A French Country Christmas: Stranded in Provence

By Susan Kiernan-Lewis

In this festive holiday novella, Jules Hooker is having her first post-apocalyptic Christmas in the small French village of Chabanel when a mysterious stranger and an unholy secret from the past come together to try to ruin everybody's holly jolly time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Kiernan-Lewis
• Release date: Oct 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223819769

Susan Kiernan-Lewis

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Susan Kiernan-Lewis is the author of The Maggie Newberry Mysteries, the post-apocalyptic thriller series The Irish End Games, The Mia Kazmaroff Mysteries, The Stranded in Provence Mysteries, The Claire Baskerville Mysteries, and The Savannah Time Travel Mysteries. Visit www.susankiernanlewis.com or follow Author Susan Kiernan-Lewis on Facebook.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Books by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

The Maggie Newberry Mysteries

Murder in the South of France

Murder à la Carte

Murder in Provence

Murder in Paris

Murder in Aix

Murder in Nice

Murder in the Latin Quarter

Murder in the Abbey

Murder in the Bistro

Murder in Cannes

Murder in Grenoble

Murder in the Vineyard

Murder in Arles

Murder in Marseille

Murder in St-Rémy

Murder à la Mode

Murder in Avignon

Murder in the Lavender

Murder in Mont St-Michel

Murder in the Village

Murder in St-Tropez

Murder in Grasse

Murder in Monaco

Murder in Montmartre

Murder in the Villa

A Provençal Christmas: A Short Story

A Thanksgiving in Provence

Laurent’s Kitchen

The Claire Baskerville Mysteries

Déjà Dead

Death by Cliché

Dying to be French

Ménage à Murder

Killing it in Paris

Murder Flambé

Deadly Faux Pas

Toujours Dead

Murder in the Christmas Market

Deadly Adieu

Murdering Madeleine

Murder Carte Blanche

Death à la Drumstick

The Savannah Time Travel Mysteries

Killing Time in Georgia

Scarlett Must Die

The Cottonmouth Club

The Stranded in Provence Mysteries

Parlez-Vous Murder?

Crime and Croissants

Accent on Murder

A Bad Éclair Day

Croak, Monsieur!

Death du Jour

Murder Très Gauche

Wined and Died

Murder, Voila!

A French Country Christmas

The Irish End Games

Free Falling

Going Gone

Heading Home

Blind Sided

Rising Tides

Cold Comfort

Never Never

Wit’s End

Dead On

White Out

Black Out

End Game

The Mia Kazmaroff Mysteries

Reckless

Shameless

Breathless

Heartless

Clueless

Ruthless

Ella Out of Time

Swept Away

Carried Away

Stolen Away

1

MAKING SPIRITS BRIGHT

Inever really thought of myself as someone who enjoys Christmas.

Growing up, Christmas was always a nonevent. My mom was never into it—she didn’t cook and we didn’t live near family—and then there was the fact that my father was never around. I can’t say I felt like I’d missed out. Not really. I mean I always enjoyed dressing up for the odd office Christmas party but none of the festive hoopla ever really meant much to me personally.

I was thinking these warm and fuzzy thoughts as I hurried back from the village of Chabanel on a frozen, snowy afternoon a week before Christmas where my militant roommates, ninety plus year old twin sisters, had coerced me into going to pick up an ingredient for the dinner they were making that they insisted was needed absolutely immediatement!

It had snowed last night so riding my bike to town was out of the question. As it turned out, that was a good thing since as I made the last turn out of Chabanel down the country road that led to La Fleurette, the ancient stone mas where I lived with the twins, I soon discovered that I’d need both hands free.

There is a creek that fronts the small forest running from Chabanel to La Fleurette and beyond. While I never thought the creek needed it, there was a small stone footbridge that led to a path through the woods to Lake Robert beyond.

I held the bag of lemons I’d gone to town for in one hand and shielded my eyes with the other from the glaring sunlight bouncing off the snowdrifts beside the road.

There on the footbridge knelt a man, shabbily dressed and thin—someone I hadn’t seen before around the village and trust me I’ve seen everyone.

One thing I’ve learned about living in a village—even on its outskirts as I do—is that it is perfectly acceptable, in fact nearly mandatory, to view with suspicion any strange person who happens to cross your path.

And this guy was strange. Not just strange-to-me strange but weird strange. He was kneeling on the bridge tying his shoe—or so it appeared—so as I walked by I had plenty of time to scrutinize his clothes and his manner and hypothesize about what he might be up to—again, all generally applauded actions by any villager anywhere.

When he stood up, he turned and glared at me. He spat out a few ugly words in my direction. I will spare you the translation but they were along the lines of piss off you nosey cow.

But I wasn’t