Owl Be Home for Christmas: A Very Murder Christmas, #2

By Rosie A. Point

With six days to go before Christmas, there's only one thing on everyone's minds… Murder!

 

Holly, local dog walker and amateur sleuth extraordinaire, likes to think she's her hometown's answer to the dog whisperer. But owls? That's another sack of feathers all together. When she's called out to a rich woman's home, Holly is shocked when she's asked to… walk an owl?

 

No amount of explaining will convince her new client that walking birds is something Holly can't do. Or that owls are nocturnal creatures. Just when Holly's ready to give up and go home, her client clasps at her throat, chokes, and keels over. Dead as a doornail.

 

Holly's got no idea what happened to her, but with the local Christmas celebrations under threat, she won't stop until she's solved the crime.

 

Join Holly in the second Christmas caper in A Very Murder Christmas series. See if you can figure out whodunit before she does. Grab your copy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Mar 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201096632

Book preview

1

T his ought to be interesting, Dixie, I said, as I parked my old pick-up in front of the Pringle residence—a sprawling triple-story mansion in the well-to-do area of Full Fork, New York. I heard that Mrs. Pringle is a little… What’s the word Ma would use?

Dixie, my adorable pet dachshund who happened to accompany me on every dog-walking trip, barked happily in reply.

That’s right. She would call her eccentric. Actually, no, May would call Mrs. Pringle eccentric. Ma would say she was a ship with three sails too many. Or a rowing boat with all the oars on one side, if you know what I mean.

Another bark from Dixie.

I loved being around her. She was a joy to have in my life, especially since I got to see her everyday. The only downside was that Dixie couldn’t live with me. She had to stay at Ma’s house because of the rules of my apartment building. Mr. Sharnek would have two cows, a kitten, and five baby chicks if he found out I’d let Dixie stay there for even one day.

Regardless, it meant that my nights so far had been pretty lonely, even with it being my favorite time of the year. Christmas.

Anyway, I said, putting up a smile and reaching over to stroke Dixie’s velvety smooth head. It’s going to be fun either way, right?

Dixie wagged her tail and yipped twice in the positive.

All right. Let’s go. I released Dixie from her harness, clipped on her lead, then readjusted my comfy, Christmas-themed knit beanie—Ma’s work, of course—and tugged on my matching knit gloves.

We headed out into the sharp winter, me carrying Dixie. Last night’s snow had left a fine layer on the ground, but Mrs. Pringle’s front path was clear. The porch was a wraparound and the building was made of old stone with a gorgeous steepled roof that sort of reminded me of a church. Or a haunted castle.

But it was Christmas so I’d stick with the church.

I bumped the brass knocker against the front door then set Dixie on the porch. Ma had knitted her a Christmas jacket that matched my beanie, red with snowflakes.

Footsteps approached, and the door creaked open ominously.

A young woman wearing a neat black skirt and collared blouse smiled at me. Her dark hair was tied in a knot on top of her head. Good morning, ma’am, she said. May I help you?

Hi, I said. I’m Holly Jameson? I have an appointment with Mrs. Pringle about walking Ollentine?

The maid gave me a funny look, but it faded quickly. Right this way, ma’am. Mrs. Pringle is in her living room taking brunch.

"Oh. I am early, I said. I probably should have waited in the car."

No, ma’am, I doubt it will be any trouble, the maid replied. Mrs. Pringle loves talking about Ollentine.

Dixie and I followed the maid into the vast hallway with its polished floor, and onto a persian carpet in front of an antique door. The maid knocked and dipped into the room beyond, gesturing for us to follow.

Mrs. Pringle, this young lady has come to see you about Ollentine, she said.

Not another— Oh! It’s Holly. Wonderful. Come in, dear, come in. Mrs. Pringle sat in a Victorian armchair, a plate of Christmas cake on her lap. She took a final bite from her silver fork then set the plate on the coffee table. You’re early. That’s wonderful.

The maid lingered. Would you like me to bring refreshments, Mrs. Pringle?

Yes, please, Delilah, Mrs. Pringle said. Water and—Is coffee all right, Holly?

Coffee would be great, thank you.

Bring a water bowl for the little doggy too, please, Delilah.

Right away, ma’am. And out she went, shutting the living room door behind her.

Welcome, Holly. And a very Merry Christmas to you.

Merry Christmas, Mrs. Pringle, I said, removing my gloves and shoving them into the pocket of my coat. I sat on the sofa facing her. Dixie lay on the floor at my feet and rested her snout on her paws, watching with interest.

She was an interesting-looking woman. In her sixties, maybe, with two purple-blue pigtails sprouting from her head. She wore violet lipstick and had paired it with a yellow blouse. The color combination brought to mind summer and passionfruit.

A fluttering of noise from the corner drew my attention, and my eyes widened. I’d been so intrigued by Mrs. Pringle I hadn’t noticed the other occupant of the room. An owl. A white Snowy Owl.

It perched upon a wooden stand in a massive enclosure that spanned the entirety of the right wall, complete with a comfy owl hide, a nest, blankets, and water.

Admiring my dear Ollentine? Mrs. Pringle cleared her throat and pressed a hand to it then shook her head. I don’t blame you. Ollentine is the most adorable creature to grace the Earth.

This is Ollentine? I asked.

The owl had opened one yellow eye to blink at me. It puffed out its feathers and settled.

Yes, you must forgive him. Another throat clear from Mrs. Pringle. He’s rather sleepy during the day, you see. Owls are nocturnal.

I nodded slowly. But Mrs. Pringle, I thought that Ollentine was a dog. Like Dixie?

Oh. Oh no! Mrs. Pringle laughed like that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Ollentine a dog? No, he’s an owl. And he’s getting on in the years, you see. I want him to get more exercise and stay fit. That’s why I called you here today.

You want me to—?

Walk Ollentine.

But he’s an owl. I scratched my temple.

Yes, indeed. We’ve established that he is my dear owl. Mrs. Pringle grasped her throat again, clearing it aggressively. I’m sure we—

Mrs. Pringle? I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t offend you, but I don’t think I’ve ever walked an owl before.

But Mrs. Pringle didn’t reply. She rose to her feet, grasping at her throat. She made an awful rattling wheeze then pointed at the plate of cake on the coffee table.

Mrs. Pringle? I stood up. Mrs. Pringle!

Dixie barked, leaping to her paws. She ran to the closed living room door and scratched it, trying to summon help.

Mrs. Pringle, what’s wrong?