Christmas scarf murder, p.1
Christmas Scarf Murder, page 1
Books by Carlene O’Connor
Irish Village Mysteries
MURDER IN AN IRISH VILLAGE
MURDER AT AN IRISH WEDDING
MURDER IN AN IRISH CHURCHYARD
MURDER IN AN IRISH PUB
MURDER IN AN IRISH COTTAGE
MURDER AT AN IRISH CHRISTMAS
MURDER IN AN IRISH BOOKSHOP
MURDER ON AN IRISH FARM
CHRISTMAS COCOA MURDER
(with Maddie Day and Alex Erickson)
A Home to Ireland Mystery
MURDER IN GALWAY
MURDER IN CONNEMARA
Books by Maddie Day
Country Store Mysteries
FLIPPED FOR MURDER
GRILLED FOR MURDER
WHEN THE GRITS HIT THE FAN
BISCUITS AND SLASHED BROWNS
DEATH OVER EASY
STRANGLED EGGS AND HAM
NACHO AVERAGE MURDER
CANDY SLAIN MURDER
NO GRATER CRIME
BATTER OFF DEAD
CHRISTMAS COCOA MURDER
(with Carlene O’Connor and Alex Erickson)
Cozy Capers Book Group Mysteries
MURDER ON CAPE COD
MURDER AT THE TAFFY SHOP
MURDER AT THE LOBSTAH SHACK
MURDER IN CAPE COTTAGE
And writing as Edith Maxwell
A TINE TO LIVE, A TINE TO DIE
‘TIL DIRT DO US PART
FARMED AND DANGEROUS
MURDER MOST FOWL
MULCH ADO ABOUT MURDER
Books by Peggy Ehrhart
MURDER, SHE KNIT
DIED IN THE WOOL
KNIT ONE, DIE TWO
SILENT KNIT, DEADLY KNIT
A FATAL YARN
KNIT OF THE LIVING DEAD
KNITTY GRITTY MURDER
DEATH OF A KNIT WIT
CHRISTMAS CARD MURDER
(with Leslie Meier and Lee Hollis)
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
CHRISTMAS SCARF MURDER
Carlene O’Connor
Maddie Day
Peggy Ehrhart
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2022 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
“Christmas Scarf Murder” copyright © 2022 by Carlene O’Connor
“Scarfed Down” copyright © 2022 by Maddie Day
“Death by Christmas Scarf” copyright © 2022 by Peggy Ehrhart
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the Teapot logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2022938416
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3722-9
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: October 2022
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3724-3 (ebook)
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHRISTMAS SCARF MURDER
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
SCARFED DOWN
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
DEATH BY CHRISTMAS SCARF
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
CHRISTMAS SCARF MURDER
Carlene O’Connor
This book is dedicated to my cousin, Heather Kraus. Although your journey is not going to be easy these next few years, I am with you all the way and so proud of you. Sending all my love and light to you.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my editor, John Scognamiglio, my publicist Larissa Ackerman, my agent Evan Marshall, and all the wonderful staff at Kensington Publishing who work so hard behind the scenes on our books.
Chapter One
Siobhán O’Sullivan stood in the kitchen of her new stone farmhouse, leafing through holiday recipes and insisting yet again to her younger brother Ciarán that Santy wasn’t bringing him a tractor for Christmas, when her husband opened the front door and poked his head in. She grinned. Her husband. Six months of marriage and it still didn’t feel real. Cold air blasted in from the outside but when Siobhán caught the worried expression on Macdara’s handsome face, she dropped all plans to scold him. “The Grinch paid a visit to the elder care home,” he said. “The residents have all been robbed.”
“You’re joking me.” The Kilbane Elder Care Home was small and exclusive, catering to wealthy clients. It was located outside of town in a beautiful Victorian-style house painted a cheerful yellow. They had immaculate gardens and every year the grounds were decorated to the hilt for Christmas. Mechanical reindeer, Santy and his sleigh, and every tree on the property would be wrapped in colorful lights. It was so lavish it nearly made Siobhán wish she was old enough to move in. Siobhán had been looking forward to visiting this year, only she was worried her younger siblings Ann and Ciarán would insist they decorate their new fields in the same over-the-top fashion. Although they certainly had the room, and Siobhán loved decorating for Christmas, she wanted something rustic and cozy. White lights and a gorgeous wreath for the door—maybe a candle or two in the window. And this year she wanted them to cut down a live Christmas tree. It was their first Christmas in their new house, and she wanted that Christmas tree smell. Macdara’s news was troubling indeed. Who would rob an elder care home a fortnight before Christmas? “The poor pets,” Siobhán said. “Is everyone alright?”
“Thank goodness no bodily harm to anyone, but I hear some very dear items have been taken and everyone is in quite the state.”
“It’s a frightening thing when you’re robbed,” Siobhán said. “They must feel so vulnerable.”
Macdara nodded. “I know it’s your day off, but nearly everyone has taken their holidays.”
“Say no more, Detective Sergeant,” Siobhán said. “I’ll get me uniform on.”
Macdara nodded. “I’ll be out here, Garda O’Sullivan.” He leaned in for a kiss.
“You promised you’d stop doing that before brekkie,” Ciarán said. “I’ve lost me appetite. Again.”
They broke apart and laughed. “You already had two Irish breakfasts,” Siobhán said.
“It’s a good thing I horsed them into me before all the mushy stuff then isn’t it?” Ciarán responded. Macdara clapped Ciarán on the back. Ciarán shook his head. “I deserve a tractor for this.”
Siobhán wished she could bottle this moment, their first Christmas as husband and wife, as a family. The entire brood would fill the house to celebrate. Even James, Gráinne, and Eoin, Siobhán’s siblings who were now independent and free, would camp out for the holidays. Her minor siblings, Ann and Ciaran seemed to be adjusting to living at the farm house, and chuffed to the bits that they each had their own room. James, Gráinne, and Eoin were still living above the bistro, with a lot more room to spread out. Was it only seven months since they moved from above their former bistro in town to the farm house? The time had flown by. Siobhán’s five siblings had lived with her ever since their parents had been killed by a drunk driver in a road accident eight years prior. There were times she wanted to keep them with her forever. Luckily, Eoin and James were building a farm-to-table restaurant on their new farm, and Grainne was chomping at the bit to help decorate it. Siobhán saw them nearly every day. Family was everything, and yet change was inevitable. But this year, they would all be together. And to top it off they had invited their friend Doctor Jeanie Brady, an esteemed state pathologist, to join them for Christmas dinner . She had let it slip that she was taking the holidays off this year and had lamented not having a big family to share it with. Siobhán was thrilled when she accepted the invitation. She handed Ciarán back his Christmas wish list. Tractor was the only item on it. “Better add to this,” she said. “Unless you want a toy tractor.”
Ciarán shook his head. “Typical.”
His voice was so low now, puberty well underway. And she still wanted to squeeze his cheeks until he howled. “Isn’t it enough we get to decorate our very own tractor for the parade?” Siobhán asked. Before they’d moved outside of town Siobhán was barely aware there was a Christmas tractor parade. James had grown close to some of the lads participating and had volunteered the rest of the O’Sullivans to decorate a tractor, most of them either a Massey Ferguson or a John Deere. They were due at Bill Casey’s farm this weekend to map out a route and start decorating.
“Not unless I get to drive it home after,” Ciarán said. “I could mow the field.”
He said “mow the field” but she could see it now. Ciarán O’Sullivan speeding down the road in a tractor, mowing everything in his path but the grass. Never.
“There will be plenty to keep you busy when Eoin breaks ground on the new restaurant,” she said. “You’ll forget all about tractors.” Their property used to contain an old dairy barn, and although it had burned down as a result of arson, Eoin was going to rebuild and open a farm-to-table restaurant. Luckily, the property was zoned for both home and business. Not that the O’Sullivans were turning into instant farmers, none of them had the experience for that, but Eoin was already making connections with local farmers to source the needed ingredients, and in the spring they were sure to at least have a vegetable garden and chickens. It was crazy how swiftly one’s life could change, and although somewhat dizzying, Siobhán was finding it an absolute thrill.
“I’ll never forget about tractors,” Ciarán said. “I was born to ride.”
“What about a hoverboard?” Macdara asked. “Santy might be able to spring for one of those.”
Ciarán shook his head. “What about a Vespa?”
“No,” Siobhán said.
Ciarán put his hands on his hips and lasered her with a look. He was nearly as tall as she was. “You have one.”
“I’m an adult.”
Ciarán threw his arms open. “Where am I going to ride a hoverboard? In the field?”
Siobhán sighed. The truth was, they were probably eventually going to have to get a tractor. But it would be the family tractor and not teenage transportation.
“You need new hobbies,” Siobhán said. “Why don’t you do some brainstorming to see what you fancy?”
“I’d rather do some barnstorming,” he said. “With my new tractor.”
Siobhán laughed. “No planes, tractors, motorcycles, cars, or scooters.”
“Fine,” Ciarán said. “I’ll take the hoverboard.”
Siobhán threw Macdara a look and he was smart enough to grimace. “We’ll have to see what Christmas morning brings. Why don’t you get out our decorations while we’re gone?” She went to pat Ciarán on the head, but he ducked and she swiped air. It was starting to look like there was going to be more than one Grinch in Kilbane this year.
* * *
As they pulled into the lovely manicured grounds for the elder care home, Siobhán found herself wishing it was under happier circumstances. The yellow Victorian house with blue trim popped against the green fields. Lush hedges and gardens created a virtual Eden that blossomed in the spring, but during the Christmas holidays the grounds were transformed into a winter wonderland, complete with a snow machine. Everyone was hoping it would snow for real this year, although most likely it would not, and Siobhán had a feeling the snow machine would be on the ready. Lovely paths curved through gardens featuring sculptures, birdbaths, and benches. A gardener stood near a hedge with clippers, shaping the first row into large candy canes. The residents were so lucky to live in such a magical place—the thought of anyone robbing them infused her with anger. Respect for one’s elders was an ironclad principle for the O’Sullivans, something the young ones of today seemed to be sorely lacking.
The house sat on a high elevation with sweeping views of hills and valleys, topped off by the curves of the Bally-houra Mountains. Christmas decorating was full steam ahead, with large plastic bins lining the drive and in the gardens, overflowing with garland, lights, and bows. Despite the cold, residents stood outside in hefty robes and slippers clutching mugs of tea or coffee, some with winter coats, others with just hats and scarves. The minute the pair exited the vehicle they could hear the excited hum of voices. It seemed the break-in had infused the home with a bit of excitement. “The guards are here,” an old man shouted, waving both his hands at them as if he was stranded on an island and they were circling above in a plane. Siobhán waved back; it was nice to feel appreciated. Soon they were surrounded by the elderly residents, all speaking at once.
“They stole Oscar’s cane, it was a lovely carved wood with a golden handle.”
“And Nuala’s precious emeralds.”
“Nuala doesn’t have precious emeralds, she’s messing with us!”
“I did so have emeralds and they’ve been stolen!”
“Maybe it was your grandson. He’s always poking around.”
“Wash that filthy mouth out with soap, you old grouch you, or I’ll do it for ya.”
“Don’t forget Rory’s money.”
A short man with black spectacles stepped forward, brown eyes blinking rapidly. He looked like an adorable little owl. “Five hundred euro they took. All me Christmas shopping money.” He held his hands palms up as he shrugged. “What am I going to do now? This may be me last Christmas and I have to buy gifts for all me grandkids.”
Siobhán’s heart squeezed. “I’m so sorry. We promise ye, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“Don’t forget me scarf!” A plump woman in a flowered bathrobe and a bulky winter coat shoved her mobile phone at them, forcing them to look at the screen. On it was a hideous red scarf with green shamrocks.
“Beverly, Beverly, Beverly. Didn’t you hear the lads warn you about that scarf?” an old man said. His winter coat was zipped up but he was wearing pajamas and slippers. He pointed to a spot in the distance. Siobhán followed the trajectory to a birdbath where a pair of twenty-somethings were standing, a lad and a colleen. It was nice to see young people on the grounds. He turned back to the plump woman. “That scarf is too long. You could wrap a giraffe’s neck with that yoke and still have bits hanging off him. Did they not warn you about long scarf syndrome?”
“Bah humbug,” Beverly said. “It was a work of passion. You can’t stop knitting when you’re filled with passion!”
“Excuse me,” a small voice next to Siobhán piped up. She turned to find a tiny older woman clasping her hands together. She was dressed in a lovely fawn coat and had a red bow pinned in her hair. Her lips were heavily lined in a matching red. “I’m missing me Virgin Mary statue. It isn’t very dear, but my mammy bought it at the very first Christmas Market in the town square, with money she’d been saving the whole year. It has great sentimental value. I can’t bear the thought that it’s gone.”
Siobhán placed her hand on the woman’s shoulders. “What’s your name, luv?”
“Sinead.”
“Sinead, your statue sounds most dear to me.”
Sinead nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “It makes me feel connected to her. It’s like a piece of her.”
Siobhán nodded. She understood very well. They had items from her late parents that felt like an extension of them. “We’ll treat your missing statue with the same value we do the missing emeralds.” She turned to the crowd. “I promise ye, we are going to do everything we can to sort this out.” They all started talking at once. “Give us a minute to speak with the director,” Siobhán said. “We’ll soon have a proper sit-down with each one of you.” The residents stopped jabbering and stared, their faces stamped with hope. Siobhán wondered if she should warn them that it’s very rare to recover items in a robbery. The thieves could be long gone by now.
