Murder at Midnight by C. S. Challinor

champagne,” his fiancée reminded him. “Quick. We need to fill everyone’s glass.”
    “On my way.”
    He lined up fifteen flute glasses on the drinks cabinet ready to put on a tray, and stoked up the fire.
    Some of the guests rose from the coffee table to help themselves to the new spread of snacks Helen was setting out on the buffet table. Drew approached Zoe, who stood at one end fumbling among the heap of handbags. Julie’s eyes followed him possessively.
    When it became obvious the house agent was chatting up the aspiring young actress and not simply making a comment in passing, she strode purposefully toward the pair. Rex only hoped it wasn’t Zoe whom Drew hoped to kiss at the stroke of twelve. A painful scene would be bound to ensue.

5 murder is afoot
    Rex chatted with John and Alistair for a few minutes. He then loaded a tray with empty glasses and headed, whistling, toward the kitchen to put the champagne on ice. Everything was going grand. The guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even Margarita Delacruz was laughing now and talking more freely. He couldn’t have devised a better diversion to break the ice than a poem containing clues pointing to hidden treasure. And Julie’s party game had livened things up even further. It promised to be a memorable Hogmanay party indeed.
    About to set one foot in the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks. Helen and Julie sat in the breakfast nook looking as though someone had died. Julie’s mascara had smeared over her cheekbones, her fine blue eyes red and swollen. She clutched a tissue and blew her nose into it when she saw him. Too late to back out now, he thought with regret, taking in the tearful scene and suspecting what it was all about. He recalled too many scenes from his dim and distant past of women crying in kitchens at parties to want to witness this one.
    “Sorry to intrude,” he said, depositing the tray on the countertop. “Anything I can do, or should I just get lost?”
    “It’s Drew,” Helen explained needlessly, squeezing her friend’s forearm. “He’s jilted her.”
    She’s only known him five minutes , Rex was about to protest, stopping himself just in time. The women didn’t want to hear reason at such a time. They just wanted to vent.
    “Drew likes to play the field,” he said. “That’s just the way he is.”
    “How do you know?” Julie asked with a sob in her throat.
    “Just the impression I got in my dealings with him. When we were house-hunting across the Highlands, his phone was constantly going off. He was fielding calls from two or more women. It was rather distracting, in fact. In the end, I got a new agent, though we stayed on friendly terms.”
    “Drew is too attractive for his own good,” Helen remarked.
    Rex put the champagne bottles in ice buckets and prepared to make his exit, glancing around to see if there was anything else he needed to take into the living room. Perhaps another log for the fire … He exited the kitchen door leading outside and ventured forth into the bone-chilling night to the woodshed while sleet lashed into his face. A man’s shoe prints showed in the slush on the patio. One of the guests must have been back here for some reason, he thought; perhaps for a smoke. He headed in the opposite direction and unlatched the door to the woodshed. It creaked on its hinges as it swung open. Dark and murky, the shed gave out the scent of newly sawn pinewood, and also smelled of cold. He reached toward the neatly stacked cords, grabbed a thick branch, and rushed back to the house, grateful for the warmth of the kitchen.
    Helen still sat patiently consoling her friend. He felt he should offer some words of solace himself. “Plenty of fish in the sea, lass,” he placated the jilted Julie.
    To his consternation, her head sank into her arms on the pine table, and she started to sob uncontrollably. Helen directed him a look that clearly stated, “Now look what you’ve done!”
    He beat a hasty retreat,