A Merry Little Murder

By F. C. Villani

It's Christmas Eve in snowy New York City and private investigator William Baget and his friend Freddie Lewis have been invited to dinner at Arthur J. Vincent's speakeasy establishment, The Golden Cap.

 

The festive night takes a murderous turn when Arthur J. Vincent drops dead in his study.

 

And after discovering they are trapped inside, it is up to William Baget to determine which of his fellow guests is the killer.

 

But can Baget unravel the case when he learns all his suspects have a motive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Francesca Villani
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645705423

Book preview

To He who formed my inward parts, and covered me in my mother’s womb.

ONE

W e’ve left it too late , haven’t we, Will? Freddie Lewis asked.

Baget shrugged off Freddie’s concerns. It was Christmas Eve, and the two men hadn’t the faintest clue where they would be dining for supper. Without a reservation, he and his well-dressed, hungry friend would be kicked out of every restaurant this side of town, and likely further on. Nevertheless, William Baget stood quite unbothered, leaning against the frame of Freddie’s sitting room, snacking on a handful of macadamias he had scooped from the coffee table within.

Well... Baget popped a macadamia into his mouth and began to chew thoughtfully. If you had called a week in advance, we would still be holding our breath for a table. I can’t imagine any business answering the telephone tonight.

Freddie sighed, his shoulders deflating at once. He took the receiver from his ear and returned it to its candlestick-shaped stand.

Understand, Will, I’ve had a devil of a month since Bishop left the factory the way he did. Freddie stretched his mouth in a yawn but covered it with his fist. And although Baget had made sure not to show an inkling of bother about the night’s situation, Freddie continued to explain himself. He twitched with annoyance at his own mention of his former colleague. I mean, really, Will! To leave a toy manufacturer during the Christmas holidays without so much as a two weeks notice from the man is an absolute joke! Emptied his desk of everything but a single note declaring his departure to Vietnam. He could have yanked our feet from under us and sent our backsides on a one-way ticket down a fresh slab of concrete flooring and have caused the same agonising result.

Baget walked over the coffee table, restocked his hand with macadamias, and sat back on Freddie’s couch.

You’ve had to pick up the slack then? he enquired with genuity.

And how! Freddie huffed, plonking himself across from the couch in a bronzed-lined armchair. "My employer—I’ve mentioned Mr. Carport, haven’t I—has got me taking on Bishop’s duties until they find a replacement. But no one reads the employment ads during the holiday season! They say to themselves, Why spoil the holiday cheer to find work? I will wait for the new year. I am sure that’s what they are saying. He crossed his legs in frustration and leaned his elbow into the armrest. Nevermind that now. The matter is this: time simply has not existed for me, Will. And now my invitation to Christmas dinner is going to be nothing short of a great bore! Forgive me for ruining your first New York Christmas, my friend."

Freddie, stop your sulking! My God, man, you would think one of the big kids had snatched your lolly away. Will leaned forward, swishing macadamias round and round his cupped palm. There is more to this holiday than a good meal. I think our generation has forgotten that. And besides, he ate the last nut standing, I believe we are bound for an eventful Christmas Eve!

Freddie cocked his head.

How are you so sure?

It has a way of surpassing expectations, this season of ours. You cannot deny the origins of this night is one of great joy and celebration. An unseen, unheard of hope entered the world. Let us cling to this hope, Freddie! In the spirit of the season, if for nothing else!

An amused grin began to form on Freddie’s face, despite his obvious irritation. The excitement and confidence in Baget must have been as contagious as he hoped, since it elevated Freddie’s countenance. William Baget had been told he had a way of doing that to people. He carried a presence that brought unexplainable but often welcomed peace and joy to anyone who came across it. Anyone except those who mattered most, it seemed.

But with Freddie, there were countless times in the early days of their friendship where the air between them felt so familiar that Baget often caught himself sharing more with Freddie than he dared to share with any old fellow. Reflecting over the years, Baget realised it was due to the way Freddie was able to make a person feel comfortable without making any effort to intentionally do so. It was not false or scripted. Freddie simply had a trusting face with a heart that did not judge. And although Baget was seven years his senior, he never treated Freddie as less than. Even when he corrected Freddie or advised him in his troubles, Baget’s approach was always one of pure care and desire to see his friend better off. They were often referred to as brothers, not by each other, but by those who encountered them. It was as if their friendship held so few barriers, it seemed more likely they shared a mother, born and raised together from their youth, than met later in life.

Freddie’s lips quivered in a mysterious effort to be serious. He pushed himself to the edge of his chair and plucked the ceramic bowl of macadamias from the coffee table. He examined its contents and sniffed.

Hmm, they definitely smell like macadamias. He squinted in thought.

What is this examination for? Baget guffawed.

I wondered if foul play has led to my macadamias being substituted for some kind of edible drug. It is the only way to explain that curious mind of yours, Baget!

Baget scoffed with laughter.

Are you certain Bishop shipped off to Vietnam? Because if this is how you ‘keep it fun’ in the workplace, I can understand his urgent resignation.

They laughed in unison until it naturally fizzled out. Baget raised a brow, suddenly feeling Freddie’s gaze on him. He looked up to see Freddie watching him thoughtfully and smiling. Something in Freddie’s face made Baget stifle himself from rolling his eyes. He grunted instead, hoping the conversation wasn’t taking the turn he anticipated.

What’s Avery doing this Christmas? Freddie asked. Baget cringed from the pity he heard in his voice, as if Baget were a child and Freddie had to appear non-threatening to gain his trust. He busied himself with the soft grooves of the macadamias, rubbing his thumb over them individually and thinking how they looked like smoothed-out chickpeas.

I suppose she will be with her husband’s side of the family this year, as she’s been these last two years, he said, restraining himself from meeting Freddie’s stare.

Have you not spoken to her?

Not in some months, no, Baget answered, tight-lipped. He stretched his arms back uncomfortably. His long coat felt as if it had cinched around his shoulders, containing him like a preserved ham. She doesn’t need me. She hasn’t for a long time.

A daughter will always need her father, Will.

Baget chuckled ironically.

Not this one, I’m afraid. He smiled, but the words came out like acid from his chest.

He had hardly spoken to Avery since... Now that he thought of it, it had been years since they really talked. She had married a man four years earlier, and since then they had exchanged a mere handful of letters. Baget kept them in the drawer of his bedside table at home. He held onto them although the handwritten words were vague and repetitive. Writing to his daughter had become a kind of relational maintenance to keep himself informed on any events or news going on for her. She never initiated the letters, only responded to his letters when he sent them. Eventually, time stretched further and further between each letter, until Baget decided he would wait until Avery reached out to him. After all, he was her father. A daughter should keep herself involved with her father. Keep him a part of her life. She was such a big part of his that it was only fair. He made the decision to wait earlier that year. And until now, he was still waiting.

The telephone erupted in vibrant rings. With a grunt, Freddie rose from his seat to answer it while Baget remained in the sitting room, relieved.

Why if it isn’t this century’s captain of enterprise!...No, no I didn’t...for tonight?...As it happens, we are!...Over on 3rd?...Good show, old friend. We will arrive shortly. The call ended and Freddie rejoined Baget, twisting a scarf around his neck. 

Baget gave a sly grin at his friend.

I don’t know how you knew, William Baget.

How’s that?

Oh, don’t act a fool! Up you get. We’ve got a dinner party to attend.

Baget leapt to his feet and brushed the macadamia dust from his hands. 

This night is becoming less of a bore by the minute!

WHO IS HOSTING THIS Christmas Eve gathering? Baget asked through chattering teeth.

Leaving the warmth of Freddie’s home had meant entering the icebox outside. Snow fell at a constant, layering upon itself like ants on a sugar cube. Their destination was in a district famed for its nightlife and, as expected on such a night as this, the streets were roaring. They had decided to drive in with Freddie’s car but were forced to park at least six blocks away and were presently weaving through the crowded streets on foot. Both men had their bowler hats pulled down tight, shoulders tensed against the cold and hands balled in their pockets. They walked a fast pace as Freddie led the way, the beauty of the golden lights and Christmas carolers smothered by the crisp air and snowflakes that fell like graceful frostbite confetti.

Arthur J. Vincent, Freddie replied, twisting his neck and eyeing Baget with a smirk. He held his gaze in anticipation.

You’re pulling my leg. Baget’s bottom lip hung slightly.

Freddie busted out in childlike laughter.

Had I known, I wouldn’t have come, Freddie, Baget grunted, stamping a perfect footprint into the snow.

Yes, and I’m sorry for that, but here you are. You prophesied an eventful night, and that is exactly what you are going to get! Besides, it’s not so bad being fixated upon by one’s fans from time to time. Freddie’s words were light and playful, which only seemed to cause that much more indignation.

"When I said ‘eventful’, that was under the idea that we would both be enjoying the night. I fail to see that in my near future, Baget groaned. I cannot speak on film actresses or radio personalities or even politicians, but for a private investigator, it is a great disadvantage to my sanity to be recognisable."

That’s what you get for being good at what you do, my friend. He nudged Baget with his shoulder. I knew a famous mechanic once. Told me how he went to a ballroom event with his wife, and by the end of the night he was in the garage, elbows deep in his host’s convertible. The engine oil ruined his suit.

Was that story supposed to be encouraging, Freddie?

Freddie chuckled through a wide, innocent grin, creating an opening for a waft of cold air to swoosh between his teeth, making them chatter.

At first glance it doesn’t seem to be, but do you know what happened?

What?

The host was happy, and the convertible was on the road the following morning. Freddie shrugged. Sometimes it pays to be inconvenienced by your skill set if it means you can solve a problem that would have otherwise remained unsolved.

Baget considered his friend and sighed.

You make a point there, Freddie. In the general sense, you are right, but I don’t see this evening being like that. There is no problem for me to help Arthur J. Vincent with. I will be present merely to satisfy his curiosities, like a spoiled child who has a pet for the pure entertainment it can bring until it is bored of it and neglected thereafter.

That’s a little depressing don’t you think, Will? Freddie clapped him on the back and bowled over in amusement.

If you received the type of letters that man has sent me, you would see it just the same! Baget’s tone held frustration but he spoke through a smile. Freddie’s laughter must have been infectious.

"William Baget, we really must reconnect! You absolutely fascinate me," Freddie recited from the memory of being present on the arrival of one particular letter. The impression made Baget double over in laughter. It seems quite uplifting to be grovelled over by a former university acquaintance. 

It isn’t that, Freddie. Baget became thoughtful. "I didn’t know him