Mysterious Christmas: Holiday Anthology Series, #4

By Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Tonya D. Price, Stephannie Tallent and 9 more

Murder, mayhem, and all manner of crimes set during the holiday season give this anthology a bite that serves as a delightful change from the sweetness that often dominates this time of the year.

This volume contains an abundance of thieves, a few murderers, a wannabe murderer, and one or two stories in which the crime lurks on the periphery. With a host of unreliable narrators, a few psychopaths, and one acrobat, who could resist?

From a search for the perfect Christmas tree that turns deadly to a reformed thief who wrestles with the better angels of his nature when temptation arises during the holidays, these marvelous mysteries prove the perfect distraction for even the stormiest winter evening.

Includes:

"Christmas Chase" by Tonya D. Price

"For The Win" by Stephannie Tallent

"Into the Good Night" by Rob Vagle

"A Different, Better Red" by Michael Warren Lucas

"The Art of Waiting" by Kelly Washington

"Christmas in the Ruins" by Mary Jo Rabe

"The Magi of St. Michael's" by Annie Reed

"Pungent Justice" by Kari Kilgore

"Targets of Opportunity" by Stefon Mears

"All The Bells and Whistles" by B.A. Paul

"Not A Cozy" by Steven Mohan, Jr.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WMG Publishing
• Release date: Oct 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201526702

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

USA Today bestselling author Kristine Kathryn Rusch writes in almost every genre. Generally, she uses her real name (Rusch) for most of her writing. Under that name, she publishes bestselling science fiction and fantasy, award-winning mysteries, acclaimed mainstream fiction, controversial nonfiction, and the occasional romance. Her novels have made bestseller lists around the world and her short fiction has appeared in eighteen best of the year collections. She has won more than twenty-five awards for her fiction, including the Hugo, Le Prix Imaginales, the Asimov’s Readers Choice award, and the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Readers Choice Award. Publications from The Chicago Tribune to Booklist have included her Kris Nelscott mystery novels in their top-ten-best mystery novels of the year. The Nelscott books have received nominations for almost every award in the mystery field, including the best novel Edgar Award, and the Shamus Award. She writes goofy romance novels as award-winner Kristine Grayson, romantic suspense as Kristine Dexter, and futuristic sf as Kris DeLake.  She also edits. Beginning with work at the innovative publishing company, Pulphouse, followed by her award-winning tenure at The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, she took fifteen years off before returning to editing with the original anthology series Fiction River, published by WMG Publishing. She acts as series editor with her husband, writer Dean Wesley Smith, and edits at least two anthologies in the series per year on her own. To keep up with everything she does, go to kriswrites.com and sign up for her newsletter. To track her many pen names and series, see their individual websites (krisnelscott.com, kristinegrayson.com, krisdelake.com, retrievalartist.com, divingintothewreck.com). She lives and occasionally sleeps in Oregon.

Book preview

Mysterious Christmas

MYSTERIOUS CHRISTMAS

A HOLIDAY ANTHOLOGY

Edited by

KRISTINE KATHRYN RUSCH

WMG Publishing Inc.

CONTENTS

Murder, Mayhem, and Determined Women

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

The Christmas Chase

Tonya D. Price

For the Win

Stephannie Tallent

Into the Good Night

Rob Vagle

A Different, Better Red

Michael Warren Lucas

The Art of Waiting

Kelly Washington

Christmas in the Ruins

Mary Jo Rabe

The Magi of Saint Michael’s

Annie Reed

Pungent Justice

Kari Kilgore

Targets of Opportunity

Stefon Mears

All the Bells and Whistles

B.A. Paul

Not a Cozy

Steven Mohan, Jr.

Also in this Series

About the Editor

MURDER, MAYHEM, AND DETERMINED WOMEN

KRISTINE KATHRYN RUSCH

When I asked some of the best writers I know to write for this anthology, I didn’t realize I had given them a tough task. For some reason, writers hear the word mysterious and they think Agatha Christie and the Golden Age puzzle mystery, also known as the cozy.

I loathe cozies. I really do. I don’t like the idea of a crime being minimized into something that becomes an intellectual game, which often results in making light of the crime. Perhaps this is because I am a crime victim myself (multiple times, I’m afraid), and because I worked for a forensic psychologist, where I saw the ravages of crime firsthand.

Being the victim of a crime has an impact on your entire life. It changes the trajectory of your life. One moment you’re going forward, and the next you’re on a road you don’t even recognize.

And then there are all the fraught issues of dealing with authority, which has become a theme in 2020. Criminals, crime victims, the police, the lawyers, and everyone else in the justice system…well, they’re not stereotypes or tropes.

Okay. I’ll climb off my soapbox now. Writers who’ve worked with me have heard this lecture, even more in depth.

But here’s the thing: Sometimes I like Christmas cozies. Even I’m at a loss to explain that. Mostly, I like what’s known of as a soft-boiled mystery, one that is gentle and treats things seriously (in my opinion) but doesn’t get into the blood and guts of the hard-boiled crime story.

I knew with the word mysterious in the title I would get a lot of gentle and the occasional cozy. So I tried to waylay that.

Here’s what I told the writers when I asked them to submit to this anthology:

Murder, mayhem, and all manner of crimes set around the Christmas holiday season. I am not a big fan of cozies, so if you write one, realize it’ll be a harder sell than a crime story. I do like romantic mysteries, though, so if you combine mystery, romance, and the holidays (with a happily ever after), then I’ll be happy. I want only contemporary or historical mysteries. No fantasy or sf, please.

Because I limited the anthology, I got fewer cozies than expected, but I still got too many. And I didn’t buy a one. (I’m relatively consistent that way.)

I did get a lot of crime stories that were not about murder, which pleases me. Mostly, thieves propagate this anthology. We have a few murderers, a wannabe murderer, and one or two stories in which the crime is peripheral to the story. We have unreliable narrators, a few psychopaths, and one acrobat.

Yeah, I know. An acrobat. In a story that’s titled "Not a Cozy," which I saved for last. You’ll understand when you get there. After reading this introduction, you’ll also understand that the story was probably written with me in mind. Go figure.

Two of the stories are excessively bleak. They’re also short. Two of the stories have point-of-view characters who are…um…ethically challenged.

For the most part, though, I don’t think there’s anything in here that will scare away the easily frightened or the squeamish. This is a relatively gentle mystery anthology…at least one edited by me.

So gather your loved ones around you, keep a wary eye on your presents and purchases, avoid mall Santas, and settle in for a long winter’s read.

THE CHRISTMAS CHASE

TONYA D. PRICE

We begin with Christmas Chase because we want you to hurtle breathlessly through this anthology.

Tonya D. Price is particularly adept at breathless. Her story Payback, from Fiction River: Hard Choices was chosen for the prestigious Best American Mystery Stories. She has published a number of excellent short stories, including several in Fiction River. Find out more at tonyadprice.com.

Christmas Chase has snow, tacky decorations, Christmas trees, a sled, a budding romance, and a killer—everything we need for a perfect holiday read.

At three o’clock on Christmas Eve, Elise wasn’t surprised to find the long line of Volvo and Mercedes Benz station wagons waiting to enter the Weber Family Christmas Tree Farm parking lot. An hour remained before the farm closed for the season and the place was packed. Apparently all the winter people who only came to western Massachusetts to ski had waited until the last minute to buy a Christmas tree.

Elise almost pulled out of the line. Almost. But she wasn’t one to give in to fear. Even when, at times, she would be better off if she did.

Kids chased each other around the dirt overflow lot, darting in front of cars without warning. Just as she and her brothers and sisters had done.

A pink sun sat low in the sky. The car in front of Elise waited for a gang of a dozen kids to run by. Every family still apparently received a free felt hat for each child. She always loved those elf hats.

Getting a replacement Christmas tree was her last Christmas chore before the fun started. First, her entire family, all seventeen of them, were going to the Christmas Eve potluck dinner at the Melville Grange Hall, followed by the candy cane pulling contest. Then after the Christmas Eve church services around town, folks would gather around for the midnight Santa sleigh rides. Unlike tourist centers, the festivities were just community events.

Sometimes as many as a dozen sleighs of all sorts and sizes participated, led of course by the Christmas queen, chosen by the mayor, who would lead the Christmas Day parade.

Living in Boston, she and her late husband, John, had always had an artificial tree. Their careers were busy, and a real tree took a lot of work. Especially putting on the lights and then taking them down.

This was her third Christmas since John passed away and she had broken her pattern of taking just two days off to see her family. Focusing on work had gotten her through the holidays in past years, but this year she had taken two weeks. Even when John was alive she had never taken two weeks off for Christmas.

Hiking into the forest through an unblemished snow, finding the perfect Christmas tree for your house, not too big, not too small, then hanging handmade decorations was an Engel family tradition. So, after lunch when a pack of nieces managed to knock down the Christmas tree, breaking off the top branch, her father had given Elise the last-minute task of securing a new one. Not that she minded.

She loved visiting her big family, but she welcomed the chance to get away for a few minutes of peace and quiet. And besides, what better way to get in the holiday spirit than cutting down a fir in the Berkshires by herself the way her grandparents and parents had done each Christmas?

Elise couldn’t miss the big classic New England barn with red clapboard siding where the Webers sold tickets for their cut-and-carry trees. A lighted white cupola supported a copper elf weathervane, Santa’s elves being a Weber theme.

Gripping the iron latch on the barn’s wooden slat door, Elise pushed. A small brass bell attached to the top of the door rang a pleasant note as she stepped inside.

A gust of hot air in her face took her breath away for an instant. She had forgotten a big wood stove heated the open room. Coming from twenty-eight degrees outside to what must be ninety inside disoriented everyone. Elise turned her head to one side, gasping as she walked into a wall of hot air.

She stomped the snow from her insulated boots and pulled off her thick mittens.

What memories this place brought back. The smell of fresh-baked cookies just out of the oven and hot mulled cider with and without rum greeted every tree shopper. Free, of course, if you skipped the alcohol.

One side of the room held various types of greenery, which filled the room with the smells of Christmas. Wreaths with apples and oranges. Plain wreaths for self-decorating. White pine roping, cedar roping, Fraser fir roping with holly and various types of scented pinecones.

Elise resisted the temptation to browse and got in line at the cashier station. She had one mission. Get her tree and get back to her family’s farm so there would be time to add the glass Christmas bulbs and tinsel before all the festivities started.

The guy standing in front of Elise stepped forward. A cut-and-carry tree, please.

Elise couldn’t see the guy’s face, but his voice had a velvety tone, smooth. Even soothing. No doubt he spent long hours perfecting the way he talked.

A girl who looked to be about sixteen rang him up. Thirty-five dollars and four cents, please.

Oh, the guy reached over and grabbed a mistletoe package from a display stand beside the cash register. This is great! I haven’t seen real mistletoe in a long time. Do you know who your supplier is?

The girl laughed. She started twirling a strand of blond hair around her finger. Elise knew the Weber family. Growing up on her parent’s maple syrup farm next door, she had gone to school with all the Weber kids. Whose child could this girl be?

Yes, I do know. The girl glanced at the credit card in her hand, then looked up at the guy. Mr. Kramer.

The guy leaned forward. You can call me Martin.

Really? Was he flirting with a young kid? He wore a thick red plaid woodsman coat. Probably a macho guy.

The girl’s cheeks reddened as she giggled. I have been doing all the orders for my grandfather this past year. Here, I’ll write down the contact info. Do you live around here?

The woman behind Elise tapped on her shoulder. What is the holdup there?

Elise shrugged. Her first reaction was to say something snarky, but she caught herself. The girl was young. She might not be flirting at all. The guy? He was definitely flirting.

Martin took the cut tree ticket and the note with the supplier info. I just moved here about six months ago. I opened The Olde Christmas Shoppe in the center of town. The tree I bought eight weeks ago is sitting in a puddle of brown needles. I need a new one for the after-Christmas sale. He held up the supplier phone number. Thanks for this!

When he turned to leave, Elise found herself face-to-face with him.

He gave her such a strange look. Did he recognize her? She didn’t know him. She would remember that face. He looked a bit like Harrison Ford. The thirty-nine-year-old Indiana Jones Harrison Ford. Not the young Han Solo Harrison Ford. Yes, that was a face she would never forget. Those full lips. Those eyes. That square chin. Those dimples.

The guy raised an eyebrow, and smiled. Hi, I'm Martin Kramer.

Without thinking she said, Elise. Damn, why did she answer him?

His grin broadened. Nice to meet you Elise.

Flirt. She had pegged him from the start.

Elise paid for her cut tree ticket. Outside again she headed through the Christmas tree lot and over to a small open shack where a teenage boy with a red ponytail and a Bruins cap, and Bob, the oldest of the Weber brothers, stood stamping their feet beside a space heater. The Harrison Ford lookalike accepted a saw and the pull sled rope. Elise waited until he walked off toward the trail before going over to hand in her ticket.

Bob held out his hand and smiled. Hey Elise! What are you doing here?

Hi. Bob. We need another Fraser. There was a small accident today and considerable branch damage. Dad sent me to get the replacement if you have any left.

Sure, I can fix you up. We’ve been picked over pretty good, but we have a few nice trees left. I’m happy to help you. The trees can be heavy.

While Elise hated to admit there were things she couldn’t do by herself, she tried to be smart about what she could and couldn’t do. Lately she had been having periodic back problems. Her doctor put the aches down to stress from her job as VP of Marketing Strategy at the consulting company. Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.

Bob grabbed the heavy rope on a sled and called out to the other guy, Hey, I’m going out to section three. We’ll be back soon.

The younger man waved. Got it.

Bob led the way toward a red and green sign with a painted elf. There’s a snow squall they say is coming this way from the west. They’re predicting some snow, but mostly wind. Should hit around four. You have plenty of time.

After a hike down a snow path, Bob stopped at a large green sign that read Section Three. Here we go. I’ll wait with the sled. Find one you like and just give me a yell. This deep in the woods the sound carries pretty well. I’ll bring the sled and help you load.

The trees had been planted close enough together that the deeper into the forest Elise walked the dimmer the light. Her smart watch read three-fifteen. The sun would set around four. Plenty of time to find a Christmas tree and head back before dark.

Fifteen minutes later Elise was about to give up and ask Bob to just choose a tree for her when she found the perfect tree in a small clearing. An outcropping of granite stones had kept other trees from growing close by and this seemed fuller than the ones she had seen before.

She walked around the tree. The shape looked even all the way around. The height was a bit tall, but only by about six inches. A fresh cut could take care of that and give her some boughs to decorate with.

Hey! That’s my tree.

Elise froze. She recognized the male voice behind her. Martin Kramer. Without turning around she said, I didn’t see you here claiming this tree.

Martin pulled his tree sled beside Elise. I saw this tree first. I just went to get the sled.

The snow around the tree was fresh. Elise studied the ground. There are no tracks in the snow. If you were here first, where are your footprints?

Well, I… He looked at the ground. I saw the tree from over there. He pointed at a second path that Elise hadn’t spotted.

I was physically here first. If Elise hadn’t been about to give up on finding the perfect tree, she wouldn’t bother arguing with the guy, but given she hadn’t found a tree, she was out of time and frankly at the moment, she had no use for handsome men who expected to get their way every time. She was not letting him have her tree. There is no reason to argue

Crack.

Elise stopped mid-sentence. She recognized the sound of a rifle shot. There’s no hunting here on the farm.

Help! The shout came from the direction of where Bob held the sled. There was no missing the cry of pain.

Oh no. Elise brought a hand to her face. Bob. Some idiot hunter must have shot him.

Martin started to run in the direction of the gunfire. He sounds hurt.

Elise followed, struggling to run in the four-inch snow. Bob?

No answer.

Martin had a head start and by the time she reached the edge of the thick grove of Christmas trees, she could see him running toward Bob, who was lying down in the snow beside the tree