Death Under the Mistletoe Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Death

  Under

  the Mistletoe

  by

  Ashantay Peters

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Death Under the Mistletoe

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Ashantay Peters

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2013

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-022-2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  Thanks, Mom,

  for giving me Nancy Drew books at Christmas.

  And for allowing reading time

  when I should have been vacuuming.

  Chapter One

  “Let me get that?” A large hand reached around me.

  Two fingers steadied the board and saved the tiered cake I’d almost dumped on the ground. I’d spent hours baking the oversized confection, my version of atonement or friendship ransom, depending on your perspective.

  My would-be Santa Claus had saved my bacon—or in this case, flour, sugar and raspberries. With the wedding cake intact and yet another bridal tantrum averted, I twisted to thank the stand-in St. Nick.

  Gray Bronson.

  My stomach dropped. Best man for the wedding from emotional hell.

  With his arm around me. Again.

  “I don’t need anything from you.”

  He removed his fingers and the cake dipped.

  My muscles tensed, taking up the board’s weight. I faced the closed door, balancing the heavy dessert with both hands. “I suppose you could get the door. Seeing as how you’re here anyway.”

  He opened the side door of The Orchid Conservatory with a flourish. I stalked past his smirk heading for the reception area—or the nearest I could get to stalking carrying six ganache-filled layers of pastry.

  I settled the cake on a serving table and checked to ensure my crew had the set-up under control. Time to attend to my secondary duty, acting as reluctant bridesmaid. Lucky me.

  “Alexa said you’d play nice with me today.” His amused tone irritated me when I’d rather have experienced no reaction.

  I turned to face him. “Yes, well, your cousin has been wrong before.”

  “Chilly.” He rubbed his arms but didn’t step back. Head tilted in a familiar gesture, he smiled. “Now that you’ve wrangled the cake, need help with anything else?”

  I opened my mouth to say “no” but changed my mind. Alexa had begged an additional favor right after breakfast. I balked at handling the task alone. “Um, Alexa wanted to make sure the chapel set-up is ready. Her wedding planner will be delayed getting here.” I looked down, avoiding his expression.

  “She’s not shy about shoving this wedding in your face, is she?”

  Before I could deny his accurate observation, he moved toward the glass-domed lobby. I followed him into the Conservatory’s main hall, breathing deeply to savor the scent of blooming orchids.

  Gray stopped suddenly.

  “What?” I tilted my head and peeked around him.

  Gray spun, placing his tuxedo-covered chest in front of me. Too late. I’d already seen the grotesque spectacle.

  “No.” I leaned into Gray and closed my eyes. Maybe if I didn’t look again, the image would disappear.

  Almost-groom Roderick Vandiver hung from wires above the orchid tree. The mistletoe hovering above Rod’s head created a halo that made my stomach queasy. No bride would be kissing him any time soon. Given the pale bluish color of his skin, Roderick appeared quite dead.

  The sweet odor of orchids and holiday blooms mixed with the aroma of the additional flower arrangements ordered for the wedding. An earthy, humid smell of potting mixture added to the olfactory mix. Too bad the combination didn’t mask death’s stench.

  Shivers ran the length of my body. I knew the building’s normally cool temperatures had little to do with my tremors. Even with Gray radiating heat at my front, I felt frozen, trapped. I wrapped my arms across my chest.

  Gray’s voice reporting the death echoed from the domed ceiling and bounced off my ears. “Looks dead...haven’t seen anyone...yes, we’ll wait for the police.” His phone clicked shut.

  He turned and rested his hands on my shoulders. I edged away.

  “I wonder how long he’s been hanging there like a sick holiday wreath.”

  “You never liked Rod. Everyone knows that,” I said, “but isn’t that comment a little cold?”

  Gray snorted. He turned his electric blue gaze my way. “Why, because Roderick can’t sucker in my cousin anymore?”

  I swallowed in spite of a dry mouth. “Lots of folks suspected he angled after Alexa’s lottery money. That doesn’t mean he deserved hanging.” I waved my hand in the dead man’s direction.

  “Could be suicide.”

  “Seriously? A man marrying into millions would do himself in?”

  Gray circled the body from a distance. Once behind the human holiday wreath, he paused. “You’re right. A suicide wouldn’t bash in the back of his own head.”

  “I think that makes this a crime scene. You’d better come back here.”

  He didn’t answer as he returned to my side. I tried hard to ignore the sight above me but remained rooted, and for good reason.

  The Orchid Conservatory closed weekdays during winter except for private parties like Alexa’s wedding. The building stood mostly empty this Thursday, one week before Christmas. Early winter in Granville Falls, North Carolina, meant the afternoon light faded by four o’clock. Gloomy light combined with the dead body and mixed aromas left me more than a little creeped out. I wondered how much longer the cops would take arriving.

  “Odd, don’t you think?” Gray studied the body like an heirloom Christmas ornament. “I mean, why would someone take his pants?”

  Gray’s question directed my unwilling attention to the corpse. Once there, I couldn’t turn away. Rod wore the same tuxedo coat he’d had on the night before. The bowtie hung loose and the top buttons were undone.

  Rod’s pant-less state meant his white silk boxers fluttered with heating duct air currents. His spray-tanned bare legs were spread wide, and he wore no socks or shoes. Rod spent a lot of time on his looks. His current less-than-perfect appearance would have prompted an “over my dead body” response from him. I hated that he’d been humiliated by someone. His killer.

  “Yeah, strange.” I tore my gaze back to Gray. His cavalier attitude bothered me. I didn’t understand how anyone co
uld face death and not react. Truth told, I use humor to get past horror, but funny had little to do with murder.

  My stomach churned. I should find and join the bride, but my feet stayed planted. As her maid of honor, comforting Alexa took priority, especially preventing her from seeing her dead groom. I just couldn’t make my feet move.

  Gray quirked one blond eyebrow, but his good looks didn’t turn my head. I’d had a bad taste of him before. The recovery had taken years.

  “You know, Lily, if we hadn’t walked in together, I’d wonder if you killed him. Especially considering how he dumped you in a restaurant filled with people earlier this year. Why are you even at this wedding? And acting as Alexa’s maid of honor? I know I didn’t want any part of this.”

  My denial remained unvoiced. True I’d been one reluctant attendant. Alexa called me after months without contact, saying she couldn’t be married without me. Typical of her, she obtained my agreement to stand in as MOH before telling me her groom would be my ex-boyfriend, and his best man my first and only one-night stand.

  “You didn’t want to be best man? Weren’t you and Rod friends?”

  His mouth twisted. “Hardly. Alexa asked me.” He crossed his arms. “You weren’t his only victim, you know. He’s trouble. Was trouble.”

  How did Gray know Rod’s history? He hadn’t been back in town long. His role as best man was almost as weird as me being maid of honor, with Alexa as the common denominator. Oh, right, small town gossip didn’t have a time limit. Leave it to busybody Gray to figure out my secrets. Though he couldn’t know that, thanks to him, I found trust and men incompatible terms.

  I ignored his gambit, not wanting to know the depth of Rod’s lust-related maneuverings. “Just be thankful your cousin hasn’t seen him strung up, and keep your grumbling to yourself. I don’t know how to tell her that her Christmas fantasy wedding is cancelled.”

  A second round of shivers hit my spine. Reluctance to face Alexa kept me at Gray’s side, along with a healthy fear of running into the murderer in one of the side hallways. But based on Rod’s appearance, the killer had had plenty of escape time.

  The Orchid Conservatory’s event planner, Missy Wheeler, rushed in wringing her hands. “The bride wants you. She said the photographer is here for the pre-ceremony shots.”

  Missy’s forehead wrinkled as she checked her notes. “Oh, and your servers encountered a problem with the setup. Heavy hors d’oeuvres, cake, and wine correct? I can direct your people if you like.”

  Fast approaching sirens punctuated her comments.

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Sirens? I didn’t call the police. Must be a false alarm.” Missy turned away, apparently headed for her office, still unaware of Rod’s body. She called back over her shoulder. “Don’t forget Alexa and the photographer.”

  I risked one more glance at the man hanging over my head. Even at my lowest emotional point as his dumpee, I hadn’t imagined him murdered. Cooked in a deep fryer in my working kitchen maybe, but not strung up like a Christmas stocking looking for a mantel.

  When had I become so cynical? Christmas should be a time of peace on Earth, but numb defined my feelings. Instead of beaming joy to the world, I wanted to hide until spring.

  Alexa’s voice echoed from the glass-fronted lobby. Her rigid shoulders and stiff walk telegraphed her determination. She turned quick steps in my direction, heading straight for the death scene. Damnation. Interference needed and fast.

  My long velvet skirt swished around my ankles, almost tripping me. Even so, I managed to prevent Alexa from the sight of her dead fiancé.

  “You’re not supposed to be dressed yet. The photographer just got here.”

  Alexa’s tall, cool auburn beauty had always made me feel inferior. I’d been proud she wanted to be friends in high school but puzzled by her choice. Her clothes were always perfect, along with her makeup and hairstyle. My lank brown hair, preference for over-sized clothes, and slap-dash cosmetic use made us the human equivalent of expensive champagne matched with budget beer.

  “Where’s Roddy? He should be here by now.”

  “Bad luck to see each other before the ceremony, remember?” That didn’t count as the only bad luck, but I didn’t have the courage to hit her with everything at once.

  Sirens split the air. Slamming doors and muffled voices sounded outside.

  Alexa planted her hands on her hips and thrust her chin in my direction. “What’s going on, Lily? Did some kid pull the fire alarm?”

  A blast of cold air and the appearance of several police officers saved me from answering. I shook, and not from the sudden chill caused by cops spilling in. I rubbed my upper arms and attempted to still my chattering teeth.

  One of the officers moved toward me with serious purpose. “Where is he?”

  I pointed toward the main exhibition hall while maneuvering Alexa aside.

  She pulled away from me, shaking off my trembling hand. “What’s going on here?” She looked around the room. “Where’s Roddy?”

  “Uh, he’s here. He’s tied up right now.” Good thing she didn’t see my wince as I realized my faux pas. I hoped I wouldn’t have to explain that thoughtless comment later. Kitchen pressure and stress I could handle. Emotions, not so much.

  Paramedics ran in next. I pointed them toward Rod, knowing they’d never get a chance to save him. His stiff body had tipped me off to his status. Or rather, lack of life force.

  Alexa chose that moment to dig in her four-inch crystal heels. “Lily, this is my wedding. The maid of honor should make sure everything goes well.”

  Maybe that defined my duties in a traditional sense, but Alexa’s wedding planner, Stephanie White, had made my presence irrelevant. The woman had morphed into a dominatrix with a penchant for lace veils and rose petals. She made European railroad schedules look like kindergarten attempts at slavish obedience to a clock.

  My stomach flip-flopped. I inhaled and pushed out jumbled words. “Rod is…” I couldn’t find the words.

  Alexa’s fists punctuated her hips. “He’s drunk. Great. Just great.”

  I closed my eyes against Alexa’s anger.

  “Wait, what’s wrong with Rod?” She dropped onto a chair, probably inspired toward weak knees by my facial expression.

  I sank to the floor beside her and, against my better judgment, took her hand in mine. She continued watching me, her confused expression unwavering.

  Somehow I found the guts to spit out the truth. “What I meant to say is, Rod’s dead.”

  She shook her head. “No. No way.”

  Alexa leaped to her feet faster than I could react. Running full-out, she screeched to a stop within view of her groom’s corpse. Her faint punctuated our already crappy heart-to-heart.

  The wedding of my girlfriend to my former boyfriend wasn’t supposed to start—or end—this way.

  ****

  Missy stood before me, her knuckles white against her dark leather planner. “Stephanie hasn’t arrived yet. Would you like help notifying the guests?”

  One hundred and fifty guests were scheduled to arrive in one hour and, once again I filled in for the missing wedding planner. I didn’t know where to start. “Perhaps the police could turn folks around at the gate? Would you please ask them?”

  She left. I should have told her to have my crew serve the coffee. We’d all need some.

  “Miss, would you accompany me, please?”

  If I didn’t know I faced a police inquisition, I’d have made an instinctive smart-ass comment to the young cop. But the groom’s hideous death had my stomach clenching. Not to mention my eyes blinked like cross-wired traffic lights in attempts to keep tears from leaking.

  Poor Alexa. I couldn’t fathom how she felt. Couldn’t ask her, either, because the cops had her sequestered.

  Entering the room, I spotted Dirk Johnson, who is my friend, Katie’s, lover. Dirk is the best detective on the Granville Falls force. He’d find the killer, not a doubt in my mind.


  “Lily Carlson. I’m hoping you’re not mixed up in this scene.”

  “Hi to you, too, Dirk.” Feeling as if I couldn’t stand a minute more, I flopped into a chair. “Gray and I found Rod.” The sight had been downloaded and burned into my memory banks. No amount of deletes would help me forget. “Guess you know that.”

  “Sorry, Lily, but you know I have questions, right?”

  “Yes.” If my expelled sigh could have blown me from the room, I’d have been one happy retired bridesmaid.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Rod hung . . . there when we walked in.”

  Dirk listened to my story, making the ordeal almost painless.

  Almost.

  We stood and he held out his hand while giving me the standard warning about not leaving town I’d previously only heard on television. We exchanged palm sweat, well, I did, and I left.

  Gray waited outside the door, accompanied by the young cop. I’d like to say I felt sorry for Alexa’s cousin and his upcoming police interview, but I didn’t. We shared a history. A tale right out of 1001 Arabian Unrequited Love Stories. Me being the unrequited lover in the story. I marched past without slowing or tossing him a commiserative look.

  A few more steps took me to the small café located off the Conservatory lobby, drawn by the welcome aroma of fresh coffee. I didn’t care who supplied the brew, the Conservatory or my staff. Caffeine was all I wanted and what I got.

  Detective Matt Pulaski joined me at the silver urn. “Hey, Lily. How’re ya holding up?”

  “Fine.” I attempted a smile.

  “Look, we’ll find the creep. Your friend will get answers.”

  Yeah, and Alexa may not like them. Good thing I didn’t have to speak with her at that level. Look how I’d butchered telling her about the death.

  “You can go home soon, we just need all the immediate impressions.”

  He meant they wanted to ensure our stories matched, but not too much, like we were covering for each other. Matt didn’t fool me with that cute dimpled face.

  I pushed my hair behind my ears and rubbed my temple. The touch went unfelt. Numb, down to my toes.

  “Thanks, Matt. Can you tell me how Rod died or why he hung from the ceiling instead of the holiday wreath he replaced?”