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About Murder, She Wrote: A Killer Christmas

Murder, She Wrote: A Killer Christmas
Cozy Mystery

59th in Series

Setting

Maine

Publisher ‏

Berkley (October 8, 2024)

Hardcover ‏

‎ 272 pages

ISBN-10 ‏

‎ 0593640721

ISBN-13 ‏

‎ 978-0593640722

Digital ASIN ‏

‎ B0CRTW3Z9N

It’s Christmastime in Cabot Cove, but there’s more homicide than ho-ho-ho in the newest entry in the USA Today bestselling Murder, She Wrote series.

Christmas is not an easy time to sell a house, but in Boston tycoon John Bragdon, Cabot Cove Realtor Eve Simpson has found a buyer for the old Jarvis homestead. Unfortunately, Eve gets a lump of coal in her stocking in the form of Kenny Jarvis, who has been missing for years and presumed dead but has now come back to stop his sister from selling their childhood home.

Eve presses on, organizing a welcome dinner for Bragdon and his wife, Marlene, to meet the leading citizens of the town, including Jessica Fletcher. Dinner is interrupted by an uninvited guest—not Santa but Kenny, who threateningly promises Marlene she will never live in his house.

When Marlene is found dead a few days later, Kenny is the natural suspect. But Jessica isn′t so sure he′s on the naughty list . . .

Murder, She Wrote: A Killer Christmas

Chapter One

It was a gloomy Monday morning ten days before Thanksgiving, and my clock radio woke me to the tune of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." They could at least wait until the day after Thanksgiving, I thought grumpily as I threw back the bedcovers and slipped into my flannel robe.

I opened the curtains and was pleased to see that the snow that had been forecast to fall overnight had turned out to be less than predicted. Powdery white flakes dusted the grass and the bare tree branches just enough to glisten against the rising sun.

Still, I was glad that I had accepted the invitation of my friend and our town's favorite doctor, Seth Hazlitt, to pick me up and drive me to our breakfast date at Mara's Luncheonette, a warm and comfy restaurant that sat high on the wharf bordering the inlet that gave our town, Cabot Cove, its name.

I could see ice patches on the street, which was certainly not encouraging for bike riding, my usual method of transportation.

Forty-five minutes later, Seth turned the corner onto Candlewood Lane just as I opened my front door. I scurried into the car and was grateful he had set the heater to high.

We spent the short ride to Mara's talking about the weather, which was a topic that anyone who lived in coastal Maine would agree was always worthy of discussion, and in a matter of minutes, Seth was opening the door to Mara's and ushering me inside, where the smell of fresh coffee and the sizzle of bacon on the grill welcomed us.

Dan Andrews, editor of the Cabot Cove Gazette, and our town sheriff, Mort Metzger, were sitting at our usual table, which was toward the middle of the long room, in the first row of tables alongside stools occupied by fishermen and other local folks who wanted to sit at the counter so they could catch any gossip someone happened to bring in with their appetite for breakfast or a thermos to be filled with hot coffee.

As soon as our hellos and good mornings were over, Dan immediately started a conversation that could lead the four of us to the kind of idle gossip and speculation we usually left to Mara's other patrons. Dan asked if any of us had received an email from our town's mayor, Jim Shevlin, asking that we attend a meeting concerning this year's Christmas festivities.

Mort said he had received it, but then he immediately slipped into still another holiday subject. "Yep. It was at the top of my email list this morning, right above the Thanksgiving special sales notice from Charles Department Store. And right up top, that notice had an ad for an eleven-piece set of Cuisinart professional-grade pots and pans. Wouldn't that make a dandy Christmas present for someone who loves to experiment in the kitchen as much as Maureen does?"

Seth shook his head and began a loud and lengthy chortle. "As long as I was married to Ruth, I only made that mistake once. I bought what the salesman assured me was the newest, most up-to-date vacuum cleaner on the market, and he insisted my wife would absolutely love it.

"After she unwrapped her present, Ruth took one look at the box, which had a picture of a lady, complete with apron and a huge smile, hugging a vacuum, and she reminded me in no uncertain terms that she was my wife, not my housekeeper. She immediately ordered me to return the vacuum cleaner and buy a more suitable Christmas present. I got myself out of trouble with a necklace that cost twice the price of the vacuum but was worth every penny for the peace it brought. Comes to Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries, I warn you to never, ever buy your wife something for the house." Seth shook his head to emphasize the warning. "I guarantee you will get more grief than you can imagine."

Mort shifted his eyes to me. I nodded. I was in full agreement with Seth but smiled to soften the blow. "Best to follow the doctor's orders."

"With your backing Doc up, Mrs. F., I'm convinced. I'll go and scan the adverts for something better," Mort said.

Mara came to our table, coffeepot in hand, and filled my cup, then Seth's. Then she offered Mort and Dan refills. Mort gladly held up his cup, while Dan shook his head and placed a hand over his, the universal signal for "No, thank you." Done pouring, Mara took a step back so she could see all four of us. "Hmm, cold morning, a bit of snow on the ground . . . Let me guess-four short stacks of blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon each for Mort and Dan."

"Ayuh, Mara . . ." Seth began, but Mara cut him off.

"I know, Doc, delicious as my pancakes are without it, you always want extra butter on your stack." That was Mara's way of reminding us that her blueberry pancakes were consistently lauded all over Maine and in our neighboring states of Vermont and New Hampshire. She'd won so many prizes at county fairs that there was barely a smidgen of space left to display any more awards on the wall next to the front door.

Oblivious to Mara's exhibit of frustration with his constant reminders that he wanted extra butter, Seth gave her a satisfied grin and a brief nod.

While we waited for our pancakes, Dan again brought up the email he'd received from Mayor Jim Shevlin. "I don't understand why we are meeting again. I thought we'd already finished ironing out who will take care of what. It's not like we've never done this before. I am the new kid in town, and even I can recite who does what and when they do it. Hasn't changed an iota since I got here."

Although I hadn't checked my email that morning, I assumed that if Dan and Mort got a meeting notice, I did as well, so it didn't strike me as odd when Seth said he'd received one.

"I'm with you, Dan," he said. "I thought we met simply to reaffirm everyone's assignments for the pageant play as well as the Christmas Day parade. I, for one, am mighty glad that all I have to do is pick up Clara Wizzenhunt from her assisted living center, drive her to the parade site, and settle her in the Founders' Carriage before the parade starts. Then I will dash to the finish line to help her alight from the rig and escort her to the basement of the Presbyterian church, where parade participants will enjoy a celebratory breakfast. Once I return her to Shady Willows, my contribution to the Cabot Cove Christmas festivities will be done."

I could see that a worry had crossed Seth's mind, because he furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, and then he said, "Oh, I forgot to ask Mara if she will be making her blueberry pancakes this year. A few years back, she went to visit some relatives in Bangor for the holidays, and, well, the post-parade breakfast just wasn't the same."

I looked up and saw Mara heading our way, carrying a tray filled with plates of blueberry pancakes, each with steam twirling from the top. Before she could assure Seth that there was a side of extra butter tucked against the pancakes on his plate, Seth asked if she would be making pancakes in the church kitchen for the festivities after the parade.

"Of course I will. Always do when I am in town. Honestly, I missed one parade five years ago, and folks are still complaining." She put Seth's plate in front of him, allowing it to bang against the chrome tabletop a little more loudly than usual. Next was my plate, which she set down more gently in front of me while she changed the subject. "I suppose you heard the news, Jessica. Albert Pellecchia has come back to Cabot Cove. As I recall, wasn't he a student of yours?"

"Oh, he certainly was. And I cheerfully confess he was one of my favorites. As a student, he had a creative and inquisitive mind, traits that always delight teachers, especially English teachers like me. Albert's interest in literature was always inventive and often challenging. He kept me on my toes, I can tell you. Do you know if he is in town for a holiday visit, or is he home for good?"

"I would guess that Albert is planning on staying for a long while. I heard through the grapevine"-Mara gave a side-eyed glance at the folks sitting on the counter stools, one of our town's most reliable grapevines-"that he is planning on renovating the house he grew up in. Several of my most faithful 'burgers for lunch' customers are talking about the bids they are submitting for various jobs-new roof, stormproof windows, the usual things a house needs when it has been vacant for a long while."

"Still, he could be upgrading it in order to sell. As I recall, the Pellecchia place is a small house, but it sits on an oversized piece of property. With a bit of a sprucing up, a modernization if you will, it could bring quite a pretty penny." Seth was never one to ignore the financial side of things.

"Might be"-Mara shrugged-"but I don't think so. Albert seems to be settling into community life again. For one thing, he is volunteering at the homeless shelter at the edge of town. I know because he and I work in the kitchen on the same shift twice a week." Mara ended the conversation with "Enjoy your breakfast" and hurried to take a meal order from two people who had just sat down at a nearby table.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, each of us savoring the perfection of Mara's pancakes, and then Mort said, "Okay, Doc, so we know you have your assignment for the Christmas parade. What about you, Mrs. F.? Parade or pageant?"

"I suppose I could say a little of both. Doris Ann, over at the library, has asked me to ride on the library float and wave to the onlookers. I am always glad to participate in anything the library does, but I was slightly taken aback when she told me that this year's float theme is science fiction. When I said I didn't understand why she thought I would be a good fit, Doris Ann laughed and said she could always tuck some of my book jackets in the midst of the Christmas decorations along with the covers of books by Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, and H. G. Wells, and no one would know the difference. I suppose she had a point there."

Everyone laughed and Dan asked, "You said you were involved in both activities. What is your role in the pageant?"

"Oh, I don't have a role, at least not onstage. I simply volunteered to help the younger participants memorize their speaking parts. We teachers have a knack for memorization." I smiled, thinking back again to my career as a high school English teacher, a challenging job, but I loved every minute.

"At least we still have the parade and the pageant," Seth said. "I remember when we celebrated for weeks on end both before and after December twenty-fifth. In those days, the holiday season was really a season and not limited to two events only a few days apart."

"Times have changed," Mort said.

Before Seth could bemoan that very fact, I jumped in. "Speaking of time, I have an appointment for a haircut in a very few minutes. Can anyone give me a ride to Loretta's Beauty Parlor?"

Dan Andrews pushed his plate toward midtable. "I'd be happy to. I'm finished eating, and I will be passing right by Loretta's on the way to my office."

We said good-bye to Mort and Seth, stopped at the register to pay Mara, and were on our way.

When Dan pulled up in front of the beauty parlor, he said, "I have been thinking about this Christmas season, and I must admit Seth has a point. There are so many people in Cabot Cove willing to help with every community project, it seems to defy belief that we, as a community, do so little during the holidays. Maybe that is exactly what Jim Shevlin wants to talk about at tomorrow's meeting."

"Well, if that's so, I guarantee that Seth will be the first to grumble that he has enough to do chauffeuring Clara Wizzenhunt to and from the parade," I said. Then I thanked Dan for the ride, got out of the car, and headed for Loretta's pink-trimmed door.

Chapter Two

Loretta was alternating spraying her chair with disinfectant and wiping it down with a cloth when I entered. She waved and said, "I'll be right with you, Jessica. Glad you could get here. Thank goodness we only had a sprinkling of snow. Anytime we get more than four or five inches, it really messes up my schedule-everyone cancels and the rescheduling causes chaos for the next week or so, and, of course, by the time we sort it all out, there's more snow on the way, leading to more cancellations and postponements. Winter." She sighed.

Ideal Molloy was sitting under the hair dryer, and as I walked by, she gave me a cheery hello and asked if I'd happened to bring any spicy gossip with me. When I admitted I hadn't, she looked so disappointed that I said the first thing that popped into my head. "Well, I did hear that Albert Pellecchia has come home to Cabot Cove and, according to Mara, he intends to stay."

Loretta said, "That's true. When I stopped by her bakery to pick up donuts for the ladies who came in for our 'extra-early Monday morning discounts,' Charlene Sassi mentioned that Albert had come home and was sprucing up the old homestead. As I recall, he was a nice young man, well-mannered and all. Another Cabot Cove young'un who went away to college and never came back."

"Loretta, aren't you listening?" Ideal broke in. "Jessica just said that Albert has come home to stay."

Loretta shot a look at Ideal and explained slowly as if speaking to a two-year-old. "Ideal, I was talking about years ago when Albert Pellecchia was a young man and went off to some big city to seek his fortune, as the young so often do. From what I heard, he made a bundle and is back in Cabot Cove to relax and live the good life."

Loretta's assistant and resident manicurist, Coreen Wilson, came in from the back room, carrying a supply of towels that smelled like they were fresh from the dryer. As she arranged the towels on the shelf over the sink, she made her contribution to our conversation. "Well, I don't know him, of course, but my friend Kayla, who is working part-time at Charles Department Store for the season, told me that Albert Pellecchia has been doing a lot of shopping there, buying household stuff like bed linens and dishes. Kayla heard from one of her coworkers that Albert was party to a broken engagement. Word is that a few weeks before he and this other fellow were scheduled to get married, out of the blue, the other fellow scooted off to Chicago, leaving Albert high and dry."

About the Authors

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Along with Jessica Fletcher, Terrie Farley Moran co-writes the Murder She Wrote mystery series including Murder, She Wrote: Killer on the Court. She is the author of the Read ‘Em and Eat cozy mystery series and also co-writes the Scrapbooking Mysteries with Laura Childs.

Recipient of both the Agatha and the Derringer Awards, Moran has published numerous mystery short stories. The only thing Terrie enjoys more than wrangling mystery plots into submission is hanging out with any or all of her seven grandchildren.

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