One Christmas Pickle: Mulbury Mystery, #0

By Juno Harvey

What if Santa came to town and promptly dropped dead?

 

Christmas time in Mulbury, Australia. Plum puddings, roast turkey and blistering hot days.

 

Rosemary Exeter has a couple of mysteries on her mind. Who is the Kris Kringle leaving presents hanging from everyone's door handles and, more gravely, who overcooked the fire brigade's fund-raising Santa? With the team of fire-fighting volunteers stuck in Mulbury until their truck is fixed, and almost certainly one of them a murderer, Rosemary hides the one clue she has while searching for others.  

Clandestine gifts, a surprise Santa costume and a plethora of puddings. Christmas has never been so mysterious.

 

A Mulbury Mystery Christmas novella with punch… and brandy sauce.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pam Harvey
• Release date: Dec 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645260434

Juno Harvey

Juno Harvey writes books of light...and shade. She has published seventeen books across multiple genres. She lives in a rural area of Victoria, Australia, with her family and various animals.

Book preview

One

Rosemary Exeter adjusted the blind on the skylight to block out more sunlight. The move darkened the interior of The Preserved Mulbury but didn’t make it any cooler. She turned the ceiling fans up as fast as they could go without blowing the jam jars off her shelves and stood underneath one to catch the breeze. ‘Hasn’t been this hot in December for years,’ she remarked to Sunny, who watched her from the entrance to Rosemary’s living area. You should try wearing a fur coat, the ginger tabby seemed to say as she disappeared back inside to lie on the cool slate floor.

Outside, the tiny tourist town of Mulbury was nearly empty. A lone figure stood under the shade of The Exceptional Tree in the middle of Goldmarket Square, fanning herself with the paper bag from a pie. Despite the scorching day, visitors couldn’t resist Franco’s patisserie products, not even his hot pastries. Rosemary noticed that the visitor also clutched an iced tea from Kelly’s café.

The door jangled open, and Mrs Lionel stepped in, brushing the back of her hand across her forehead. ‘Hello, dear,’ she said, pushing the door firmly shut behind her. ‘I hoped that your shop was cooler than mine.’

‘Any luck there?’

‘No.’ The older woman shifted her collar away from the back of her neck. ‘At least we’re protected from the worst of it by the veranda. And these lovely old brick buildings stay much cooler than those modern architectural monstrosities.’ She looked around. ‘Do you have plenty of stock for the Christmas holiday period?’

Rosemary nodded. ‘Lots of jams, jellies, pickles, dried and brandied fruit in the cellar. A little short on marmalade, surprisingly, as I made so much over winter. It was very popular.’

‘That’s good. At least you don’t have to make more during this heat.’ Mrs Lionel pushed at her soft, grey curls. ‘It’s melting my soaps.’

‘Come and have a cold drink.’ Rosemary indicated the doorway. ‘I made up some lemon cordial this morning. The shops will be okay unattended for a while. We won’t get many tourist buses in today.’

‘True.’ Mrs Lionel followed Rosemary into the dim kitchen. ‘The oldies won’t want to come out on a forty-degree day.’

Rosemary turned so that Mrs Lionel wouldn’t see her quick smile. The oldies that Mrs Lionel referred to were often younger than Mrs Lionel herself. ‘Probably not tomorrow, either, as it’s forecast to be as hot as today or even hotter. It’s a shame, tomorrow being Christmas Eve. I thought we might get some last-minute sales.’

Mrs Lionel took the glass that Rosemary offered. ‘What about this for an idea? We could open early when the day is at its coolest. Really early, if we must. During heat waves like this, most people like to do things before ten o’clock in the morning but that’s when we usually open. It’s rather silly of us being open in the afternoon, like we are now.’

‘Yes. Great idea.’ Rosemary drained the last of her drink and put her glass in the sink. ‘We could advertise early opening. Mulbury Mornings.’

‘Mulbury Mornings. I like it a lot. Do you think seven o’clock is too early?’

‘Not for us. Not for Jasper or Patti, either.’ Rosemary nodded towards the shops on the other side of the adjoining wall. ‘Rakisha won’t like it.’

‘We could help her out. And she could have a nap in the afternoon. The poor dear. It must be hard being a night owl.’

Rosemary said nothing. Night owl was not even remotely in her imagination.

‘Doing some cleaning up?’

Rosemary looked where Mrs Lionel was pointing. A drawer on her sideboard hung open, revealing a cascade of unopened letters. She hurried to it and slid it shut with her hip. ‘No. Rearranging.’

‘Ah.’ Mrs Lionel sipped at her drink. ‘Anything you want to talk about?’

‘No.’ Rosemary gave her friend a wry smile. ‘Not now.’

‘When you’re ready.’ Mrs Lionel handed her empty glass over. ‘Perhaps if you tidied them up, you’d feel better.’ She patted her own forehead. ‘I’m cooler now. Thank you, dear. I must go back.’ She pointed at where Rosemary’s plum pudding hung in its calico bag from the beam in the walk-in pantry. ‘How many breadcrumbs did you put in this time?’

‘Four cups.’

Mrs Lionel shook her head. ‘Still too much, dear. I always put in a tad under three and a half cups.’

Rosemary titled her head. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘the proof of the pudding is always in the eating.’

Mrs Lionel nodded. ‘Oh, yes, indeed.’

As the older woman returned to The Green Mulbury, Rosemary glanced once more at the sideboard and cast its contents from her mind. Instead, she made her way to Jasper Lu’s bookshop. She pushed at the heavy door. It eventually opened with a sigh to reveal Jasper sitting on the floor at the base of a bookshelf, his long black hair in an untidy man-bun. From Jasper’s living area came the soft snores of Snowy, his ancient dog, that spent his life mainly on the couch. Rosemary coughed pointedly. ‘Looking for something?’ she said.

Jasper glanced up, the open book in his hand and the dreamy look on his face showing that he’d been completely lost in a story. Another Regency romance, thought Rosemary.

‘Hello, Rosemary.’

‘How is Miss Middleton?’

Jasper’s mouth dropped open slightly as he struggled to speak. ‘Miss…? Oh. How did you…?’

‘Isn’t she your favourite heroine?’

He ducked his head, but she still saw the colour race into his cheeks. ‘In my book world. I have another in real life.’

Rosemary didn’t ask who he meant, although she had a pretty good idea. Jasper spent another long moment studying the floor until he scrambled up, long legs hitting the shelves as he did. ‘I’ve come with a proposal,’ she said.

If he’d been crimson faced before, it was nothing compared to the scarlet wash that flooded his face now. ‘Oh.’

‘Jasper, really.’ Rosemary crossed her arms. ‘Mrs Lionel and I would like to open our shops earlier to get people to visit Mulbury before the heat of the day. What do you think?’

‘That’s a great idea.’ Jasper placed a bookmark carefully into his novel and set it on top of a shelf. ‘The last couple of days have been dead. I’ve sold exactly two thrillers and one set of Christmas cooking books in forty-eight hours. Not exactly raking it in.’

‘What about your online sales?’

‘They’re better, although people prefer to give others new books for Christmas rather than second-hand ones.’ He shrugged. ‘Doesn’t really matter. I’ll get rushed off my feet in January when the holiday crowds hit us.’

‘Right. Mulbury Mornings it is.’ Something outside caught Rosemary’s eye, and she craned her neck around to see through Jasper’s shaded windows. ‘Fire truck.’

‘What?’ Jasper threaded his way quickly through his books to the door. ‘Not a bushfire nearby, I hope?’

A large older model fire truck pulled up in Goldmarket Square. It was a deep rusty maroon with a rounded bonnet, making it look like an ancient cousin to the square, tangerine-coloured newer trucks seen frequently dashing back and forth from Big Town at the height of fire season. Although the body of the truck had a fire hose looped around hooks on its side, the hose was flat and dirty. More presentation than practical, Rosemary thought. Four figures sat in the cabin, and from the exaggerated gestures of several arms, they were arguing. ‘Not a bushfire or they wouldn’t be stopping in the Square.’ Rosemary went to the door. ‘Let’s ask.’

Jasper had to hurry as she crossed Goldmarket Road to the Square. She saw him striding up next to her as she reached the gravelly surface of the centre of Mulbury and smiled. His man-bun had shaken loose, and hair spilled down his back. Before she could point it out to him, the door of the fire truck opened, and Santa Claus spilled out.

Rosemary halted. ‘I get it now.’

‘You do?’ Jasper shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun off the truck. ‘A Santa steps out of a fire truck and you get it?’

Rosemary glanced at him. ‘I forget you were raised in the city. In country towns, Santa always came to visit in a fire truck and handed out sweets to the children. In the meantime, the other firefighters rattled tins for money collection. It was really a fundraiser for the country fire brigades, all of which are manned by volunteers, but we thought it was an actual visit from Santa.’

‘And did those Santas look like this one?’ Jasper tipped his head towards the truck. ‘Aren’t they meant to be jolly and nice?’

Rosemary turned her attention back to the fire truck. The other fire volunteers were out of the cabin and were standing a little distance from the Santa. He doesn’t