Read Murder on the First Day of Christmas (Chloe Carstairs Mysteries) for Free Online Page A

always?”
         “Be back as soon as I call Meagan.” He headed off to speak with his daughter, Trianos watching him thoughtfully.
         “Why’s the study off-limits?” Nancy asked me.
         Following her gaze, we could both see Saul toss back his nightly Scotch through the French doors as he dialed up Meagan, a perpetual student working on her third doctorate.
         “You know Saul,” I said lightly. “Always scared someone’s going to rip off his plot ideas. He made a big deal of locking his files when we were setting up, but if he wanted everything on one floor, he didn’t have a choice but to let us in there. Even so, he only agreed to have the door unlocked while he was greeting guests in the foyer.”
         I turned to find Trianos’s eyes on me, but glanced quickly away.
         “I’m surprised Saul let you in there at all.” Nancy eyed the buffet. “But then, he’s one to talk about snooping.” She headed toward the food.
         Saul was frowning as he rejoined our group, and I wondered if Meagan Taylor had had something better to do on a Saturday night than talk to her dad. Announcing loudly that he was ready for that dance, he took Robin’s hand as his mood brightened.
         “They’re playing our song, idea girl!” he all but shouted, as the band downstairs launched into a jazzy version of the Twelve Days of Christmas , the dance-floor guests joining in.
         “I’m taking off.” Trianos clapped Saul on the shoulder. “We’ll talk next week.”
         I couldn’t tell if he meant the comment for Saul or Robin, who seemed disappointed to see him leave.
         “Hear you’re a personal trainer now.” Gavin Beaumont cornered me as he mouthed another lobster puff. “Think you could whip me into shape?”
         “Absolutely, I love a challenge.”
         “Maybe we could trade services. You get me back into fighting shape, and I’ll give you free Pap smears for life.”
         I watched him lick lobster puff from his fat little fingers. Somehow, my usual line, “Let me check if I have any openings,” didn’t seem quite appropriate.
         All this and single, too? God, I hate the holidays.
         By midnight the party had wound down. Saul was stationed at the door as another wave of guests got ready to depart. Thankfully, we were part of that group.
         “Got something for you, Amanda!” Saul’s liquored voice boomed into the silence that followed the band’s departure, as he handed her a CD and then snagged a lobster puff off Gavin Beaumont’s plate as he passed by. “You gotta hear Rosemary Clooney’s version of the Twelve Days of Christmas .” He roared. “She does it better.”
         Before Mom could ask, “Better than whom?” Saul punctuated his comment with a playful pat on her bottom.
         Mistake. Big mistake.
         My father’s look of amusement mirrored my own. Saul shouldn’t have done that. We knew it. Everyone in the foyer knew it. Only our host seemed oblivious to the fact that taking liberties with Amanda Carstairs could severely shorten one’s life expectancy.
         Before Mom could get Saul’s attention with a glare that would decimate the little man with laser-like precision, though, his girlfriend stepped forward.
         “Your medicine.” Robin held out a pill.
        “I already took it.” He waved dismissively.
         We’d seen this routine played out more than once. Saul was notoriously forgetful about taking the digitalis he needed twice a day to control his irregular heartbeat.
         “No, you didn’t.” Robin pressed the pill into his hand.
         “You’re not in the will, so give it up.” He laughed at his own joke, seemed surprised when no one else did, then caught sight of Mom’s poisonous stare. “Fine. But you’ll all miss me when I’m gone.” He swallowed the pill with the last of his champagne - not what the doctor ordered.