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horse.”
    “He’s already built it.” A little stab of excitement caught Gertie under the ribs. “He’s taking me and the twins for a ride on it on my afternoon off.”
    “Lucky you.” Pansy pouted. “All I get to do with Samuel is walk the dog into the woods and back.”
    Gertie grinned. “Yeah, but I bet you have more fun in those woods with Samuel than I would ever want or need with Clive.”
    Pansy’s cheeks glowed pink. “How do you know?”
    “I can tell by the soppy look on your face when you come back.” She glanced at the clock. “Blimey, we’d better get going. We’ve still got potatoes to peel for supper, and if Michel doesn’t get his bloody cauliflower washed he’ll be crashing saucepans around again.”
    She headed for the door, still feeling a little guilty about her friendship with Clive. It would not only devastate her to lose that companionship, the twins would never forgive her if she said something to break up what they had.
    Still, she didn’t want him thinking that their relationship was headed for something more permanent. Maybe she should sound him out and try to find out if he was expecting more from her than she was prepared to give.
    Drat Pansy and her unwanted advice. Gertie stomped down the hallway to the kitchen, her enthusiasm for the sleigh ride fading fast.

CHAPTER 3
    That evening Cecily waited until Baxter was settled in front of the fire with the latest copy of Lloyd’s Weekly before putting down her book. “Do you have a moment to talk?”
    Baxter eyed her over the top of the newspaper. “Is it bad news?”
    “Not directly, though it is disturbing.”
    Baxter sighed, and lowered the newspaper. “Very well, we might as well get it over with.”
    Somewhat wary, she related her conversation with P.C. Northcott.
    Baxter said nothing until she was finished talking. Then he shook the newspaper, raised it in front of his face, and murmured, “Well, I’m thankful you remembered your promise.”
    She wasn’t sure why, but his indifference stung. “It wasn’t easy.”
    He lowered the newspaper again. “Nor was it easy to refuse a position that would have been not only financially rewarding but immensely stimulating.”
    “Yes, I suppose—”
    “To be charged with the installation and launching of hotels in various locations abroad was the most exciting opportunity I have ever been offered.”
    “Yes, dear, I do understand—”
    “Only your obvious reluctance to accompany me on the venture could have persuaded me to turn it down.”
    Frowning, she muttered, “I am not questioning your sacrifice in order to please me. This is, however, the very first time Sam Northcott has openly asked for my help, and only dire circumstances would have prompted him to do so. I felt honored that he considered me capable of the task.”
    Obviously sensing an argument brewing, Baxter folded the newspaper and laid it on the arm of the chair. “Apart from the fact that the constable is anxious to visit his relatives for Christmas as usual, what is it about the case that so desperately requires your help?”
    Cecily pursed her lips and stared at the smoldering coals in the fireplace. “I think he’s afraid that we have a serial killer in the village, since both Jimmy Taylor and Thomas Willow were apparently killed by the same person.”
    “If you remember, you thought we had a serial killer in the Pennyfoot last year. It turned out he was killing people simply to throw you off the scent.”
    She threw him an uneasy glance. “Are you suggesting this could be the same scenario?”
    “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m merely pointing out that you can’t assume anything—something that Sam Northcott apparently hasn’t learned yet.”
    She sighed. “He does have a tendency to jump to conclusions.”
    “That’s not his only tendency.” Baxter tapped the newspaper with his fingers. “I’m surprised Cranshaw isn’t in charge of the case.”
    “So am I. There has to be