Mistletoe Mystery Read online

  “I’d just like to know why a young girl just up and disappeared from my house.”

  “But an old man was murdered here too, according to Mrs. Cunningham.”

  “That was solved ages ago. The murderer went to prison. It’s not related, by the way. Mrs. Cunningham said so. We just threw that into the script as a red herring, along with the mention of Cold Wars and Space Races.”

  “Yeah,” said Puck. “We’re actually leaving the solution to the guests. We’re going to give a prize for the most imaginative.”

  “It could have been the old man’s ghost in the attic,” said Meg.

  “Thanks so much,” said Philly, almost choking on her drink. “Ghosts were the one thing I hadn’t thought about! Now I shan’t sleep at all.”

  “It would solve a lot of problems though,” said Meg, pointedly. Only Philly and Puck knew that she was talking about Matt.

  “I guess you could charge for ghost tours then,” Matt said, frowning.

  Suddenly there was a heavy thud outside the back door. The girls squealed, whilst the men emitted a manlier ‘Whoa.”

  “What the…” Puck went to unlock the door, letting a blast of icy air into the kitchen. Matt stood up, ready for action but still holding Philly’s hand in his.

  “What is it?” asked Philly. She only noticed she gripped Matt’s hand tighter when he smiled down at her.

  “A little blood to the fingers would be nice,” he said.

  “Sorry.” Philly tried to let go completely, but he would not loosen his own grip.

  He winked at her. “I’m not.”

  “Some snow has fallen off the roof,” said Puck. “I reckon we’re in for a thaw.”

  “What a pity,” said Meg. “I was looking forward to a white Christmas.”

  The friends all said goodnight, and Matt insisted on walking Philly to her room. When he embraced her, she welcomed his kiss, wanting to enjoy, if only for a short time, the comfort and safety of his arms. “You hear any ghosts, darling, you just holler for me,” he whispered in her ear, before going back to his own room.

  In the early hours, Philly awoke slightly when she thought she heard the muffled tinkle of breaking glass, followed by one of the guests swearing. She decided that someone had probably dropped a glass in their room whilst getting a drink. Exhausted by the excitement so far, she fell back into a deep slumber.

  ***

  “I don’t care if you have a note from your mother, Puck Jensen,” Philly said in her best jolly hockey sticks voice, “you’re still doing P.T. Of course, if you didn’t spend so much time behind the bike sheds, drinking Guinness and kissing all the girls, you might feel fitter in the mornings.”

  “Aw, Miss,” said Puck, doing a good impression of a stroppy teenage boy. “P.T. is boring.”

  They had turned the ballroom a makeshift gym. There was no equipment, apart from a couple of hoola hoops and some tennis balls that they found in the garden shed. Bill Haley and the Comets were playing on the music system, and Philly was talking the guests through a few very light dance-based exercises. Not everyone had joined this part of the weekend, due to health problems or most likely apathy, but even they would not have found the programme too strenuous.

  “And run around in a circle,” said Philly, thoroughly enjoying herself as she followed the last of the stragglers. She needed the exercise too, not having had much sleep, and found it invigorating. “Now dosey doe.”

  “What does that mean, Miss?” asked Puck.

  “I haven’t got a clue, Jensen, just get on with it.”

  The guests laughed.

  “You should be jiving to this,” said Mr. Graham. His friends, the Bennetts got out of the morning exercise by dint of being the janitor and the nurse. Mr. Graham had drawn the short straw of being a pupil. “I bet none of you young ‘uns can jive.”

  “I can,” said Philly. “So come on, Mr. Graham, put your money where your mouth is and show the others how it’s done.”

  Philly took his hand, and they began jiving, whilst everyone clapped and cheered. “Mind you,” said Mr. Graham, breathlessly, as they jigged around. “In my younger days I could have thrown you over my shoulder.”

  “Please don’t do that now,” said Philly, alarmed. “I’m not sure I could survive it, let alone you.” She spun around, laughing. “Come on, everyone, join in. Just follow me and Mr. Graham. That means you, Mr. Cassell, lurking by the door there. Some of these young ladies are short of partners.”

  “I’m the headmaster, I don’t have to do Phys Ed. Perk of the job.”

  “I’ll have you know it’s called P.T. in these parts. Or at least it was in the sixties. Don’t bring your Americanisms here. Pretty soon we’ll be overrun with burger and coffee bars. Oh yeah, I forget. We are.”

  “Okay, ladies, which one of you wants me?” asked Matt.

  “All of us!” said one woman, whose name Philly could not remember.

  “I guess you’d all better take a number then.”

  At that moment the track changed to a slower song. To Know Him Is To Love Him.

  “Saved by the bell,” said Matt, taking the woman into his arms, and dancing her gently around the room. Philly tried to ignore the pang of jealousy. After all, the woman was in her late forties, albeit very attractive. The other guests partnered up, mostly with the ladies having to partner each other, due to a lack of men. Those who managed to dance with Matt and Puck, who were the youngest and best looking men in the room, looked very smug indeed.

  “If you don’t mind, Miss Sanderson, I’ll sit down now,” said Mr. Graham.

  “Oh, of course,” said Philly, feeling guilty because all her attention had been on Matt and not her dance partner. “I haven’t overdone it, have I? I don’t want you to be unwell.”

  “No, lass, you’re doing alright. It’s a long time since I danced with a pretty young woman. It’s made my day. I’m just not as young as I used to be. One and a half songs is my limit nowadays.”

  “Between you and me,” Philly whispered, “I’m worn out too. So we’ll both have a rest.”

  Mr. Graham went to sit down, and Philly was about to go and do the same when Matt caught her arm.

  “Not so quick, Miss Sanderson.” He had somehow lost his partner, and pulled Philly into his arms, sweeping her around the floor. “You can spare one dance with the headmaster, whilst we plot and scheme our torrid affair.”

  “I thought I told you to stick to the script.”

  “You also told me I could improvise. I’m ad-libbing disgracefully.”

  “You are a disgrace. I wonder how you ever got to be a headmaster.”

  “I lied my way into the job.”

  Philly became serious for a moment. “Did you?”

  Matt laughed. “Hey, remember we’re supposed to be having fun here. This is a cosy mystery weekend, not … what’s that programme with all the miserable people you Brits love so much?”

  “Eastenders?”

  “That’s the one. Eastenders.”

  “I played a stallholder in that once. ‘A paaand of apples and pears’,” Philly intoned in her best East London accent. “Get yer jellied eels and custard right ‘ere.”

  “Jellied eels and custard? I think I’ll pass on that one.”

  “It was something like that. I forget. They did consider me as a love interest for one of the Mitchell boys, but considering their wives and girlfriends have a life expectancy of about thirty, I refused.”

  “I don’t think they actually kill them though, do they? The actress just goes on to better things.”

  “You don’t know the BBC’s attention to detail,” Philly quipped. “Anyway, to some people death is appearing on I’m a Celebrity. I haven’t sunk quite that low yet. Well…” she looked around her and wondered just where on the list an actress at a murder mystery weekend came. Probably somewhere below Z.

  “You’re doing okay,” said Matt, pulling her closer. The song had changed again, to Buddy Holly singing That’ll Be The D
ay, which was a little more up tempo, but they still danced close together. “You’re a fantastic hostess, you know. Everyone likes you, and you genuinely care about making people happy. I saw you with Mr. Graham. He’s smitten, as they all are. As we all are.”

  “I don’t think Mr. Scattergood likes me,” said Philly, trying to ignore the hammering in her heart. “He thinks I should be flogged for owning this house.”

  “He’d have to get past me first. Besides, I think he’s the kind of guy who says things for effect. I wouldn’t take too much notice of him.”

  “I just want things to go well,” Philly said. “Not to be rich, but to make enough to keep the house and to live on, so I’m not dependent on anyone.”

  “That’s a good goal to have, but …”

  “What?”

  “Well, it doesn’t hurt to turn to others for help, sometimes.”

  “I know that. This is why I’ve got Meg and Puck to help me.”

  “You don’t just have them, Philly.”

  She struggled to ignore the inference in his word, telling herself that they meant nothing. “They have their own lives, you know? I can’t expect them to stay forever. Puck could be one of the best actors in Britain. If not that then a celebrity chef. And Meg really should be a supermodel. Yet I sometimes feel as if I’m holding them back, by expecting them to do all this for me to the detriment of their own careers. I can’t even pay them.”

  “Sometimes people only want what they already have. Good friends, a roof over their heads and love. The latter being the most important thing. Regardless of what you want for your friends, they don’t need to chase any other dream, because they’re already living a dream with each other. Anyone can see that.”

  “Yes, it must be nice to find that kind of love. One that fulfils all your needs.”

  Matt stiffened. “You speak as if you’ll never find it.”

  “I… I don’t know. I just wish things weren’t so complicated.”

  “Then we’ll just have to un-complicate them.”

  “How do we do that?”

  Before Matt could answer, they heard a cry from the hall, which sounded like ‘Bon Dieu’.

  “Philly!” Meg ran into the ‘gym’. It was supposed to be a scene where, Meg, now acting as one of the other teachers, came in to tell them that Dominique could not be found anywhere. This made what she actually said all the more surprising. “Monsieur De Lacey has fallen down the stairs.”

  “What?” It took Philly a moment to realise it was not an ad-lib.

  Philly, Matt and Puck rushed to the hallway, closely followed by curious guests.

  De Lacey was sitting awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs. “I tripped on the carpet runner,” he explained, his face flushed with pain. “My ankle, I think it is broken.”

  “Let me see,” said Puck. When De Lacey looked unsure, Puck said, “Don’t worry, I’m the chief First Aider here. I know what I’m doing.” It was a requirement of running the mystery weekends that they had someone qualified in First Aid techniques.

  “It’s certainly badly bruised,” said Puck after he had examined De Lacey’s foot. “I can’t feel any breakages. Still, we’d best get you to the hospital for an X-Ray. Matt, can you drive us there, whilst I take care of Monsieur De Lacey?”

  There was no real reason for Matt to drive – Monsieur De Lacey was not in any mortal danger after all. Philly got the distinct impression from the look her friend gave her that Puck was taking Matt with him so that she and Meg would not have to worry about keeping an eye on the attic area whilst they were out of the house. Or at least not have to worry that Matt was going to search it, whilst they were busy elsewhere. It was hard to say if one of the guests had an interest in it.

  For his part, Matt did not appear to see anything strange in the request. “Sure, no problem.”

  Philly watched from the door as the three men drove away. Meg stood next to her, and put her hand on Philly’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright, love, don’t worry.”

  “I hate to sound selfish,” said Philly, “and I really do hope Monsieur De Lacey is okay, but what if he sues, Meg? He said the runner was loose. It’ll break us completely.”

  Philly and Meg walked back to the stairs, where the group of guests were already examining the scene of the crime. One might easily have come to the conclusion that this event was more exciting to them than the pretend drama of Monique’s disappearance.

  “There’s no loose runner that I can see,” said Mr. Graham. The other guests murmured in agreement. The old man took a digital camera from his pocket. “I’ll get evidence for you,” he added, patting Philly on the shoulder kindly. “If you ask me, lass, the mon-sewer didn’t want to admit he had a bit too much of the falling down water last night.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Try not to worry too much, dear,” said Mrs. Cunningham, patting Philly’s arm. I’m sure Monsieur De Lacey will be fine.”

  “I hope so,” she replied. Philly and Meg had somehow managed to improvise the next piece of the fictional drama before Philly took a group to the kitchen to prepare lunch. The Saturday lunch group were making pizzas, with much hilarity ensuing as they tried to spin thick wads of dough on their hands. Philly, Puck and Meg had arranged most of the meals accordingly, so that the guests had fun with preparing the food rather than thinking they were being forced to supply their own meals. Only Saturday evening’s dinner would be a little less complicated, as it was a traditional Christmas meal, complete with turkey and roast pork, with an alternative of spinach and goats cheese tartlets for the vegetarians in the group. Puck had left instructions to be sure that the turkey crowns and pork loins were put in the oven in plenty of time. Thankfully all the guests in that rota had to do was prepare the vegetables, roll bacon around sausages, make the bread sauce and put the Christmas puddings on to steam.

  “Everyone could see it was an unfortunate accident,” said Mrs. Cunningham. She was busy chopping tomatoes and mushrooms for the pizza toppings, whilst Philly grated a block of cheese. “I don’t know if the good monsieur was drunk or hung over, but I don’t think your carpet runner had anything to do with it.”

  “I feel really selfish, worrying about that,” said Philly.

  “But you’re not a selfish girl, anyone can see that.”

  “That’s very kind. Thank you.”

  “Oh this really takes me back,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “Not the kitchen duties. They weren’t in my remit. But being in this house. It’s amazing the things you remember. School assemblies – they were in the ballroom, of course, it being the largest room in the house. The chatter of the girls. I can almost hear it. Even the night time walking about.”

  “Did you sleep here? I thought you lived in the vicarage.”

  “Oh I did live in the vicarage. But it was part of my contract that I spent at least one night a week here, to give other teachers a night off from having to listen out for the girls.”

  “Were you here the night Dominique went missing?”

  “Erm…” Mrs. Cunningham thought about it for a moment. “Actually, no. I came into work the next morning – I was a bit late because I had a doctor’s appointment – that was when I learned I was having our son, Michael.” She smiled at the remembrance. “Anyway, I found everyone searching for her because she had not turned up for assembly, and missed her first lesson. Sometimes girls did, you know, because they wanted to get out of doing a particular class. Usually because they had forgotten do to their homework. So we didn’t worry too much at first. Only as the day wore on, and there was no sign of her did we call the police in. One thing you could be sure of with Dominique is that she turned up for meal times.”

  Philly lowered her voice a little. “I can’t remember where I heard it, but someone mentioned that a young lad called Harry was arrested here around that time.”

  “Oh yes. I’d almost forgotten about that. Harry … erm.” Mrs. Cunningham frowned. “Oh I would pick now to have a senior moment, wouldn’t I? I
forget his surname. He was found with money on him and claimed some man and woman had given it to him.”

  “Was it when Dominique went missing?”

  “Let me think. Yes, it was near that time. But not the same night, obviously, otherwise I’m sure the police would have connected it. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “You don’t think Dominique might have been involved with Harry then?”

  “I doubt it. As I’ve already told you, she was a girl without grace. Not that it’s entirely impossible. But I’m pretty sure Harry was locked up when Monique went missing. Not only that but he was a bit younger, if I remember rightly. Oh what was his surname?”

  “I heard,” said Philly, lowering her voice even further to be sure that no one else heard, “that Mrs. Bennett was his sister. Irene. Does that ring a bell?”

  “Oh yes, now you come to mention it. I remember her too. Such a sweet little girl. Their parents owned the local shop. But Harry was a bad lot. Left home at fourteen, not long after being arrested here, and was nothing but trouble for them. I wonder what happened to him.”

  “He went to Australia and became a successful businessman.”

  “Really? How wonderful. That is good to know. I don’t think he has anything to do with Monique’s disappearance. Let me ponder on it for a while and see what else I can remember. Being here has been a great help to me. Seeing the rooms, and soaking up the atmosphere. It seems that this house has never changed. It has a way of …”

  “What?” said Philly, even though she already knew the answer.

  “Inspiring devotion, even to those who don’t live here, but merely come here to work. It’s almost as if it’s a living breathing creature. But it’s hungry too. Always hungry.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Philly.

  “Oh you must know, dear. It soaks up money like a sponge. When it was rented out to the school, the agreement was that we were responsible for the upkeep during our tenure. It cost a fortune, to keep the roof fixed. It was always raining or snowing in somewhere. Then there was the heating bill.”