Mistletoe and Mayhem by Kate Kingsbury

for longer than her patience would allow, she rapped again. Louder this time.
    The door swung open, but all she could see was hairy fingers clutching the edge. “What is it?”
    The harsh tone seemed to grate right inside her head. “Your tray, sir.” Her own voice had sounded higher than usual and she cleared her throat.
    “Leave it there. I’m indisposed at the moment. I’ll pick it up in a while.”
    Concerned, she edged closer to the door. “Are you ill, sir? I can bring some powders up for you, if you like?”
    “I am not ailing, woman! Just leave the tray and go away.” The door snapped shut again.
    Offended, Gertie bent her knees and dropped the tray none too lightly on the floor. Serve him bloody well right if the ants got to it before he did. Straightening, she thumbed her nose at the door and turned her back on it. That was the last time she was taking up a tray to that old bugger. He could starve inside that bloody room for all she cared. Having settled that in her mind, she tramped back down the stairs to the kitchen.
     
    Cecily shivered as she rounded the corner of the building.
    Stray snowflakes still floated down on the wind, but turned to water the moment they hit the ground. With any luck, they would have no snowfall to spoil the Boxing Day hunt.
    Her skirts whipped around her ankles as she entered the rose garden, and she drew her shawl closer around her throat. She was thankful to see Clive raking the flower beds as she passed under the trellis arches that supported the roses in the summer.
    Although Charlie’s body had been removed from the premises, viewing a crime scene was never one of her favorite things to do, and it was comforting to have someone else present.
    The big man paused when he saw her coming, and propped his rake up against the wall. “I’m sorry about what happened to Charlie,” he said, as she approached. “I would have come and told you myself, but I thought it best to stay here until the body had been taken away.”
    “Of course, Clive. Thank you.” Cecily glanced at the rose bushes. “Whereabouts did you find him?”
    “Right here, m’m.” Clive stepped into the row of bushes and pointed at the ground. “I picked up the gargoyle pieces and raked it all over. I hope that was all right.”
    Cecily would rather have seen the murder weapon still in place, but she was reluctant to tell Clive what she suspected. He would find out soon enough if Madeline’s vision proved to be correct. “Where did you put those pieces?” she asked him instead.
    “In the dustbin, m’m.” He gave her a sharp look. “I can retrieve them if you like?”
    She shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Both Dr. Prestwick and P.C. Northcott are satisfied with their investigations.” She glanced up at the roof, unable to suppress a shudder at the thought of that heavy masonry hurtling down on Charlie’s defenseless head. “I suppose the men are still doing the repairs on the roof?”
    “No, m’m. They finished up this morning. They left a short while ago.”
    “Oh, dear. I really needed to talk to the foreman.”
    “Mick Docker?” Clive looked even more curious. “Well, he did say he’d be back this afternoon to pick up his money.”
    “Oh, good. I can talk to him then.” Of course, how silly of her. The man had to be paid, and she would take care of that herself, as usual.
    “The constable talked to Mick this morning about the accident,” Clive said, reaching for his rake. “I heard Mick tell him he packed everything down tight last night and he can’t understand how the gargoyle got loose.”
    Avoiding Clive’s probing gaze, Cecily said hurriedly, “Well, these things happen. It could have been the wind, or maybe a cat brushing up against it.”
    “Yes, m’m. If you say so.”
    She was about to answer him when she heard someone call out behind her. Turning, she saw Samuel hurrying toward her. One look at his face told her he was bringing bad news. Clutching