Christmas is Murder (2008)
Christmas is Murder
““Can you believe it? Snow. And us so near the sea. Another twelve inches tomorrow, they said on the radio.”
With a shrug of her voluptuous shoulders, Rosie picked up the laden tea tray from the counter. “You can never rely on what the weatherman says.”
“Polly in the village told me her husband found an old man by the side of the road. Stiff as a board he was with hypothermia. Another load of snow and there’ll be no getting in or out of the hotel,” Sandy Bellows pursued.
“Cook, what’s this I hear about more snow?” Mrs. Smithings asked, darting into the kitchen, a gaunt apparition in black, with pearls encircling her high lace collar.
“Another foot tomorrow,” Mrs. Bellows repeated. “Just in time for Christmas Eve.”
“Hurry along with that tray, Rosie,” Mrs. Smithings commanded the young girl. “It’s four thirty.”
As Rosie left the kitchen, Dahlia Smithings gazed out of the frost-encrusted window, her profile with the white chignon as austere as those found on Roman coins.
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