The Nightingale Before Christmas

“Well, that should be original,” I said. “And after di

“And I have wonderful news,” she added. “This afternoon Rob went up to fetch your grandmother Cordelia. She’s coming, too.”

“For tonight’s di

“Yes, and for Christmas. Now that we’ve finally found her, it’s about time we spent a lot more time with her.”

“Grandfather won’t like that,” I said.

“Your grandfather will just have to cope,” she said. “She’s as much family as he is. And Christmas is a time for family, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.” Suddenly I was eager to leave the show house and get home so I could really start enjoying Christmas. I glanced around to see how much more tidying we had to do. Not much. And with Mother pitching in, we’d be finished in no time.

“You were absolutely right, you know,” she said.

Not words I often heard from Mother. Was I witnessing a small Christmas miracle?

“About what?” I asked aloud.

“About not having the show house at your house. It would have been a much better house, of course, but think of the disruption it would have caused.”

“Yeah, murder does tend to be disrupting,” I said.

“Not just the murder,” she said. “Having peculiar things done to all your rooms, and then crowds of the people tramping through over the next few weeks. You were right to dig in your heels.”

“Thank you.”

“Next year, we’ll just have to start looking for a house earlier,” she said.

I decided not to say anything about my resolution to not to get involved next year.

“In January, I should think,” Mother went on. “Perhaps not quite so large a house next time—after all, the design community’s noticeably smaller than it was when we started this whole project.”

Instead of answering, I hit the button to raise the garage door.

“We can sneak out this way,” I said as the door slowly chugged up. “So we won’t bother the judges.”

“Look!” Mother pointed as the landscape outside. “More snow. How lovely!”

Yes, it was lovely. All you could see in the light spilling out of the garage door was snowflakes. Not the kind of big, sloppy, wet snowflakes that tended to melt as soon as they hit the ground. These were the tiny snowflakes you get when the air is really cold—serious, businesslike snowflakes, clearly intent on making a major contribution to our already record December snowfall totals.

“How many more inches are we expecting, anyway?” I asked.

“I haven’t had time to listen to the weather,” Mother said with a shrug. “But as long as we take off soon, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting to your house.”

No telling if she and Dad would be able to get home again afterward. But if this proved to be the snow that finally defeated the county snowplows—well, one more benefit of not holding the show house in our house was that Michael and I had enough spare rooms for everyone to stay over. The boys would love being snowbound with all their available grandparents and great-grandparents to spoil them.

“Let’s not waste any more time,” I said aloud. “And—”

“Mrs. Langslow.”

It was Randall. He stepped into the garage. The six other members of the County Board filed in after him. They all looked solemn.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

Instead of answering, Randall walked over to stand in front of Mother.

“Mrs. Langslow,” Randall said. “I’m delighted to inform you that your room has been chosen as the wi

The board members all broke into smiles, and a great deal of hugging and handshaking followed.

“The other rooms are all lovely, each and every one of them,” one of the women said.

“In their own ways,” chimed in one of the men.

“But your room is not only lovely, but it has a warmth and a sense of Christmas good cheer that we all loved.”

“Thank you,” Mother said. She was dabbing at her eyes. “I really couldn’t have done it without so many people.”

“Let’s go home and make a list,” I said. “So you can thank them all when you make your acceptance speech at the reception tomorrow. In the meantime, we have presents to wrap, and grandsons who are waiting for you to read them ‘’Twas the Night Before Christmas.’”

“Good advice, dear,” Mother said. “Good night,” she said, beaming one last time at the judges.

“Merry Christmas to all,” I said. “And to all a good night.”

ALSO BY DONNA ANDREWS

The Good, the Bad, and the Emus

Duck the Halls

The Hen of the Baskervilles

Some Like It Hawk

The Real Macaw

Stork Raving Mad

Swan for the Money

Six Geese A-Slaying

Cockatiels at Seven

The Penguin Who Knew Too Much

No Nest for the Wicket

Owls Well That Ends Well

We’ll Always Have Parrots

Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon

Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos

Murder with Puffins

Murder with Peacocks

About the Author

DONNA ANDREWS has won the Agatha, Anthony, and Barry Awards, an RT Book Reviews Award for best first novel, and three Lefty and two Toby Bromberg Awards for fu

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.

An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.

THE NIGHTINGALE BEFORE CHRISTMAS. Copyright © 2014 by Do

www.thomasdu

www.minotaurbooks.com

Cover illustration by Maggie Parr

eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected] /* */

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Andrews, Do

    The nightingale before Christmas: a Meg Langslow mystery / Do

            p. cm. —

    “A Thomas Du

    ISBN 978-1-250-04957-5 (hardcover)

    ISBN 978-1-4668-5055-2 (e-book)

  1.  Langslow, Meg (Fictitious character)—Fiction.  2.  Women detectives—Fiction.   3.  Murder—Investigation—Fiction.   I.  Title.

    PS3551.N4165N54 2014

    813'.54—dc23

2014027774

eISBN 9781466850552

First Edition: October 2014