B T Lord [Lord - Murder for the Holidays

Copyright Bety Comerford (B.T. Lord)

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

ISBN-13: 978-1729421833

Other books by B.T. Lord:

Coffin Islands Paranormal Mystery Series:

The Man In the Snow

Twin Ponds Mystery Series:

Murder on Ice

Murder by Misadventure

A Perfect Case of Murder

Murder by Duplicity

Murder Among Crows

An Equal Measure of Murder

Murder To Die For (a free Twin Ponds novella available only on my website www.btlordwriter.com)

To my Tribe ~

You always have my back

PROLOGUE

December 22nd at 2 am

The downtown streets of the small oceanside town of Beachport, Maine were once again ablaze with the spirit of the upcoming Christmas holiday. Giant twinkling stars strung across the wide Main Street, waving Santas, prancing plastic reindeer, chubby snowmen and decorations that threw off multi-colored shadows onto the surrounding mounds of shoveled snow made one think theyd stepped back in time to a 1940s Hollywood movie.

This was especially true in the one holiday tradition Beachport had become famous for over the years. In the center of Main Street, on a small round hill of grass that cars had no choice but to drive around, stood an enormous spruce. It was brought down every year from the northern woods of Maine, and it was spectacular. With thousands of lights and decorations donated from local businesses and local citizens hanging from its thick branches, people came from all over the surrounding areas to enjoy its wonder. In the evenings, while people scurried about doing last minute shopping, a choir of bundled up carolers kept them company, singing out, in perfect harmony, hymns of old and more recent holiday tunes.

On this particular night, the scent of snow was in the air. The streets lay empty, the Christmas lights reflections blinking on deserted sidewalks and closed up shops. No cars drove through the downtown area at such a late hour. Everyone was home, snug in their beds, thoughts of that last gift left to buy put aside for a few hours of restful sleep.

As the century old clock that stood over the local bank struck two am, a lone figure scurried down the shadowy streets. Hed picked this particular time because he knew he didnt have to worry hed be seen. Despite Christmas being right around the corner, he understood the habits of the locals. It was too late and too cold for them to be out. Hed get his business over with, then, like the inhabitants of Beachport, hed return home and climb into his warm, cozy bed.

Wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck to ward off the frigid cold that came up off the ocean, Walter Long questioned yet again why he was out here in the first place. There was nothing left to say. Hed said it all. And quite vociferously too. If hed had any compassion in his make-up, he might have regretted the way hed said it. Yelling and insults were not a behavior he generally indulged in. He had other crueler and more subtle ways to make his opinions known. Compassion and kindness were as foreign to Walter Long as a sweltering hot day in the middle of a New England winter. Yet here he was, walking along a deserted Main Street in the wee hours of the morning, freezing his butt off on his way to a meeting that he knew was completely useless and unnecessary.

Maybe Im getting soft in my old age.

He chuckled under his breath, emitting a cold vapor that enveloped his face before disappearing into the night air. If there was one thing Walter Long was not, it was soft. He had no use for sentimentality or maudlin sympathy. Still, the question lingered in the back of his mind. What the hell was he doing out here? Could it be that somewhere, buried so deep hed missed it completely, there was a tiny bit of benevolence that caused him to act completely out of character by agreeing to revisit, one last time, an issue that, as far as he was concerned, was settled?

He crossed the street and headed towards the Christmas tree. As usual, he shook his head at the unnecessary drain on the towns financial resources. It wasnt cheap getting the tree cut down and transported to town. Nor was it cheap putting the damned thing up and decorated. Not to mention keeping the lights on 24/7 from the day after Thanksgiving until right after New Years.

The island was another issue that irked him. Its location, in the middle of a busy thoroughfare, had caused more near accidents as drivers did their best to avoid the gawping visitors who came every year to stare at a dead tree with lights strung on it. He couldnt wait for the holiday to be over so people could return to normal. He loathed hearing Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays called out wherever he went. If hed been born in an earlier time, he would have served as the perfect model for Ebenezer Scrooge. Yet, unlike Ebenezer, he had no wish to ever honor Christmas in his heart and try to keep it all the year.

Walters boot slipped in the slush, sending the freezing slop up and through the leather, leaving his sock and foot wet and cold. He let out a loud curse. This was ridiculous. What had he been thinking when he agreed to this?

He stopped, intent on going home. Then sighed. The time to change his mind had been ten minutes ago when hed put on his overcoat and walked out the front door. Now he was here. Hed give it five minutes. Then he would leave.

He arrived in front of the Christmas tree and stamped his damp boots in an effort to keep his feet warm. While he waited, he thought back to the argument that had led up to this meeting. Once again, he felt his ire rise as the words theyd flung at each other rolled through his memory, their bitterness still sharp and biting.

This was a mistake. I never should have come. I dont give a rats ass about making amends. I meant every single word I said. This meeting isnt going to change that.

It wasnt fully five minutes yet before Walter decided to leave. He was angry at himself, angry at the person he was meeting, angry at his cold and wet feet, angry at everything.

He turned and was about to walk away when he heard the crunching of the snow behind him. Whirling about, his eyes narrowed as his mouth settled into a thin, tense line.

Do you truly enjoy being so cruel?

His spiteful laugh echoed throughout the empty streets. I was born cruel, dont you know that?

Do you honestly believe that?

He shrugged. You simply chose not to see it.

For the sake of the love we once had for each other

Once again, Walter gave a vicious bark. Yeah, whatever love means. Look, Ive said all Im going to say. Go home. Im not about to rehash

He stood in front of the Christmas tree. A symbol of a season that meant so much. Had always meant so much. He was defiling it, making it into something as vile as he was.

Merry Christmas, Walt.

A blur of movement caught his eye. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, he heard a strange pop, followed by a sudden, excruciating pain exploding throughout his stomach. He fell back against the Christmas tree, sliding slowly to the ground as lights and large glass balls shattered all around him, littering his overcoat with glittery shards. He stared down at his gloved hands, surprised to see the expensive calf hide stained in blood. It took several moments to realize the blood was his.