Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About the Author
Books by Terry Ambrose
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
THE KILLER CHRISTMAS SWEATER CLUB
A Seaside Cove
Bed & Breakfast Mystery
TERRY AMBROSE
COPYRIGHT
THE KILLER CHRISTMAS SWEATER CLUB
A SEASIDE COVE BED & BREAKFAST MYSTERY
ASIN: B07H27NCP4
Copyright © 2018 by Terry Ambrose
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover design by Dar Albert
Book edited by Elizabeth Mallory
Layout design by Pen 2 Ink Designs
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Once upon a time, in a life he’d rather forget, Terry Ambrose tracked down deadbeats for a living. He also hired big guys with tow trucks to steal cars—but only when negotiations failed. Those years of chasing deadbeats taught him many valuable life lessons such as—always keep your car in the garage.
Terry has written more than a dozen books, several of which have been award finalists. In 2014, his thriller, “Con Game,” won the San Diego Book Awards for Best Action-Thriller. His series include the Trouble in Paradise McKenna Mysteries, the Seaside Cove Bed & Breakfast Mysteries, and the License to Lie thriller series.
You can learn more about Terry and his writing at terryambrose.com.
Find Terry’s books on Amazon: amazon.com/Terry-Ambrose/e/B008NR7QZ4
Twitter: twitter.com/suspense_writer
Facebook: facebook.com/suspense.writer
BOOKS BY TERRY AMBROSE
A SEASIDE COVE BED & BREAKFAST MYSTERY
A TREASURE TO DIE FOR
CLUES IN THE SAND
MCKENNA MYSTERIES
PHOTO FINISH
KAUAI TEMPTATIONS
BIG ISLAND BLUES
MYSTERY OF THE LEI PALAOA
HONOLULU HOTTIE
NORTH SHORE NANNY
A DAMSEL FOR SANTA
MAUI MAGIC
THE SCENT OF WAIKIKI
LICENSE TO LIE SERIES
LICENSE TO LIE
CON GAME
ANTHOLOGIES WITH STORIES
PARADISE, PASSION, MURDER: 10 TALES OF MYSTERY FROM HAWAI‘I
HAPPY HOMICIDES 3: SUMMERTIME CRIMES
HAPPY HOMICIDES 4: FALL INTO CRIME
HAPPY HOMICIDES 5: THE PURR-FECT CRIME
HAPPY HOMICIDES 6: COOKING UP CRIME
CHAPTER 1
ALEX
December 16
Hey Journal,
Today Daddy measured me and I’ve grown another half inch! Marquetta said I’ll be catching up with her in a couple of years. She also said my hair is getting more red in it. Daddy said I’m looking more like my mom every day. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her, so I guess I have to take my dad’s word for that.
Guess what? We haven’t had a murder in awhile now, so things have been kinda boring—but at least Christmas is coming! And it’s been super busy lately. We had a big family book the whole B&B for Thanksgiving and they were a lot of fun. They had more than twenty people! And they all got along. Can you believe it? It was some kind of family reunion. It was like a big party for a couple days.
Seaside Cove is gonna have a big party tomorrow night. It’s the Seaside Cove Ugly Christmas Sweater Contest and it’s gonna be at The Crooked Mast and there will be prizes! Daddy says it’s a potluck so we have to bring a dish to share. I can’t believe I’m going on eleven and I’ve never been to a potluck before. I’ve never been to an ugly sweater competition, either.
Marquetta said she’d help me with a recipe that’s gonna totally rock the party. Marquetta’s the best cook ever and I can’t believe how lucky we were that she stayed when Daddy inherited the B&B. By the way, Journal, Marquetta’s been staying here more and more for dinner. And tonight, she’s downstairs with Daddy having a glass of wine. My plan to have them get married is working!
I can’t believe how lame they are. He likes her and she likes him. A lot. So why can’t they just kiss and get it over with? I have a plan to help them along. I’m gonna call Mr. Van Horn. Since he’s our handyman, I’m sure he’ll be willing to put up some mistletoe. I can’t wait until they meet below it and have to kiss. This is gonna be an epic Christmas!
Time’s up, Journal. Daddy just knocked. I’ve gotta go to bed now.
Xoxo
Alex
CHAPTER 2
RICK
Rick Atwood sat at the white granite island in the kitchen opposite Marquetta Weiss listening to her hum a melody he couldn’t quite make out. In the fourteen months since he and Alex had arrived in Seaside Cove he’d learned many things about Marquetta, and tonight he’d discovered she was a far better cook than she was a singer.
It was nearly ten o’clock. He’d put Alex to bed, the house was quiet with the exception of pattering rain, and the guests had retired for the night. Raising his glass, Rick swirled the golden liquid and gazed across the counter at Marquetta.
“I think we got carried away with tasting,” he said.
Marquetta giggled and took a sip. “Boss, my tastebuds stopped tasting about a glass and a half ago.”
True enough. What had started out as a simple wine tasting had gotten out of hand. It might have been a bit of a ruse—but only a little. Marquetta’s palette really was better than his, and he wanted her opinion on whether they should add a new wine in the afternoon tasting rotation for guests. Tonight’s ‘test’ turned into a two-hour marathon during which they’d somehow drained almost the entire bottle.
“Great wine, though,” Marquetta said. “At least, I think it is. It seemed like it when we started.”
With an exaggerat
ed flourish, Rick picked up the bottle and tried to inspect the label. Hopeless. Who was he kidding? He could barely focus well enough to read and his nose was going numb. “We’ll put it into the rotation. I’m sure this will be a big hit for the Friday afternoon tastings. Not this bottle, though. It’s almost empty. Ms. Weiss, would you like to help me finish off this very fine…chardonnay?”
Marquetta raised her eyebrows and giggled. “Why, thank you, Mr. Atwood.”
Rick split the remainder between the two glasses, being sure to wait until the last drop had fallen before he set the bottle down. Gazing around the kitchen, he felt a warm glow that wasn’t from the alcohol. It was Seaside Cove. The B&B. And most of all, Marquetta. He raised his glass in a toast. “I can’t believe this will be our second Christmas here. This is going to be a wonderful holiday. May all our dreams come true.”
Marquetta raised her glass and tapped Rick’s. “Speak for yourself, boss. I’ve lived here my entire life.” She paused, then bit her lower lip.
He detected the faint hint of a smile and even though he was beyond tipsy, he could tell she had an idea. “What?”
“It’s just an old thing we used to do. Nothing really.”
“What? I want to know.”
“Well, when I was little, my mom and dad would bring me here and we’d help your grandfather decorate the B&B for Christmas. It was so magical. There was an open house on Christmas Eve and he invited the whole town.”
“Captain Jack did that? Really? What about the guests?”
“They loved it. They all felt like they were part of a big family.” Marquetta stopped and looked around the room. Her face lit up and her gray eyes sparkled. “I remember one time Captain Jack dressed up as Santa for the party. I thought he was the most amazing Santa I’d ever met, but my mom kept telling him he was pathetic. Everyone at the party loved it, though. We should…” She stopped and shook her head. “No, bad idea.”
Rick sat with his chin propped on his hand, his elbow on the table. “We should do it,” he said.
“What? Dress you up like Santa?”
“No. The open house. We have a week. If we started decorating right away, we’d be done in plenty of time.”
“It’s a big job. And all those old decorations are up in the attic. I’m not even sure they’re still any good.”
How well he knew the attic had old decorations scattered about. He’d seen boxes. Several. But were there that many up there? Marquetta had to be exaggerating. “Show me.”
“Okay, when?”
“Tonight.”
“No, it’s not a good idea. We’ve both had too much to drink and we’ll make a lot of noise and…”
“Hush.”
He reached out and pressed his finger to Marquetta’s lips. She sat up straight, took in a sudden breath, and her eyes widened. He quickly pulled back his hand and tried to think of something to say.
“Rick…” Marquetta said.
“No complaints,” he said. “In case you haven’t noticed, Ms. Weiss, I own the the B&B. And since we’re having an open house next week, I want to get started on decorating. Tonight.”
“You…” Marquetta paused and pointed at him. “Are going to get us arrested for disturbing the peace. And since when are we having an open house?”
“Since about a minute ago. Now, we don’t have a lot of time. We have to decorate. Finish that excellent chardonnay and follow me, Ms. Weiss. There’s work to be done.”
They downed the last from their glasses and grabbed a flashlight. Marquetta followed him out the butler door, through the dining room, and up the stairs to the second floor, all the while humming. They crept along the hallway and up the attic stairs.
“I feel like a juvenile delinquent breaking into my own attic at this hour,” Rick said as he handed the flashlight to Marquetta. He unlocked the door, then crept forward, making sure to keep his knees bent so he wouldn’t hit his head on the rafters. Slowly, he felt his way into the darkness, all the while grasping for the string attached to the overhead light. In the blackness, the raindrops hitting the roof sounded more like a raging river than a gentle patter. He stretched further into the darkness and finally his fingers wrapped around the string. The soft glow of a fifty-watt light bulb did little to brighten the space. Behind him he heard the creak of a floorboard, and then felt Marquetta steady herself with a hand on his back.
“Oops.” She did a terrible job of suppressing a giggle as she waved the beam in wide circles, “You want this?”
A blast of white light filled Rick’s vision, forcing him to shut his eyes against the glare. He turned around and Marquetta waved the beam in another wide arc until it caught him full in the face.
“Sorry,” she whispered, then suppressed a giggle. “It’s so late. What if we wake someone up?”
“You’re dangerous with that thing.” The sound he made came out as more of a snort than anything else, and if he weren’t half-drunk, he might even be embarrassed. “And I’ll wager you’re not the least bit sorry.”
Marquetta cocked her head to one side, then shrugged. “Maybe…just a smidge.”
Rick steadied himself on the rough plywood flooring with one hand. “I’ve had too much to drink,” he whispered.
“You think?” Marquetta pointed the flashlight beam to the far side of the attic. “There it is!”
She crept forward, still in a low crouch. Rick followed, making sure to avoid the occasional cobweb and the low rafters overhead. He yanked on the pull cord for the second fixture, but even with both fifty-watt bulbs on, dark shadows swallowed the light.
Ahead of him, Marquetta was leaning over a box. When she turned to face him, her eyes glistened and she held a toy locomotive in her hands. “We used to set this up in the lobby.”
Rick forgot about the rafters for a moment and stood. His head clunked against a two-by-four and he knelt down quickly.
Marquetta blinked a couple of times, then spoke in a very proper voice. “Mr. Atwood, you can’t stand in the attic.”
“Now you tell me,” he said, then began to laugh. “By the way, I’m okay.”
“Good to know.” Marquetta tittered as she nearly dropped the locomotive. She quickly seized it with both hands. “Oops.”
Rick crawled across the floor until he knelt next to her. He picked up the flashlight to inspect the locomotive, noting the white lettering on the side was still in pristine condition. “It looks like it’s from the fifties.”
When Marquetta held out the train, Rick propped the flashlight up against a nearby box and took the antique from her. “It’s gorgeous,” he breathed.
“Your great-grandfather bought it for Captain Jack when he was ten.”
Rick turned the model train over to inspect the bottom. The center wheel, the one that would pick up electricity from the middle rail of the tracks, still rotated. It seemed to be in excellent condition. “Does it still work?”
“The last time it was plugged in was…” Marquetta paused and bit her lip.
“The year your father died,” he said, finishing her sentence for her. “We don’t have to use it if you don’t want to.”
She shook her head and her mouth turned up into a weak smile. Her eyes glistened with tears. “No. I want to do this. I’d bet anything Alex will adore it.”
Rick nodded as he returned the engine to Marquetta’s hands, then picked up the flashlight and aimed it into the box. He swallowed hard and whispered, “Holy smokes.” The box held a tanker, two flatbed cars—one with two model automobiles and the other with a small submarine, a boxcar with “Baby Ruth” stenciled on the side, and a caboose.
“If Alex doesn’t love it,” Marquetta said. “I know a little boy who will.”
He nodded. “Yeah. To borrow Alex’s favorite phrase, this is awesome. Come on, let’s get it downstairs.”
They put the locomotive back and Rick handed the flashlight to Marquetta, who kept it pointed at the box. As Rick lifted, one side of the cardboard buckled.
“Oh, no. No, no.” He reached around the side and braced it with his hand. Once again, they both laughed. Rick’s breath caught as he found himself face-to-face with Marquetta.
She was just inches away.
He could almost taste her breath mixing with his.
His heart pounded like a real-life locomotive on full throttle. All he had to do was lean forward and…
A blinding white beam caught Rick squarely on the side of the face. He squeezed his eyes shut and held up his hand as he tried to peer beyond the glare.
A small voice, sounding stern and parental, snapped, “What’s going on up here?”
“Alex?” Rick squinted against the beam pointed at him.
“Daddy?”
Rick said, “Alex, this isn’t what…”
“Marquetta?”
“…you think.”
A moment later and even louder, Alex squealed. “Oh. My. God!”
CHAPTER 3
RICK
Throughout the following morning’s breakfast service, Rick kept reminding himself what Alex had thought she’d discovered was nothing more than a major misunderstanding. He and Marquetta had both tried explaining what had happened, but the more they said, the more Alex seemed convinced her version of the facts was correct and the adults were covering up.
Kids—leave it to them to see the unvarnished truth. So, between Alex’s giddy smiles and sideways glances, the guests’ questions about why there had been so much noise in the attic the previous night, and the underlying awkwardness between him and Marquetta, it had been a morning to endure, not enjoy.
After breakfast, Rick called the B&B’s handyman, Devon van Horn, and asked if he could help with putting up decorations. Devon agreed and showed up about an hour later lugging a gray, metal toolbox. He waved at Rick on his way through the door, then gently lowered the box onto the entryway rug.
“At least the rain let up,” Devon said as he stood, arched his back, and stretched.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice. What have you got in that thing, every tool you own?”
“A good handyman always comes prepared.”
“I think that’s the Boy Scouts, Devon.”
“Copycats.” Devon quirked his cheek and looked around the lobby. “You ready to get this place looking shipshape?”