A Cotswold Christmas Mystery

throw herself into amateur detective work when house-sitting without a second thought. But when it came to their own domestic concerns, all she could do was offer bland statements that things would work themselves out. All of which caused Stephanie to worry that there might be some secret reason to be concerned about Jessica’s promotion. Something in the air had changed when it was mentioned.
‘I brought food,’ said Jessica. ‘Nuts, figs, crystallised ginger – that sort of thing. And some decorations.’
‘Thanks,’ said Thea. ‘I only managed a box of dates and some satsumas.’
Drew and Stephanie both looked at her in alarm. ‘You’re not serious?’ said Drew.
‘I mean – as the special extras. You know perfectly well I’ve got a turkey and mountains of vegetables. And stuffing. And wine.’
‘Mince pies?’ Again, father and daughter seemed anxious. ‘We finished the ones you bought before,’ explained Stephanie. A very subtle stress on the word bought conveyed an awareness of how things had changed since Karen had been in charge. A brilliant and enthusiastic cook, Drew’s first wife had made everything herself. Not just the pies, but the mincemeat that went inside them – as well as the pudding, stuffing, brandy butter, gravy and bread sauce. Thea just got everything from the supermarket. And last year she didn’t even bother with bread sauce.
‘I’ve got some of them as well,’ said Jessica. ‘We’re going to have a perfect old-fashioned Christmas with all the trimmings – you’ll see.’
Before they knew it, the day was more than half over. Thea provided sausages and mash for lunch, followed by ice cream. Timmy talked about Pokémon and Drew lit the log fire. There was a sense of suspension, waiting for the day to be over. Stephanie buried herself in Through the Looking-Glass, which she was reading for the third time. She could recite ‘Jabberwocky’ as well as ‘The Walrus and the Carpenter’, which Thea said would have been old-fashioned even when she was a child. Stephanie had never even tried to describe the powerful sense of wonderment and delight she derived from the book. It didn’t fade with repeated readings – the opposite, if anything. Small details that she had previously missed came vividly to life. The knitting sheep, the alarming Red Queen, the elusive references to the game of chess, all held her in thrall. It was in every way infinitely superior to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, which seemed childish and thin by comparison.
True to her word, Jessica slumped passively in the warm sitting room, toying with her phone now and then, but showing no signs of restlessness. ‘You still haven’t moved your car,’ said Thea, at three o’clock.
‘And nobody’s walked the dog,’ said Drew.
‘I took her out after breakfast, actually,’ his wife corrected him. ‘She doesn’t need anything more than that.’
It was already getting dark. None of the immediate neighbours had put Christmas lights outside, so there was little sense of festivity until you walked along the main street of Broad Campden. There, one or two houses had decorated their windows with snowflake patterns, and wound coloured lights round their garden trees. The pub had a lovely big Christmas tree as well.
‘I’ll go and bring my car down, then,’ said Jessica.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Stephanie, allowing no scope for argument.
They walked up the short lane to where the car was tucked neatly beside the church wall. Everything was quiet. It was December the twenty-second. ‘Shortest day yesterday – or maybe today. I’m never altogether sure,’ said Jessica. ‘That’s why they put Christmas at this time of year. By the twenty-fifth, they must have noticed that the sun was setting a minute or two later, and the seasons were turning again.’
‘I know. It was all pagan before the Christians came and monopolised it. Even the churches were mostly built on old pagan sites.’
Jessica laughed. ‘I suppose you would know all about that sort of thing, living in a place like this.’
‘Why?’ Stephanie was genuinely bemused.
‘Oh – well, doesn’t it all seem incredibly ancient here? These rolling hills – wolds, or whatever they’re called. They seem like the graves of giants and prehistoric gods to me. Even the trees look about a thousand years old.’
‘More like two hundred. But there is a lot of history round here,’ Stephanie acknowledged. ‘Thea’s always going on about it.’
‘What about that one, then?’ Jessica was pointing at the very prominent tree growing on a grassy mound near the church. ‘It looks as if it’s been there for ever.’
The tree was in shadow, only illuminated by faint light coming from the houses behind it. ‘That?’ scoffed Stephanie. ‘That’s a cherry. They don’t live very long at all.’
‘I stand corrected,’ said Jessica. ‘Now let’s get back. Mum might be making some tea by now.’
She drove cautiously down the lane, and managed to manoeuvre the car into the scanty space in front of Drew’s hearse. ‘He’s sure he won’t need it, then?’ she asked.
‘If there’s an urgent removal, he’ll take Andrew’s van. That doesn’t live here. We’re very organised,’ Stephanie boasted.
‘You keep bodies here, do you?’
Stephanie gave her stepsister a look, that was lost in the gloom of the back garden. ‘You know we do. But you can’t reach them from the house. You have to go outside and in again. There are regulations.’ She waved at the additional structure attached to the back of the house. It had been a utility room or scullery before the Slocombes moved in, but minor alterations had turned it into a very small mortuary. Drew was still tinkering with it, in the hope of finding space for better storage.
‘I suppose you get used to it,’ said Jessica, with a little shiver.
‘There’s absolutely nothing to worry about,’ said the child earnestly. ‘The dead really are no trouble at all. And besides, there’s nobody there now. We’re having a holiday from funerals – we told you that already.’
Jessica was lifting a large cardboard box from the boot. ‘Here – you can give me a hand,’ she puffed. ‘Take that bag,