Christmas has come to Gasper’s Cove. Krista Willett only meant to deliver poinsettias, not to be talked into sewing forty-seven elf hats for the school concert, and certainly not into another murder. Across town, Kenny McQuarrie has a resized ring, a plan to propose, and three credit cards that have all, somehow, just been declined. Here is the first chapter of this festive Nova Scotia cozy mystery.

All she could see of the body were two legs.

The rest was under the wooden lid.

There, on the black and white keys, he was folded away. Only his striped socks and black pointy boots had escaped the closed top of the piano.

Krista knew how the Elf on the Shelf felt. Christmas was going to be the death of her, too.

“Mrs. Willett?” the voice asked. “Did you hear me?”

Krista refocused. She looked at Patricia Taylor. The music teacher was new to Gasper’s Cove. The parents thought she was there to teach their children. Miss Taylor thought she was Nova Scotia’s answer to Andrew Lloyd Weber. She assumed the school was on Broadway.

“Yes, I did,” Krista admitted. She tried to block out the memory. The classroom was too warm. It smelled of wet winter clothes. “You asked me to make forty-seven elf hats. By next week.”

Miss Taylor lifted her clipboard from one bony, flannel knee and carefully drew a line across a list. A few stray hairs escaped from the tight French roll of her shoe-polish black hair. She pushed the strands behind one ear. Stress mixed with excitement radiated from her body.

Krista moved back in her chair. She felt its hard wooden rungs press into her spine. She was at the school to deliver poinsettias, not to be conscripted into sewing for the holiday concert.

Miss Taylor pulled her lips back over her teeth in a version of a smile.

“I want this concert to be memorable,” she said, leaning forward. “I’ve lined up a reviewer. That famous author. You know the one with the voice?” The blank look on Krista’s face surprised her. “The one who reads A Christmas Carol every year on CBC radio?”

It clicked. Thomas Reilly. The man who’d made his reputation selling nostalgia for a Nova Scotia that had never existed —heavy on the quaint, but light on the quirkiness, intrigue, and wit of the real place. His books sold well outside the province.

“I know who you mean,” she said. “What about him?”

“He does an annual feature on holidays on the East Coast. A different community every year. I made a list. I wrote him an email. I told him it was our turn.” Her voice became wistful. “They love everything he writes in New York.” The big-city schools would want her after this. Maybe even Halifax. Not New York, but headed in the right direction. One step at a time. She raised her chin with pride. “We’re sold out.”

“Sold out?” Krista asked. “Isn’t the gym always full?”

Miss Taylor laughed. “No. There’s mould in the gym. It’s shut down for remediation. Whatever that is.” Those sweaty children and their damp socks, she thought. They were to blame. “We’re performing at Seaview Manor this year,” she said. Thank goodness the author was related to the man who ran the place. It might make him kinder about the venue.

“The Manor?” Krista was surprised. “My husband’s grandmother lives there. “The seniors will love a sing-along with the kids.”

“A sing-along? You’re joking.” The music teacher was scandalized. “Not in my production. There’s no time. The music is all arranged. Seventeen pieces, three hours, not counting the intermission.” She paused, imagining her success, visualizing the press release she had written and would send out after the concert. Patricia Taylor’s Music Puts Gasper’s Cove on the Map.

She paused, remembering she was not alone in the room. “How hard would it be to make snowflake costumes?” she asked. “Ones that sparkled, maybe with lights?”

Krista chose her words carefully. This was her boys’ teacher. Both Billy, the trombone player, and Sammy, on flute, were on probation for various reasons with this educator. “Maybe you can find someone else to do that,” she suggested. “I’m working for Harry Sutherland, delivering floral arrangements.” She had to get this conversation away from more sewing. “That’s the reason I’m here.”

“The flowers. I forgot,” the music teacher said. “Of course. But since you have a sewing machine. But if you don’t have the time, I understand.” Her teacher’s stare made it clear she wouldn’t understand at all. Too much was at stake. “But we need those hats. And your boys volunteered you,” she added, knowing that this would clinch the deal.

Krista’s heart sank. As a matter of policy, Sammy and Billy usually didn’t want her anywhere near the school, much less involved with their activities. They believed deep in their souls that the less their mom knew, the better. The concert would give Krista an opportunity to find out more about her sons’ secret life outside her house, and she knew it.

* * *

“In that case, how can I say no?” she asked. “It’s Christmas.” Kenny pushed the door of the Halifax jewelry store open. The wreath jingled. This was the beginning of the rest of his life. After today, he would no longer be on the outside, looking in. Soon, he would be one of the husbands, stopping on the way home from work to buy flowers at the Foodmart on Valentine’s Day. Soon, he would be one of the men who left right after bowling. “I’d love to have a beer,” he’d tell the guys, “but the wife’s got dinner waiting for me at home.” After today he would think of himself differently and not be the same person at all.

“Can I help you?”

The girl behind the counter was the jeweller’s daughter. She had the same eyes and the same thick, dark hair. She looked calm, organized, and efficient. What would she think of a middle-aged man, in to pick up an engagement ring?

“I called?” Kenny began. “I’m here for meetings, down from Gasper’s Cove.” This girl didn’t need to know that. He was prattling on, trying to normalize his nervousness. She was so young; he felt so old. “I left a ring to be resized last month. Your dad said it would be ready. I am going to propose this Christmas. That’s when my parents got engaged.” This was more detail that didn’t matter to anyone but himself.

The young woman smiled politely. “That’s so sweet,” she said, and then, more professionally, “Your name?”

“Oh sorry. MacQuarrie.” Kenny tried to hide his excitement. “It’s my mother’s ring.”

The clerk nodded and pulled open a drawer beneath the counter. Kenny studied the display under the glass. On the right were watches, brighter and more garish than anything he would wear, with more dials and numbers than he had on the dashboard of his car. Next to the watches, on the left, were the wedding ring sets, with two vertical rows of men’s rings to match. He’d get himself a ring too, like modern men did, unlike his father, who never wore rings because they got in the way at work. Annette could help him pick one out.

The young woman stopped walking her fingers through the drawer and pulled out a white paper bag. She laid it down on the counter and carefully spread out a large square of navy-blue velvet. With reverence, she opened the bag and slid its contents onto the pile of the fabric.

The ring looked the same, only brighter. Kenny knew it was different, though, made smaller to fit Annette’s hand. He had gone to Annette’s mother to find out what her ring size was. To his surprise, Pauline had been thrilled to be contacted and quick to share that it wasn’t right for a single mother, her daughter’s age, to be on her own when most of the good ones were taken. Kenny took this statement as her blessing on their marriage.

Kenny looked down at the dark velvet. “It looks perfect,” he said. The ring sparkled, it twinkled. He handed over his credit card and waited for his receipt, lost in his thoughts. What now? He couldn’t simply go next door, knock, and ask his neighbour to marry him. Maybe they should go for a drive, stop at the Look-off. Or go for dinner at the Agapi, and he could propose after dessert. Or take Max for a walk, and somewhere along the coastal trail he could suggest they all become a unit. There was so much to consider.

The clerk coughed gently behind her hand.

“I am so sorry, sir. Your Visa has been declined.”

There had to be some mistake. Kenny paid off his balance every month. This was worth an angry call. In the meantime, he reached into his wallet. He had two more cards. The Mastercard he used at Costco and a low-balance card he kept for online purchases. He didn’t believe a man could ever be too careful.

“Try this,” he said, sliding the Mastercard across the glass.

They both waited.

“Looks like this one has been declined too.” The girl looked at the clock on the wall. She wanted to go for lunch early if she could.

Kenny felt his face grow damp. He handed over the last of his cards.

This time, the clerk didn’t say anything. She inserted the card, read the message on the screen, and put the machine down. She reached across the navy-blue velvet, picked up the ring, slipped it back into the little white envelope, dropped it into the drawer, and closed it.

The look in the girl’s dark eyes was not the same anymore. “I am sure there has been some mistake,” she said. “The ring will be here when you are ready.”

Mortified, Kenny walked stiffly out through the doors and onto the sidewalk of Quinpool Road. He knew he should go to the instant teller down the street, withdraw the money, and go back in, like a kid at the corner store sent home for more change. But he couldn’t face that girl again. Not now. His hands shook. He dropped all three cards onto the pavement. A teenager on a skateboard swerved around him, shot the board out from his feet and up to under his arm in one smooth ballet movement and stopped.

The kid bent down, picked up the cards, and handed them to Kenny. “Here you go man, don’t want to lose those,” he said cheerfully. Kenny stuffed the useless pieces of plastic back into his wallet.

The skateboarder slammed the board back onto the pavement and, with both feet close together, hopped on. “Have a good one!” he called out as he sailed away down the street.

Kenny watched the kid disappear around a corner. It was too late for that.

Keep reading. Last Stitch Effort is available as an ebook, exclusively on Amazon and free to read in Kindle Unlimited, and in paperback. You can find it here.

Last Stitch Effort is one of four seasonal Gasper’s Cove novellas. All four are collected in Gasper’s Cove Quick Cozies Books 1–4: Witty and Whimsical Nova Scotia Amateur Sleuth Mysteries, available as an ebook, a print anthology, and an audiobook.