“We’ll figure something out. I’ll see if there’s anything in my collection that I can modify,” George said and then took a deep breath.
Holly sensed similar thoughts to the ones she’d had when the Santa Claus conundrum had been brought to her. “It seems wrong, doesn’t it?” she commented. “We’re fabricating and even falsifying history.”
“But it’s for a good cause,” George argued.
Holly tilted her head. Was lying ever for a good cause? she wondered, but then discarded the thought. Santa Claus was as white a lie as it got. Did she really want to be responsible for ruining that illusion before its time of magic was over?
“Okay, I’ll do it,” George said, both of them apparently reaching the same conclusion.
It was nearly Christmas. Behaving like Ebenezer Scrooge was not an option. Holly did not want to find herself face to face with any ghosts from her past. She shook her head, trying to erase the image of Kermit and his froggy family. Why was it that The Muppets made great literature stick in her head like nothing else?
“We can work all of this out tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at eight?” George suggested. Holly replied with the affirmative.
A ripple of excitement shot through her when she remembered that this would be her first proper date with George. She smiled, privately thinking that no matter what happened, it couldn’t be as eventful as the first Christmas dinner they’d attended together.
She was dead wrong.
Holly looked in the mirror and tilted her head from side to side, checking that there were no tide marks from her bronzer. She was admittedly a bit out of practice when it came to makeup. She tended to wear a little concealer and a spot of mascara and call it a day, but tonight she had someone to impress. The eyeshadow, eyeliner, highlighter, foundation, and bronzer had all come out of hiding, but she was having a hard time getting to grips with it all again. It would appear that makeup was a skill you had to use or lose. She felt like a kid who’d broken into her older sister’s makeup palette and had made a beeline for the blue eyeshadow.
It wasn’t really that bad. But it had taken her three attempts to get her face looking presentable. Holly flashed herself a nervous smile in the mirror and tried not to think about how good George looked in a suit. She only hoped that her black satin cocktail dress - which cinched in at her waist and puffed out a little in the skirt - would measure up to the occasion.
The doorbell rang causing Holly to nearly jump out of her skin. She’d known she was running late, but she’d only just finished getting ready in time! She rushed downstairs and had a natural blush to complement the pale pink blusher on her cheeks by the time she pulled open the door to her cottage.
“Hi George. Come in for a second. I’ll just grab my jacket,” she said, immediately feeling her stomach attempt to do cartwheels when she briefly took in the beautiful dark navy suit he was wearing and his smooth, white blonde hair.
His dark eyes twinkled with amusement. He pulled a package out from behind his back before she could rush back inside. “This is for you. It’s the best I could do on short notice. I hope it will pass muster.” He handed over the brown paper-wrapped parcel. Holly opened it a trifle nervously. The last time she’d opened a mysterious package with George, it had contained a murder weapon.
“Oh! It’s a…” She shook the round item and it tinkled a little when something inside moved around. “It’s a bell?” she asked.
George nodded. “You guessed it! It’s from around the time when St. Nick was actually alive, so I thought it appropriate. They’re quite common, actually, but I thought that this one seemed special. It is in fact my professional opinion that this bell fell from the harness of a reindeer on Christmas Eve, a long, long time ago. I’ve written that, too… see?” he said, pointing to a little certificate beneath the bell. It was signed ‘George Strauss, Chairman of the Little Wemley Amateur Archaeological Society’. Holly looked up at George and grinned.
“That’s amazing. I only hope I can come up with something this good. I’ve been thinking all day, but nothing. Hopefully inspiration will strike tomorrow morning,” she said, and was about to run a nervous hand through her hair before she remembered she’d practically glued it into place with hair spray.
“Jacket,” she said and ran off, only to return a moment later.
George’s eyes slid up and down her dress and Holly blushed again. “You look lovely by the way,” he said, helping her on with her jacket.
She breathed in the scent of verbena and grapefruit that he carried around with him and tried to calm herself down. She was a professional pianist and a private detective. She was a very capable and intelligent woman. She could definitely handle being the date of one of the company directors at George’s work do.
“Um, George… what exactly does your company do?” she asked, realising - with horror - that she had no idea. To be fair, there hadn’t been time to ask. They’d both been busy trying to work out who was killing off members of the Amateur Archeological Society and convince the police that they personally weren’t guilty. That had been the last time they’d spent any ‘quality’ time together.
To her relief, George laughed.
“Oh, don’t think I’ve been holding out on you. It’s deadly boring. We’re an indie graphic design agency. It’s all pretty mundane, which is why I have my hobbies,” he said.
Holly gave him a small smile. She was lucky enough to get to do exactly what she wanted to do full-time. She wondered if she could figure out a way to ask George if he’d ever thought about taking his hobbies further. She hated to see people stuck doing something they didn’t love - even if it was for good money. Holly got into the car and shook the thoughts from her head. Unfortunately, life decisions like that could only be made by the person themselves. To her, it seemed that some people even actively avoided pursuing their dreams.
They pulled up outside the Carson Hotel in Orton Hills, twenty or so miles away from Little Wemley. Holly got out of the car and instantly felt the nerves build in her stomach again. She could see couples walking up the steps. It was definitely a black tie occasion. Should she have worn something longer than her cocktail dress?
“I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone,” George said, taking her hand and pulling her after him.
Holly fought against the worries that popped into her head. Why was he so eager to introduce her to people? Was there some ulterior motive here? She racked her brains, wondering if the company had a use for a pianist or a private detective. She’d been in newspapers. Was that it? Was George treating her as a celebrity guest? Maybe he just likes you and is proud to say he’s on a date with you, Holly thought, surprising herself with a sudden lack of skepticism.
George's company was a lot bigger than he’d let on.
Holly had assumed that his graphic design agency consisted of maybe ten people, tops, but there were at least 100 in the room. She supposed if they’d all brought partners that meant George’s company employed around 50 people - probably more. It wasn’t bad at all for someone who was clearly only in their late twenties.
“Holly, this is Janet, Marlene, and Cleo. They’re our admin and HR department. Basically, they run the company," George said, suave as ever.
The three woman laughed politely and one jabbed George in the waist. She quipped back; “If that was the truth, you’d pay us more!” Now it was George’s turn to laugh, but Holly detected it was all in good fun. Even so, she couldn’t help wondering how much George himself made from his business. By the size of the company, and its obvious success, she’d wager it was quite a bit. Not that money is a good reason to like someone more! she chided herself. Some people dreamed of landing themselves a wealthy other half, so that they could never work another day in their lives, but Holly knew she would never retire. She’d keep playing piano until her fingers stopped working, and she’d keep working as a detective until Miss Marple appeared to be a young whippersnapper by comparison.
George gently slipped an arm around her waist as they moved to the next group. Holly felt a jolt of excitement run through her. She immediately noticed a couple of women that they were approaching throw her appraising looks. She wondered if she’d measure up and then remembered that she wasn’t meant to care about other people’s opinions.
“This is Holly. She’s a very talented pianist and a very great friend,” George said, his eyes warm. It was a lovely introduction, but Holly couldn’t help but feel disappointed by being introduced as a ‘friend’.
“A pianist? That must be an interesting job. You’re a professional?” A man with rose-gold hair and a charming smile asked.
Holly knew better than to bite his head off. People often found it hard to believe you could make an okay living just by playing the piano.
She knew singers had it worse. Most people thought they could sing, so why should someone be getting paid to do something they could surely do as well themselves? She tried not to think about the number of times she’d seen people demand that a singer let them do a song, or even grab the microphone out of a singer’s hands. All Holly had to put up with was young piano learners, and if she played at a family event, she always let them have a go. As far as she was concerned, whoever paid her the money to play was the boss.
Holly smiled back at him. “Yes, I’m a professional, but that used to leave me with quite a lot of free time, so I set up my own private detective agency.” She couldn’t help boasting after the man’s natural skepticism. Eyes around the group widened, and Holly realised she was the centre of attention.
“Hey, we’ve got a pianist playing tonight! I’m sure you’d be better. Why don’t you get up and play one?” another man in his thirties asked.
Holly couldn’t let this one slide as easily as the first man’s remark. “That pianist is here tonight to do their job. I’m afraid it’s not polite to step in. It’s also my profession. Maybe think of it this way,” she said, realising her words were coming across all wrong. “Let’s say you’re a graphic designer and you’re at an event that used graphic design work done by another designer. Only, when you’re there, people notice you are also a designer and ask you to do some designs of your own - even though they’ve employed another designer for the event. That would be weird, wouldn’t it?” she said as lightly as possible.
Fortunately, George was there to save her. “Don’t mind Liam… he probably would whip out some of his own designs if that situation ever occurred,” George said in her ear, using a carrying whisper. People around the group chuckled. Liam grinned a little shamefacedly.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but why are we asking about piano playing when being a private detective is way more exciting? No offence,” a woman with mid-length black hair quickly added.
“I’m a bit of a detective myself,” a redhead cut in. “Just the other week, my neighbour’s cat disappeared without a trace. I was able to figure out where it went. Of course, I didn’t get paid for it, but what’s a good deed amongst friends?” she said, deliberately self-deprecatingly.
“That’s wonderful, Lizzie! How did you know where it was?” Yet another lady said while the woman next to her, who was wearing a shimmering light blue dress, tried to hide her smile. Holly immediately got the impression that Lizzie had a habit of drawing attention back to herself and everyone there knew it.
“Hey, I think I heard about one of your cases,” a man with a ridiculously posh voice piped up. Holly prepared her fixed smile, knowing it was Horn Hill House that he was thinking of. “You found that emerald, didn’t you? I’m friends with the Uppington-Stanley family. They said the way you handled the case was… unique,” he finished politely.
Holly tried not to sink into the ground with shame. The case of the Enviable Emerald had resulted in her finding the gem, which had been apparently impossibly stolen from a locked and guarded room. However, along the way, the police had suspected her of being a fraud and hadn’t taken her seriously - until they’d uncovered the criminal history of the maid.
All in all, it was a case that Holly would rather no one knew about. She was actually glad this time when Lizzie piped up, only to be shut down by one of the two watching women. Holly picked up that they were called Lauren and Lana. She hoped none of the office women possessed initialed mugs, or they’d be forever fighting over them, and it looked like they had enough to fight over already.
Holly was still smiling politely as the battle raged over who was the best detective, while Lauren and Lana picked holes in everything. She’d started to daydream about what might happen between her and George later (if anything) and didn’t notice anyone sidling closer to her until someone took her hand. She glanced down when she felt the stranger’s palm against her own, and the crumpled piece of paper that he’d just transferred to her. By the time she looked up at his face, he had already turned and walked back through the crowd, his dark hair the only distinctive feature Holly could pick out.
With George and the others still engrossed in the banter, she un-crumpled the piece of paper and read the neat and curling script.
I must speak to you urgently about a case. Meet me beneath the mistletoe in five minutes. I need your help.
Holly re-read the note a couple of times, wondering if she should be worried. Was it some kind of joke that the whole office was playing on her? Or was it a transparent attempt to get her alone beneath the mistletoe? She considered the secretive way the note had been passed and her inability to identify the man who’d passed the note, but could get no closer to a conclusion. Was he in danger? And was she about to walk straight into it?
She turned to George, who was still happily arguing with the man with red-gold hair.
“…George,” she said, hoping to gain his attention, but he was mid-conversation and unwilling to stop. Holly gave up and wondered what to do. A couple of minutes had already passed. She looked above the room and located the sprig of mistletoe, which had been suspended from a chandelier. She thought it was next to the drinks table, but couldn’t see through the crowd to know for sure.
“I’m just getting a drink,” she said in George’s general direction and didn’t wait to see if he’d heard her.
She started moving through the crowd, politely nodding and excusing herself as she slowly made progress. Before she could reach her destination, someone else got there first.
A scream cut through the tinkling piano and gentle hum of conversation. The crowd in front of Holly parted, and she saw a woman drop a champagne glass. The glass and liquid mingled with the champagne and shards that were already on the floor, lying beneath the body of a dark-haired man.