Candy Cane Conspiracies (Claire's Candles Cozy Mystery Book 7)
CONTENTS
About This Book
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Also by Agatha Frost
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Afterword
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Also by Agatha Frost
Published by Pink Tree Publishing Limited in 2022
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Pink Tree Publishing Limited.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For questions and comments about this book, please contact pinktreepublishing@gmail.com
www.pinktreepublishing.com
www.agathafrost.com
About This Book
Released: December 20th 2022
Words: 58,000
Series: Book 7 - Claire’s Candles
Language: British English
Standalone: Yes
Cliff-hanger: No
Christmas is around the corner in Northash, and candle shop owner, Claire Harris, is excited about her first craft fair. Being held in the locally historic Starfall House, Claire is sure her festive scents will fly off her stall. But she's not the only stallholder selling homemade candles, and when her main competition dies on the first day of the fair, all fingers point to Claire. Can she prove her innocence before Christmas Day?
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ALSO BY AGATHA FROST
Claire’s Candles
1. Vanilla Bean Vengeance
2. Black Cherry Betrayal
3. Coconut Milk Casualty
4. Rose Petal Revenge
5. Fresh Linen Fraud
6. Toffee Apple Torment
7. Candy Cane Conspiracies
Peridale Cafe
1. Pancakes and Corpses
2. Lemonade and Lies
3. Doughnuts and Deception
4. Chocolate Cake and Chaos
5. Shortbread and Sorrow
6. Espresso and Evil
7. Macarons and Mayhem
8. Fruit Cake and Fear
9. Birthday Cake and Bodies
10. Gingerbread and Ghosts
11.Cupcakes and Casualties
12. Blueberry Muffins and Misfortune
13. Ice Cream and Incidents
14. Champagne and Catastrophes
15. Wedding Cake and Woes
16. Red Velvet and Revenge
17. Vegetables and Vengeance
18. Cheesecake and Confusion
19. Brownies and Bloodshed
20. Cocktails and Cowardice
21. Profiteroles and Poison
22. Scones and Scandal
23. Raspberry Lemonade and Ruin
24. Popcorn and Panic
25. Marshmallows and Memories
Other
The Agatha Frost Winter Anthology
Peridale Cafe Book 1-10
Peridale Cafe Book 11-20
Claire’s Candles Book 1-3
CHAPTER ONE
Unwilling to let the incline of Park Lane break her, Claire Harris forged up the sludgy road with her shopping trolley packed to the brim with candles. The scarf Damon had haphazardly thrown about her in her rush out of the shop wasn’t doing a great job of keeping her neck warm, but it was perfectly funnelling her short, sharp breaths to steam up her specs.
She peered over her frames. The side entrance of the park only a stone’s throw away. A haze of fog swallowed up the rest of the lane before the road curved out of sight, multicoloured Christmas lights flashing somewhere in the distant vapour. Behind the rows of trees and the wall separating the park and the street, the sun – nothing more than a silver disc – fought through the bare branches in challenging angelic stripes. The blend of the sun and fog gave the biting winter morning a dreamlike quality though that could be Claire’s steamed glasses.
Wrapping her gloved fingers tighter around the trolley handle, Claire pushed through the point of the hill where the steepness usually threatened to topple her backwards. Just when she felt her legs begin to buckle, the high stone wall curved away to Starfall Park’s side entrance. She squeezed the trolley through the bollards and paused to catch her breath, glad of the flat surface.
A lifetime of living in Northash, a village consisting entirely of hills, didn’t make them any easier. Still, looking down at the glass finish of the curved path in the park, Claire knew she’d taken the easy route. The front gates were a tourist thing – a quirk of the locals – though Claire dared anyone to attempt the climb today. With the craft fair she was on her way to due to start in an hour, she was surprised somebody hadn’t been out to grit the paths yet.
Shapes moved about in the mist. Dog walkers, no doubt, but the only person within earshot was a man perched in a squat by the marble fountain between Claire and her destination, Starfall House. He had a camera aimed at the fountain, now merely decoration from a bygone time.
Approaching headlights from the bottom of Park Lane forced Claire from lingering any longer at the side entrance. Claire pushed the trolley onto the ice as the car wheels spraying slush onto the backs of her socks poking out of her trainers. The grit stuck to her shoes fought against the slippery surface, but the ice was as smooth as freshly polished silverware.
As careful as Claire tried to make her steps, the trolley tugged her forward, having different ideas. The path across to the house, which she’d assumed was directly opposite the side entrance, sloped on a diagonal decline. She locked her knees, and the trolley pulled.
“You might want to watch out,” Claire called as she and the clattering candles slid towards the man and the marble fountain at an alarming speed. “I don’t think I’m in control of this in the slightest!”
The flash of a robin’s red breast fluttered away from the fountain as the man spun around, and for a moment, she felt a surge of guilt at having ruined his peaceful morning. He flashed the camera in her direction, blinding her in an instant.
Free falling along the ice, hauled by the weight of her lovingly handmade creations, Claire wondered if she’d wheel back down the hill all the way. Suppose she crashed into the clock tower in the square. She’d give Damon more to think about than trying to guess the flavour of The Hesketh Arms’ annual ‘Mystery Crispmas’ competition.
Conspired against by her candles and ice.
Quite a way to go.
“Are any of us?” a soft, smooth voice asked.
Claire realised she wasn’t just blinded by the flash; she was clenching her eyes shut. She relaxed them. The birdwatcher had a hand and a foot stretched out, slowing the trolley to a halt by the fountain. Claire’s feet
gave a wobble as she skidded towards him, and he caught her. She grabbed the marble sink edge and let out a disbelieving laugh, charged with adrenalin. She’d resigned herself to her fate far too quickly.
“And that’s why I don’t go ice skating,” Claire announced, dragging her chin, moistened by her panicked breathing, over the top of the scarf. Suddenly, it was too itchy, and she ignored the urge to yank it away, not that she had a free hand. “Are any of us what?”
“In control,” he said, lips framed by a fair beard silvering at the edges, below rosy cheeks as round as fresh apples. “Quite the thing to exclaim as you’re hurtling to your doom.”
From his accent alone, he wasn’t local. His refined vowels placed him from somewhere southern enough that Claire must have sounded like a Northern extra from a teatime soap to him. Still smiling, he peered into the trolley and scanned the many candles. His crystal blue eyes were wide and expressive under the shade of his hat, a flat cap that would have looked more natural upon the head of a man closer to Claire’s father’s age. She guessed the birdwatcher who’d saved her from almost certain death was somewhere in his mid-to-late thirties, like her.
“That picture I snapped might come in handy to show the police,” he said, his tone taking on a serious edge. “This many candles, I can only assume you’re on the run?”
“There was a sale on,” she said flatly. “I smell a candle, it has to go in my trolley. I simply couldn’t help myself.” He arched a brow, cocking his head back at her. “They’re from my shop,” she admitted. “I was on my way to Starfall House for the craft fair, but now I’m not sure I want to move from here until someone comes and grits us a path to safety.”
“Then that must make you Claire.” He stretched out a leather-gloved hand, and she offered him her wool-wrapped digits. He gave a lingering handshake, his eye contact firm. “I’m Mark. And your mother knows you far too well. She sent me out here to see if you’d slipped.” He chuckled. “You were ten minutes late five minutes ago, and she’s quite the clock watcher.”
Janet, her mother, had only called to tell her about a stall becoming available twenty minutes ago. Claire had been in the middle of her first coffee, still preparing the shop with Damon for the Friday ahead. She took a calming breath – Mark didn’t seem too scarred from his interaction with Janet Harris. “You know my mother?”
“Not in the slightest, but she doesn’t seem like a woman who’d have taken ‘no’ as an answer.”
“Sounds to me like you do know her.” Claire looked to the house, and as though she knew she was being spoken about, Janet appeared in the Victorian conservatory jutting off the kitchen. “For all her faults, she got me into this fair, as last minute as it is.”
“Claire!” Janet cried, waving an arm from the back door. “I see you’ve met Mark.” Hugging herself against the cold, she looked around the empty park. “You’ll have to go around to the front, Claire. You’ll never get that thing up these stairs. And what are you doing clinging onto that fountain, and where did you get a trolley?”
“Fished it out of the canal behind the Hesketh last Sunday,” she called back, deciding to miss that it was well past midnight with Damon after their candle shop Christmas party. “And we’re waiting for the ice to melt.” Claire let go of the fountain to shake back her sleeve where a watch would sit if she was more organised. “I’ll be inside in a few hours?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Just get a move on and get in here. Anne’s waiting to meet you, and she’s rushed off her feet as it is.” Janet backed into the conservatory, but her head poked out and she added, “And I hope you washed that trolley.”
“I think you’re right,” Mark said as Janet rushed back into the house. “I think I know her already.”
“Her bark is worse than her bite, I promise.”
“We all have a teddy bear side, don’t we?” Mark said, and she couldn’t help but notice how closely he resembled a smiley, cuddly-looking bear. “And this part of the path isn’t as bad as the part you slid down. Between the two of us, I think we can make it.”
Following Mark’s lead onto the ice, Claire copied his slow shuffles, barely lifting her feet. Mark was better equipped in walking boots. Her own trainers were smooth, perfect for dashing around the flat, iceless shop. Still, before long they were on the flat path at the side of the house, which someone had salted, thankfully.
Built of beige stone bricks, the two-centuries-old Starfall House stood alone at the bottom of Starfall Park. Both were named after the grand observatory on the hill, which always drew attention. If his accent hadn’t given him away as not being from around these parts, the dazzled look in Mark’s eyes as he gazed up to the observatory barely visible through the fog did.
“It’s never open,” Claire said, nodding at the giant ‘FOR SALE’ sign that jutted from the house as they reached the front. “Comes with the house, so if you want to buy it, you get it thrown in as a deal.”
Mark gave a friendly smile, but the observatory had captured his interest. Leaving him standing outside the house, Claire pushed inside, glad to feel some warmth in the air. Looking around, she tugged off her gloves with her teeth, and the ends of her fingers prickled as the feeling rushed back into them.
Stalls dotted around the black and white tiled, richly decorated entrance hall sold everything from mulled wine to soap, wooden ornaments, and cards. Some were still in the middle of setting up, but most stallholders were lingering around, talking in groups. They were almost exclusively women and Claire’s age or older. She smiled, glad she’d made it safely. She was excited for the day ahead.
Her mother stopped mopping at the base of the stairs and marched up to her.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Janet said, unravelling Claire’s scarf from around her neck the moment she was close enough. “I paid the pitch fee already, so call it an early Christmas present. I got a decent discount, with Janet’s Angels being hired to keep the place spic and span all weekend. This extravagant place has been a welcome treat compared to all the offices I clean during the week.”
“I still don’t understand how you got me a stall so easily. Did someone drop out?”
Janet shook her head, leaning in. “I was dumping my mop bucket outside at precisely the right time, or I might not have heard them talking about it.”
“Heard who talking about what?”
“Anne and her assistant,” Janet gestured over to the group of people crowded around one of the stalls, leaving Claire no wiser to which, if any of them was Anne Evans, the elusive organiser of the craft fair. “The assistant was complaining to Anne that they hadn’t filled all the stalls, but Anne was trying to tell her it didn’t matter and that once word got around, they’d attract more stallholders. The assistant went off grumbling to herself.”
“Her name is Kirsty,” Mark said, appearing behind Claire; maybe she hadn’t left him outside after all. “Kirsty Fisher. If you were to ask her, she planned this entire event down to the last detail, but given how distracted my mother has been lately, I don’t know how much of her attention she’s given to this fair. I trust she’ll claim all the glory at the end of the day regardless.”
“Distracted?” Janet said, her ears pricking up at the first hint of gossip. “Not important. What’s important is that I got you into this craft fair, Claire. Did you actually apply?”
“Yes?” Claire couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden accusation in her mother’s voice. “As soon as I heard about it. My application was rejected almost immediately. I assumed all the stalls had been filled, but now that I’m looking around the room…” Of the ten or so in the entrance hall, at least three were empty. People weren’t rushing in through the door despite precious set-up minutes ticking by. “Maybe there was an error with the system.”
“All applications were checked by hand,” Mark said. “I helped, but I’m not sure I saw yours. Maybe there was an error? It is the first year, after all. My mother insists the whole thing will be a rip-roaring suc
cess, but I’ll be happy if we get some people through the door on such a bitter day.”
“You have to have more faith, Mark,” a woman called, descending the staircase with a cardboard box hugged at her front. “You get your pessimism from your father.”
Mark gave a smile as though he’d been caught out. “I’m sure the day will go swimmingly, Mother. I don’t think you’ve met Claire. She’s taking one of the empty stalls.”
As Anne Evans passed them, the box she carried rattled in a way familiar to Claire. Anne placed the package on a half-finished stall of Christmas cards and knitted cup warmers and turned around with a tense smile. Chunky plastic jewellery clanged together at her wrists as her arms folded over her festive red poncho. As bright as her exterior was, the polite smile barely hid her open judgement. It was a look Claire knew all too well, thanks to her mother and the Women’s Institute company she used to keep. The focus of Anne’s squinting stare seemed to be the contents of the trolley Claire had risked her life to get deliver.
“Anne, this is my daughter, Claire, who I was telling you about,” Janet said when Mark’s attempt at an introduction didn’t prompt anything. “Say ‘hello’, Claire.”
“Hello, Claire,” Claire said, holding out her hand. Anne’s sour expression didn’t move a muscle, and Claire continued, “Nice to meet you. I run the candle shop in the square. You might have seen it?”