Once Upon A Murderous Retreat: Cinnamon Mercy Claus, #3

By Snow Eden

Book #3 of the Cinnamon Mercy Claus Series

 

Cinnamon has just settled into the Aire Mansion when she opens up her doors for a writer's retreat. With her best friend Ginger, the Christmas elf turned talking chihuahua; Mei, the giant Hawaiian consumer; a houseful of eccentric guests; an ominous storm covering the island; and a murderer on the loose; what possibly could go wrong?

 

Once Upon a Murderous Retreat is Book #3 in the Cinnamon Mercy Claus series. It's a witchy cozy mystery and along with all the books in the series, it's a clean read with no profanity.

 

Books are best read in order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Azure Willow Press
• Release date: Sep 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386872108

Book preview

Chapter One

WHEN I WOKE ON THE morning of August 18th, I had a knot in my gut, but all things considered, I felt excited to start the day.

Although, that was before things went all sorts of wrong. 

First, I got an email that the writing coach wasn’t going to make it to my writer’s retreat. I didn’t know what to do about that, and it distracted me enough that I stepped in a pile of dog poo. Yes, I still had on my slippers, and yes, it slip-slid right inside of them. Maybe most people’s days don’t get ruined by a pile of dog poo, but maybe you’ve yet to step in one made by your shape-changing friend, the Christmas-elf-turned-chihuahua, who just happened to love all things spicy. 

I didn’t even bother to try to wash the poo out. I thought at first, I’d just heave my slippers into the ocean, but I’d probably kill a fish or two. Or, by the smell of things, there was a good chance I’d end all ocean life as we knew it. So instead, I put one of Ginger’s doggy holes to good use and buried those stinky things under the Sweet Gum tree. I hated that tree anyway. It got its little spiky seed pods stuck in my heels at least twice a week, so I figured that besides ripping the spiteful thing from the ground, this was as good payback as any. 

Then, of course, Ginger walked out the back door of the mansion right in the midst of me saying some not nice things about her bathroom habits. Now, while I usually don’t bother apologizing to the one who caused my bad mood in the first place, today I needed Ginger on her best behavior. 

Ginger kindly did her business farther away from the kitchen door, and for that, I scooped her up and gave her little chihuahua head a nuzzle. 

I strode barefoot across the sand to the back door of the mansion. Mei stood in the doorway, donned in her best muumuu. I handed Ginger to her as I slipped through the door and entered the kitchen. I took a fresh pair of socks out of the corner drawer and slipped them onto my feet. I always had fresh socks on hand, kind of like always making sure you were in a fresh pair of underwear, but instead it was socks—ones that were hole-free, stain-free, and stink-free. Poo violated two of those rules, and with Ginger around, I needed to play things safe. 

In the few minutes I had been outside, Mei had made a pot of coffee and had a pan filled with fried eggs. Oh, and a kettle of tea sat squealing on the stove. Even though ‘cook’ wasn’t her chosen profession, she was pretty darn good at it. She hadn’t eaten anyone or anything lately as part of her consumer duties but instead had been focusing on her travel writing. 

The three of us—me; Ginger, the Christmas-elf-turned-chihuahua; and Mei, the giant Hawaiian consumer—were all back at the mansion together again because I had a writers’ retreat planned. After selling my house, I’d purchased the William Timothy Aire mansion for a song and a dance. No one much wanted the thing after the stories got around about Mr. Aire and keeping a woman hostage (aka, the Moon Goddess). 

Mei took care of all the energy cleansing in the house, while Ginger and I took care of the rest. If you thought Christmas elves were fast at making toys and decorating, you should see them spruce up a mansion. We kept most of the original structure, but instead of the giant marble entryway, when you came in through the front door, you now entered a cozy reception area. We thought about renting a cement truck and just filling the old servant’s quarters in the basement, but when you lived on an island, cement mixers didn’t come all that readily, or cheaply. 

Anyway, Mei, Ginger, and I scooped our plates full of eggs, and as I filled my coffee, Mei prepared tea for herself and Ginger. Soon, the cruise boat would deliver our first guests. I felt nervous about opening the mansion up as a full-time bed-and-breakfast, but I needed a consistent income. Scheduled conferences and events seemed like the perfect compromise. Mei, of course, had talked me into starting with a writers’ retreat. 

Since I was an ex-accountant, my brain still thought in numbers, not flowery prose. So, while the concept felt quite foreign to me, Mei convinced me all I needed to do was manage day-to-day life at the mansion. With Mei cooking and a maid service set to arrive, I just needed to stay out of trouble, and all would be well. 

Since we weren’t exactly sure when the guests would arrive, we hauled our meals out to the reception area to sit and wait. We had installed a doorbell, but the first time we tried it and it echoed off the marble walls, well, Mei kind of went out there and inhaled it. I smiled at the memories of setting up the mansion with my two new best friends. I couldn’t wait to see what was in store for us next. 

I lowered myself into one of the couches when a heavy knock sounded at the front door, and I leaped to my feet. Luckily, my coffee was set on the table beside me, but my eggs didn’t fare as well. The plate spun from my lap and the eggs scattered. Ginger did what I learned chihuahuas inherently did, which meant she leaped to the ground and slurped up the spilled eggs. She left dog slobber all over the newly polished floor, which I cleaned up with my stockinged feet. I apparently didn’t have the presence of mind to at least put on shoes before greeting my guests. 

I spun back and forth like some sort of off-kilter pinball. I went from collecting my plate off the floor, to fervently wiping invisible crumbs from my lips, to stacking and restacking the perceived messy papers at the desk. Since I’d taken off my dog-slobbered socks and now held them in my hand as some sort of welcome flag, Mei shooed me from the room and answered the door herself. 

I heard a deep male voice greet her in response as I flew through the entryway and up the stairs to my room. 

I glimpsed myself in the mirror, realizing one of my other moves after the knock on the door had been to repeatedly run my hands through the front of my hair. My curls were now pulled out and my hair wrapped up in some sort of wicked halo. I looked like a madwoman. While I didn’t plan on being an active participant in this retreat, the last thing I needed were rumors that this mansion continued to be owned by a crazy person. 

I dipped my brush under the faucet and then ran it through the front of my hair. After that only ended in me looking like I’d gotten too close to a hose, I spread some pomade onto my hands and wrapped my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck. I admired my reflection. I wore my new red and purple floral print bohemian gown Mei had brought me back from Paris. I looked put together, yet cool and relaxed. 

I felt like royalty, descending the golden staircase to an audience. The banisters gleamed, and the entryway, while vast and empty, shimmered as if someone had laced it with diamonds. Ginger sat on the bottom stair, her back ramrod straight, looking ahead like an alabaster statue.

Mei looked into my eyes as I drew closer. Her mouth hung open and her eyes opened wide. She’d either gotten a surprise and hadn’t yet recovered or was about to consume a spider I hadn’t seen lurking in the corner. 

No one else stood in the entryway. I went to ask, Who? But at that moment, a man stepped out of the washroom. My who turned into a whooh!

The man stood six-foot-three, at least. From the look of his neck, he had the physique of a bodybuilder, even though he wore long sleeves that tried to hide it. He wore his hair slicked back with the bottom cut impeccably short. As I admired the softness of his chino pants, he cleared his throat. 

This should have slammed me from my admiration of him, but instead, I took my time bringing my eyes to his face. His eyes were a steely blue—that not quite blue, not quite grey shade that made you do a double-take. They were the type of eyes I would love to have, instead of the dark charcoal, quite soulless ones inherited from my grandmother. 

I smiled and then stepped forward, right onto Ginger’s tail. She screamed like a banshee, and I started hopping around, trying not to step on her flailing body parts. Mei grabbed Ginger up from the stairs and gave me a look that could kill. I sucked in a deep breath, planted my feet firmly again, and sorted out my tangled dress. 

I started to reach out my hand to the man but stopped. His eyes had now twisted into a dark and suspicious glare as he stood before the staircase. I followed his gaze. His eyes locked onto an Aire family portrait. It hung high, out of my reach, so I’d left it as we revamped the house. I thought about hiring someone to remove it, but it evoked no emotion in me. 

Do you know them? I asked him. 

He whipped his head back to me and extended his hand. I’ve all but forgotten my manners, he said. I’m Don Sampson, your resident writers’ coach.

My eyes trailed to Mei. She had her nose in the air and her eyes squinted like she tried to see something the rest of us couldn’t. I knew she wanted to get a scent on this man. But the last thing I needed my guests to notice was that this mansion had some not-quite-humans. Ginger and Mei’s true forms were disguised for a reason, but I worried their habits would give them away. 

I squeezed myself between Mei and the man, grasping his hand as it sat practically on my waist. His grip felt almost to the point of being uncomfortable, but his eyes had softened. 

I thought you weren’t coming, I said. 

Well, I’m here now. 

I blew out a heavy breath. Thank goodness, I gushed. I didn’t want to tell the others I had a writers’ retreat without a writers’ coach. I tipped my head to the side, looking around the man who blocked my view of the rest of the room. Where is everyone else? I asked. 

He shrugged, moving away from me and around the space, taking in the paintings and other items hanging on the wall. Without Mr. Aire’s energies in this house, I felt comfortable leaving some items and articles involving the history of the mansion. The most sinister ones, though, Mei consumed. 

No one else was on the boat? I asked. Heat rose into my cheeks. I was about to hold my first writers’ retreat and had zero writers. 

I came separate, he said, still focused on the artwork on the walls. 

Oh, I said, partly confused, partly relieved. Okay, I said, still speaking to his back. There are refreshments in the conference room, right through there. I pointed to the doorway on my right, but he still didn’t pay attention to me. 

I looked at Mei, who just raised her eyebrows and then gave another sniff into the air. Apparently smelling nothing of consequence, she moved back into the reception area with Ginger. I took one last look over my shoulder and then followed behind.

Chapter Two

THE BOAT ARRIVED EXACTLY at ten o’clock, spilling my guests off into the sand. Mei and I rushed down to greet them. The expressions on their faces ran the gamut from excitement to exhaustion, to quite a bit green. 

A man stumbled through the sand, mumbling his distaste for the sun and the sand. His glasses slipped off his sweaty face, and he heaved his heavy frame down to the ground to retrieve them. A perky blonde all but skipped to him, fetched his glasses, and pulled him back to his feet. An exact mirror image of her stood