MURDER AT THE STUDIO

Abi Anderson Cozy Mysteries

Book 1

By Zanna Mackenzie

MURDER AT THE STUDIO– © 2019 Zanna Mackenzie

The moral rights of the author have been asserted. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All plots, incidents, characters, locations, organisations, names etc. are fictitious, created from the author’s imagination and any resemblance to real persons, incidents, locations, organisations, names is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be stored, shared, copied, transmitted or reproduced in any way without express written permission from the author.

About This Story:

When Bernie, the star of breakfast show TV Rise & Shine, is murdered in her dressing room, Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agents Abi and Jake are sent undercover just before Christmas to catch the killer.

With suspects aplenty, the snow building up outside and the holidays fast approaching, they’ve certainly got their work cut out!

Chapter One

“I can’t believe people actually watch this stuff,” I mutter into the agency’s communication’s device tucked behind my ear, easily hidden by my long black hair.

Jake’s deep chuckle rumbles through in response.

“I mean, seriously? A chimpanzee that cooks pancakes on live TV? That’s wrong on so many levels,” I grumble.

“Where’s your sense of fun these days?” Jake replies. “I know you used to have one, but it’s been absent for quite a while now.”

I stiffen at his words. A sense of humour. Right. Yes. I remember that. It was before...

Jake interrupts my thoughts and thankfully calls a halt to what could have become a painful trip down memory lane. “So, what do you reckon is on these photos that the Queen Of Daytime TV is being blackmailed with?”

Instantly pulling my mind back to business, I say, “We really shouldn’t speculate on that, but she’s certainly keen to ensure those photos never see the light of day and is tight-lipped about their scandalous content.”

Bernie Reivers is the aforementioned Queen Of Daytime TV. A woman with a fierce reputation in the celebrity world which suggests she is not to be trifled with.

Somebody is trifling with her though, by attempting to blackmail her with photos they have somehow obtained of Bernie doing something she desperately doesn’t want the world to know about.

Which is where we come in.

Jake and I both work for the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency – the CCIA for short. When the rich and famous are in trouble and need professional investigative help, then they call the CCIA and we’re sent to work on cases such as this one. From blackmail and stalking, to murder and theft, we’ve dealt with them all in the name of putting the bad guys behind bars and making the hectic and demanding lives of those in the media spotlight a little safer and a whole lot easier. We specialise in working discreetly and efficiently, keeping under the radar so to speak, and the agency guarantees results – fast.

All of which is why Jake and myself are currently pretending to be new recruits behind the scenes on TV Rise & Shine, a tacky morning show fronted by Bernie Reivers, with reputedly as much aggravation, back-biting and sensationalism behind the cameras as there is on the show. I’ve been placed here undercover as a runner – i.e. general dogsbody – for the show, while Jake is doing something on the technical side of things. It should suit him well as I know he has a PhD in engineering, and before he became a special agent with the CCIA he was involved with some highly specialist mechanical technological type stuff in the military.

Jake strides across the studio towards me, the Rise & Shine fiasco thankfully now finished for another day. “Want to get out of here? We could head for the studio’s cafe, grab coffee and do an update.”

I nod. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Oi, you, the new girl,” a high-pitched voice I recognise as belonging to Tallulah, the show’s assistant producer, shouts out. “I need you to run out and do a few errands for me. Now.”

Jake raises his eyebrows at me. I roll my eyes in response and tilt my head towards the exit. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear her. Come on, let’s get out of here, pronto.”

I slide into a comfy leather chair next to a low coffee table and watch and wait. Cafe Screen is the station’s own refreshment zone, strictly for those who work here. At a table over by the window, with views over Manchester and the distant Pennine Hills, sits Bernie and what I’m assuming is a male journalist. Hmm. I wonder what that’s about. Is it just a routine interview or are the media vultures already circling? Have rumours of those photos of Bernie somehow been leaked to the newshounds, making them hungry for a story?

Bernie fidgets in her seat, her body language that of a woman close to the edge of her sanity. I know one thing though, the show’s make-up department deserve a medal because Bernie’s expertly applied TV make-up successfully hides the anxiety I know is ricocheting through her over those contentious blackmail images.

“Hi, mind if I join you?”

I turn around to see Kitty taking a seat opposite me – even though I haven’t replied one way or another to her question about taking a seat yet. She’s one of TV Rise & Shine’s junior hosts and researches and presents slots on fashion, baking, crafts, children and beauty.

“I wanted to ask you a quick question.” She licks her lips and tucks a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s about Jake.”

The man in question is, right now, chatting away to the woman sorting out our coffee order over at Cafe Screen’s counter.

“He’s very cute,” Kitty continues with a hungry look in Jake’s direction. She takes a deep breath then slowly exhales. “Okay, cards on the table time. Are the two of you, like, you know, involved? I noticed you both started work on the show at the exact same time and I’ve spotted the two of you talking quite a bit so...”

Before I can reply, we’re both momentarily distracted by Jake, armed with a tray containing two coffees and two pastries, heading towards us. He’s easily over six feet tall, has broad shoulders, long legs clad in black jeans, short brown hair and a killer smile. I can totally understand how Kitty has the hots for him. What Kitty doesn’t know is that Jake is close to being one of the top special agents at the CCIA and has nerves of steel. He’s also excellent company, has a wicked sense of humour, an IQ of 146 and a quicksilver mind. Talk about some people being at the front of the queue when the looks and abilities were dished out at birth.

“So, are the two of you dating or not?” Kitty pushes on before Jake gets too close to hear her.

What Kitty also doesn’t know is that Jake can lip read.

“Well?” she demands.

Hmm. There was that time when Jake and I were working a case together out in New York and we were trailing a suspect in Central Park. It was bitingly cold that day and had been snowing. The city was transformed with its light dusting of white and looked amazing. As we’d followed the bad guy along the pathways, we had held hands and pretended to be a couple, purely for cover, of course, nothing else. There had been a spark (on my part anyway, I can’t speak for Jake) but back then I wasn’t in any position to fan those oh-so-dangerous flames and let that spark ignite into a fire. Now... well, I’m still not sure if I am, to tell the truth.

“Here you go, Abi,” Jake says, setting the tray down on the table. “Oh, sorry, Kitty, I would have got you a drink if I’d known you were joining us. Tell you what, I’ll head right back over there now. What can I get you?”

Kitty blushes scarlet and jumps to her stiletto-shod feet. “Oh, nothing for me, thank you, Jake. I have to get going. I’m off to do a segment on a craft show at GMEX for tomorrow’s programme. Don’t you just love making things? I’m a real craftie.”

“A real craftie,” she beams. At my blank expression she adds, “It’s what we call ourselves. You know, people who just love crafting. My absolute favourite is scrapbooking. My sister got married last month and I made her and her new hubbie a gorgeous scrapbook souvenir of their big day.”

“That sounds...wonderful,” I say with forced jollity. “Well, you enjoy that craft show then.”

As she scuttles away, Jake claims her vacated seat and begins to devour a Danish pastry.

“Kitty has a major crush on you,” I say, reaching for my coffee. “She was just asking if we were a thing.”

Placing the remainder of his pastry on the plate, Jake wipes his hands on a paper napkin and eyes me carefully. “We could have been a thing.”

I nod. “I know. Another place, another time, and all that.”

His piercing blue gaze searches my face. “It was too soon, that’s what you said.”

Rubbing a hand against my forehead, a whole montage of mental video clips from the past race through my mind. Some of them heart-stopping in a good way, others simply heart-breaking. My stomach clenches unhappily and my mouth goes powder dry.

“That’s what you said, when we were working that case together in New York. That it was too soon for you to contemplate us,” Jake needlessly reminds me.

“And I was right.” I quickly shake my head in an effort to push away the uncomfortable memories. “Getting involved with a co-worker is a bad idea anyway, especially in this line of business.”

“It does make things substantially more complicated,” he agrees with an acknowledging tilt of his head before finishing up his Danish pastry. Then he adds, “So, let’s get down to updating each other on the case and our suspects, shall we?”

“Absolutely,” I reply, glad to get my mind, my emotions and this conversation back into what I would deem safer territory.

Jake points at the other pastry – the one he got for me – lying untouched on its plate. “Are you going to eat that?”

I shake my head. My appetite vanished with those little bursts of unpleasant memory flashbacks. “Go ahead if you want it. Thanks for getting it for me though, I’m just not hungry at the moment.”

Jake doesn’t need telling twice.

I pull my notebook from my jacket pocket – a fitted black number, teamed with white shirt and dark jeans - and flip through the pages detailing the names of people who might have reason and opportunity to indulge in a spot of blackmailing.

“We have Kitty – your number one fan – and the show’s reporter and segment host who has made no secret about her desire to take over the anchor-woman role on TV Rise & Shine.” Cheekily I add, “And, it seems, no secret about her desire to spend some quality alone time with you.”

“Jealous?” Jake grins.

“You wish.” I bash him on the thigh, knowing we are once again edging into flirting territory; a dangerous place we should be steering well clear of.

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m irresistible,” Jake smirks, spreading his arms wide and shrugging innocently.

“No, of course you can’t. Right. Back to business. We’ve established Kitty has possible motive for trying to oust Bernie – furthering her own career. More than that, we can’t say at present. It’s not like we’ve got a murder to investigate here, where we can pinpoint a time, a place and then establish alibis for suspects. Blackmail can take place anywhere, any time.”

Pulling out my phone, I flip through images until I come to the one showing a snapshot of the note Bernie was sent by her blackmailer. It’s an old style note – a piece of white nondescript paper with the words in the message pasted onto it, using letters cut from newspapers and magazines. I mean, who does things like that these days? The note itself is short and pretty straightforward:

We know what you do on Tuesdays. We have photos. Want to keep your secret intact? Pay us £20,000 in cash. Instructions to follow.

“I reckon they chose the amount carefully,” Jake says, tapping a finger against the screen of my phone. “They could have asked for far more, but kept it to what is – for Bernie anyway – an amount she can pull together in cash at short notice pretty easily.”

“Because they think there’s a higher probability of them getting their monetary demands met,” I say, nodding in agreement. “I take that to mean the money is more important than splashing these photos all over the world’s media and ruining things for Bernie.”

“Which suggests our suspect is somebody who needs cash for whatever reason, rather than a person who stands to gain from Bernie’s reputation and career being in tatters thanks to the blackmail images.” Jake leans back in his chair, cupping his mug of coffee in both hands. “Have we got the requested financial background info on each of our suspects back from the agency yet?”

I scroll through emails on my secure agency phone. “Some, not all. Your friend and admirer Kitty has hefty student loans weighing down on her pretty little shoulders. Twenty thousand pounds certainly wouldn’t clear her debts, though it would ease the financial burden.”

Jake nods, absorbing this information, his mind clearly working through scenarios involving the blackmailer we are on the trail of, their probable motivations and their mode of operation.

“Tanya, the disgruntled runner – AKA general dogsbody – on the show, was having what looked to me to be an animated chat with Bernie a little earlier. According to agency HQ though Tanya comes from a wealthy London family, has a trust fund and doesn’t appear to need to resort to blackmailing Bernie for twenty thousand pounds.”

“Hey, working hard as usual?” a familiar voice chides.

I look up to see Special Agent Daniel Stone – all Mediterranean dark good looks and oozing confidence – flop into the only free chair at our table.

“Seems you are too,” Jake counters, and they high-five each other.

I can’t help smiling at the two of them. Anyone around us in Cafe Screen would never figure these guys as being highly trained agency operatives tracking down criminals. For that matter, hopefully I too slide under the radar on that front. Tall, average build, long black hair and green eyes, an ongoing battle with maintaining the agency’s required fitness levels, and fast approaching the dreaded thirtieth birthday milestone. I might catch admiring glances from guys from time to time, but generally speaking I hope I come across as just your average girl about town. I think that gives me an edge, something I readily turn to my advantage – making me easy to talk to, approachable and unthreatening. I want to come across as the girl next door; your new best friend and confidante.

On the surface, anyway.

Agency guys like Jake and Dan aren’t averse to turning on the charm, taking advantage of their handsome looks and engaging in some flirting in the quest for investigational knowledge and one-upmanship.

For me though, that’s tricky territory. As a woman in a predominantly male agency like the CCIA, I’m not keen on using my feminine wiles to pursue investigations. I know plenty of other female agents who don’t think twice about it; people like Man-eater Martha, a top special agent and a master at manipulating people.

Neither Jake nor I ask Dan what he’s doing here at the TV station. We know that cases are strictly confidential. He might be regarded as one of the best and most experienced investigators at the agency along with another elite agent called Charlie Huxton, but Dan is also noted as being something of a maverick. I worked with him on one case out in Hong Kong and Dan landed us both in a police cell with his pushing-the-boundaries investigative style. A phone call to the CCIA quickly sorted it and got us out of there and we cracked the case soon after, but if you get assigned to work with Dan then you know you need to be prepared for rules to be broken on a pretty regular basis.

“I’m allowed to chill out now,” Dan replies, flashing me a quick smile. It’s a smile that with most females probably renders them all of a flutter. Not so with me though. For some reason I am immune to his charms. I think he might be a little too good looking for my tastes. We’re friends and colleagues but there isn’t even the potential for anything more as far as I am concerned. No spark whatsoever. Strange that.

My eyes flick across to Jake and my traitorous heart speeds up a little as he chats away with our fellow agent. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, talking animatedly as Dan explains he’s off duty now for a few days, his case complete. Next, they’re talking holidays. Dan going on about how he’s planning to jet off to see his mother in her native Spain for a few days. Jake starts regaling him with tales of last weekend’s surfing trip, enjoying monstrous waves off the coast of Cornwall. Dan instantly demands to know which beach so that he can try it out for himself.

I feel as though they have completely forgotten I’m here. Boy talk. Well, kind of. Thank goodness it’s regular boy talk and not the agency equivalent (involving guns, outmanoeuvring criminals and maintaining extreme fitness levels) because that might worry Adrienne, the woman from the station’s make-up department who worked her magic earlier on Bernie before she went on the TV Rise & Shine set. Adrienne is now sitting close by chatting earnestly with Deborah from lighting. Hmm. Wonder what they’re discussing. Probably the latest celebrity gossip. Placing both hands on the table, I bang them down lightly as if it was a drum to get the guys’ attention.

“Aw, look,” Jake laughs. “Abi’s feeling left out. Come on, Abs, I did invite you to Cornwall with me, didn’t I?”

Yes. He did.

Unfortunately.

I adore surfing but the thought of a weekend spent in very close quarters in Jake’s VW campervan had freaked me out. Criminals, guns and cracking cases I can handle, but Jake’s a trickier proposition.

Dan and Jake exchange knowing looks and both say the exact same thing at the exact same moment. “It was too soon.” Then they annoyingly high-five each other again.

Grrh!

That’s a less desirable trait they both share – how annoying they can be sometimes.

“I’m going to leave you two to your boring surf talk,” I huff, getting to my feet.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it at my secret beach,” Jake teases.

“I’m going to go and do some actual work and talk to Yannick, the show’s cameraman,” I inform them in hushed tones so we’re not overheard. “I’ll text you when I’m done with an update,” I add to Jake.

He mock salutes me. “Yes, boss.”

I walk away, shaking my head. Honestly, these guys.

I find Yannick still on the set of TV Rise and Shine. Slipping back into my dogsbody role I stride over to him. “Can I get you a coffee or anything?”

He pauses from his tech stuff and looks me up and down. “I could go for the anything,” he replies with a wink. “I know somewhere quiet we can go.”

Honestly, does everyone in TV fancy themselves to be irresistible? Seems like it to me.

“I’m not that kind of girl,” I reply with a smile in an effort to keep the guy on side. “How about we just go with coffee and a chat for now?”

Yannick scowls. “Too busy.”

Hmm... Interesting. Looks like Yannick can be a bit grumpy when he doesn’t get his own way. A volatile character perhaps?

“Don’t you like to get to know your work colleagues a little better?”

“You’re not a proper colleague. You’re just the runner,” he mumbles in reply, his face hidden by a part of the camera (I have no idea what part it is) that he’s fiddling about with.

Charming.

“So, what do you think of Bernie?” I press on. “She comes across as falling into the highly strung category to me.”

Yannick looks across at me and I instantly recognise the look of a man who is wrestling with some dilemma.

“Bernie’s high maintenance for sure, but she’s also hot. We had a bit of a thing going on,” he grins.

Ah! I knew it. His internal dilemma was about whether or not to make himself look good in front of me by spilling the beans on his fling with the show’s star.

I’m disliking this guy more and more with every passing minute.

I arrange my face into an interested expression. “Really? Wow!”

“Bernie wanted to talk about getting the right camera angles to flatter her profile and before you know it we were on the couch in her dressing room getting to know each other pretty well.”

Yuck.

Not surprising though. The CCIA case information we were given before we arrived here suggested Bernie was the kind of woman who had slept her way to the top.

“So, when did it all end?” I ask. After all, he’d said they ‘had’ a thing going on. Could she have ended it and Yannick had got stroppy, and he was the one blackmailing her with compromising photos? No, it couldn’t be that simple, could it? I thought back to the blackmailer’s message and recalled it had said something about knowing what she did each Tuesday. For some reason, that didn’t seem to quite fit with Yannick being the one behind the notes.

Any further delving is instantly put on hold when my phone beeps with a text from Jake.

Bernie’s dressing room. NOW!

“Well, I’ll see you around then,” I say, slipping my phone back into my jeans and heading for the door.

As soon as I’m out of sight, I break into a sprint until I reach the aforementioned dressing room. The door is shut. I knock. “Jake?”

The door opens and Jake appears, checks I’m alone, and then ushers me inside.

Bernie is sprawled on the floor.

A pair of stockings tied around her neck.

OK... so now it’s a murder investigation.

Chapter Two

“How did you find out?” I ask Jake as I kneel down to inspect the murder scene.

“I was still chatting with Dan when I saw Bernie leave the cafe after she’d been talking to that journalist guy. I thought I’d go and see if she was okay as she looked pretty upset when she left. I got to her dressing room and knocked but there was no answer. I shouted but no reply. The door was locked when I tried it, so I picked the lock and found her dead.”

I frown. “The door was locked and yet she was dead inside. That’s weird. Have you looked around to see if her key is in here anywhere? Could she have locked the door and committed suicide? You said she was upset after talking to that journalist. Did he say something that made her think she was better off ending her life?” I shudder at the thought. In my line of work, death is an unfortunate regular occurrence but it still affects me, despite having to put on a brave face. The thought that anybody’s life could be so bad that they would commit suicide is beyond dreadful. Getting to my feet, I hastily avert my eyes from our victim.

We both start to search the room. It takes a matter of seconds to locate her set of keys on the dressing table under a silk scarf.

“So, either she locked the door and then killed herself, making sure to remove the keys first so that someone could get into the room to find her...” I begin.

“Or the person who killed her had access to a set of keys themselves and locked the door to delay anyone finding her,” Jake finishes.

A knock at the door heralds the arrival of the CCIA’s specialist medical and crime scene team. Wow, they move fast! We let them in to do the necessary checks and procedures.

Jake and I wait outside the room, knowing that the CCIA guys and girls will be going over the space thoroughly, dusting for fingerprints, searching everywhere and gathering as much data as they can to feed back to agency HQ and shortly after that, through to Jake and myself.

“Fancy another coffee?” Jake asks.

I nod. I could use some fresh air so suggest we head to the coffee shop down the road from the TV studios.

It’s almost Christmas. As if you could possibly forget around here. Actually, I am reliably informed by TV, magazines, newspapers, radio stations and shops galore, that I have only eight days to purchase all of my Christmas gifts.

Eight days.

It’s not just eight days until Christmas; it’s also eight days until the anniversary of the day I hate and dread in equal measure.

Stifling a shudder, I push my way through the throngs of less-than-happy shoppers and into Coffee Station. Surprise, surprise, festive carols are belting out at full volume. If I could escape somewhere and avoid the holiday season, then I would. But I have a job, so I can’t. Anyway, where on earth could I possibly go that would enable me to avoid any essence of Christmas for a month or so?

The queue for cappuccinos, lattes and (would you believe it?) special edition candy cane coffee, stretches the length of the store. Wonderful.

Jake decides he doesn’t want to queue, so we push to the front declaring to everyone that utters a protest that we are on official police business and need to be served immediately.

Excellent.

“I’ll have the candy cane coffee and...” Jake turns to me and raises one eyebrow in question.

“Black coffee,” I reply.

I’ve only had to endure one verse of O Come All Ye Faithful on the coffee shop’s speaker system by the time we’re back out on the pavement.

A frazzled looking guy pushes past us muttering to himself. Jake shakes his head. “Christmas. Don’t you just love it?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Sorry,” he says, a pained expression on his face. “I kind of forgot for a minute about...”

I hold up a hand to silence him. “No need to apologize.”

Jake slips an arm around my shoulders and briefly hugs me to him to offer a moment of comfort. He smells of cedarwood and spice and lemon. It’s an enticing aroma of aftershave, shower gel and... Jake.

I gently ease away from him. “It’s crazy out here with this merry throng of festive shoppers so shall we head back to the studio and harass the CCIA crew for murder data?”

“Best not. They get a bit annoyed if we bother them while they’re trying to do thorough investigations of a crime scene.”

True. Unfortunately. I’m eager to get some answers and tick the box on another successfully completed investigation.

Correctly reading my body language, Jake says, “Don’t be so impatient.”

“It’s a murder investigation now,” I huff in response.

“I know. We still need to give the experts all the time they need to gather the info that will enable us to solve the case,” he says softly. “Come on, let’s go and finish these drinks and compare case notes in my car. I parked at the back of the studio.”

“I thought you needed a special pass to be able to park there,” I frown.

“You do.”

“Agency HQ told me there wasn’t any available so how did you manage to get hold of one?”

Jake taps the side of his nose conspiratorially and winks.

Ten minutes later, just as the light flakes of snow which were drifting prettily on the breeze decide they mean business and become a blizzard, we dive into Jake’s car.

I sip my black coffee as Jake investigates his candy cane festive offering.

“And?” I ask as he takes a sip.

“Minty,” he replies, pulling a face. Putting the lid back on the cup, he adds, “And horrible.”

I stifle a guffaw.

Turning to me he asks, “Can I share your boring coffee?”

“Nope.”

“You are so mean.”

“Serves you right for going all festive with your drink choices,” I bat back.

He sighs. “OK. Fine. So, did you find out anything useful from Yannick the camera guy earlier?”

“He thinks he’s God’s gift to all women.”

“He’s in television, that’s a given. Anything else?”

I nod. “He claims to have been having a fling with Bernie. Also, he seemed pretty uppity.”

“And that makes you wonder if Bernie ended things with him and he decided to retaliate by blackmailing her.”

“Bingo.” Jake and I are so on the same wavelength. That’s why I love working with him. OK, I confess that’s not the only reason...

“But now we’ve got murder in the mix as well as blackmail. Still think he’s a suspect?”

“Not sure it all adds up. I suppose we keep him on the suspect list for now. What about Kitty? Could she covet the anchor woman role on TV Rise & Shine enough to murder Bernie?”

“It would certainly give her a good motive. She’s around the studios a lot, knows Bernie’s schedules and routines so she would have opportunity too.”

“Ditto for the cameraman Yannick, motive and opportunity.” Something Kitty said earlier pops back into my head. “Hey, didn’t Kitty say something about going off to a craft show to do a segment on it for TV Rise & Shine? She also said that she just loved scrapbooking.”

Jake grins. “Scrapbooking is a verb?”

I bash him on the arm. “Didn’t you think it was weird how the blackmail letters Bernie had been receiving were done with words and individual letters cut and pasted from magazines onto a piece of paper? I mean, that’s so old school.”

“But somebody who just loved cutting and pasting and crafting might opt to deliver their blackmail messages in old school style,” Jake finishes.

“Exactly. Kitty is at the top of that list.”

“Hadn’t she already left the studio building to go to that GMEX craft show thing though when Bernie was murdered?” Jake counters.

“I’ll check with reception.”

“So, who else do we know that was a feature of Bernie’s life and that could join Kitty and Yannick on the list of suspects?”

I check my phone for the intel we each received at the start of the case. “She was having a fling with some guy called Thomas whose wife’s family owns the TV station.”

Jake taps the postcode of the guy’s address into his satnav and turns the ignition of his sporty SUV. “Let’s go and pay him a visit then. His place is only ten minutes’ drive from here.”

We arrive outside the fancy townhouse address just over thirty minutes later thanks to the crazy festive shopping traffic.

Unsurprisingly, there’s no place to park so Jake pops his ‘on official police business’ CCIA card on the dashboard and double parks. The door of the townhouse is opened by a woman I take to be the housekeeper. That or the lady of the house likes to dress in a blue uniform with a white apron. We’re escorted into a posh reception room with sky-high alabaster ceilings and what looks like a chandelier made from real gold. The housekeeper has returned with a tray of tea and scones and we are tucking into an impromptu afternoon snack when the door opens again and Thomas Merry finally puts in an appearance. He flops onto a sofa and rubs his forehead, not even glancing in our direction.

“Hangover?” Jake surmises.

Thomas nods.

“Cup of tea?” I ask, just because I already have the teapot in my hand pouring my own drink.

Thomas shakes his head.

Clearly a man of few words so Jake ploughs right in. “We’re from the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency and are here working on a case involving Bernie Fairweather.”

“You mean the blackmail thing?” he says with a sigh.

“You knew about it?” I place my no-doubt-expensive china cup back on its saucer.

“She told me.” He plumps up a cushion behind him and leans back, crossing his tailored trouser clad legs. “I told her it was all stuff and nonsense. Probably some stupid fan getting out of control.”

“And now she’s dead,” Jake chips in.

Thomas sits bolt upright, his face even paler than when he walked into the drawing room. “Dead? But I only spoke to her a couple of hours ago. We were planning to...” He looks at me and then at Jake, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Planning a little secret rendezvous, were you?” Jake asks. “Look, we know the two of you were having a fling but I’m assuming your wife doesn’t know.”

Thomas shifts uncomfortably on the sofa and then stares at his shoes. “She just found out.”

“Just? When, exactly, did she find out?” I check.

“A week ago,” Thomas supplies, rubbing at the stubble on his aristocratic chin. “She went ballistic.”

Interesting. I think we can add Mrs. Merry to our list of suspects then. The wronged wife out to teach the mistress a lesson she’ll never forget. Had Mrs. Merry hired a private investigator to get photos of Bernie and Thomas in a compromising position and then used them to traumatise Bernie via blackmail? It didn’t quite add up though. Why the request for twenty thousand pounds to keep said photos under wraps? Judging by the look of this house she wasn’t short of money. Twenty thousand pounds would be small change to her. Agency HQ information had already told us that Thomas had married into the wealthy Merry family who owned a couple of TV production companies, the studios and some radio stations. Mrs. Merry had insisted she wanted to keep the family name and had made him change his surname to Merry. So, revenge on the mistress might have been motive, but why ask for money?

“How did she find out?” Jake asks as he helps himself to half of a scone piled high with jam and cream.

“A friend of the family saw me and Bernie leaving a hotel together.”

Classy. Not.

“And how did you react when your wife confronted you?” I check, scribbling in my CCIA notebook.

“There was no point denying it. She had photos of the two of us kissing just before Bernie got into a waiting taxi.” He shrugs. “Our marriage has been a sham for a long time. It isn’t as though Alexandra hasn’t had a fling or two of her own. That was something I was supposed to turn a blind eye to. Things changed though when she got serious about her latest beau. She was looking for a way to get out of this marriage and still keep her name, her money and her reputation intact. I think she might have even had a PI following me around to try to pin the reason for divorce on me.”

“How long had you and Bernie been seeing each other?” Jake says once he’s devoured the scone.

“Not long but it was true love.” Thomas sniffs back some tears and his obvious emotion at the news of her death along with what he’s told us about his loveless marriage and manipulating wife makes me have some degree of sympathy for him. Whether or not it’s misplaced remains to be seen.

“Please define ‘not long’ for the record.” I have my pen poised over my notebook.

Thomas runs a hand through his grey hair. According to our information he’s in his mid-fifties but right now, stress etching his forehead, he looks much older.

“Three months.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

He chews on his bottom lip and then looks me right in the eye. “How did it happen?”

Ah. He means how did Bernie die. I take a deep breath. I hate this part of the job. “Strangled.”

His face crumples and he starts sobbing.

Was he expecting natural causes not murder? His shocked reaction seems to suggest it.

I flash a confused glance at Jake.

“Look, I’m sorry to have to ask this when you’re clearly and understandably upset, but did Bernie suffer from any health issue which might have made you think she passed away of natural causes?”

Thomas now has his head in his hands, his whole body shaking from the sobs ripping through him.

Oh boy. This is just awful.

Jake gets to his feet and heads towards the drinks cabinet. “Brandy? Whisky?”

“Brandy,” Thomas replies between sobs.

We give Thomas a few minutes to compose himself as he sips his drink. Jake wanders around the room, no doubt taking in the fine furnishings, antiques and myriad picture frames crammed with photos. I can’t help noticing there isn’t a photo of Thomas and his wife anywhere. I know from CCIA HQ that Alexandra Merry is a tall elegant woman with long blonde hair, perfect eyebrows, immaculate make-up – and high maintenance written all over her beautiful face. She appears in assorted photos – the gold frame on the piano, the cream wood frame on the mantelpiece – with other people, but not with Thomas. Perhaps he really was telling the truth when he said their marriage had been over for quite some time.

Jake’s clearly got fed up with waiting for Thomas to regain his composure because he’s back to the questions. “Where was your wife this afternoon?”

Thomas finishes his drink and looks longingly towards the cabinet for a refill. “At the spa. She’s always at the spa – or so she says.”

“Which spa?” I check.

“The Five Stars on Melbourne Avenue. She’s a member and goes every day. This afternoon she was supposed to be getting the works.”

Jake frowns. “The works?”

“Yes, you know,” Thomas says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Hair. Manicure. Pedicure. That sort of thing. The works.”

“We’ll give you some time to yourself then, Mr. Merry,” I say, meeting Jake’s eye and gesturing towards the door. I feel as though Thomas needs some time to cry, to start the long and horrible grieving process, after which you and your life are never the same again.

Time for a spot of alibi checking. The Five Stars Spa lives up to its name. The double doors are closed to riff-raff and we have to speak into an intercom before we are allowed into the inner sanctum.

Jake flashes his badge and introduces us both, explaining why we’ve turned up at the bottom of their grand stone staircase.

The receptionist taps away on her computer and eventually announces, “Mrs. Merry didn’t have any spa treatment bookings this afternoon I’m afraid.”

“OK, so no treatments, but did she just visit the spa today? You know, drop by for a swim, a yoga class, and lunch with friends?” I check.

The receptionist, whose name badge says Seraphina, taps away on her computer again. “There’s no record of Mrs. Merry using her membership card today at all.”

We’re quickly back outside. The blizzard from earlier is still blowing in earnest. There’s a layer of snow on the pavements, cars and rooftops but the roads, thanks to the constant stream of traffic, are still clear.

“Back to the studio?” Jake asks as both our phones beep at once. It’s the CCIA crime scene guys saying they have finished their part of the investigation and asking for a meeting with us to pass on their findings.

“Studio it is then.”

There’s no media frenzy outside the TV station so it looks as though the CCIA have managed to keep a lid on Bernie’s murder. That is, after all, why people call us rather than the police. Discretion and a speedy resolution – that’s the CCIA.

The CCIA crew have elected to have the meeting in a conference room at the studio.

The conference room coffee machine is quickly put through its paces and it’s drinks all round before we settle at the table for an update.

“Basically, we haven’t found much to help you guys out,” says Fiona, the CCIA crew team leader for this investigation. “She was strangled. No signs of a struggle. It seems as though all personal effects were present, so it’s not theft related. No fingerprints at all. Guess someone took the time to go over all surfaces to wipe them clean.”

“Unless nobody else was involved and this is a case of suicide,” I say, hunger, fatigue and discomfort gnawing at my insides. Bernie may not have been a model citizen but the thought that she’d taken her own life is still a horrific one.

“We don’t think that’s likely,” Fiona continues. “We think she was murdered. The way the stockings were pulled and knotted around her neck suggests it would have been very difficult for her to have achieved that herself. Especially with a material such as the one the stockings were made from.”

I nod. “Have you got your hands on any available CCTV footage which might help us?”

“Sadly, and somewhat surprisingly, the only CCTV cameras are set up at the studio entrances and exits. None inside the building so we can’t flick a switch and see who entered the victim’s dressing room.”

Jake sighs and leans back in his chair. “Typical. And there was me thinking we’d have this all cut and dried today so I can head home before the snow blocks the roads up.”

Fiona shoots him a disapproving glare. “I have spoken with security and they have the CCTV footage for this afternoon all ready and waiting for you to view at your convenience.”

“So that’s it?” I check, a hint of hope still lingering in my voice.

“Yes, sorry but that’s it. Well, we’re all off home now,” she says with a smirk in Jake’s direction. “Glad to be out of here before the roads get too bad thanks to the inclement weather.”

Within ten minutes we are watching the aforementioned CCTV footage. It clearly shows one of our suspects, Kitty, leaving the building shortly after the time she’d told us she was off to the GMEX craft show. I guess that gives her an alibi then. Just to be sure we check with the security guy if there are any other ways a person could get into the studios. He tells us about a rear door near the car park that anyone with a key card can use and confirms it has CCTV. The coverage reveals several people coming and going via that door but Kitty isn’t amongst them. To make extra sure, we call GMEX and ask if they can confirm Kitty attended an appointment at the show as one of the journalists invited and they say her press card was swiped in and give us the time she arrived. It was within minutes of us finding Bernie dead in her dressing room. That’s definitely Kitty off the list then.

The CCTV has also confirmed that Alexandra Merry didn’t visit the studios this afternoon. So, even though she wasn’t at the spa, it looks like she wasn’t here murdering Bernie either.

Yannick the cameraman proves to be a trickier prospect to pin down. There’s no record of him having left the studios but he didn’t show up for a TV programme he should have been part of the camera team for this afternoon. Seems he’s gone AWOL. That keeps him on the list of suspects.

“I feel as though we’re getting nowhere,” I complain to Jake who is munching on a chocolate bar.

“Tell me about it,” he agrees. “We must be missing something. Let’s recap. Kitty had motive in that she wanted to oust Bernie and take over her role as anchor-woman on TV Rise & Shine. We thought she had opportunity as she knows the studios and knew Bernie’s schedule.”

“But now we know she was at some craft show during the window of opportunity,” I interrupt. My stomach growls. “Where did you get that chocolate bar?”

“Vending machine down the corridor.” He rummages in his jacket pocket and holds up an identical bar. “Want one?”

I nod and lean forward, expecting him to slide the bar across the conference room table. Instead he waves the bar in the air and grins wickedly. “Come and get it then.”

“Jake!” I admonish. “Quit larking about. I’m hungry.”

Laughing, he skims the bar over to me.

We sit in silence as we eat and I mull over the events of the day. When I crunch up the wrapper and throw it in the bin I finally voice my thoughts. “Do you think Thomas could have killed Bernie?”

“I think it’s a possibility. We need to see if he has an alibi for this afternoon.”

“He seemed genuinely distraught when we told him though. Plus, he didn’t show up on the CCTV either at the studios. It doesn’t make any sense. What are we missing here?”

“Whatever it is, it’ll turn up soon, it always does. Things will fall into place. I’ll ring the Merry household and see if the housekeeper can confirm if Thomas was home all afternoon or not.”

“I’m going to go and have a look around Bernie’s dressing room again,” I say, getting to my feet. “Maybe the CCIA crew missed something.”

Jake shoots me an ‘as if’ look and starts to make his call.

I leave him to it.

It feels weird to be back in Bernie’s dressing room. Inside the air is heavy with both the smell of perfume and the stench of sadness. I shiver and rub my hands up and down the sleeves of my jacket to try and warm myself up.

On the dressing table are a couple of pictures of what I assume are Bernie’s family and friends. They have no idea she’s gone. Just like that. Here one minute and gone the next. Life is so cruel. I take a seat at her dressing table and look at all the items scattered across the surface. I can pick things up, remove them or do whatever I want now that the crime scene has been assessed.

I glance around at the remains of Bernie’s life. Earrings. Lipstick. Perfume.

Hmm. Perfume.

I would call myself something of a perfume aficionado. I’m not terribly girly but I do love my scents and treat myself to favourites regularly as well as new ones to try. I sniff the air in the dressing room. Then, even though I can already tell the fragrances don’t match, I sniff the bottle of perfume on the table in front of me. Why would this room smell of a perfume that Bernie didn’t wear? Strange.

The door opens and Jake strolls in and plonks himself down on the sofa. “Housekeeper confirms Thomas was home all day. Thanks to his hangover he didn’t venture out and didn’t even get out of bed until lunch time. The cause of his hangover was a birthday party for his daughter the night before at a country house hotel. Just to be sure she wasn’t fibbing on behalf of her employer I checked for and gained access to some CCTV footage for the road the Merry household lives on. Zilch. He didn’t go out of the house.”

“You have been a busy boy,” I tease, my thoughts still on my perfume discovery.

“And what have you been doing in the meantime? You know, I took a look outside and the snow is now most definitely deep and crisp and even.” He bounces up and down on the sofa and punches a cushion to check for the comfort factor. “We might end up having to sleep on this couch at this rate.”

I look at the couch and decide I’d rather source alternative accommodation. Firstly, because I don’t relish the idea of spending the night in a room that somebody has just been murdered in. Second, the couch doesn’t look especially comfortable to me. And third, and perhaps the most important to me, is that I don’t want to share that couch with Jake. The chemistry fizzing between us is quickly heading towards undeniable – but I’m not ready to go down that road yet.

Time for a change of topic. I pick up the perfume bottle and wave it at my fellow CCIA operative. “This room smells of perfume but it isn’t this perfume.”

Jake looks momentarily baffled. He’s not the kind of guy who notices things like perfume. “Maybe the perfume in here was from one of the women in the agency crime scene team?” he suggests.

I wrinkle my nose, unconvinced. “No. If you look closely there’s a slight smear of liquid on this dressing table and that seems to be where the smell is coming from. It’s like someone knocked over a bottle of perfume on here but the perfume in question was then removed for some reason. The thing is, I think I recognise the smell in this room. It’s a very expensive brand and difficult to get your hands on and yet I’ve smelt it before recently. Someone was wearing it, here at the studios, when I spoke to them, I’m pretty sure of it.”

Jake leans forward from his spot on the sofa. “The question is, who?”

“Exactly.” I close my eyes to help me focus for a moment. Could it have been Kitty? She had a rather high maintenance look about her, designer clothes, fancy haircut, perfect make-up. Where would she get the money for things like that on her salary? Where would she get access to an exclusive perfume as well?

“You’re thinking it might have been Kitty?” Jake correctly surmises.

I nod. “But if Kitty was at the craft show, how could she have been here murdering Bernie? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Let’s go and take a look at her dressing room and see if we can find anything useful.”

We lock Bernie’s dressing room behind us and head towards one of the runners who are always racing around the studios.

“Do you know which dressing room Kitty uses on TV Rise & Shine?” Jake asks the harassed-looking young guy with wild fuzzy hair.

“She hasn’t got a designated dressing room,” the guy replies as he chews on gum. “Not important enough. She gets changed in a female communal dressing room. She has got her own locker though.”

Jake flashes his badge at the runner and the guy backs away, shooting us both worried looks. “What’s her locker number?”

“Twenty three. It’s back down this corridor, then right at the end.”

“Thanks,” I shout, already heading off to locate said locker.

In fact, it’s a half locker, the top one at the end of the row next to the toilets.

“Keep watch, I’ll break in,” Jake declares.

“Don’t be such a chauvinist. I can pick a lock every bit as well as you can.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Unless brute strength is required, in which case I obviously have the upper hand.”

I consider myself to be pretty fit, it’s a requirement of my job. I go to the gym regularly, can just about run a half marathon. I know that I don’t need to look at Jake to check how gym-trim he is. I’ve worked with him often enough to have seen the well-honed biceps, taught shoulders and perfect physique.

Stepping back, I nod towards the locker. “Knock yourself out.”

Jake smirks and sets about gaining access to number twenty three while I keep watch.

He’s searching through the locker’s contents within a minute. I begrudgingly concede that he does have exceptional lock picking skills. I muscle in to have a look what secrets the locker is revealing. There’s just one item staring back at me – a bottle of the ultra-expensive and highly elusive perfume I’d smelt from the spill in Bernie’s dressing room.

Weird.

“Get the feeling somebody is trying to set Kitty up?” Jake asks. “This looks far too convenient to me. We open her locker and there’s just a bottle of perfume. I’ve broken into enough lockers in my time to know that they are dumping grounds for anything and everything – much as you would expect. Somebody has arranged this to try and point the finger of blame firmly at Kitty.”

“Risky strategy though. The CCIA crew didn’t pick up on the perfume smell or any possible significance when they checked the dressing room...”

“But you did.” Jake pulls a small metal box from his jacket pocket. “The person who did this either didn’t think at all and is a complete novice in criminal matters or thought about it too much and was trying to be clever.  Anyway, the agency cleaning crew have done their job and scarpered so this one is down to us.”

I know the contents of the metal box are the necessary items to carry out a quick DIY fingerprint check. Within minutes Jake has used the special CCIA app on his phone to get the information sent off to agency HQ. They have people working all day and every day on processing things like this for agents in the field.

“Coffee while we wait for the results on that and mull over our next move?” I suggest.

Soon we’re back in the cafe of the TV studios. There’s hardly anybody around at this hour. I haven’t even got through half of my triple choc chip muffin before HQ get back to us. The fingerprints match those of Alexandra Merry.

My mind sprints through the possibilities. “CCTV didn’t show Mrs. Merry arriving at the studio today but she could have worn a disguise I suppose. It’s freezing out there so somebody arriving at the studios in a large hat hiding their face wouldn’t have merited a second look.”

“Should we ask to see the front and back door CCTV again to see if we can spot anyone who fits her height and build arriving at the studios?” Jake quizzes.

I get to my feet. “It would take forever. I say we go and pay Alexandra a visit, see what she’s made of. Maybe we can scare her into slipping up and saying something incriminating.”

“You’ve got a devious mind, Abi Anderson,” he grins. “It’s one of the many things I like about you.”

A bubble of delicious warmth floods through me at his words. Then I push it aside and focus on my job.

Outside the snow is getting heavier and I pull the collar of my coat around my neck as we trudge through the icy white stuff piling up on the car park at the studios. You could be anywhere because everything is a white blur. Memories – horrible ones which make my heart race and my palms sweat – crowd in on me. I force them away. The sounds of raucous carol singing drift past on the strengthening breeze.

Just focus on cracking this case and getting out of here, I remind myself.

The road conditions are now so bad that even Jake who has driven rally cars and done all sorts of extreme challenges has to concentrate on his driving. There’s no sign of snowploughs or a gritter and it seems to me as though everyone is tucked up safely indoors in the warm savouring festive TV programmes.

I hope Alexandra is tucked up at home tonight too.

With most sensible people staying off the roads this evening we make good time despite the state of the roads and soon arrive at the house Thomas and Alexandra share. Lights blaze from all the windows which I take to be a good sign for us – someone has to be at home with that amount of electricity burning.

This time it isn’t the housekeeper who answers the door – nor is it the woman we are seeking. A girl with a pale face, huge dark eyes and her hair in disarray gingerly opens the door and peers out at us.

“We’re looking for your Mum...?” I venture, assuming this waif-like creature must be the daughter of Thomas and Alexandra. My mind whizzes back through data we were given by the agency and yes, I recall there being a daughter. Yes. Of course, it was her party the other night. Meredith. That’s right. I remember thinking what kind of cruel parents name their offspring Meredith Merry.

Her eyes flash anxiously between the two of us. “Who are you?” she huddles deeper into her oversize jumper which ends somewhere down near the knees of her black leggings.

Jake does the honours with his CCIA badge. “Can we come in? Are your parents at home?”

She steps back to allow us inside and nods. “Mum’s in the lounge. Come through.”

Alexandra is reclining on a chaise longue. She has the elegance of a woman who still looks like she could grace a catwalk even when she’s relaxing at home. Silk paisley pyjamas, designer moccasins, full jewellery and make-up, her hair pulled back into a perfect chignon. And perfume. The same perfume I smelt in Bernie’s dressing room and which we found in Kitty’s locker. Interesting.

I’ve seen a lot of guilty people in my time spent working for the CCIA and I have to say that unless she’s an excellent actress, the only crime this woman has committed is looking so immaculate while chilling out – well, it’s a crime in my book! I struggle to look glamorous even in my absolute finery and after a visit to the spa and hairdresser. Guess I’ll always be the girl-next-door type no matter how much I try to be glam.

Meredith introduces us and then scurries from the room, shutting the door behind her.

“We’re sorry to interrupt your evening,” Jake begins, glancing meaningfully at the sofa opposite Alexandra.

She takes the hint. “Not at all. Please, do take a seat.”

Before we’ve even sat down I’m starting with the questions. “Could you prove your whereabouts today?”

She frowns. “Why would I need to do that?”

“There’s been an incident,” Jake butts in before I can reply. “At the TV studios your family owns. We need to ascertain where people were at the time of said incident.”

“Am I a suspect?” she checks, leaning forward and placing the copy of Vogue she was reading on the coffee table.

“We’re eliminating people from a very long list of possibilities,” Jake replies.

Alexandra sits back and crosses her legs. “Well, I was at the spa and then I did some Christmas shopping. After that I had lunch with a friend. Then I came home.”

“So, no alibi then?” I hustle. “Your spa said you didn’t visit today.”

Alexandra narrows her eyes at me. “So, I am a suspect then. You’ve already been asking around about me. How on earth will that look at the spa? The receptionist is bound to have gossiped. Everyone will be talking about me. I can’t go back there now. You’ve ruined my reputation. How dare you?”

Irritation flares inside me. “We’re talking about a murder here, Mrs. Merry. I think that’s more important than your social reputation, don’t you agree?”

Jake nudges my leg with his; a reminder to chill and not go revealing too much information about the crime we’re investigating.

“Murder? Oh, my goodness! Who has been murdered? At the studio? I need to know – now!”

“The details are still under wraps for the majority,” Jake cuts in. “So, you can’t confirm your whereabouts today, except for the friend you had lunch with?”

She shifts uncomfortably on her chaise longue. “That is indeed correct.”

“The perfume you’re wearing, it smells divine. What it is?” I ask, an idea forming in the back of my mind.

“It’s very exclusive and expensive,” she says dismissively, casting a quick look of disdain at my clothing and general appearance.

“But what is it called?” I persist.

“It isn’t available to the general public,” she snips.

What a snob!

“I have contacts in the perfume world. I’m sure I could track a bottle down.”

“I very much doubt that,” she counters.

“Look, we haven’t got all day here, Mrs. Merry,” Jake intervenes. “May I remind you we are official government agents investigating a murder? Please tell my colleague the answer to her question.”

Alexandra casts her eyes downwards. “Charm. It’s called Charm.”

“And could I see the bottle? So that I know what it looks like for future reference.”

“So that you can check I’m telling the truth, you mean?” she challenges.

I smile back.

“I won’t be a moment,” she says, getting to her feet.

She’s more than a moment. In fact, it’s well over ten minutes before she returns. “Well, this is awkward but I don’t seem to be able to locate the bottle in question. It’s always on my dressing table but it’s... gone.”

Jake raises a questioning eyebrow. “Gone?”

“I’m so sorry. I have no idea what’s happened. I promise I’m not being uncooperative here. The bottle was there earlier, I know it was, I used the perfume. Please, search the house if you wish but it will be a waste of time. It isn’t here.”

“So, you have no alibi, plus a perfume bottle we found in suspicious circumstances may well be your own perfume bottle,” I say, standing up. “We can confirm your fingerprints were found on the bottle we located in another suspect’s locker. Things aren’t looking good here, Mrs. Merry.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” she protests, fear and anxiety flushing in her eyes and colour rising in her cheeks. “You have to believe me.”

Strangely enough, I kind-of do believe her. My instinct is still shouting that this woman isn’t the one we’re after. I look over at Jake and in a millisecond I know he’s thinking the same thing.

“I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder,” I say.

“No!!!!” shrieks Alexandra. “Search the house, call my friend to confirm we had lunch, and call the shops I visited. They might remember me. Anything! Please! I didn’t murder anyone!”

“It’s too late for that,” I snap. “You’d better call your lawyer. How do you feel about spending Christmas in jail?”

“No!” she shrieks again. “Please! I beg of you! You’ve got the wrong person!”

We’re well aware of that but need to push on in the hope that...

The door bursts open. “Stop! Leave my Mum alone! She didn’t do it! I did!”

Bingo. Just as we’d suspected.

Merry Meredith looks even more gaunt and more freaked out now than she did when she let us into the house. At the time I’d thought she looked like a teenager with an awful lot on her mind. Turns out she’s a murderer – no wonder she’d looked so on edge and panicked.

“What?” Alexandra stares at her daughter, her eyes uncomprehending. “No! Darling, don’t go lying to try to protect me. I swear I didn’t do anything and the family’s lawyer will prove as much. It just might take a little time.”

“I’m not lying,” Merry insists, tears running down her face. “I killed her. That Bernie tart is the one Dad has been having a fling with. I spotted them together. I so don’t want you and Dad to get a divorce. I thought if she was dead then you and Dad would be able to patch things up. I don’t want to come from a broken home. I love you and Dad and living here. I love my life. So I killed her.”

Wow.

Seriously wow.

Alexandra looks as though she doesn’t know whether to hug her daughter or throw her out of the house. “But...” she begins and then shakes her head, collapsing onto the sofa in shock.

“We’re arresting you on suspicion of murder,” I say to Meredith, who simply nods, accepting her fate.

Case closed.

It’s now Christmas Eve and I’m waiting in my car outside agency HQ. The official CCIA festive gathering is going on inside the building. Everyone who isn’t still working a case has to attend. I kind of wish we hadn’t cracked the Bernie case after all, then I’d have an excuse not to be here. I tug at the hem of my sparkly navy dress. Sequins. What on earth made me buy this? What on earth made me think I could pull an outfit like this off? I’m a jeans and jumper kind of girl. Then Jake’s smiling face flashes into my mind. Jake. Handsome, charming, a brilliant special agent. My stomach flutters. Okay. So I like him. But can I cope with...?

A sharp rapping sound makes me jump and I see Jake standing outside my car, knocking a hand to the glass to get my attention. He opens the door and I nervously step out of the car.

He slowly looks me up and down. From my equally shiny stilettos, up past my shimmery cocktail dress to my professionally made up face and my elegantly styled hair.

I hold my breath.

“Wow,” he says on a long exhale. “You look sensational.”

I tug self-consciously at the hem of my dress.

“Don’t,” he says softly, reaching for my hand. “You’re beautiful.”

Beautiful. Me? Villains, murder, shoot-outs, safe cracking – all things I can handle without as much as a flicker of an eye. Dressing up for a party – well, that’s a whole different challenge.

The last person who called me beautiful was Adam. My heart clenches. It was a week before Christmas two years ago when I got the dreaded visit from the Royal Marines telling me that Adam had been killed in the line of duty. He always told me that if he was going to go, that was how he wanted to do it – fighting for his country. With our lines of work, we both knew the risks were ever-present. It didn’t make it any easier to deal with though. So, I shut my heart down after his funeral. I knew there would never be anyone else who could make me laugh, challenge me, and make me feel loved, special and safe the way Adam had. Then, eighteen months later, I met Jake when we worked together on a CCIA case and my emotions got all confused.

Still, even if I did, one day, allow these fledgling feelings for Jake to grow, he could never replace Adam in my heart. But maybe, just maybe, I could let myself fall in love with the man now standing before me. He’s wearing a black suit with simple white shirt. His hair looks recently trimmed and he’s had a shave. He’s full of confidence and charm and possibilities. There’s a definite James Bond air about him as he offers his arm for me to link with. “Shall we head into the party? It’s freezing out here and that dress, gorgeous as it is, is no match for this biting wind.”

I take a deep breath. It’s just an official work party. It’s not like it’s a date or anything. “Yes, let’s go and get the merry making over with.”

At the mention of the word merry, my thoughts whiz back to our latest case. “I feel sorry for Meredith Merry. Yes, she’s a murderer and that cannot go unpunished but she’s so young and she’s ruined her life, that of her family, as well as Bernie’s life and her friends and family.”

“She’s a brave and devious little madam, no matter why she did what she did,” Jake says as he slowly leads me across the icy stretch of car park. “Gaining access to the studios by showing her ID at the gate. They weren’t about to refuse the daughter of the family who own the TV company admission to the studios, were they? Spinning some tale about how she wanted to retrieve a scarf her mum had left there the day before. Good cover story. Then she’d figured out how she needed to frame someone for the murder to throw the scent – no pun intended – off of her. She knew about the bitter rivalry between Bernie and Kitty through the gossips and thought Kitty would make a good person to try and frame.”

“But she made the mistake of bringing the fancy perfume bottle from home, spilling it in the dressing room to leave the scent and hopefully raise questions, leading to framing Kitty. The bottle from home still had her Mum’s prints on it which she forgot to remove – major error.” I butt in.

“So, we had prints, being identified as being in the building at the time of the crime, motive and confession. Plus, the woman she tried to frame had a rock solid alibi at the GMEX Craft Show. Only the prospect of her mother being tried for the crime she committed made Meredith crack and confess, Jake adds.”

“Yes, because at the age of fifteen, she’ll be tried as a juvenile and because of that will get a lighter sentence than her mother would have.”

“Still, another case all done and dusted,” Jake says, flashing that killer smile of his in my direction.

“Yes. And it turned out the blackmail we were originally put on the case to solve wasn’t even related to the murder. Pure coincidence. Someone at the studio with a drug problem who desperately needed money spotted Bernie in a dodgy area at a scruffy bakery pigging numerous cream cakes every Tuesday afternoon. Bernie had this super healthy image to protect and told everyone she lived on fish and vegetables – classic blackmail opportunity.”

“No more talking shop. Let’s go and party. Can I request the first dance with you?”

“Maybe,” I tease. “If I don’t spot anyone more handsome.”

As he holds the door open for me with the look and confidence of a man who knows he can get whatever or whoever he wants – even if he has to wait a while – he replies, “That would be impossible. So, I’ll have a word with the DJ and get him to play a nice slow smoochy number for our first dance together, shall I?”

“You’ve got a nerve, Mr. CCIA Agent,” I say, shaking my head and laughing as I scoot indoors.

“And you will make things as difficult for me as possible and make me wait an eternity before our first kiss. But I can live with that. I know you’re still hurting after what happened to Adam. I know you’re worth the wait because you, Ms. CCIA Special Agent, are one amazing lady.”

The End... for now!

Find out more about Zanna Mackenzie’s books and download a free wedding day cozy mystery at www.zannamackenzie.co.uk