The Big Chill

By Hannah Howe

“If you like psychological detective stories with a touch of humour and romance, you will love Sam Smith.”

Someone was out to murder me. I had no idea who, when or why, but with a snowstorm gripping the city and with a determined assassin closing in, I faced the most dangerous moment of my life and the very real prospect of feeling the big chill.

The Big Chill - A Sam Smith Mystery. Book Three in the Sam Smith Mystery Series featuring private detective Samantha Smith.

The Sam Smith Mystery Series in order:

Sam's Song
Love and Bullets
The Big Chill
Ripper

Also published: The First Sam Smith Omnibus featuring Sam's Song, Love and Bullets and The Big Chill

• Language: English
• Publisher: Goylake Publishing
• Release date: Aug 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310755446

Hannah Howe

Hannah Howe is the bestselling author of the Sam Smith Mystery Series (Sam's Song, book one in the series, has reached number one on the amazon.com private detective chart on seven separate occasions and the number one position in Australia). Hannah lives in the picturesque county of Glamorgan with her partner and their two children. She has a university degree and a background in psychology, which she uses as a basis for her novels.Hannah began her writing career at school when her teacher asked her to write the school play. She has been writing ever since. When not writing or researching Hannah enjoys reading, genealogy, music, chess and classic black and white movies. She has a deep knowledge of nineteenth and twentieth century popular culture and is a keen student of the private detective novel and its history.Hannah's books are available in print, as audio books and eBooks from all major retailers: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Google Play, Kobo, iBooks, etc. For more details please visit https://hannah-howe.comThe Sam Smith Mystery Series in book order:Sam's SongLove and BulletsThe Big ChillRipperThe Hermit of HisaryaSecrets and LiesFamily HonourSins of the FatherSmoke and MirrorsStardustMind GamesDigging in the DirtA Parcel of RoguesBostonThe Devil and Ms DevlinSnow in AugustLooking for Rosanna MeeStormy WeatherDamagedEve’s War: Heroines of SOEOperation ZigzagOperation LocksmithOperation BroadswordOperation TreasureOperation SherlockOperation CameoOperation RoseOperation WatchmakerOperation OverlordOperation Jedburgh (to follow)Operation Butterfly (to follow)Operation Liberty (to follow)The Golden Age of HollywoodTula: A 1920s Novel (to follow)The Olive Tree: A Spanish Civil War SagaRootsBranchesLeavesFruitFlowersThe Ann's War Mystery Series in book order:BetrayalInvasionBlackmailEscapeVictoryStandalone NovelsSaving Grace: A Victorian MysteryColette: A Schoolteacher’s War (to follow)What readers have been saying about the Sam Smith Mystery Series and Hannah Howe..."Hannah Howe is a very talented writer.""A gem of a read.""Sam Smith is the most interesting female sleuth in detective fiction. She leaves all the others standing.""Hannah Howe's writing style reminds you of the Grandmasters of private detective fiction - Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler and Robert B. Parker.""Sam is an endearing character. Her assessments of some of the people she encounters will make you laugh at her wicked mind. At other times, you'll cry at the pain she's suffered.""Sam is the kind of non-assuming heroine that I couldn't help but love.""Sam's Song was a wonderful find and a thoroughly engaging read. The first book in the Sam Smith mystery series, this book starts off as a winner!""Sam is an interesting and very believable character.""Gripping and believable at the same time, very well written.""Sam is a great heroine who challenges stereotypes.""Hannah Howe is a fabulous writer.""I can't wait to read the next in the series!""The Big Chill is light reading, but packs powerful messages.""This series just gets better and better.""What makes this book stand well above the rest of detective thrillers is the attention to the little details that makes everything so real.""Sam is a rounded and very real character.""Howe is an author to watch, able to change the tone from light hearted to more thoughtful, making this an easy and yet very rewarding read. Cracking!""Fabulous book by a fabulous author-I highly recommended this series!""Howe writes her characters with depth and makes them very engaging.""I loved the easy conversational style the author used throughout. Some of the colourful ways that the main character expressed herself actually made me laugh!""I loved Hannah Howe's writing style -- poignant one moment, terrifying the next, funny the next moment. I would be on the edge of my seat praying Sam wouldn't get hurt, and then she'd say a one-liner or think something funny, and I'd chuckle and catch my breath. Love it!""Sam's Song is no lightweight suspense book. Howe deals with drugs, spousal abuse, child abuse, and more. While the topics she writes about are heavy, Howe does a fantastic job of giving the reader the brutal truth while showing us there is still good in life and hope for better days to come."

Book preview

Chapter One

Maybe it was all a dream. I was lying, naked, in a strange bed. The night had brought a series of exquisite delights, from the delicious meal of tagliatelle tricolore with broccoli and a rich cheese sauce, to truly wondrous sex, to lying in each other’s arms watching Vera Caspary’s Laura on the bedroom DVD. My eyelids fluttered at the memory, my insides turned to liquid honey and I realised that after thirty-two years of troubled existence, love had ferried me to Elysium. This was the happiest phase of my life. I was deeply in love for the first time in my life and I found the strains of Kiki Dee’s ‘Amoureuse’ drifting through my mind. I hugged my pillow and smiled. Then I rolled over to hug my lover, and found that he wasn’t there.

I panicked. Grabbing the first thing to hand, Alan’s shirt, I ran from the bedroom into the hall. He wasn’t there. With my heart in my mouth, I ran into the living room. He wasn’t there. With my pulse pounding in my temples, I raced into Alan’s study. He wasn’t there. Then I heard the sound of a frying pan on the stove while my nostrils scented the aroma of fried bacon. I sighed and as I wandered into the kitchen, my pulse returned to something approaching normal.

Alan grinned at me from his position beside the stove. He picked up a spatula, rolled a sausage into the bacon fat then eyed my slender body, only partially concealed by his shirt. He winked, Very fetching.

Automatically, I gathered the shirt around my midriff, then I ran over to him and gave him a big hug. Abandoning his spatula and his breakfast, Alan turned and hugged me in turn. We kissed. Then, with my arms still wrapped around him, I placed my head on his shoulder, against the soft fleece of his dressing gown.

Of course, he was there. What did I expect? A note saying that that was the most miserable night of my life ever, in fact, you’ve made me feel so depressed I’ve gone to the cliff top to throw myself into the sea. I had come a long way in a short time, but such thoughts were indicative of my insecurities, legacies of my violent past when my mother and my ex-husband had beaten me mercilessly. With Alan’s help, I had come a long way in a short time, but I was still making the journey, I still had some way to go before I felt truly comfortable with the idea of being in love.

Sensing that something was amiss, Alan caressed my long auburn hair. He kissed my forehead and asked, Are you all right, Sam?

I hugged him and smiled. I looked up into his sympathetic brown eyes. I am now.

The bacon spat and hissed, recapturing Alan’s attention. Would you like some breakfast?

Not that, I frowned, pulling a face.

I know, you’re a veggie. Maybe some cereal? He nodded towards a pine cupboard, nestling beside a Welsh dresser. Help yourself; you should find something in there.

I squatted beside the cupboard, then removed a packet of muesli. That would suit me, so I sprinkled the cereal into a bowl, poured myself a cup of coffee and added a glass of fruit juice.

As I sipped the fruit juice, Alan placed mushrooms in his frying pan. He was pushing the boat out this morning, preparing a full, cooked breakfast. Though, fair play, he deserved it, for he had worked up quite an appetite.

As though capturing my thoughts, Alan turned away from the stove and smiled at me. It was a beautiful night. And you, my love, were truly sensational.

My hips offered an involuntary wiggle while my cheeks turned scarlet. Just doing what comes naturally.

Alan laughed, quietly to himself. He flicked the bacon over in the frying pan, then chopped three tomatoes and added them to the mix. The forecast is set fair for today, he said, glancing towards the kitchen window. I thought maybe we could go for a ramble along the coastal path and have a picnic lunch.

I nodded and smiled. I’d love that.

Then home for tomorrow. Are you working on anything of interest?

My thoughts wandered away from Alan’s holiday cottage, situated in the beautiful surroundings of the Gower Peninsula, to my crumbling Victorian office in Butetown, Cardiff. Soon, our romantic weekend would be over and we’d be back at work, Alan as a psychologist, yours truly as an enquiry agent. I knew from talking with Alan that he loved his work. I also knew from conversations with his daughter, Alis, and his friends, that he was highly regarded by his peers. Without wishing to sound boastful, I had carved out a steady career for myself too. It had been a hard slog for five years, but now my agency was showing a modest profit, my reputation was growing and most important of all I loved the work.

You remember Angus? I asked, returning to Alan’s question.

Uh-huh. Isn’t he the man who encouraged you to become an enquiry agent?

He is. Well, Angus asked me to help him with a case. Builders are dismantling an old chapel in the city and lead from the roof is disappearing into thin air. Angus asked me to tail the builders’ lorry, though my task is to show myself. Hopefully, when the builders have spotted me they will drop their guard and so make it easier for Angus to tail them. From there it’s up to him. It’s a simple task, and Angus was very good to me, so it’s nice to return a favour.

Uh-huh, Alan agreed while reaching for the coffee pot. As he poured himself a cup of coffee, he glanced at me and said, It’ll be Christmas soon; would you like to spend the holiday with Alis and me?

My eyes widened and sparkled at the thought. I’d love to.

Excellent. He leaned towards me then kissed me, full on the lips. So that’s settled. The kiss developed into a hug and the hug...well, I’ll leave that to your imagination...suffice to say, when we came up for air, we were both rather flushed. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this, Alan mused, his chin resting on the crown of my head, his gaze, I sensed, lost in the middle distance. He kissed my hair, then said, You make me feel whole again, Sam, you make me feel alive.

I looked up, into his eyes, and smiled. Alan had lost his wife, Elin, to a climbing accident and I knew that a part of him was still with her, that he was still troubled by the events of that fateful day. I had no illusions about myself, no pretentions; I could never replace Elin, I could never be his wife. But we could still be there for each other and we could still share special days, and nights.

While I completed the ritual of early morning ablutions, Alan returned to the stove where he switched off the gas before loading his plate with his greasy spoon breakfast. Consuming food like that, he should be overweight and sluggish, yet he was lively, athletic and trim. Good genes, I guess, and along with handsome looks, he’d been blessed in that department.

Alan joined me at the breakfast table, a solid pine affair that was a hundred years old, if it was a day. Are you doing anything tomorrow night? he asked.

I was thinking of painting my fingernails. I held my left hand in the air and wiggled my fingers. Before Alan, I had the terrible habit of biting my fingernails. Now, my nails were growing nicely, a small example of the calming effect Alan had on my life.

Alis is attending her art class, Alan informed me after a mouthful of tomato. I have a two hour window, he grinned suggestively.

Only two hours? I replied, hiding my blush behind my coffee cup.

Should be long enough.

For dinner and, er, dessert?

I was thinking dessert first, Alan said, then Alis could join us for a late supper.

I splashed some milk over the muesli and stirred the cereal with my spoon. Then, after a sip of coffee, I complained, half-heartedly, You’re going to ruin my figure.

Nonsense, you’re good for at least another ten pounds.

I nodded, smiled, then scooped up a spoonful of muesli. Alan was right, as he was about most things. I was a size ten, who could occasionally squeeze into a size eight; an extra ten pounds would do me no harm, in fact adding a dress size would probably do me good.

As Alan tucked into his breakfast, I gazed at my cereal bowl and reflected. This weekend has been magical.

Alan nodded. And it’s only the beginning.

I hope it will never end.

Can you think of anyone who could tear us apart?

I shook my head decisively. No; no one.

Alan smiled, a smile of contentment. He reached across the table and took hold of my hand. He gave my fingers a gentle, affectionate squeeze. Then I guess we’re stuck with each other, forever and a day, until hell freezes over.

I returned his smile and nodded. Soppy as it sounds, I’d found the man of my dreams. Forever and a day. I could settle for that.

Chapter Two

The following morning I completed my task for Angus. Tailing by car was one of the toughest skills I had to learn as an enquiry agent. Ideally, you maintain a distance of one or two car lengths in towns and cities, a gap of four cars on country roads and a larger gap of up to a dozen cars on motorways. Surprisingly, people who drive too fast are easier to tail than people who drive too slow, mainly because fast drivers seldom use their rear-view mirrors.

Angus had set me an easy task – make sure I was seen, so I travelled bumper to bumper along the city roads until we arrived at a pre-arranged destination, a junction crowded by road works. There, I allowed the builders’ lorry, loaded with its cargo of lead, to escape, aware that Angus would resume the tail. My job complete, I made my way to my office.

I was in my office, sorting through the mail, mainly of the junk variety, replying to messages left on my answering machine, filing documents in my filing cabinet, when a feline face appeared at the window. Marlowe. I opened the window and the cat, complete with a split ear – fighting again, Marlowe, I hope she was worth it – entered and rubbed himself against my arm. Marlowe purred, a deep, throaty purr, then he leapt on to my desk and licked the space where my computer should be. After months of aggravation, I’d dropped my old computer out of the window – not a wise, but a cathartic gesture – and ordered a new one. The new computer lasted two weeks before it started to play up. After some haggling, I managed to negotiate a replacement and now I was waiting for that replacement to arrive.

The weekend with Alan was still fresh in my mind and I was in a joyful mood. In fact, I was singing Patti Smith’s ‘Because the Night’, swinging my head, really getting into it, allowing my long hair to sway all over my face, about to play some air guitar when someone entered my office, a young girl, around seven years old. She had fair, collar length hair, thick and shaped into a basin cut. Her eyes were blue and wide, as though staring in wonder, while her face was innocent and cherubic. Dressed in blue jeans, she wore a ragged woollen jumper, which