Christmas is Murder by C. S. Challinor Read Free Book Online Page A

Anthony looked around for him, but he had already left the room.
    Sandy Bellows, beaming in a starched white apron, brought in a silver tureen wafting wreaths of steam, and set it down on the table. The soup’s surface was swirled with cream and sprinkled with fresh parsley. The guests immediately launched into a volley of speculations as to what sort of soup it might be.
    “Smells deliciously like curry,” Patrick said.
    The cook began ladling it into bowls. “It’s Mulligatawny, which means ‘pepper water’ in Indian. Just the ticket for a cold winter’s night.”
    “This claret is corked,” Anthony announced testily. “I’ll have to run down to the cellar and get another bottle.”
    “Anthony is our self-appointed sommelier,” Patrick explained to Rex as his partner left the room. “Mrs. Smithings is teetotal and knows nothing about wine. When Anthony discovered yesterday that the late Colonel kept a respectable cellar, he suggested we drink some of it before it goes bad. Mrs. Smithings is only charging twelve pounds a bottle.”
    “Thank goodness for Anthony,” Miriam Greenbaum chimed in. “I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m ready for some booze. The sherry didn’t even begin to tickle the spot.”
    Wanda and Helen concurred wholeheartedly. Mrs. Bellows removed the tureen from the table and entreated the guests to enjoy their soup.
    “I’ll go with Anthony and rescue that poor dog,” Miriam declared, getting up from her chair.
    “Oh, yes, do,” Helen said. “Shall I come with you?”
    “No, I’ll manage. Go ahead and start without us.”
    Recalling the cyanide in the tart, Rex tentatively dipped his spoon in his soup and eyed Patrick, Wanda, and Helen to see if they were hesitant to taste theirs. They all attacked the Mulligatawny with gusto, but before Helen could put her spoon to her lips, her cell phone rang.
    “Blast,” she said, extracting it from her cardigan pocket and checking the display. “Oh, it’s Pauline. Excuse me while I take this call,” she told her dinner companions as she rose from the table. “Pauline? How are you, dear?” Her voice trailed off as she left the room.
    “That’s one of her special cases at the school where she counsels,” Wanda explained. “Pauline is from a broken home and has serious substance-abuse problems. But she’s a promising student and Helen has taken her under her wing.”
    “Helen seems like a very nice person,” Patrick commented, mopping up the soup with his bread.
    “Yes, she is. And she has really helped me through my divorce. She’s a wonderful listener. I can’t imagine this is much of a holiday for her.”
    Rex risked some of the soup himself. “Aye, ’tis spicy, right enough.” Feeling his lips start a slow burn, he reached for his water glass.
    “Fantastic for clearing the sinuses,” Patrick said, taking a hanky from his pocket and blowing his nose. “I must get the recipe from old Bellows. Well, hello, you lovebirds. Deigning to join us at last?”
    The honeymooners sheepishly took their places across from Rex. “Where are the others?” Charley asked.
    “Anthony went to fetch some wine, Miriam left to rescue Rex’s dog, and Helen had to take an important call,” Patrick summarized.
    “You have a dog?” Yvette asked Rex.
    Before Rex could answer, Anthony burst into the dining room. “Oh, God! Oh, God! Miriam had a bad fall. I think she broke her neck!” he cried.
    The table jostled with a rattle of china as the guests rose in haste. Rex bade Charley go with him and everyone else stay. Helen stepped into the dining room just as Rex and Charley were leaving. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
    “It’s the American woman …” Charley blurted, rushing past her.
    Rex heard Helen’s gasp but did not stop. Anthony followed the two men into the deserted kitchen. On the pine table, Rex noticed the soup tureen and the pair of candlesticks that Clifford had been polishing in the scullery that