Santa Claus, Lies, and Murder (Amber Fox Mysteries book #4.5 - Novella) (The Amber Fox Murder Mystery Series) Read online

  Praise for the Amber Fox Mysteries…

  "If you like Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum I think you will really like Amber Fox - I know I do." ~ Martha's Bookshelf

  "Amber Fox is a modern, career-driven woman who seems to be a cross between Kinsey Milhone and Gracie Hart (Miss Congeniality). I enjoyed the great mixture of action adventure and slapstick. I found myself chuckling out loud and on one occasion snorting water out my nose." ~ Coffee Time Romance & More

  "Amber Fox was hilarious with her tough as nails outer persona and her hysterical one-liners that were frequently laugh out loud funny. I definately recommend picking this book up!!" ~ The Caffeinated Diva reads...

  "Amber Fox is the kind of strong lead female character with a great sarcastic wit that I love to read." ~ To Read, Perchance to Dream

  "WARNING: I don't do the book justice go read it for yourself - it's worth it! Left me speechless. Love the character, story line, everything" ~ Jagged Edge Reviews

  "I was hooked in this book from beginning to end. This is a very well written book that has humour and romance." ~ Geeky Girl Books

  Chapter 1

  “If I said the words Santa Claus, what would you think?” Brad leaned back in his office chair, stretching his long, very toned legs out in front of him and lacing his hands behind his head. His biceps bulged underneath the expensive black shirt, and I felt something stir down south.

  I was too distracted by his hot body to answer for a moment. Not that I’m a shallow kind of girl, and before you get worried that I could be sexually harassing my boss in a totally inappropriate way, we were actually getting married soon, so any sexual harassment was actually part of my job description. I was imagining my legs wrapped round his as they had been that morning in bed, when he did that thing with his—

  “Foxy, are you licking your lips at my legs?” Brad smirked.

  I snorted. “No way!”

  “You’ve got that look on your face.”

  “What look?” I feigned innocence, but I knew the look.

  He raised his eyebrows. “The you-want-to-rip-my-clothes-off look.”

  “I am so not.”

  “Are.”

  “Not.”

  “It would be OK, you know,” Brad said.

  “What would?”

  His eyes darted to his open office door and the windows that everyone in the whole building could see through. “I could lock the door and close the blinds.” His eyebrow raised a fraction. “There have to be some perks to owning the company.”

  I moistened my lips with the tip of my tongue. Maybe something to do with both of us almost getting killed lately was making me a bit crazy, wild, and obsessed with sex. I was indulging my live-for-the-moment side, instead of the neurotic, worry-about-everything side. Then again, maybe I was just trying to get in enough practice for the honeymoon.

  “There!” He pointed at my mouth. “You licked your lips at me.”

  I admit I was actually considering ripping his clothes off there and then. What? I am a red-blooded female after all!

  I looked over my shoulder through the window into the office I shared with Hacker, the fount of all computer knowledge in the universe. His tall, gangly body was hunched over one of the many computer screens arranged in an arc around his desk, and he chewed on the end of one of his dreadlocks, deep in concentration as his fingers whizzed across the keyboard. Hacker had an obsession with hoodies. The latest one was bright-red-and-green and said, “Let’s Spread Christmas Cheer. Sing Loud For All To Hear.” Hacker must’ve felt my eyes on him, and he looked up, grinning, flashing me a gold front tooth.

  I blushed in case he could read my mind and see what I was imagining Brad’s hands doing to me. I could so not have sex in the office. Everyone would know what we were up to.

  Having made up my mind, I rolled my eyes at Brad and changed the subject before things got out of hand. “Old guy. Grey hair and beard that needs a cut. Really bad dress sense. Belly that screams of eating all the mince pies, or all the eggnogs. Says 'Ho' a lot, but not in an inappropriate gangster rapper kind of way.” I sat back in the chair and smirked.

  “Pardon?” Brad frowned.

  “Santa Claus.”

  “Ah. Right. We’re back to that. So, you don’t want to, er…” His voice turned husky.

  “No. We've got plenty of time for that when we get home.”

  “And in Vegas. Honeymoon. Six-foot bed. Six-foot bath. Six-and-three-quarter-inch—”

  “OK, yes! Stop talking about it, or we'll never get any work done!” I grinned. “So, bushy-haired fat guy. What about him?”

  Brad leaned forward, elbows on the desk, suddenly all business. Brad owned Hi-Tec Insurance, and I was his investigator who looked into suspicious insurance claims. Frequently, in the course of our work, people tried to kill us.

  “I’m sure everyone knows Santa Claus—AKA Father Christmas—is the folklore legend said to bring gifts to children all over the world every Christmas Eve. But fat, jolly old Santa is actually the modern figure of St Nicholas, a Christian bishop and saint who was renowned for his kindness and gift-giving,” he said.

  “Yeah, I always knew there was something iffy about the old Santa Claus story. I mean, the logistics of going round the whole world in one night are just impossible. Honestly, parents must think their kids are stupid. Aren't we supposed to bring our children up not to tell lies? And yet, they tell one great big fat whopper to us for years. It was only the fact that I didn’t want the presents to end that stopped me from questioning Mum and Dad about it.”

  “Sneaky.”

  “How is that any more sneaky than lying to your kids? Anyway, how exactly does an old saint relate to Hi-Tec Insurance?”

  “Have you ever been to Natural History Museum in Hertford? It’s an annexe of the London Natural History Museum, but here in Hertfordshire, and it specializes in rare collections of birds, animals, and insects. The collection was started in the late 1800s by Lord Musgrave, a zoologist and scientist who travelled all over the world. After his death, the collection was bequeathed to the British people, along with the manor house where it was held. Later on, the collection was added to, and the manor was turned into a museum.”

  “Actually, I remember going there on a school trip once. They had this freaky flea that was dressed up in actual clothes and a hat, and put under a microscope so you could see its creepy flea body with all these tiny little hairs.” I shivered. “Yuck! It gave me nightmares for weeks. I kept dreaming giant fleas were being beamed down from outer space to suck my brains out.”

  Brad studied me silently. “You’ve got a very vivid imagination.”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” I gave him a seductive grin.

  “Stop teasing.”

  I held my hands up in mock horror. “Who? Me?”

  He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “So, back to the museum. Since it’s Christmas, they were exhibiting a rare collection of St Nicholas artefacts on loan from the Antalya Museum in Turkey. In the early hours of this morning, someone broke into the museum and stole the collection. I just spoke to the curator, and he says that the pieces were priceless.”

  “Everything has a price. How much would they be worth to an art dealer or collector?”

  “There were icons and statues and various other items, which are probably worth around five million pounds. But, unfortunately, it’s not just ancient artefacts that were stolen. Included in the exhibit were the actu
al relics of St Nicholas.”

  “You mean his bones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone has stolen St Nicholas?” I leaned forward, unable to believe what I was hearing. “They’ve stolen Santa on Christmas Eve?”

  Brad nodded.

  I whistled. “How did the thieves get into the museum? Hasn't it got super-duper security?”

  “Not as 'super-duper' as you’d think.” Brad looked down at the file on his desk and flicked through some pages. “We did a security assessment a while back, and the alarm system seemed adequate. Since it was only supposed to house the animal, bird, and insect exhibits, I didn’t feel they were at a higher risk, in terms of an insurance policy anyhow. However, there’s a clause in our policy that says they have to inform us of any other high-risk exhibits they add, and since they didn’t do that, basically, their insurance claim will be null and void.”

  “So if they’re not entitled to claim on their insurance, why are you telling me about it?”

  Brad shrugged. “Because it’s Christmas. And the whole spirit of St Nicholas is about generosity and giving something back to people in need. I want to find those exhibits and return them so other people can enjoy them. I don’t want them to be lost forever in some unknown private art collection. It’s our duty to bring St Nick back to his rightful resting place.”

  I smiled. That was one of the things I loved about Brad. For a hard-nut ex-SAS guy, he had a big heart and a lot of compassion. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  Brad spread out some building plans on his desk. “It’s an old building. Sixteenth century. The front door was made of thick oak, but the thieves ram-raided it, driving a Land Rover into the doors to smash them open. They didn’t tamper with the alarm, which did go off, but by the time police arrived on the scene, the burglars had taken the collection and disappeared. They were in and out before the dust even settled.”

  “If they didn’t bother tampering with the alarm, they already knew they could grab what they wanted before anyone turned up, so I’m guessing they knew exactly where the exhibits were.”

  “My thoughts, too.” Brad pointed to the first room to the right of the museum entrance. “The windows in the building are all fitted with one-way glass. You can see out, but you can’t see in. So they would’ve had to have visited the museum in the past to know how long it would take to steal the items, or they had inside information.”

  “Is there CCTV in the building?”

  “Yes. The recordings are stored on a remote server, instead of kept in the building. So I can get Hacker to access it and check through, but it’s highly unlikely any known art thieves would visit themselves to do a recce and leave a trail. They could have just sent a friend or acquaintance into the museum to check the exhibit’s location and floor plans.”

  “True. But Hacker might pick up someone acting suspiciously.” I chewed my bottom lip. “What about the staff? If it’s an inside job, we need to look into their backgrounds—financial records, anything dodgy that they could’ve been used to blackmail them, any skeletons lurking in their closets.”

  Brad handed me a list with five names on it:

  Alistair Cooper—Curator

  Margaret Richardson—Assistant Curator and Head of Ornithology Exhibit

  Sally English—Head of Animal Exhibit

  Elmer Hunt—Head of Insect Exhibit

  John Lane—Caretaker

  “Is that it?” I waved the sheet of paper. “Only five employees for an entire museum?”

  “It’s only an annexed museum, so it’s fairly small compared to the one in London.”

  “It seemed massive when I was a kid. Especially the fleas.” I shuddered.

  “Good job you didn’t see their spider collection, then.” He closed the file and handed it to me.

  I went into shuddering overload and pulled a face that probably made me look as if I were having a stroke. Spiders were a big no-no for me. “Gross! I’m definitely not going into the insect exhibit while I’m there.” I stood up, took Brad’s file, and read through the information inside. “OK. I’m on it.” I gave him a wink over my shoulder as I stepped through the corridor and into my office.

  “Yo,” Hacker said without looking up from his screen.” In Hacker’s world, yo meant hello and goodbye. I liked to say it twice, just to confuse him.

  “Yo-Yo.”

  He frowned. “Does that mean you’re staying or going?”

  “Staying for a minute then going, so I’m making use of time management skills and saying hello and goodbye at the same time.”

  He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He was used to my quirks, which was amazing because I wasn’t even used to me yet.

  I nodded at his loud hoodie. “Very festive.”

  “Tia bought it for me.” He gave me a sly grin.

  Tia was the office receptionist and Hacker’s girlfriend. We didn't have an intra-office dating policy, as you may have noticed. Tia was also psychic and did spells. In the past, she’d talked me into doing them with her to help solve my cases and sort out my love life. Unfortunately, they seemed to go seriously wrong most of the time, and I’m never doing another one again. Ever.

  Tia was…hmm, how could I describe her? She was quirky, full of energy, and a budding insurance investigator wannabe. But she was a little too enthusiastic about things sometimes. Although, judging by the smile on Hacker’s face, he wasn't complaining about that particular personality trait.

  “Got something for me to check out?” Hacker asked.

  “Uh-huh.” I perched on the edge of his desk. There was some kind of black box gadget with lights flashing madly on it. “What does that do?” I pointed to it, mesmerised by the lights.

  “It’s recording some data from NASA.”

  My jaw dropped open for a moment—only a moment, mind you, because I couldn't keep quiet for long. “You’re not hacking into NASA?”

  He gave me a smug smile. “Maybe.”

  “Well, this is more important.” I handed him the list. “I need you to do thorough background checks on these people. They work at the Natural History Museum’s annexe in Hertford, and last night there was a burglary of some pieces from their Christmas Exhibit, along with the actual bones of St Nicholas.”

  “St Nicholas?”

  “Yes.”

  “The original Santa Claus guy?”

  “That’s the one.”

  His eyebrows shot up to his dreadlocks. “Wow, that’s low, man. It’s Christmas! Don’t people have any respect anymore?”

  “Apparently the museum’s CCTV recordings are stored on a remote server somewhere. Can you get access to it and look for anyone suspicious who was particularly interested in the St Nicholas exhibit? According to the file, it had only been on display for three days before it was stolen, so there shouldn't be that much to look at. Also, see what you can get from the burglary last night. If we’re lucky, maybe we can catch a glimpse of the offenders.”

  He cracked his knuckles. “No problem. I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

  “Great.” I stood up, stuffed the file in my rucksack, and swung it onto my shoulder. “In that case, I’m going to see a flea about a fat guy.”

  “Huh?”

  I waved a hand through the air. “Never mind.”

  “Well, yo, then. I think.” He shook his head, more to himself than to me, and gave his keyboard his full attention.

  As I wandered up the corridor, I heard Christmas music blasting out of iPod speakers on Tia’s reception desk. I slapped my hands over my ears. She’d been playing it non-stop since the beginning of October, and it was doing my head in. If I hear “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” or “Frosty the Snowman” one more time, I swear I might actually kill her. It was always on the news about how the number of suicides went up over the Christmas period because people were depressed, but it wasn’t that at all. All the Christmas music pumped into the shops and supermarkets and offices for months on end was enough to make peop
le slit their wrists. Who needed waterboarding when Christmas music was an equal form of torture?

  “Amber!” Tia gave me a goofy grin from behind the desk. With her blonde ringlets, heart-shaped face, and huge eyes, you could be forgiven for thinking she was ditzy. But Tia was a lot stronger than she looked. Being the daughter of a famous fashion designer, she had a very…um…creative dress sense. Creative and bright. She was wearing pink shiny leggings, pink stilettos about a million inches high, a pink fluffy jumper, and a white hair band thingy that wrapped round her head. She looked like a walking bottle of Pepto Bismol. Bless her.

  I reached for her iPod, turned it off, and dropped it in my rucksack. “That’s it. No more Christmas music.”

  She gasped. “What? No! I love Christmas music. It’s awesome!” Tia’s American accent sang loudly in the now-quiet office.

  “Really? I’d never have guessed.”

  “Well, of course I do. I’ve been playing it for weeks, silly!” She gave her signature laugh that sounded like a hyena on crack.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Try eleven weeks, six days, two hours, and thirty-three seconds.”

  “Wow, you’ve been counting? Gosh, you must love it as much as me. Is that why you’re taking my iPod, so you can listen to it at home, too?”

  “Er…yes.” I smiled. “That’s it.”

  “Cool.” She grinned. “So.” She clapped her hands together and jigged up and down with excitement. “Tell me about the theft at the museum.”

  I filled her in.

  “Do you need any investigative help? Penelope Pitstop to the rescue!” Her eyes widened with anticipation.

  Unfortunately for me, I’d had to call on Tia to help me with a case recently, and she now wanted to be called by the code name Penelope Pitstop. I’d also had to call on my mum and dad to help me out. Dad was fine. He was an ex-police officer, like me, although a little eccentric. Come to think of it, that was also like me. But Mum was on the same wavelength as Tia, and she suddenly thought she was spy material. Mum had become obsessed with watching James Bond movies and reading espionage books, and she thought she and Dad would be the next crime-fighting duo to rival Batman and Robin. The Catwoman outfits were becoming a bit of a problem, too, although apparently Dad didn’t seem to mind.