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

afternoon.
    “Careful,” Anthony said when Rex approached the cellar. “There’s ice melting on the steps. Looks like she might have slipped on it.”
    Rex sidestepped the ice and gingerly made his way to the bottom with one hand on the wall, Charley behind him carrying a lit candlestick. Miriam Greenbaum’s body lay face first at the bottom of the stone steps, her neck twisted to the side, the thick-rimmed glasses askew beside her.
    Charley placed the candlestick on the flagstone floor and felt for a pulse. “She’s a gonner,” he murmured. “Just like poor old Lawdry. And look here. She couldn’t have got this contusion on the back of her neck from falling headlong.”
    Rex studied the red welt. “We’ll have to leave the body here exactly as we found it.” He looked around the musty cellar, bare except for broken garden furniture, a stack of chopped wood, and racks of wine. Finding a rock that had crumbled from the chalkstone wall, he outlined the deceased’s body as a precaution. He wanted it left unmoved until the authorities arrived.
    Anthony was waiting, ashen-faced, at the door to the cellar.
    “Where were you when she fell?” Rex asked him as he reached the top of the steps.
    “I was looking through the wine down there, checking the labels for another bottle of claret. My back was turned.”
    “It’s dark in the cellar. How could you see what you were doing?”
    “I had the candlestick with me. The one Charley’s holding. Suddenly I heard a startled scream and turned around just in time to see Miriam land at the bottom of the steps. When I got to her, her eyes were—just staring.”
    “Did you touch her?”
    “I turned her chin toward me so I could see her face. I wish I’d been nicer to her. She wasn’t such a bad sort, really.”
    Rex looked around as he closed the cellar door. “Where’s the dog?”
    “Never saw him.”
    “Was anyone in the kitchen?”
    “No, but I passed Mrs. Bellows in the corridor.”
    Rex turned to Charley. “Put that candlestick on the table and don’t let anyone touch it, or the other one for that matter. And keep an eye on the staff when they reappear. Where is everybody?”
    He crossed the kitchen to the scullery where he found the puppy curled up on a blanket on the floor, fast asleep. The rest of the room crouched in darkness. Flicking on the light switch, he found Clifford cowering by the umbrellas, a terrified look in his beady eyes.
    “Ar, ’twas me,” the old man mumbled, backing into the raincoats. “Don’ tell her. She’ll turn me out o’ the lodge.”
    “What are you hiding?” Rex asked, grabbing the man’s shoulder and spinning him around.
    The old man clutched an empty decanter of sherry. “Don’ tell her! An’ I won’ tell ’bout yer dog!”
    The scent of sherry on Clifford’s breath made Rex take a step back. “How long have you been in here?”
    “Eh took the wood down the cellar. Then eh seed the sherry an’ thought ’ow even she couldn’t grudge me some at Christmastime and me ’ands so painful from the cold.”
    “Who was in the kitchen?”
    “Don’ rightly remember.” Clifford’s eyes took on a glassy sheen.
    Rex held him steady. “Try.”
    “Her was there, an’ Rosie an’ Cook, thas right, cos they was all complainin’ about me trackin’ ice in on me boots. Only Cook was around when eh come back. She was at the stove wi’ her back turned so eh wus able to sneak the dog an’ the sherry past her.”
    “Did you hear anything afterwards?”
    “I ’eard voices.”
    “A man’s voice, woman’s voice … ?”
    “An American voice.”
    “How did she sound?”
    “Cross.”
    “What else?”
    “Eh be deaf an’ the wind be rattlin’ the panes and that, so eh didn’t hear much else, ’cept fer a thud.” Clifford considered a moment, screwing up his eyes with the effort of concentration. “A dull sound like a rollin’ pin hittin’ pastry. Be ye gwene to tell her?”
    “Tell Mrs. Smithings about the