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

made our way back inside and out the front door.
         On the front lawn, Bunny tramped (and I use this word deliberately) through the fake snow to where Oscar waited.
         “He’s real alright!” Bunny hiked her gown up to mid-thigh and climbed into the sleigh on top of Oscar. “Alright big boy, give me my present.”
         But Oscar had been given a present all his own. One of our clear Lucite icicles, having once hung artfully from the eaves of the Browleys’ house, was now plunged deeply into his back.
         Bunny’s screams went on and on, as she scrambled out of the sleigh and fell face first into the faux snow.

    CHAPTER 9
     
         It was a testament to Bunny Beaumont’s resilience (and to the strength of double-stick tape) that she pulled herself together so quickly. I mean, had I hopped into the lap of a dead man, I’m not sure I would have recovered as well.
         But Bunny picked herself right up, checked that her boobs were where she had left them and stalked past the stunned crowd back into the house, not even giving the devastated widow a second glance.
         Mom stopped Nancy from rushing toward her husband, who was obviously past the point of resuscitation. It was a clear, brisk night with just enough moonlight to see how grey Oscar’s face was and how lifeless his eyes looked. The blood had long since dried to a muddy brown down his back. Nancy, sobbing uncontrollably, let herself be led back into the house, while Jack Lassiter (how had Oscar Browley put it last week?) locked down the scene.
         More police. More questions.
         With Nancy resting upstairs under her doctor’s care, the rest of us gathered in the living room as the investigation got under way. Detective McGowan seemed particularly interested in which guests had been present at both parties. The list was a short one: my family, Nancy, Robin, Jack Lassiter, Angela Jannings, Gavin and Bunny Beaumont, my friend Dana and a handful of other people I didn’t know. A few members of Eloise’s catering crew had also worked both nights.
         “I’m not sure it matters,” Dad said quietly. “Anyone could have killed Oscar tonight. With Saul, it had to be someone in the house, but anyone could’ve come by and killed Oscar while he was sitting there.”
         “So,” Mom finished, “if Saul’s death was murder…”
         “It wasn’t!” Robin insisted.
         “But if it was,” Mom pressed forward gently, “and if both men were killed by the same person, it had to be someone at Saul’s party, whether or not they were here tonight.”
         “Like Tony Trianos,” Jack Lassiter said grimly.
         “I think it’s obvious now that Saul was murdered,” Angela said from her place at the edge of our group.
         “Obvious?” Robin protested. “I don’t see how!”
         Angela flashed a superior smile. “Two men, two friends, die one right after the other at holiday parties. It’s a little too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
         “Oh, I don’t know,” Gavin Beaumont commented. “The holidays can be a rough time of year. People drink too much, eat too much. Emotions run high. Lot of suicides.”
         “I hardly think Oscar stabbed himself in the back,” Angela scoffed.
         “And Saul didn’t kill himself either. It was an accident,” Robin insisted.
         Angela made a derisive noise. Robin glared at her.
         Gavin wanted to finish his point, even if he looked less comfortable with all eyes upon him.  “I’m just saying that Saul’s death could have been an accident.” Robin looked triumphantly at Angela. “Or it could have been murder.” Angela nodded with satisfaction. “But a murder completely unrelated to what happened tonight. The holidays can bring out the best and the worst in people. They can be happy, or they can be tragic. I think they’re hard for more people than we’d like to