A Festival of Murder Read Online Free Page A

crazy, we’re
not murderers.”
    “Oh, Nicholas,”
Phoebe sighed. “ I’ll make the call.”
    He took her arm,
pleased that he’d gotten out of the task. “Come on. I’ll mix you a hot toddy.”
    “You’re only
escorting me because you’re afraid of the dark,” she accused as they dragged
their feet through the thick snow.
    “You’ve got that
straight.”
    She tightened her
arm around his. “This is horrible, Nicholas. I’m scared.”
    “You needn’t be.
This is an anomaly.”
    “How can you
possibly know that?”
    Nicholas grimaced.
Unfortunately, the only way he could know that was if he was the killer. And he
was fairly positive that that was exactly what everyone was thinking of him.
     
    ~~~~~
     
    Considering the
weather and the state of the roads, Nicholas expected Officer Little to tell
them to throw a handful of reflectors on the body so someone from the police
department could come along and pick it up in the morning. Instead, they were
informed that officers did not operate on the trash collector’s schedule and
would, in fact, be there tonight. Everybody who was currently at the party
needed to remain so until given permission to leave.
    The party inside
the Gingerbear continued as if nothing much had changed, although Nicholas
sensed an edge of excitement to the chatter, as if everyone expected at any
moment a SWAT team to kick in the front door and for the guilty party—most
likely him—to dive out the nearest window. Nicholas hoped they were prepared to
be disappointed. He planted himself in the plushest wingback in the living room,
crossed one ankle over a knee to ward off potential conversationalists, and
made sure his mug was filled to the brim with eggnog.
    “You don’t look
guilty, I’ll give you that,” Phoebe said as she came to stand beside his chair.
    Already buzzing
from several applications of rum, he said, “Careful. You’re fraternizing with
Suspect Number One.”
    “Officer Little
didn’t come up alone. I watched through the windows. There are a couple of
officers, some CSI types, and someone who isn’t in uniform who looks to be in
charge of everyone.”
    “Probably a
detective.” Nicholas recalled there being at least two in Estes Park. They must
have been the most bored detectives in Colorado, considering how infrequently
major crimes occurred in the quaint valley. “Don’t be concerned unless he’s
wearing a rumpled trench coat or a monocle.”
    “This entire thing
bothers me.”
    Nicholas’s smile
was bright, though the effort of it made his cheeks hurt. “Rocky probably
drowned, just like Charles said.” The innkeeper had been insisting on his theory
ever since returning to the party, as if afraid the guests would leave if they
heard a murder had been committed. He seemed to have forgotten that no one was
going anywhere anytime soon, thanks to the storm.
    “Honestly,
Nicholas, why would Rocky be out there in a boat? He was murdered. You know it.
I know it.” She karate-chopped her hand through the air, ending the debate. “They’ve
been out there for nearly an hour. Do you think they’ve found clues in this
weather?”
    “I’d be surprised
if they have, but I suppose they have to try their best.”
    Freezing air
squirted inside the pant of his crossed leg as the front door shoved inward,
admitting Officer Little and a second man. Both men stomped inside and paused
to sniff their reddened noses and acclimatize to the warm air of the inn, while
their eyes surveyed the crowd staring back at them.
    Little noticed
Nicholas and waved at him. The officer did so with a smile, which Nicholas took
as a good sign. Little’s companion, a man appearing to be a few years older
than Nicholas, was bundled up in a black pea coat and a knit skullcap. He
skipped the smile in favor of an assessing perusal of Nicholas. The
detective—if that was what he was—didn’t look especially intimidating with his
red nose and watery eyes, but Nicholas knew better than to