Free Christmas is Murder by C. S. Challinor

swept down the hallway with Charley and Helen in tow to perform their part of the search.
    Sticking his thumbs in his ears, Charley wiggled his fingers behind the proprietor’s back. Helen threw Rex an amused smile as Mrs. Smithings disappeared into the parlor-office.
    “All right, Mrs. Bellows,” Rex said. “Are you ready?”
    The puppy made to follow Rosie as she joined Yvette and Patrick, assigned the library, kitchen, and scullery—then changed its mind and trailed Rex up the stairs.
    Feeling like a clumsy cat burglar in his latex gloves, borrowed from Mrs. Bellows, Rex started with the rooms in the west wing. Disregarding basic articles of clothing and hygiene, he wrote down a summary of items in his notebook:
    Patrick Vance (#1): Homebrewed valerian root sleep aid, blank sketchbook, leather manicure set.
    Anthony Smart (#2): Rogaine, vitamin supplements, library edition of The Razor’s Edge by Somerset Maugham, half-empty bottle of Courvoisier brandy stowed away in a tallboy.
    Working his way down the corridor, he skipped his own room and crossed the landing to the east wing. Unlike Patrick and Anthony’s suite, Wanda’s room looked like a grenade had exploded, dispersing clothes, purses, and shoes in every direction.
    “Lordie,” Mrs. Bellows exclaimed when she saw the crammed contents of the medicine cabinet.
    Rex made a brief inventory of the arsenal of lethal-sounding products designed to fight wrinkles, defend against free radical damage, and attack excess pounds, and added: Incense tapers (patchouli), 2 issues of Cosmopolitan , fitness magazines, photo album, key labeled “Master” in bedside drawer.
    That , he thought triumphantly, was how she had been able to get into number four to pay the dead Mr. Lawdry a visit.
    Next came Helen’s bedroom. Rex felt a ripple of voyeuristic anticipation and found himself experiencing a sense of relief that, though her room had a lived-in look, it in no way resembled the chaos residing in Wanda’s.
    Helen d’Arcy (#6): Knitting needles, sundry balls of wool, textbook on child psychology, unfinished letter to “Clive.” What was this? He read it to find out.
    “… I’m sorry I couldn’t go skiing with you in Aviemore, but I felt we needed some time apart. I’m not the person you think I am …”
    Mrs. Bellows tut-tutted as Rex perused the private letter.
    “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he told her. Where had he heard that before? “Well, no sign of the manuscript so far.”
    He locked the door and proceeded to the last occupied guest suite. “Lucky number seven,” he said, opening the door to the honeymoon suite. “Stay,” he commanded the dog, which paid no attention and shot in between his feet.
    Unlike the other suites, where two adjoining rooms shared a bath, this was a double room dominated by a canopy bed draped in rumpled yellow floral chintz. A teddy bear stared out from the snowy starched pillows. Picking it up, Rex saw it was zippered at the back, the inside lined with red quilted satin. Under Mrs. Bellow’s baleful eye, he tipped it over the bedspread, and an oval cameo brooch tumbled out from among the silky folds of a negligee.
    Upon closer examination, he found that the brooch was in fact a locket containing a worn engraving, which he couldn’t make out, even when he held it under the bedside lamp. He would need his magnifying glass. The cook scowled at him when he pocketed it.
    “Evidence,” he explained, scribbling in his notebook.
    Mr. & Mrs. Perkins (#7): Soft toy containing ivory cameo brooch approx. 5 by 4 cm with gold grapevine border; intact packet of oral contraceptive; massage oil; book entitled Hot Sex for Cool Couples.
    “Oooh, I like the sound of that,” Mrs. Bellows said when she saw it on the bedside table. “Wonder if they’ve discovered something new since me and the old man got wed. After thirty-five years I’d as soon have a cup of tea.”
    “Perhaps you could get a copy from the local