By Valerie S. Malmont
Homicide within the vacation spirit
It was once Christmas in Lickin Creek, and throughout town whatever used to be stirring..The borough council was once quarreling concerning the colour of the Christmas lighting fixtures. A social employee wouldn't permit a dwelling child be a part of the town's residing crèche. and a few women have been stretching the bounds in their leotards in a competition known as the Nutcracker. All in all, former New Yorker Tori Miracle was once basking within the old fashioned glow of her followed Pennsylvania city, whilst without notice the season went bitter. A boy was once lacking. A thirty-year-old secret resurfaced. And now humans were murdered. along with her boyfriend--the city police chief--out of city, Tori needs to aid his befuddled substitute. And what she reveals out, or might be checking out, is making Tori the subsequent target--of a person basically within the temper for murder....
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Additional resources for Death, Snow, and Mistletoe (Tori Miracle Mysteries, Book 4)
My wife works,” Moldy said. “So does Abby,” Greg said. I slipped an arm out and waved it. ” The three of them stared at me. ” They continued to stare, like I was a talking pillow. I had no recourse but to flip the covers back altogether. ” Rob gasped, properly aghast. ” “Abby, I can’t believe you bared it all for the Feds,” Bob boomed. “I didn’t. Greg put me to bed, so I was still wearing a bra and panties. We’ve been married two years and he still can’t—never mind. ” Bob draped a brotherly arm around my shoulder.
Monet was the name of a bird my wife bought at an auction,” Greg explained. “It was stolen from her shop a few days ago. ” The Feds conferred briefly. ” “Kidnapping is in your jurisdiction,” Greg snapped. I had never seen him so angry. ” I never knew that Greg had a vein on his right temple, much less one that could throb. ” “We’ll have to turn this matter over to your local police,” Scowler said. Moldy was, hands down, the more compassionate of the pair. ” I nudged Greg. “But it hasn’t been anywhere near twenty-four hours,” I whispered.
That’s a common starling—Sturnus vulgaris. They were imported from England, you know. In 1890 about a hundred of them were released in Central Park by a group that wanted to have every bird mentioned in Shakespeare flying loose on this continent. ” I was also giving the so-called missing mynah a closer look. “Well, I’ll be! That is a regular old starling. How did that happen? ” I knew that was stupid of me, but seeing is supposed to be believing, and I was trying my darnedest to believe. To her credit, the big gal chuckled only briefly.