Killer Christmas Mystery

Chapter 1

Chapter One

By the time I started to question if I was making a mistake, it was too late. Christmasville was one mile away—and I had spectacularly blown my life up into pieces. There was no going back.

When I was young, the seemingly endless ride to the middle of nowhere with my family was part of the charm.

It truly felt like we were heading to the North Pole.

The happiest place in the world. Except now—as an adult—I needed escape.

The kind of total joyful immersion therapy that only a place like Christmasville could supply.

A month ago, after I … did what I did … I slunk home to my overpriced Boston apartment to find notice that the already obscene rent was going up—again.

Wonderful! I was suddenly unemployed, single, and poor!

Later that night while searching through the meager job postings relevant to my experience, one made my breath catch in my throat.

The town of Christmasville, Maine, needed a social media manager.

The pay was a step down from my agency job, but the rent would be too.

And I could live in Christmasville! Growing up, my parents took my brother and me there on vacation several times.

Most times in winter but even once in July.

Because Christmasville’s motto was “Where holiday cheer lasts all year long!”

Every day we’d spent in Christmasville was a happy one.

So I knew, deep in my heart, that was where I needed to go.

Maybe not for forever. But it felt like the right move now.

The cozy town would make for a cheerful setting for my life reset.

Who knew, maybe even open a door to a rebound romance—or two—to bring my confidence back up from the sewer it was currently residing in.

It would be like my own personal made-for-television Christmas movie—with a title like A True Love for Christmas or A Dream Romance for Christmas. Starring … me.

My only hope was that the town hadn’t changed too much.

I was a teenager the last time I’d visited with my family.

Of course, it wasn’t going to seem the same over ten years later as it was in my childhood memories.

But if even a fraction of that Christmasville enchantment remained, it would be enough.

The road widened, and a few houses started to dot the landscape between tall pines. Almost there. The GPS announced a right onto Main Street in a quarter mile. I took that turn, and the dark woods opened up into bright holiday magic.

The downtown itself was small with brightly painted buildings situated close together.

A light dusting of snow rested on tree branches.

People held mittened hands walking down cleared sidewalks.

String lights adorned every tree and telephone pole.

Elaborate window displays decorated the front of every quaint shop on Main Street.

I let out a dreamy sigh. It was just as I remembered. It hadn’t changed at all.

I took a right off of Main Street and headed down the quiet side road to my hotel.

I’d never stayed at the Christmas Creek Inn before.

When my family used to come here, we were pretty loyal to the Christmas Tree Farm Inn.

Except for the time they were all booked, and we had to stay at the Christmasville Inn.

Not to be confused with The Inn at Christmasville, which was across the street.

Since I’d be living in a hotel for the time being and didn’t need my furniture yet, I’d left most of my belongings in a storage facility. I could arrange to have my things moved here after I fully settled into my new town.

My new town. It was like a dream. Literally.

Growing up in my boring small town in central Massachusetts, my dream was to move here when I grew up.

I thought it would be like Christmas every day.

Then I went to college and got big city dreams instead.

Those were good years too, for a while. Until everything fell apart.

But maybe this life detour was meant to lead me back here.

I put the car in park and popped the trunk.

I only had two suitcases and my laptop bag for now.

The Christmas Creek Inn was a beautiful three-story Tudor style building outlined with elegant white lights.

I wheeled my luggage toward a family roasting marshmallows around a stone firepit, all outfitted in puffy coats and sporting red-tipped noses.

“Merry Christmas!” the littlest one called out to me.

It was only November, not even Thanksgiving yet. But the spirit of that day lived in everyone in this town. How could you be here and not be happy?

“And merry Christmas to you too!” I called back. The girl giggled, and her parents waved.

My heart felt light. It was as if time had frozen the town in sugar-dusted perfection.

Only one thing disturbed the picture-perfect atmosphere.

A piece of paper, curled at the edges and marked with smudges, skittered across the ground, carried by a light breeze. I stopped to pick it up, thinking it might be a flyer for the Christmas tree lighting or one of the other upcoming events. Instead, I frowned.

There was a crudely drawn Santa leering from the center of the page.

His eyes were uneven black ovals, and his beard looked more like tangled barbed wire.

In one gloved hand, he held a large knife, pointed downward in a threatening angle.

Above his head, in a speech bubble scrawled with red marker, were the words “SANTA’S GONNA GET YOU. ”

“Well, that’s not exactly family-friendly,” I muttered to myself.

I crumpled the paper in my hand and tossed it into the firepit. It was nothing, I thought. The scribblings of a bored kid on vacation with his parents. But as the paper blackened and dissolved in the flames, something prickled at the back of my neck.

I followed the stone pavers up to the inn, pausing to admire the fresh wreath on the front door, and headed inside.

The lobby felt like a warm and cozy living room.

A family snuggled close on the sofa by the fireplace, sipping hot cocoa as the logs crackled.

A huge balsam fir stood in the corner trimmed with silver garland and colored lights.

I made my way to the reception area, which displayed a glass bowl full of cinnamon-scented pinecones.

The woman behind the desk was on the phone and typing on a laptop.

Based on the smile lines around her mouth and her dark-brown bob streaked with just a few strands of gray, I guessed she was in her early fifties.

By her sweater, which featured a pug and the words “Santa Paws,” I assumed she was young at heart.

She hung up the phone and gave me an enthusiastic smile. “Whoa! I almost didn’t see you down there.”

A short joke. I tried not to let my smile falter. But after puberty came and went and left me at five foot one, I’d heard it all. And I was over it. Still, she seemed nice enough, so I grinned and nodded. Yes, I’m short. Ha ha.

“Sorry about the wait,” the woman continued. “Welcome to the Christmas Creek Inn! Do you have a reservation?”

A strand of my long brown hair had come loose from my ponytail, and I tucked it behind my ear. “Yes, Kelsey Hendricks.”

After a few clicks and clacks on the keyboard, she said, “Here we are. You’re on the second floor.

Our events are finished for today. But tomorrow, we have cookie decorating at one.

Santa comes for a meet and greet at three.

The rest of the schedule is in our weekly events calendar that’s included in your welcome packet. ”

I hiked my laptop bag up on my shoulder. “Oh, I’m not a tourist. I’m here for a job.”

Her brow furrowed. “We don’t have any openings right now.”

I shook my head. “No, sorry. I’m working for the town. The new social media manager?” I hated that it came out sounding like a question.

But her face lit up. “Oh! Yes, Mayor Carol told me that you’d be staying with us indefinitely until you settle in and find a place of your own. I have it marked in the notes of your reservation. I’m sorry. Just a bit flustered today.”

“You’re not the only one,” I said with a smile that she matched.

“So, you have one of our few suites, which means a small living room and kitchenette along with your bedroom. Nothing fancy, no oven. But a good-sized fridge and microwave.”

“It sounds lovely,” I said. I hadn’t exactly been a big cook back in Boston. I mostly used my oven for storage. “Are there any restaurants on site?”

“No, but there are plenty within walking distance. And we do offer a complimentary continental breakfast each morning. Muffins, pastries, and the like.”

“That’s perfect. Thank you.”

She held a hand out across the desk. “I’m Grace Dorsey, owner of the Christmas Creek Inn. Since it seems like you’ll be staying with us for a while, please come find me if there’s anything I can do to help you settle into our happy little town.”

“Thank you so much, Grace,” I said, shaking her hand. “It’s great to meet you.”

She gazed around the living room with a frown. “Now, if only you could meet my sixteen-year-old son who is supposed to be here to help with your bags.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “That’s fine. I can manage.”

“Two suitcases and no elevator? Nonsense.” She called out to a plump elderly man who was working his way across the room. “Jack! Where’s Rudy?”

He aimed a thumb over his shoulder. “I saw him doing his homework at the kitchen table.”

She sighed. “If that’s the case, I don’t want to interrupt him. You know how they say to never wake a sleeping baby? You should also never stop a teen actually doing his homework.”

“That’s a good tip,” I said.

“But Jack’s back isn’t what it used to be, so I don’t want to ask him for help. He’s our resident handyman.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And our on-site Santa, but that’s between you, me, and the wall right behind me.”

I chuckled. This could be the sweetest woman I’d ever met. “We’ll just have to handle it ourselves.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Strong women getting it done.”

It was only two suitcases, not a slab of quartz, but I didn’t want to damper her enthusiasm. We made our way up the creaky stairs and down the carpeted hallway.

“This is you,” she said, stopping by a door with a cute wreath with a red velvet bow. “Room twelve.”

I pulled out the keycard she’d given me and unlocked the door. The first thing I noticed was the unmade bed.

“Well, that’s strange,” she said. “I could have sworn this room had been cleaned already.”

She pulled a walkie-talkie off of her belt and switched it on. “Angelica, come in.”

A moment later, a voice cut through the static. “Hi, Grace. What’s up?”

“Why is room twelve not cleaned yet?”

“Let me check.” A sound like paper crinkling went on for a long moment.

I put my bags down and gave myself a mini tour. The kitchen was truly tiny, but I wouldn’t use it much anyway. The television on top of the dresser was big enough. I moved toward the bathroom.

The walkie-talkie burst back to life. “Mr. Sudbeck hasn’t checked out yet. That’s why I didn’t get to that room.”

“Thanks, Angelica.” Grace reattached the walkie to her belt and sighed. “I’m sorry. I was so busy today and didn’t follow up to make sure he’d checked out like he was supposed to.”

“It happens,” I said with a shrug.

“We do have another vacant suite I can move you to. Same as this one. Just down the hall.”

“Sounds good,” I answered. My back was beginning to ache from the long drive, and I wondered if the bathtubs were jetted. On my way out of the room, I decided to poke my head into the bathroom to take a peek—

And I let out a scream.

The crumpled body of an older man lay naked in the dry tub.

Grace came to my side and gasped. “That’s why he never checked out.”