"Not necessary. Thanks, Kay."

I'd have to be back home by noon to clean up this mess before I made another, baking Christmas cookies. I added my empty coffee cup and plate to the pile.

On the way to the retirement home, I stopped at Marissa's and picked up a Galette des Rois, a delicious, flaky pastry with a delicate buttery crust filled with almond cream paste to bring over to Sarah. The clock chimed ten o'clock when I arrived at Hawthorne Hills. I glanced at the tree in the lobby where I first saw Les the day of the Christmas tea, then walked over to look at the directory. Sarah Moeller: Room 310.

I ascended to the top floor and knocked on the door. Sarah opened it. I entered her apartment, surprised to see Anne Niven, the mystery writer, sitting on her cameo back sofa that had faced an art deco fireplace in her previous home. Also in her apartment sat Martin, the gentleman who had escorted me at the tea, on her tapestry-covered occasional chair that I had also admired. A large window across most of the back wall, let in a bright pillar of sunlight. She re-introduced me to Martin and Anne. I handed Sarah the Christmas pastry which she took into the kitchen.

"Nice to see you both again," I said. Martin stood up. We shook hands. Both had firm grips.

I sat down in a chair next to Anne.

Martin, gently pulled at his trousers above his knees so as to not stretch them out, before he sat down.

"We heard you are good at detecting," Anne said.

"I heard you were a mystery writer." I looked towards the kitchen. What had Sarah been telling them?

"Anne has several mysteries published," Sarah said, walking back into the living room with plates of the Christmas pastry on a tray. She handed a plate to each of us. A pot of coffee already sat on the table with cups and saucers. She sat opposite me, next to Martin, and started to pour. "Kay, I'm going to come to the point. We don't think Les' death was accidental."

Anne and Martin nodded in agreement.

Sarah handed me the coffee. "So you've said. What makes you think that?"

"Gut feeling," Martin said, matter of factly.

"So who would want to kill him? And what about evidence?"

"That's where you come in," Anne said in a low voice. "We need your help." A few moments later, she added, "Of course, I will extend my expertise in the area."

I looked at each of them bewildered. I was not really in the mood to get involved in another mystery. I took a sip of the coffee and put it down on the end table next to my chair.

"Sarah told us that you solved a murder of a professor a couple of months back, when the police, the coroner, everyone said it was an accident. You came up with the evidence to prove that it wasn't," Anne said. "Same situation here."

I ate a forkful of the pastry while wondering if Anne's imagination, being a mystery writer was running away with her. I put my fork down. "Who would want to murder Les?"

"I told you on the phone not everyone liked him."

"Nancy, the director, for one, didn't like him," Martin said.

I found that easy to believe, thinking back to my meeting with the sullen woman.

"The way she ordered him around. He even used to complain to us about how condescending she was," Anne said. "Might be why he was taking a new job."

They seemed to be pulling at straws. "Nancy has the right to ask an employee to do things."

"But there are nice ways of asking," Sarah said, her voice rising in pitch.

"How did peanuts get into the food?" I said. "Everyone who provided the food said they didn't use peanut products."

Anne put her fork down on her plate. "So you have already begun your own investigation?"

"Nancy and Marissa both called this to my attention after Les died."

"We've been asking around and know of at least four residents with peanut allergies who were at the tea," Anne said.

"None of whom had any allergic reactions," Martin added.

"I admit, that is peculiar." As soon as I said that, I knew I shouldn't have.

Martin, Anne and Sarah looked back and forth among each other and smiled.

"That's what we think," Anne said.

"So you'll help us?" Martin asked, smiling widely.

Sarah gave a helpless smile. "We'd appreciate it."

Anne's dentures slipped when she smiled.

Not now. Not right before the Christmas rush. "They could have all eaten different things," I said. "Les was eating so much and so fast, he probably ate at least some of everything." Once the food was analyzed, that would narrow it down, to where it was from, the patisserie or the retirement home kitchen.

"Martin, you mentioned the day of the tea in the lobby that Les was going to be leaving for a new job. Why would Nancy murder him? It doesn't make sense. He was going to be gone soon enough."

"Does seem like an erratic way to murder someone," Sarah said.

"It would be the perfect crime," Anne said with enthusiasm. "I couldn't have written it any better myself!"

Martin nodded. Sarah bit her lip and gave a small nod, looking at me.

I sighed. "People don't kill someone just because they decide they don't like them. There has to be a real motive if it was murder. If he was murdered, we should be looking for someone who would have to have a real grudge against him."

I finished my cup of coffee and put it down on the table.

"There are lots of questions..." I reiterated.

Sarah continued my thought, "And we need you to help us answer them. What do you say, Kay?"

"Are you in?" Martin asked, his eyes wide open.

I stopped and thought for a minute without saying anything. The three of them reminded me of myself, Deirdre, and Elizabeth when we knew we had to investigate the ginseng murder. We couldn't let them get away with murder then, and it wouldn't be right to allow the villains to get away with it this time, if there were any villains in this story. "Let me see what I can do. But, I can't promise anything."

"When do we start?" Martin's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. It wasn't hard to like him.

I winced slightly at the word "we." "Tomorrow's Christmas Eve. Whatever I can do will have to wait until the twenty-sixth. We can all think about it until then. Meanwhile, don't go looking for trouble." I smiled. "Try to have a nice holiday."

Martin winked, grinned, then rubbed his hands together.

That look...I didn't like. I stood up to leave and wished all of them a Merry Christmas.

Sarah walked me to the door. "Thank you, Kay. I thought I had gotten away from murder when I moved here."

Every year I made a double batch of cutout cookies. When the kids were still at home, Phil, Andy, Will, and I would spend a good part of an evening decorating all the snowmen, Christmas trees, stars, and bells. Phil's specialty was putting yellow sugar down the legs of the snowmen like they had wet their pants. He and the boys always thought that potty humor hilarious.

As I cleaned up the mess from baking the cutouts, the phone rang.

"Hello, Mom. I hope you don't mind, but I sort of invited Frances' mom, Linda, for Christmas dinner."

"William, you sort of invited her?"

"Yes, and I haven't had time to buy her a gift, what with finishing up my school job before Christmas and packing up my things for my new apartment. Do you think you could pick something up and wrap it for me?"

"Do you want me to write a personal note on it from you also?"

"Sure, Mom...sounds good. I have another call. See you tomorrow afternoon."

I could hear Phil playing his guitar in the lower level. I went downstairs.

"Phil, that was Will. He needs a gift for his girlfriend's mom, and I need to get out of the house. I'm going to walk downtown. Want to come along?'

"I just started practising songs for our show."

"I'll pick up something small to eat, to hold us over until we go to Elizabeth's Christmas party tonight."

"Tonight? I forgot about her party. Suppose I have to go."

"Of course you have to go! Elizabeth wants you and your band to bring your instruments. You're the entertainment!"

Phil suddenly played a dissonant chord. I smiled.

Bundled up in my black wool coat, wearing a warm hat and mittens, I put on my boots and hurried out of the house. I walked down our driveway to the snow covered street. A blanket of soft white snow crunched under my feet.

Down the street, I saw a neighbor taking their Christmas tree off of their car roof. They saw me and waved. The rooftops were covered deep in snow after a week of snowfall. Many of the front yards had snowmen standing watch. None with yellow legs. I smiled thinking of Phil. A Dodge Caravan passed by. A black labrador followed, running down the street in the minivan's tracks. Smart dog!

Light snow danced in the air. At Evergreen Park, kids sledded down the blue and purple tinged hills, squealing with excitement. It looked like I was transported into the middle of a snow globe. The boughs of the fir trees in the park were bent heavy with snow.

Christmas lights started to come on. The doors to St. Mary's were propped open. School children carried large wreaths into the church. I could hear the choir practicing for the Christmas Eve mass tomorrow night.

Silent night, holy night All is calm, all is bright Another holiday, another murder. At least no one got murdered at Thanksgiving dinner! How did I end up, in the season of peace and goodwill toward men, investigating another homicide? All I wanted was to spend a calm and bright Christmas with my family. But that would be tarnished by the investigation that would immediately follow the Christmas festivities.

By the time I reached Main Street, the lights of the tree covered boulevard flickered to life. Store windows lit the sidewalks. The sound of the ringing bell carried for blocks before I saw the volunteer with the Salvation Army red kettle at the corner of Main Street and Elm. A spicy, sweet smell came from Gupta's New Delhi. I'd stop there after I bought Linda's gift for take-out.

I crossed the street and walked into Goodman's.

Around seven o'clock, Phil and I turned on our outdoor Christmas lights and left for Elizabeth's. I carried a couple of bottles of wine, while Phil lugged his guitar case and amp across the street. Hers was the last of the Christmas parties. We met up with Deirdre and Mike on our way. He was wrestling his double-bass through the snow.

Tiny white lights draped the porch of Elizabeth's home and sparkled in her yew trees on both sides. I followed Deirdre into Elizabeth's warm home and smelled the fragrance of her lush Fraser fir tree. Mistletoe was hanging in the entrance. Phil pointed up at it. I smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Bruce Springsteen's raspy voice belting out, "Merry Christmas Baby" filled the living room.

Elizabeth greeted us coming from the kitchen wearing a little, and I mean little, black dress with a voluptuous off-the-shoulder neckline. She carried a decorative metal tray of wine glasses. Also on the tray stood a tall vase filled with hand held masks. I gave Elizabeth a questioning look.

"Kay, this year it's an Italian themed Christmas party. Take a mask if you'd like." She laughed. I looked at the other guests in the living room. None had masks. "Would you like a glass of Prosecco?"

"Italian," Phil said, dropping his amp to free a hand. "Va bene."

I looked at Phil. "Pardon?"

"Sounds good," Phil said as he grasped a glass.

Elizabeth put the tray on the table near the entryway. "I'll take your coats. You boys can set up in the study." John walked into the living room and she piled our coats onto his arms. He left, heading down the hall towards the bedrooms. Mike headed towards the study to get the equipment ready. "Everyone who's here so far is in the dining room. Choose a mask." She almost said it as a command. I laughed.

"I just remembered something," Elizabeth said. "Mi Scusi." She went back into the kitchen.

"You never know with Elizabeth," Phil said to me in a low voice. "Man, it's warm in here."

"Elizabeth wears minimal clothing."

Phil loosened his tie and started unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. "Phil, what are you doing?"

"I'm taking off my shirt."

"Phil. Stop. Grin and bear it."

"That's what I plan to do." He took off his tie and undid a few buttons on his shirt. "I need to find some ice." Phil left on his quest, leaving his equipment stacked against the wall.

"At least it will be an interesting evening," I said to Deirdre, as we walked towards the dining room.

Lots of people were in Elizabeth's large dining room. Some I recognized. Probably a number of them were from the college faculty. A fire roared in the fireplace. Candles and garland covered the mantle. Two stocking were on the fireplace with Elizabeth's and John's names on them. Elizabeth's son must not be coming home for Christmas. I looked over the table filled with all kinds of sweets and mouth-watering appetizers. Chickpea balls, canape squares with eggplant, ricotta and spinach fritters, roasted red pepper brushetta, shrimp in puff pastry. Elizabeth went all out. Baked brie, ricotta cheesecake with a dark chocolate sauce, marzipan, others I couldn't recognize. Ah, she was missing cutout cookies! I should have brought some along. I smiled. Elizabeth would have loved those among her buffet.

"Quite a spread," I said to Deirdre.

"Elizabeth's been busy much of the week."

The band struck a warm-up note, and people started to move in that direction. The study was completely packed by the time I got there, so I leaned against the doorway to the dining room. People started to clap as a woman wearing a sequined, slinky evening gown took the microphone and started to sing along with the band. She looked like a middle-aged lounge singer.

Nancy Reinhardt. I couldn't believe it.

Nancy and the band did a few lengthy songs before they announced that they were going to take a brief break to refill their drinks. Phil headed straight over to me with Nancy in tow.

"Kay, there's someone I want you to meet." Phil stepped back so that I could see her and she could see me. Her eyes widened. "This is the singer we're hoping will join our band. Dinesh discovered her on karaoke night at Gatsby's. She has a fantastic voice!"

I held up my hand in a half-hearted wave. "Nancy Reinhardt."

All was quiet. A razor-sharp knife would have had trouble cutting through the tension the silence created.