Holly Jolly Murder: Hollywood Whodunit, #6

By Brittany E. Brinegar

The killer is making a list and checking it twice.
A famous mystery writer goes missing at the annual Killer Clause convention and the police dismiss it as a hoax. But when amateur sleuth Becky Robinson uncovers a ransom note written to the tune of a Christmas jingle, she vows to unwrap the truth.

The investigation leads Becky and her pals into a backstabbing fictional world where everyone thinks they can pull off the perfect crime. But all the fun reindeer games come to an end when one of the suspects turns up dead under a Christmas tree.

Can Becky determine who's naughty and who's nice? Or will the cotton-headed ninny muggins strike again?
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Stuff your stockings this year with Holly Jolly Murder, the sixth installment in the Hollywood Whodunit cozy mystery series.

Can be read as a seasonal stand-alone!

If you love clumsy heroines, a Winter Wonderland, quirky suspects, and an adorable rescue puppy this series is for you!

 

 

Hollywood Whodunit Series Order

• Book 0: Lake Day Shenanigans
• Book 1: Prime Time Murder
• Book 2: Stand-In Murder
• Book 3: Music City Murder
• Book 4. Trap Door Murder
• Book 5: Fool's Gold Murder
• Book 6: Holly Jolly Murder
• Book 7: Blue Suede Murder
• Book 8: Family Reunion Murder
• Book 9: Summer Vacation Murder
• Book 10: Sunlight Swindler Murder
• Book 11: Castle Island Murder
• Book 12: Fixer-Upper Murder
• Book 13: Hometown Murder

• Language: English
• Publisher: Britt Lizz Publishing Company
• Release date: Nov 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215509333

Book preview

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Copyright © 2021 Brittany E. Brinegar All rights reserved

BRITT LIZZ PUBLISHING COMPANY

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Contents

About the Book

1.A Christmas Story

2.Twelve Days of Christmas

3.Deck the Halls

4.A Christmas Carol

5.Here Comes Santa Claus

6.Do you Hear What I Hear?

7.Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree

8.Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

9.The Santa Clause

10.Let it Snow

11.Holly Jolly Christmas

12.O Christmas Tree

13.We Are Santa’s Elves

14.It’s a Wonderful Life

15.How the Grinch Stole Christmas

16.Dashing Through the Snow

17.Die Hard

18.We’re a Couple of Misfits

19.The Most Wonderful Time of Year

20.The Nutcracker

21.All I Want for Christmas

22.Blue Christmas

23.Santa Bring My Baby Back to Me

24.Silent Night

25.Winter Wonderland

26.Joy to the World

27.We Three Kings

28.Sleigh Ride

29.Little Drummer Boy

30.Home Alone

31.Silver Bells

32.Naughty or Nice

33.Run Rudolph Run

34.I’ll Be Home for Christmas

A free book for you...

Sneak Peek

Becky-isms

About the Author

Books by Britt

About the Book

The killer is making a list and checking it twice.

A famous mystery writer goes missing at the annual Killer Clause convention and the police dismiss it as a hoax. But when amateur sleuth Becky Robinson uncovers a ransom note written to the tune of a Christmas jingle, she vows to unwrap the truth.

The investigation leads Becky and her pals into a backstabbing fictional world where everyone thinks they can pull off the perfect crime. But all the fun reindeer games come to an end when one of the suspects turns up dead under a Christmas tree.

Can Becky determine who's naughty and who's nice? Or will the cotton-headed ninny muggins strike again?

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Hollywood Whodunit Series Order

Book 0: Lake Day Shenanigans

Book 1: Prime Time Murder

Book 2: Stand-In Murder

Book 3: Music City Murder

Book 4. Trap Door Murder

Book 5: Fool's Gold Murder

Book 6: Holly Jolly Murder

Book 7: Blue Suede Murder

Book 8: Family Reunion Murder

Book 9: Summer Vacation Murder

Book 10: Sunlight Swindler Murder

Book 11: Castle Island Murder

Book 12: Fixer-Upper Murder

Book 13: Hometown Murder

1

A Christmas Story

I collapsed into the car, spilling a mountain of shopping bags on the passenger seat. I cranked the air conditioning to full blast and pointed all four vents at my face. My layered brown hair fluttered as if I entered a wind tunnel. The metal seatbelt singed my skin as I attempted to buckle. Next time I planned to search for the shade of a palm tree instead of melting a box of candy canes to my dashboard.

I dabbed my forehead and checked the weather app on my phone. Balmy eighty-six.

Good tidings we bring to you and your kin. We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Now is hardly the time for figgy pudding. Not that there is ever a time. I clicked off the radio with a sigh.

Despite the terrible summer heatwave in December, I insisted on wearing my festive Frosty the Snowman sweater. Both of us paid the price for the lapse in judgment.

I snagged the list from my messy purse and checked it twice. Life as an intern came with perks – running errands, extra Christmas shopping, waiting in long lines, and don’t get me started on the pay. A few more weeks and I might afford the swanky place in Beverly Hills I always dreamed about.

I glared at the sunshine beaming through my windshield. What was the L.A. weather doing to me? Most years, I turned into Mrs. Claus the day after Halloween. But instead of Buddy the Elf, I played the role of the Grinch.

The heat wasn’t to blame for all my problems. I grew up in Texas. Our idea of a white Christmas meant an inch of sleet that melted by noon. But it still counted.

I adjusted my review mirror and my attitude. With my shopping done, the rest of the week would improve. Especially considering my next stop.

Los Angeles hosted an annual mystery writer’s convention at the holidays called Killer Clause. My boss described it as Comic-Con for cool people. Obviously, he didn’t know many writers.

As the intern for a successful mystery podcast, Stealthy Suspicions, I scored an all-expense-paid invite. The company even put me up in a room at the resort. I neglected to remind them I lived in a crummy apartment twenty minutes away. After all, they probably needed me on site and handy.

On the drive across town, I found myself annoyed by the lack of music. I flicked on the radio and surfed the stations.

Silent Night. Holy night. All is…

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me…

We three kings…

Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh, what fun…

And off went the radio again. Oh no. I’m turning into my mother.

By December 3rd she banned singing, whistling, or humming from the house. If becoming an adult meant losing your Christmas spirit, I never wanted to grow up.

The third time’s the charm. Alvin and the Chipmunks squealed an ear-piercing tune. We’ll try again tomorrow when this supposed cold front blows in.

At the resort gate, I swiped a parking pass the company supplied. My eyes flicked to the rates and I wondered who afforded forty-five dollars a day to park. I’d rather leave my car on the street and risk grand theft auto or a ticket.

I studied my map and navigated to the ‘Rita Hayworth’ lot. I hustled to the lobby to square away a few details before the convention’s kickoff party tomorrow night. A brisk breeze slapped me in the face as I spun through the revolving door, which doubled as a portal to the North Pole. The sweaty world outside disappeared and yuletide cheer took over.

A Christmas tree worthy of Rockefeller Center dominated the marble hall. Soft instrumental music hummed. A life-sized train circled the second-story balcony as people enjoyed the ride to Santa’s workshop. I paced toward the ride’s line before backtracking. The only adults aboard the locomotive carried toddlers. Would they frown on a small adult riding alone?

Bells jingled as Victorian carolers pranced across the lobby singing O Come, All Ye Faithful.

This place must be the headquarters for Hallmark movies.

A gray tabby zoomed down the stairs and darted between my legs. My ankles locked and I spun my arms to catch my balance. A bellhop chased after the cat and bowled me over. I faceplanted into the marble floor.

Miss, are you alright? A Hispanic man with the Starlight Hotel logo stenciled into his flashy holiday blazer helped me to my feet.

No worries, the corncob pipe broke my fall. I pointed to the 3D ornament decorating my ugly Christmas sweater.

I apologize for my staff. There is a troublesome cat loose on the premises and they are overeager to catch him. Perhaps I can comp you a free breakfast.

I dusted the knees of my jeans. I’m not staying here. Not yet anyway. I’m coming for the conference.

He ran a hand through thick black hair. Ah. Are you a famous mystery writer?

Not hardly. I snorted. "I’m an intern for the Stealthy Suspicious Podcast. My company is a sponsor and they sent me to double-check our status."

Guest services have their hands full. He pointed to the front desk. But I am happy to confirm everything for you. I’m the house detective, Martinez and I’ll handle most of the conference setup.

House detective? I never encountered someone with the job outside of the 1950s and What’s My Line. I didn’t realize you guys still existed.

We mostly fall under the header of security, but the Starlight likes to kick it old school.

I bet you’re a popular guy this week, with writers picking your brain.

Among other things. He maneuvered around an alcove to the security desk.

An angry bearded man waited with arms crossed. No sign of my Rolex in the lost and found. As if someone would find it and turn it in. Any other brilliant suggestions?

Martinez sighed. I filed your report in the system and I informed my staff to be on the lookout.

Your staff probably pinched it. He stormed off, shoving by guests.

People are always misplacing their belongings and blaming us. The house detective typed on the computer. Give me a second to pull up your information.

Take your time.

I slid beside a frazzled woman at the counter. She spoke into her phone in a hushed tone. We can’t find Holly anywhere. Her plane arrived today and her luggage is in her room. Of course, I checked the spa. This isn’t my first day on the job. I’m telling you, she isn’t here. Should I call the police? Her eyes darted and she caught me staring. Excuse me.

Sorry I couldn’t help overhearing. Did something happen to your boss? She spun and I followed. I’m sort of a detective. Maybe I can be of assistance?

Yeah right. Everyone here thinks they are a detective. She stomped to the elevator in a huff.

Merry Christmas to you too, I mumbled.

Are you really a detective?

I swung to face Martinez. Amateur sleuth is the proper title. I dabble in murders. Solving them, I mean. I’m not a… I mimed the Psycho knife scene and added the screeching music. Anyway.

He wiggled his finger and drew me closer. The grumpy heavyset woman, she’s the assistant to Holly Jolly.

The song?

The famous, elusive mystery writer. She creates the holiday-themed killings.

Sounds like a small niche.

She sells millions of copies. One of the biggest names here this week. He shrugged. The assistant is worried Holly Jolly is missing. She found the door ajar and the room tossed.

Why didn’t anyone call the police?

Because of a more than strong chance this is a publicity stunt.

How so?

He ticked off reasons on his fingers. Mystery writers convention. Christmas. Book launch. It is a recipe for a bestseller if the writer disappears under suspicious circumstances for a few hours.

You think it’s a hoax to create buzz?

This is your first time at the convention, isn’t it? He laughed. Authors are an odd bunch. Every year, someone stages a complicated crime for others to solve. Usually, they’re polite enough to let me and the staff in on the joke but who knows? This theme might be a fake kidnapping.

Or someone from the naughty list decided to fight back. Can I explore her room, by any chance?

I already said too much.

A quick peek and I’m out of your hair. Won’t even bring up the bellhop incident in my Yelp review.

He wagged his finger. I was hoping you forgot about that.

Not yet. But a tour might be the distraction I need.

Martinez snagged a keycard and placed it around his neck. The lanyard read ‘house detective’. Come on, before I change my mind.

We rode the elevator to the top floor and entered the penthouse suite. I didn’t realize writing Christmas murders paid so handsomely.

See what I mean, though? No evidence of a crime aside from the mess.

My feet brushed across the plush carpet as I explored the decorated room. I pivoted to an alcove obstructed from view in the entryway. I twisted to the house detective. What about a ransom note?

We didn’t find one, so I’m thinking she’s out seeing the sights or…

I shook my head. No, I meant I found a ransom note.

Where?

I motioned Martinez deeper into the room and pointed at the rear wall. A list of demands, written in red lipstick.

He stroked his thin mustache. On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me, two million dollars in exchange for a Holly Jolly Christmas.

And a partridge in a pear tree, I sang.

2

Twelve Days of Christmas

A flash blinded me as a crime scene technician snapped a photograph of the ransom note. A detective in a Hollywood suit shifted his weight as he skimmed through a pocket-sized notebook. How is it you came to enter this suite?

I sighed and repeated the story I fed the first uniform officer on the scene. I overheard the assistant say Holly Jolly was missing and the room looked disturbed. So, I came to check it out myself.

Oh terrific, you’re another one of those wannabee detectives.

My brow furrowed. Another? Is someone else inquiring about the writer’s disappearance?

Not yet but this happens every year. He rubbed his shiny head. How are you acquainted with the missing person?

I’m not.

Then why are you in her room?

Detective, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I’m sure the assistant will be able to provide more information.

Ah, yes the assistant to Holly Jolly. Whose name you do not recall.

Right.

And I’m assuming the name Holly Jolly isn’t this woman’s given name.

Probably not but this is Hollywood where people name their kids Apple and Kal-El.

He lowered the sunglasses he wore indoors. Is that a joke or are you offering credible leads?

The ransom note is a play on the song and the kidnapper is asking a hefty sum.

What song would that be?

"The Twelve Days of Christmas. A flashy message written on the wall, which means the guy…"

Or girl.

Right. I nodded. Is trying to make a statement.

Which is what?

Maybe he’s a deranged fan, creating his own yuletide mystery. Or he’s seeking the limelight.

Do you understand the penalty for filing a false police report, Miss?

My pulse raced. I’m sorry, what?

Who put you up to this charade?

No one, Detective.

Beady brown eyes scrutinized my every move. The scene is clearly staged and you know too much.

I promise you I know very little.

Martinez squeezed around a tech. Excuse me Detective Hart but I can vouch for the lady. If this is a hoax, she’s got nothing to do with it. Okay?

Listen, pal, this happens every year and the department is getting fed up. Tell your little writers we aren’t messing around. Anyone who files false reports will be charged.

Come on man, I don’t manage the place. I can’t control what they do any more than you can.

My head bounced between the pair. You’re dismissing the crime scene without investigating further?

Detective Hart tucked a hand in the pocket of his trousers. Beyond taking fingerprints and filing a missing person’s report, there isn’t a lot to do. Give me a ring if the kidnappers call.

Oh my gosh, is it true? The assistant from the lobby squeezed into the suite, tripping over the Christmas tree skirt. Did someone kidnap Holly?

And who are you?

Harriett Jensen. Button dimples appeared in her round face. I’m the PA of Miss Jolly. I make all her bookings and confirm her travel arrangements, and sneak in to pluck all the cashews from her jar of mixed nuts because she goes whack-a-doodle if she catches a whiff of one within ten yards. The woman sucked in a breath. What happened?

The detective smoothed a hand over his shaved head. Two Ts?

Yes.

He scribbled the name. What’s this character’s given name. Because if I file a missing person’s report on Holly Jolly the guys at the station house will start posting Rudolph’s wanted poster on my desk if you catch my drift.

I don’t know it.

Never thought to ask your boss’ name?

Harriett swiveled to me. Why are you here? Detective, she’s the suspicious nosy girl from the lobby I told your officers about.

Who’s the missing woman? Gotta give me something, Detective Hart said.

Harriett fiddled with the hem of her button-up shirt. Miss Jolly is a private person which is why she chose to write under a pen name. Everything tied to the business uses the moniker. If I knew more, I would spill. I swear.

Any enemies? Besides the Grinch.

Is he mocking me? Her bright blue eyes narrowed. This is serious, detective. A woman is missing.

A uniform tapped him on the shoulder. We’ll finish later when you’re less hysterical.

Does Holly have any crazed fans or rivalries with other writers? I asked.

Harriett crossed her arms. I can’t imagine a reason why I would talk to you.

Because I’m the only one in the room taking this kidnapping seriously. The cops think this is a publicity stunt.

They might be right.

I scoffed. Is that what you believe, Harriett?

Holly is super private despite how she acts at appearances. She wouldn’t do something this crazy for attention.

Who would?

Her fans are sweet, retired grannies who like Agatha Christie and fantasize about solving capers with Jessica Fletcher. None of them are involved.

Alright, what about a rivalry?

Plenty of people at the conference don’t respect Holly’s work. They think she’s too gimmicky and hokey and lazy by centering her writing around holiday crimes. But between novellas and full-length stories, she turns out twenty books a year, all different plus creative, and sells millions of copies. Actions speak.

People love a good mystery. For whatever reason, the woman acted combatively toward me. Somehow, I needed to build a rapport. Anyone in particular jealous of her success?

Stokes and Nathan for sure.

Excellent and they are other writers…

The detective waved from the other side of the living room. Miss Jensen, I want you to come down to the station to make an official report.

Absolutely. She spun and bumped into an end table.

A snow globe wobbled and tipped off the ledge. I lunged and caught it before the glass smashed into a million pieces. Joy to the World hummed.

Not often was someone clumsier than me.

Oops. Harriett pursed her lips. Close call. The elevator dinged and she boarded with the detective and a few officers.

Nice save. Martinez returned the decoration to its perch. "Corporate put these and other expensive decorations in all the rooms, despite my insistence. Between kids, pets, and a disregard for the hotel property, the breakables bill will be