Mistletoe and Murder Read online

  November 30th marked the day Jack had flown to New York and the next day she’d opened up the first window of her chocolate advent calendar. But this year she wasn’t just counting down to Santa. Each little Cadbury’s Christmassy shape was one day closer to Jack’s return when she could kiss that scratchy stubbly chin again. But however much she missed him she knew the wait was worth it because once he returned, he’d be home in their little Gatehouse for good. It was the reason he’d agreed to the exhaustive book signing tour, arranging with his agent that he’d take a couple of extra days in New York to tie-up his old life. One of the many perks of his being a bestselling thriller writer was that he could work anywhere, even at their wobbly kitchen table.

  Another perk was that he’d penned some great murder mystery weekends, which the hotel offered as a special package: definitely another plus in the hotel’s ‘attractions’ column. And if she managed to pull off the Todero-Carvalho celebration, she could add ‘wedding venue’ to the list too.

  Lorcan tried the door handle of the village hall to double-check it was secured then pocketed the keys.

  ‘Well, if I don’t see you tonight for a drink, we’ll try and all meet up soon. I can crank up the old Aga and get some grub on one night up at mine.’

  ‘Sounds good!’ Amelia said enthusiastically. Lorcan was a natural host and had held many a good party in his beautiful home with guests chatting and drinking into the wee small hours of the morning, sprawling out into the garden in summer or clustered round their host’s log burner on the dark wintry nights, eating delicious stews and home-made soda bread courtesy of the old-fashioned Aga Lorcan had reconditioned.

  With a cheerio, Amelia crossed over the road to the Stone Manor Jeep, throwing her artwork onto the back seat. She’d just put on her seat belt when her phone pinged at her and she saw it was an email from James, her deputy manager. He’d attached the updated list of requirements that had just been emailed from Carlo.

  Scanning down the list, Amelia wondered how on earth she’d manage to get four dozen red roses in the north-west of Scotland six days before Christmas, source a string quartet and find white doves to be set free after the ceremony. At best Amelia thought she may be able to cobble together a couple of bunches of flowers, use the local folk duet for music and she had a dozen chickens. Maybe if she found some nice ribbon to tie in bows round their necks… Just as well I like a challenge, she thought as she started up the engine. She was just about to pull out when her mobile’s Tales of the Unexpected ringtone sounded and all wedding woes disappeared when she saw the caller’s identity.

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Hey, gorgeous!’ Jack Temple’s sultry American voice drawled down the phone at her and Amelia felt the miles that distanced them melt away. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Just wondering if our laid-back betrothed couple are secretly harbouring Bridezilla and Groom of Doom tendencies.’

  ‘Uh-oh.’

  ‘It’s fine, I’ll work it out. How’s it going?’

  ‘It’s going good. I just wanted to let you know I’ve landed in London.’

  ‘Great! Did you manage to sleep on the plane?’

  ‘Nah, not really, I’m sure the jet lag will kick in later. Just a couple of more days here for some signings then it’s back home to you.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’ll be back by Christmas.’

  ‘Hey, I can’t risk you kissing someone else under the mistletoe, can I?’

  Amelia could hear the smile in his voice and wished 22nd December was closer than four days away.

  ‘As if!’

  ‘Well, I know my charm is still irresistible, no matter where I am in the world,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’d better go, that’s the luggage coming through now. I’ve got a pretty packed day but I’ll call you later, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah, give my regards to Big Ben!’

  ‘Love you!’

  ‘Love you too!’

  She hung up and chucked her phone into her bag on the passenger seat. With everything full-on at work, the four days would no doubt fly by and then she and Jack could have their perfect Christmas together.

  Amelia sat for a moment, looking out the windscreen, taking a moment to appreciate her surroundings. She could hear the sea breaking against the rocks just a few feet away on the other side of the harbour wall, a few of the boats bobbing about with the swell of the water. At the other end of Main Street, behind the row of shops, lay a network of lanes and small roads which wound their way up the hill leading to the early nineteenth-century cottages in their charming higgledy-piggledy rows with larger stretches of greenbelt and farm land between them the further out the village they sat.

  It was no wonder Glencarlach was frequently voted one of Scotland’s prettiest villages.

  And at Christmas, it became even prettier. Lights had been attached to the row of independent shops and strung up bunting-style between the old-fashioned lamp posts, twinkling invitingly against the darkening sky.

  She sat watching as a group of men hoisted a large Christmas tree off a trailer to put into place halfway along the sea front. Amelia smiled, imagining how lovely it would look with the multi-coloured lights in place.

  She turned on the radio, cranking up the volume as Chris Rea sang he was driving home for Christmas. Pulling away from her parking space she joined in with the festive classic, thinking how wonderful Christmas would be this year.

  ‘Left a bit, right a bit, a bit more…’

  Back at Stone Manor, Amelia got to the reception desk as her brother, Toby, resplendent in his chef’s whites, was seemingly giving instructions to an eighteen-foot Norwegian Spruce which nestled into the curve of the grand, oak-panelled staircase.

  ‘A bit more…’

  The foliage quivered and inched slightly to the side.

  ‘Perfect!’ Amelia called out and James, the deputy manager, appeared from behind the Christmas tree. He blew the hair from his forehead, face red with exertion.

  ‘Is this one a better size?’

  ‘Much,’ Amelia beamed. Earlier in the day she’d discarded the ten-footer which looked lost in such a grand hall. It had been sitting there for a week and annoyed Amelia every time she’d walked past it. Now, with Christmas being so close, Amelia decided to go bigger. The smaller tree now stood, glinting merrily with fairy lights and baubles, in the dining room.

  ‘How’s everything?’

  ‘Great!’ Toby said as she followed him through the ‘staff only’ sign which led to the kitchen and other areas the guests didn’t get to see.

  Amelia’s eye lit up as she saw the Christmas pudding cheesecake just before one of the kitchen hands popped it into the fridge.

  ‘Don’t worry!’ Toby said, tying a scarlet durag behind his head, flattening down his dark brown quiff, before he picked up a massive box of veg and carried it over to one of the prep areas, ‘I’ll make sure to save you some.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Amelia dodged out the way as another chef hurried past her with a large platter of seafood.

  One of the unexpected positives of Amelia opening up the hotel was working with her brother. Growing up they’d been close despite annoying the hell out of one another; Amelia’s organised and methodical nature was at odds with Toby’s laid-back spontaneity and often Amelia would find herself falling into the older sister role and nagging her brother. Toby taking up the position of head chef could easily have been a disaster but it turned out they were the perfect business yin and yang, each making up for the other’s shortcomings and both fiercely loyal towards each other. Her brother had proven to be a very skilled chef, having honed his talent in the years he’d spent travelling.

  Amelia’s main concern was that he’d get itchy feet and want to move on to another adventure but for the first time in his adult life, Toby seemed happy to set down his roots.

  Just like Amelia, Toby had fallen in love with Glencarlach. He’d also fallen in love with the notorious actor Gideon Fey, the reformed hell-raiser and chief instigator
of the Stone Manor documentary hit. In between filming, Gideon returned to Toby and the cottage they’d bought in the heart of the village.

  ‘How many covers tonight?’ Amelia asked.

  ‘Thirty. Most are the group Christmas parties with the set menus.’ Toby turned to shout over to Craig, who, as well as being a waiter doubled up as a sommelier and mixologist for the hotel. ‘How’s the Christmas cocktail coming along?’

  ‘Made up in the pitchers and chilling in the fridge. I’ve also added a special dessert wine to go with the cheesecake,’ Craig hollered back, holding up a bottle.

  Toby went over to look and nodded in approval.

  ‘Ames!’ Toby shouted just as Amelia was heading back to the reception desk. ‘You still up for a couple of drinks in the Whistling Haggis after our shift this evening, yeah?’

  ‘If I’ve got time! I mentioned it to Lorcan too, after the art class,’ she called back as she disappeared out the door.

  ‘Right, get your coat, you’ve pulled!’

  Amelia looked up from her leather-bound desk planner where Toby stood holding out her coat, hat and scarf. He’d changed from his chef’s whites and was dressed for the outdoors. The cold outdoors, as he had on a giant padded parka, sheepskin gloves and a woollen deerstalker perched over his reinstated gelled quiff.

  ‘But I’ve…’

  ‘Nothing else to do tonight,’ he interrupted her protestations, plucking her pen from her hand and closing over her planner. ‘We have no guests tonight. Everything is prepped and ready to go in the kitchens for tomorrow and the back shift has everything in order and everyone knows what to do in the event of a last-minute booking, running out of milk, small fire, gun shoot-out, siege, kidnap or nuclear war thanks to your very thorough and informative staff update earlier,’ he teased.

  Amelia narrowed her eyes at him. Her thorough to-do lists, anxious overthinking coupled with a flair for the dramatic were an endless source of amusement to those close to Amelia.

  Toby simply grinned back, handing her her coat.

  ‘But it’s just gone half six…’

  ‘Which means more drinking time in the pub.’ He rubbed his gloved hands together in keen expectation. ‘And do you really want to be here when the village knitting and crochet group come in for their Christmas night out? You know how they get when they start on the Jägermeister shots! They’re due at seven. Everything is under control, isn’t it?’ Toby addressed Craig who was coming out of the kitchens with the chilled pitchers of Christmas cocktails, one bright red, the other green.

  ‘Yes! Don’t worry, Amelia,’ Craig nodded, ‘we’ve got everything covered. I love the new tree, much better that size,’ he said with a grin as he headed into the bar.

  ‘He’s such a suck-up,’ Toby joked with an eye-roll.

  ‘He’s just getting into the Christmas spirit as much as I am!’

  With one last look at her to-do list, with yet another email from Carlo Todero stapled to the top which confirmed the final guest list and arrival times, Amelia let Toby hustle her out the door and they walked companionably together along the pillar-lit driveway towards the centre of the village and heart of the community; the Whistling Haggis bar. Amelia had been worried about opening the hotel in what could be perceived as a direct business threat to the well-established bar. But the hearty pub grub favourites were not disadvantaged by the finer dining element of Stone Manor. In fact, the hotel had offered many job opportunities and even the Whistling Haggis’s landlord’s son worked part-time for Amelia whilst studying hospitality management at the University of the Highlands and Islands.

  Business for the Whistling Haggis continued to boom after it became a favourite fixture of the documentary and the entire village was firmly placed on the tourist trail and many of the Whistling Haggis regulars never had to buy a drink for themselves in the summer months thanks to their television notoriety!

  The pub was just under a mile away and even at a brisk walk, it was so cold that by the time they reached the village Amelia had lost the feeling in most of her toes. Opening the door to the pub, the welcome heat from the inglenook fire hit them. As always, the traditional bar was jumping, though slightly quieter than on the weekend nights when they usually had live music, courtesy of the local talent. Once the café on Main Street closed at 6pm, the Whistling Haggis was where the majority of the villagers congregated.

  ‘I’ll get these,’ Amelia said as she stuck her coat over the back of a chair at the only free table and headed up to the bar. Archie, one of the older weather-beaten farmers, of whom she was very fond, gave her a wink in greeting.

  ‘The usual, Amelia?’ Big Davey the landlord asked, hand hovering over the glasses.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘It won’t be too long until Jack’s back now, will it?’ he said as he pulled a pint of draught heavy.

  ‘Uh, no, it’s not,’ Amelia agreed.

  ‘Aye, 22nd of December will be here before you realise. Just hope he doesn’t get delayed. Travelling at this time of year can be right problematic.’ Big Davey nodded sagely as he left the pint to settle and reached up and got a bottle of Laphroaig off the top shelf and hand poured a double measure.

  ‘Especially as the weather’s going to turn too. There’ll be snow,’ Archie added.

  ‘Oh? I didn’t see that on the forecast,’ Amelia said.

  Big Davey gave a disparaging snort. ‘Ach, yon folk on the TV know nothing. It’s all in the berries. They’re big and dark red which means.…’ He paused for dramatic effect as he poured water into a little jug and set it beside the whisky, ‘…a cold and snowy winter is coming,’ he finished ominously.

  ‘Maybe we’ll get a white Christmas!’ Amelia said, quite excited at the prospect.

  Big Davey gave a non-committal shrug.

  ‘Will it get really deep?’ Amelia wondered how likely it would be if they got snowed in. Last year, her first winter in Glencarlach, unusually there hadn’t been a single snowflake, much to Amelia’s disappointment. Instead, they endured strong winds and torrential rain for most of January.

  Davey shook his head. ‘That happens much more inland towards Inverness and on the East Coast. We tend to be too close to the sea to get it bad, but I have a feeling we may get more snow than usual this year, so who knows. Don’t worry, just settle up at the end of the night,’ he added as Amelia reached for her purse.

  ‘Thanks, Davey!’

  Amelia poured a splash of water onto the whisky just to break the surface and took the drinks over to their table. She slid the pint over to Toby and sat down opposite with her Laphroaig.

  ‘Is it weird that Big Davey knows my boyfriend’s travel schedule?’

  Toby smiled. ‘MI5 can only look on in jealousy at the insider network of information that goes on in Glencarlach! The other day Archie asked me how Gideon’s shoot was going and if his cold was better – he’d seen him buying Lemsip in the chemist when he was last here!’

  Just then the door opened and Lorcan walked in and headed up to the bar as Davey automatically started to pour his drink.

  ‘Lorcan!’ Toby called and the tall Irishman turned round. Seeing them he waved and came over as soon as Davey put his drink in front of him.

  ‘Jeeze, it’s cold!’ he said, stomping his Doc Marten-booted feet and sitting down with his pint of export.

  ‘I see you’ve come prepared.’ Toby nodded to the head torch Lorcan had wrapped around his woolly bobble hat.

  ‘I know you mock, but I’d rather look a bit of an eejit than trip over a stone and break my leg in some remote spot!’ He gave a laugh as he carefully removed his torch.

  Personally, Amelia thought it a very sensible purchase and mentally added it to her to-buy list. Being so far out in the country there were no street lamps to light the way and if it was a dark, overcast night, no helpful moon or star constellations to light the sky either.

  Lorcan took off his hat, releasing his dreadlocks which tumbled halfway down his back.

  Bi
g Davey came over with a pile of leaflets. ‘Here you go, just thought you’d like a read. It’s about the village Winter Festival.’

  ‘The Winter Festival?’ Toby repeated in wonderment.

  Amelia sighed inwardly. Clearly, he hadn’t looked at the leaflet she’d posted up on the staff noticeboard.

  Big Davey nodded. ‘Because of us now being a little more on the map, touristically speaking, the village council thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of the interest in our community and get some winter events organised.’

  ‘Winter events? Like skiing? Bobsleigh? The skeleton?’ Toby asked incredulously.

  ‘Less Winter Olympics, more village fair but in the cold. I think my days of slipping into salopettes are over,’ Davey said, patting his impressive stomach.

  Amelia wondered at those days ever really beginning.

  ‘We’re organising a Christmas cake competition and a local scavenger hunt. And obviously we have the annual Christmas pantomime in January.’

  ‘Of course,’ all three echoed with due reverence. There was always a flurry of excitement when the Reverend Roddy McDade cast for the annual Christmas pantomime even though it was a foregone conclusion that Big Davey received one of the leads in return for all the free drinks the Reverend got throughout the month of December. To be fair, Amelia had heard Big Davey sing and she had to admit he was quite an impressive baritone and he clearly didn’t shy away from a little cross-dressing in the guise of Widow Twanky or an ugly sister.

  ‘And there’s the art fair too with some of the pieces carrying on to the charity auction.’ Big Davey patted Lorcan’s back. ‘Our very own village artist is chief organiser of that event.’

  ‘Yup,’ Lorcan nodded, ‘it’s coming along nicely. People have been dropping off their work up at my studio and the village hall for me to start hanging them. And people have been very generous in handing in some more antique paintings. We’ll have a good mix.’