Secret Santa

By Rose Yates

It’s Christmas, and a stone thrown through his office window has left the Leader of the Council dead. No love is lost - after all, this is the man responsible for threatening the town's much needed community centre with closure. 
The police say it's murder.  
Oliver, a bank employee nearing retirement, meets Lily, a young woman passionate for social justice. When Lily’s homeless friend, Joey, is arrested for the Council Leader’s murder, Oliver resolves to act. 
Dressing up as Santa for the community centre’s Christmas party, Oliver stumbles across a clue that could be the key to solving the crime - but first, some important questions need to be answered. 
Why is a boorish MP hounding a young boy over a pair of women’s driving gloves? Why is a community centre worker pestering the MP’s wife for money? Not forgetting the racist Mrs Willow who definitely knows more than she’s letting on, and the elderly Mrs Eade who claims to know who’s responsible, but will never tell.  
What this town needs is a real Secret Santa, someone to redistribute wealth to those who need it most. Will the murder mystery be solved, and could the community centre finally be saved? 
Set in the years following the financial crash, this is a whodunit with a beating heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Dec 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781789019384

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 Rose Yates

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Matador®

9 Priory Business Park,

Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

Tel: [phone]

Email: [e-mail]

Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

Twitter: @matadorbooks

ISBN 978 1789019 384

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

Contents

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

26.

27.

28.

29.

30.

31.

32.

1.

The night cleaner was the first to find the boss dead at his desk, just a few weeks before Christmas. Except it wasn’t the usual cleaner, it was her stand in, Josephine. She opened the office door on the first floor of the town hall and breezed in anxious to get the job done and there he was. At first, she thought it was just possible that a cleaner on another floor was playing some joke, like Samuel bored with his hoovering who thought it would be amusing to set her nerves on edge.

But no, the man slumped in his swivel chair was indeed the Leader of the Council, and worse, his head was all bloodied. He must have been struck, because the weapon just lay there on the carpet, a heavy chiselled stone like something from the Pennines. Even in death he was dapper and spotless except for a little blood speckled on his waistcoat.

As she stood there staring a shadow filled up the window and seemed to move across the body. It was the massive red and white inflated Santa tied to the building that the Council Leader provided in December for the enjoyment of the people of the town. Only then did she see the hole in the glass, the stone must have come through the window, hit him on the head and killed him.

She had no intention of getting caught up in something as sordid as a dead boss, but she had to do something. So she screamed and screamed until hearing her, Samuel from upstairs, came running.

‘What is it?’ He stopped when he saw the damage for himself. ‘Oh, this is not good.’

Josephine was getting hysterical, she shouted, ‘This isn’t my job I should be on the ground floor. It’s not my job. It was the lady who’s off sick. It is her floor, it is her responsibility, not mine.’

‘It is not our responsibility, Josephine. Quiet yourself. We must think what to do.’ Samuel was not a big man, but he was strong and appeared capable, although their supervisor, Mrs Willow, thought he was always cutting corners. Josephine had learnt in the brief time she had been employed by the agency that served the town hall, to avoid his foolery. The other cleaners were wary because he would tease them. He was an educated man but he was such a joker, and this was a crisis. The obvious thing to do was to go and find a member of the office staff, or Mrs Willow, who was never very far away.

‘I will go and tell someone,’ Josephine offered, desperate to get away from the dead Leader. ‘If we don’t, we will all get thrown out of the UK!’

‘Don’t you have a visa?’

‘Of course I have a visa! I have every legitimate right to be here.’

‘Wait,’ said Samuel, catching her sleeve. ‘We must think this through. Have you touched him?’

‘Ugh, no,’ she shivered.

‘Good, that’s good.’ He stood there deliberating. ‘What we must do is wheel him over to the side room, no-one will find him there. He could just as easily be sitting at the head of the table conducting a meeting and then this happened.’

‘What! But then how did he get hit by the stone, it has come through the window? Look!’

Samuel went over to the window. He simply pulled down the blind and left the stone where it was. ‘Now no-one will see the broken window. See? Help me move him, the chair is on wheels.’

‘No, I will not! Why are you doing this?’

But he wouldn’t answer; too busy pushing the dead man in his chair over to the side room. He motioned to her to open the door but she was shaking, and refused. He opened it himself and edged the chair through, leaving the man at the head of the board table. It was a room they rarely went in and meant he was unlikely to be found for a while. She couldn’t understand and watched in horror as he brought another chair from the room and placed it behind the man’s desk. He ushered her out into the corridor and closed the Leader of the Council’s office door.

‘You had finished in there, OK?’

She felt herself getting hysterical again, which was only to be expected.

‘Why are you doing this? You will get us both in trouble.’

He walked her down the corridor towards the fire stairs.

‘Wait,’ she said, ‘I remember, before I went into the Leader’s office the door to the fire stairs was closing. Someone had just walked past, I know it. Maybe they had come out of the office?’

‘Or, they were just walking past. This is nothing to do with us. I am making sure we don’t get into trouble.’ He stopped, ‘Did you leave anything in the office? Your hoover, polish?’

‘No, I hadn’t started in there, I’ve done nothing, nothing!’

‘Good, it will give us a day at least. I do not want the police to come around to my house, which they will, and yours.’

‘I have nothing to hide, I am legit.’

‘Not everyone is. Now get on with your shift and say nothing.’ As she hesitated, he insisted, ‘Please Josephine, it is for the best.’

She worked her way through the other offices which were mercifully free of dead bodies. She did her best to hoover efficiently but might have missed a corner or two in her anxiety. Samuel was there at the end of her shift, in the storeroom, where the cleaners left their coats and umbrellas. He approached her as she tucked her cleaning materials into a locker.

‘We want to help people, don’t we?’ he said, coming up close, flicking up the collar on his coat. It was a surprisingly nice coat she thought, for a night cleaner. ‘We are here on earth to help people,’ he whispered. Josephine only knew Samuel as a nuisance who played silly tricks, but his look was very intent. It frightened her, but then the whole episode had been terrifying.

She busied about for a moment putting away her things. Whatever had happened in the Leader’s office, it certainly wasn’t respectable.

‘I am a Christian woman, I know how to look after people,’ she said, shaking him off.

She pushed past him to get her bus, leaving him standing there. She didn’t care if he was laughing behind her back or he was serious. Whatever it was, being in his company was no place for a respectable woman. She scurried out of the building like a thief in the night, instead of a decent citizen who was entitled to be here. She thought about the police knocking on her door all the way home.

2.

‘Are you OK, Heather?’ Kath called across from the office at Beech House.

Beech House Community Centre was such a necessary resource for their service users, if sometimes a little draughty in winter and overheated in summer. It wasn’t much of a building, yellow walls and dingy rooms with plastic chairs and wobbly tables and the hatch in the dining hall not working properly, but it was everything to its users.

And Heather was one of those steadfast people who made it so. The poor dear arrived, uncharacteristically, a little late, fumbling and flustered at the door. She was such a slight figure and for some reason today, looked much older that her years. She had probably rushed across town, no doubt from one of her many visits to the lonely and housebound. She would often take an elderly neighbour out to tea or walk their dog. She would conscientiously bring housebound people to Beech House each week by taxi and volunteered most days.

And it was all such a bloody waste of time.

Kath banged the front door shut against the wind. She knew she was getting cynical and no wonder. If only the centre had the resources to expand its provision rather than be razed to the ground. The council had threatened closure for months and now it was going to happen. A calamity was about to befall the place, and could they stop it? No more than they could stop a snowflake from melting in a fire.

Heather appeared unusually preoccupied and shook her mackintosh, it was rather wet. The mild weather had thickened up the clouds and brought on a shower. It had been like this throughout the first days of December. But Kath was going to stay cheery and battle on regardless of the coming announcements. She dashed off along the paint-peeling corridors towards the sound of rising voices: an altercation developing amongst the service users. Sort it out sharpish before the meeting. No-one else was available: Marion, the centre manager, was in her office busy with preparing for the meeting, the other staff in the dining hall making a bit of lunch, not that they could provide much for people these days. It was mostly the elderly who popped in for a cup of tea. Beech House was a remarkable place, it can’t close! They would just have to move somewhere better, if that’s what it took. They would have to make some kind of appeal to the local community: finance a move to another building. But there were no other buildings. The Leader of the Council himself had promised to look into it, but had he bothered to turn up to the meeting today? No, it was clearly too much trouble to even come and apologise.

In the end room Kath found Monica and Janet arguing how to put up the Christmas lights. They had no idea of what was about to happen. They would be stuck at home with their tired parents, their only carers, if this day facility closed. This was a sad thing to see; next year there would be no lights, no tree, and no centre. And where would these two go then? Nowhere, that’s where.

‘It’s no use just standing about, Janet,’ Monica objected, waiting on the first rung of the small step ladder, where she had been told to remain. Kath went and steadied the ladder, just in case.

Janet understood and got hold of the length of twine. She picked up one end off the floor and dutifully held on to it, waiting for further instructions.

‘Well done Janet, you are holding that very carefully. How are you doing, Mon? Almost done?’ They both beamed at her, both wanting her exclusive attention.

‘Yes, I can do it.’ But Monica was finding it a struggle; it was tricky for anyone winding a thin trail of lights around a scratchy plastic tree. Kath knew, she’d done it at home last night. ‘Just got this bit to wrap round here,’ Monica said, all business-like, and then stood down onto the floor. She was under strict instructions not to go up to the next step and she hadn’t. She had succeeded in winding the lights down from the centre of the tree to the low table it stood on but hadn’t ventured higher up.

‘You’ve missed the top bit,’ Janet pointed out.

‘That’s OK, you’ve both done well. I’ll get Gary to finish it. You need to get your coats now, it’s home time.’

‘Gary is driving us,’ Monica pointed out.

‘Yes, but then he’ll come back here, and we’ll finish off the decs.’

‘Will you do it?’

‘Yes, I’ll do it.’ Kath led them back up the corridor to join the others who stood at the door waiting for Gary to escort them home in the minibus. They would be classed as vulnerable adults, living at home or in supported accommodation, many with learning difficulties, all buzzing with the great morning they’d had sorting out the Christmas decorations. Next time she would see them would be at the Christmas party and then what? Would that be it? Kath felt tears well up again. Ever since Marion told her the news, she’d oscillated from cynicism to tears and back again, in seconds.

In the kitchen Kath found Heather supervising the kettle, pouring tea and coffee and sorting out a plate of biscuits for the meeting. But this time her hand was shaking, spilling the milk.

She looked up, apologetically. ‘It’s been a bit of a rush today.’

‘It’s just nerves, it’s Christmas, we’ve all got too much to do,’ Kath said, taking the tray. What would Heather think when she heard Marion’s announcement? Carrying trays they headed up the corridor to the office. Marion was one of the best managers ever: she was loyal, and she fought hard for the centre. When the council had first threatened closure she had confided in Kath and together they had contacted local media and received some coverage. She had already approached their MP who said he would do what he could, but his hands were tied. She had tried local councillors and got nowhere, it was happening all over. The Leader of the Council was the man with the decision and everyone knew he had his own agenda, no matter what sympathetic murmurings he came out with. He would always go along with central government, implement the cuts and totally ignore the needs of vulnerable people, the bastard.

Kath slammed the tray down on Marion’s desk.

Get a grip, girl.

Marion raised her eyebrows. She looked like she hadn’t slept, her eyes were all red. The part-time volunteer staff filed into the office. Marion waited until everyone was settled, then took a breath.

‘You know, we’re lucky we’re still offering a service,’ she said hesitantly. ‘So many community and day centres have closed, so many services have been cut, mental health, for example. So far, it’s just been threats. But now, I’m afraid, it’s going to happen.’

‘So, what’s the damage?’ Kath asked, knowing full well what it was. She tried to look cheerful and positive in front of the others.

‘Unless we can find funds from some other source, this building will definitely have to close.’

‘When?’ Everyone looked at each other, shocked.

‘Probably in the new year, certainly by the end of the tax year.’

‘And the Leader of the Council didn’t even bother to come and meet Marion this morning,’ Kath told them.

‘No, nobody could find him,’ said Marion. ‘I spoke to him yesterday, he promised he’d come and explain, said he had a lot of respect for what we do. But he had to rationalise the services, savings were necessary. No, he said he would be there and he wasn’t. He didn’t even send an apology. Nothing, not a word.’

‘Really? Didn’t show up at all? That’s weird,’ said Sal, she was long-term agency at Beech House, just there for morning shifts and then off to Harwood Place for afternoons.

‘I know.’

‘He’s a two-faced tosser,’ said Kieran, a young volunteer. His Aunty Kath gave him a look. He was almost straight out of school. He’d had a couple of jobs but kept losing them: he was here for some job experience and got the idea into his head he would make a good carer. His Aunty Kath wasn’t convinced.

‘Kieran,’ she remonstrated, ‘you don’t know him from Adam.’

‘Well, whatever,’ Marion cut in. ‘The staff told me they hadn’t seen him all day. Yet he was scheduled to be in the building.’

‘Probably on holiday, gone early for Christmas to miss the rush,’ Kieran said as he reached for the last of the chocolate biscuits. ‘Don’t you think, Heather?’

Heather ignored Kieran and looked out of the window at the rain. Kath smiled at Marion, it looked like they would have to take Heather on one side and explain what was going on. Heather was usually so on the ball, always the first to express her indignation about council cuts.

‘So, we don’t actually know how long we’ve got?’ asked Sal, deftly fixing her hair back ready for a dash across town. She was a grafter was Sal, but sometimes she did have a bit of a side to her.

‘Not exactly, no,’ said Marion wearily.

‘What do you mean, Marion? I have to know what I’m doing,’ Sal said.

‘Of course you do Sal. We all do. The thing is we were promised a new building.’

‘But let’s face it, that’s never going to happen,’ Kath said.

‘No, it hasn’t happened yet,’ Marion admitted.

‘We’ve been promised a new building for the last three years,’ Kath explained to her nephew who for some reason was staring intently at Heather and half laughing. It was unlike him to be unkind to Heather. In fact, Heather was the only volunteer he talked to in any sensible fashion. ‘Are you listening, Kieran? They said they would move some of the services to Harwood. Well, Harwood has expanded anyway and is full to capacity. Then they reviewed the situation. Now it looks like that’s it.’

‘It’s very bad news.’ Marion looked worn down.

‘And the jobs, what will happen to our jobs?’ Sal asked.

‘Natural wastage,’ said Kieran.

‘There are openings coming up at Harwood, but that’s not definite,’ Marion said. ‘When we had to cut back before, some people had to move to agency work, there’s a lot out there, but not as well paid.’

‘Well paid!’ Sal scoffed. ‘I don’t think so. If you think this is low pay, you try agency. What about you, Marion?’ This was mischievous of her at the very least, Kath thought, because everyone knew that the manager at Harwood was going on maternity leave. They would need a temporary replacement and it was probably going to be Marion.

‘I’ll find something.’

‘Irons in the fire, hey, Marion?’

Marion coloured a little, ‘I would much rather Beech House stayed open, Sal.’

‘It’s a sad thing for the entire community,’ Heather said suddenly. ‘It will lead to loneliness