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    A Deadly New Year: Mt. Abrams Mysteries, #4
    A Deadly New Year: Mt. Abrams Mysteries, #4
    A Deadly New Year: Mt. Abrams Mysteries, #4
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    A Deadly New Year: Mt. Abrams Mysteries, #4

    By Dee Ernst

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    About this ebook

    Ellie Rocca is spending the New Year’s with Sam Kinali in a romantic Vermont inn for a murder mystery weekend with his law school friends. Practically perfect, right?  It is, until a real dead body turns up.  It’s pretty much an open and shut case.  The killer has to be one of the inn’s guests, but Sam can’t get any of them to start talking.

    Ellie and Sam find themselves working together to find the murderer, but just when they’re getting close, an arrest is made.  Back in Mt. Abrams, both of them know the Vermont police have the wrong man.  Returning to the scene of the crime takes them back into danger, but that’s the only way to find out which of Sam’s friends is a killer in disguise.

    This novella is 25K words long, and is the fourth in the Mt. Abrams Mystery Series.

    LanguageEnglish
    Publisher235 Alexander Street
    Release dateApr 10, 2016
    ISBN9780997051476
    A Deadly New Year: Mt. Abrams Mysteries, #4
    Author

    Dee Ernst

    Dee Ernst loved reading at an early age and decided to become a writer, though she admits it took a bit longer than she expected. After the birth of her second daughter at the age of forty, she committed to giving writing a real shot. She loved chick lit but felt frustrated by the younger heroines who couldn’t figure out how to get what they wanted, so she writes about women like herself—older, more confident, and with a wealth of life experience. In 2012, her novel Better Off Without Him became an Amazon bestseller. Now a full-time writer, Dee lives in her home state of New Jersey with her family, a few cats, and a needy cocker spaniel. She loves sunsets, beach walks, and really cold martinis.

    Read more from Dee Ernst

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      Book preview

      A Deadly New Year - Dee Ernst

      Chapter 1

      It’s great when you’re in a relationship with someone who has the same interests as you. I met my ex-husband, Marc, at my first job in a well-known publishing house in New York City. What we shared at first was a love of words, books, and reading. We could talk for hours about favorite authors, bits of beautiful dialog or unforgettable scenes. Any book lover out there will know what I’m talking about, and how powerful it is to have someone share your passion.

      Sam Kinali, on the other hand, did not share my love of books. Sure, he was well read, but mostly non-fiction. He devoured biographies and history. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just not the same as sitting across the table from someone who can tell you the exact moment they became a fan of Elizabeth George or Lee Child.

      But Sam and I had something else in common.

      Solving crime.

      Sam did it for a living. He was a police detective. It was his job.

      For me, Ellie Rocca, it was something of an obsession. Sure, editing mysteries and thrillers as a freelancer let me vicariously solve all sorts of devious crimes. But the past six months had put me in situations where real people had been murdered, and I had figured out who had done it and why.

      It was pretty exciting. It also put my life in danger, and Sam, as well as my ex-husband and daughters, strongly suggested that my hobby had become too dangerous. I had to agree. I pledged to keep myself out of any similar situations, and I had managed to keep that promise. Mostly.

      So when Sam suggested a New Year’s Eve getaway to a bed and breakfast in Vermont that featured a king-sized bed, and roaring fireplace, and a murder-mystery weekend, it seemed too good to be true.

      Me, a sexy man, and a murder.

      How could anything get more perfect?

      My daughter, Tessa, was watching me pack. She was eleven, just on the edge of becoming totally unbearable. I was stupid, lame, didn’t understand, never let her do anything, hated puppies…you name something awful, I did it, said it, or felt it. Having already raised another daughter, Caitlyn, to full adulthood, I knew that Tessa would someday stop thinking I was the worst mother in the world. I was just hoping it wouldn’t take as long as it took Cait.

      I don’t know why I can’t come with you, she said. Again. I could ski while you play at your lame mystery.

      I sighed patiently. Again. We’re really not close to any ski places.

      "Mom, Vermont is, like, tiny. How far away from anything can you be?"

      I would have to go with you, Tessa. It’s not like I can just drop you off at the base of a mountain, then pick you up at the end of the day.

      So what’s wrong with hanging out in the ski lodge? Cait said you did it all the time when she and Daddy went.

      I had recently purchased a very expensive piece of lingerie, black with a bit of lace that was sitting in my drawer, waiting to be moved to my suitcase. If I did it in front of Tessa, I’d never hear the end of it. If I didn’t pack it now, the odds were stacked against me remembering to do it even, say, ten minutes from now.

      This is not a family vacation, Tessa. This is a weekend for Sam and I to spend together. There’s a difference.

      I opened the drawer, There it lay, a wisp of black satin, guaranteed to look amazing for the maybe fifty seconds I’d be wearing it before it ended up as a heap on the floor. I covered it with flannel jammie pants, rolled it tightly, then tucked it carefully into the corner of my suitcase.

      Then do you promise I can going skiing with Aunt Suzie over break?

      Sure, I said as I carefully zipped the suitcase closed. Promise.

      She sighed, rather elaborately, then slid off the bed and slouched out of the bedroom.

      Tessa would be spending New Years Eve with her much older sister, Cait, and her boyfriend Kyle right here in Mt. Abrams. Cait had no problem with my going off for a few days with Sam, because it meant she and Kyle would have the run of the house. I knew they were having sex. She was a grown woman, and Kyle was the only man in her life. I didn’t mind. Tessa, queen of the sleepover, wouldn’t blink. But I knew there would be people in Mt. Abrams who would raise their eyebrows and murmur…Ellie left for a weekend? And put her daughter in charge of that little girl? And the daughter was sleeping with…

      Mt. Abrams, for all its quaint charm and illusion of perfect small-town-America, was like any other small town, which meant people lived to watch, judge, and gossip.

      Luckily, I didn’t care all that much.

      I carried the suitcase downstairs to set it by the front door. Cait was in front of the fireplace, reading. She was a teacher and had spent her entire Christmas break in front of the fire with her Kindle, when not off with Kyle, of course.

      When is Sam coming? she asked.

      About ten minutes. When is Kyle coming?

      She grinned. Well, I guess in about fifteen minutes. He’s at his parents.

      Are you going to throw a wild party here Saturday night?

      She snorted. Oh, yeah. That’s me all right. A wild party person.

      I wouldn’t mind if you had some friends over.

      I know. But Tessa has never seen The Lord of the Rings movies, so we may do a marathon. Kyle is pretty excited about it.

      I shook my head. You are such geeks, I can’t stand it. I saw Sam’s car pull up. Tessa, kiss.

      She came down the steps, allowed me a hug and kiss on the forehead, then flew back upstairs. I hugged Cait, gave a quick pat on the head to Boot, the most adorable and spoiled cocker spaniel on the planet, and then opened the door. Sam, grinning, reached for my suitcase.

      Ready?

      I grabbed my coat. Absolutely.

      And we were off.

      There are certain places where, if you’re driving through them, you should automatically add three hours to the estimated drive time. Places liked Connecticut. Which is why we arrived at Manchester, Vermont at eight in the evening instead of just in time for cocktail hour.

      We had stopped at around six thirty at a diner, simply because I was getting hungry and cranky, and Sam knew if I wasn’t fed, things could get ugly. During that half hour, it started to snow. When we pulled up in front of the inn, the snow was getting thick, and it was cold. Very cold. Sam dropped me off at the front door, and I ran up the stone steps and into Chilton House.

      The house looked like a storybook.

      I’d been on the website, of course, and knew the history of Chilton House. Built in 1908 by a minor oil baron, it had eighteen rooms, seven of them guest rooms with private baths, all carefully renovated to recapture the house’s former elegance. The pictures on my computer screen had looked perfectly nice, but in real life, the foyer, which was as large as my living room and served as the lobby, was stunning. There was a fire in the marble fireplace and classical music playing in the background. The Christmas tree

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