Free Murder on the First Day of Christmas (Chloe Carstairs Mysteries) by Billie Thomas Page A

life.
         Robin said she hadn’t eaten much in the past week, but filled her plate, the brave girl, and smiled at Mom sweetly.
         “You’re always nice to me, Amanda.”
         “I’m so sorry about Saul,” Mom said.
         “Me too.” I added.
         “It’s just awful.”
         “Have the police told you anything?” Mom’s tone was gentle.
         Robin shook her head. “They’re investigating. They think I’m some kind of black widow.”
         Even Mom didn’t know how to respond.
         “Are you sure Saul hadn’t taken his medicine earlier?” I met Robin’s gaze.
         Mom gave me a look that indicated I had been less than subtle.
         Robin chewed on a sesame-studded prawn, eyes closed as if she were trying to relive the day. “I kept only necessities over at Saul’s, so I went back to my house to get ready for the evening, needing the heavy duty stuff for the party.”
         It made sense. The strapless bra, the body shimmer, and hair jewelry she had for special occasions would stay at her house. I was with her so far.
         “All I did when I got to Saul’s was slip into my dress. He could’ve taken his medicine while I was gone, or even while I was there, without my knowing it. But he never did that. You saw him. He had to be hounded to take it.”
         It felt like she was going over it with us so we could get our stories straight.
         “I don’t think the police would even be pushing this if Oscar hadn’t caused such a fuss. Where is our host, anyway?”
         My heart sank as I pictured Oscar ho-ho-hoing his way into the party and catching sight of Robin. Would there be one of his naughty little gifts for her in his bag?
         Bunny came over with Nancy hot on her heels, probably intent on making sure Bunny kept her wicked tongue firmly in check. As if a barrier had been broken, Dad and Jack Lassiter joined our little group in the dining room. Angela hovered nearby, staring at us as if she were writing the scene in her head.
         Everyone extended awkward condolences to Robin, which she accepted graciously. The spotlight suited her, and I couldn’t help thinking that she knew it.
         The only person who seemed uninteresting in the little drama unfolding around us was Gavin Beaumont. He called to us from the keeping room, “Nice touch, Amanda, putting a Santa Claus by the pool.”
         I did the math. Three thousand Santas, front yard in a sleigh and on every conceivable flat surface inside, but out back by the pool? That one wasn’t ours.
         Ah…
         “I didn’t put a Santa by the pool,” Mom announced, gladly helping Oscar pull off his little joke.
         The crowd caught the import of her words, and with much laughter, all fifty of us headed onto the deck, down the stamped concrete steps to the patio and over to the pool. In the moonlight, we could see the cheerful bulk of a red-suited Santa waiting patiently.
         Dad, Mom, Robin and I were at the back of the crowd. For some reason, we felt protective of Robin, sincerely hoping Oscar wouldn’t cause a scene in his sanctimonious way.
         “Oscar, you scamp, we wondered where you were.” Bunny rushed to be the first to sit on Santa’s lap, then stopped short, causing a traffic jam of bodies behind her. “Fake!” She pointed dramatically. “Fake! I can spot it in diamonds, and I can spot it in a Santa.”
         Sure enough, the Santa was a fake - a realistic, life-sized fake, but a fake nonetheless.
         The crowd turned on Mom as if she had misled them. “That’s the Santa from the sleigh out front,” she said.
         “No, we saw that Santa when we came in,” Gavin protested.
         Apparently when we came to the party, we had all walked past Oscar in his sleigh and been none the wiser.
         The crowd divided in two. Half went around the house toward the front, while the rest of us