Read Holidays Can Be Murder: A Charlie Parker Christmas Mystery for Free Online Page A

her to the front door and watched her move lightly down the steps. The sun had come out early and melted the snow from walkways and street, leaving only the lawns and shrubs in frosty white.
    A nap sounded pretty good to me too, but I first called each of my brothers to wish them Merry Christmas. Paul’s household in Mesa, Arizona, was raucous with the shrieks of his two kids and a series of electronic blips in the background. Distracted by all of it, Paul was clearly not with me, so I ended the call after just the basics. Ron answered his phone with a note of hope in his voice.
    “Oh, I thought it might be the boys,” he said when he heard my voice.
    “They’ll call,” I assured him. My heart goes out to my elder brother every other year when he faces this separation from his kids. Part of the price one pays for selecting the wrong spouse, then producing three munchkins before figuring out what kind of person she really is. Ron’s divorce hit him hard and Bernadette did nothing to make it easier, either for him or for the kids.
    “Dinner’s at five,” I told him, repeating the invitation extended a few days earlier. “But come any time. You and Drake can play with your new Christmas toys.” I didn’t mention my new gun. Knowing my brother, he’d convince Drake to head out to the range immediately, and I wanted to be the first to fire it. Sometime in the next few days we’d find the time.

    I awoke to the weird sensation that something was way out of place. Before my eyes opened, the realization came that there were voices. I rolled over and moaned and squinted at the red numerals on my bedside clock. 12:37. No wonder—I was still into those first few really deep-sleep hours. After our early dinner, we’d sat around the table playing card games for several hours before calling it a night around eleven.
    The voices rose and fell and seemed to be coming from outside.
    “What’s going on?” Drake said, his voice coming through clearly, like he’d been awake for awhile.
    I turned toward him and realized that I was seeing faint images of red and blue lights swirling across the ceiling. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and slipped on my new robe. Stepping to the window, I peeked into the back yard. Same eerie swirling lights, but no clue as to their source. I stepped into our bathroom, whose windows face the side yard and the Garfield’s house. The strobes were clearly reflecting off the side of their home.
    “Something’s wrong next door,” I told Drake. “Let me see.”
    I nearly tripped over Rusty as he jumped up and tried to race me to the hall. Drake was pulling on his robe as I made my way through the darkened house to the front door. I gripped Rusty’s collar as I opened the front door and stepped out to the front porch.
    Three police cars sat at the curb in front of the Garfield’s house and ours. An ambulance was backed into Wilbur and Judy’s driveway. It was the vehicle with the lights flashing. A small cluster of neighbors stood in front of the Johnson’s, the house directly across from ours. Luminaria bags slumped in wilted mounds along their sidewalk.
    “What’s going on?” Drake said, joining me on our front porch.
    “Can’t tell. Something next door. Gotta get shoes,” I gasped. My bare feet were nearly frozen to the cement.
    I ran back inside and dropped my robe, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, socks and my walking boots. Drake was right behind me, grabbing clothes and boots, too. I instructed Rusty that he had to stay inside and I headed across the lawn toward the Garfield’s front door.
“Hold it right there, ma’am,” a sharp voice commanded. A rough hand gripped my shoulder and spun me around. “Charlie?”
“Kent? What’s going on here?”
He dropped his hand but stood firmly blocking my way.
“This is a crime scene. Neighbors of yours, I gather?”
    “Uh, yeah. I live right here,” I said, indicating our house with a vague wave. “What kind of crime?”