A Catered Christmas. Isis Crawford

package. “Christmas cookies from the wife.”

      “Thanks,” Sean said. Clyde’s wife had the reputation of being the worst cook in five towns.

      “I suppose you could use them as doorstops,” Clyde told him as he moved a stack of magazines off of the armchair, removed his parka, hung it over the back of the chair, and sat down. “Especially the rum balls. Those are lethal.”

      Sean laughed. “What are you congratulating me on?” he asked.

      Clyde looked at Bernie and Libby. “You mean you haven’t told him?” he asked them.

      Sean noticed that Bernie had suddenly developed an interest in the view outside his room.

      “We were getting around to it when you came in,” Bernie said.

      “Tell me what?” Sean asked.

      “You know that Hortense got killed, right?” Clyde asked Sean.

      “Right,” Sean said.

      “Well, you’re gonna love the rest of this,” Clyde said to him.

      “The rest of what?” Sean watched as Clyde rubbed his hands together. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

      “Hey, I’m trying to build up the suspense here.”

      “And I’m going to tell Libby not to feed you anymore if you don’t spit it out right now.”

      Clyde sniffed. “Fine. If that’s the way you want to be.”

      Sean nodded. “It is.” He kept forgetting how annoying Clyde could be.

      “Okay, Cap, Lucy has asked you guys to help him with the investigation.”

      “Hortense’s?” Sean said. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

      Clyde rubbed his hands together again.

      “Well, we’re not talking about the queen of England’s.”

      “You’re kidding,” Sean said.

      “Do I look as if I’m kidding?” Clyde asked him.

      “No,” Sean allowed. He was so stunned he didn’t know what else to say.