payback
* * *
EMILY HAVERSSON OLD HOUSE MYSTERIES
The Lavender of Larch Hall
The Leaves of Llewellyn Keep
The Snow of Severly Castle
The Frost of Friston Manor
The Heart of Heathley House
* * *
JANUARY CHEVALIER SUPERNATURAL MYSTERIES
Death’s Dark Horse
Death’s Hexed Hobnobs
Death’s Endless Enchanter
Death’s Ethereal Enemy
Death’s Last Laugh
Prequel: Death’s Reckless Reaper
* * *
HAYLEY ARGENT HORSE MYSTERIES
The Swallow’s Storm
The Starling’s Summer
The Falcon’s Frost
The Waxwing’s Winter
* * *
BLOOMING SERIES
Blooming
Abscission
Frost-Bitten
Blossoming
Flowering
Fruition