Shadows on a Maine Christmas (Antique Print Mystery Series Book 7) by Lea Wait Page B

I smelled something good.” Maggie sniffed. “You didn’t make blueberry muffins this morning, did you?”
    “He certainly didn’t,” said Aunt Nettie. “They’re muffins I made last summer and froze. But we decided they’d make a good holiday bread for today.”
    “Excellent decision,” Maggie agreed.
    “The plan, you see, is that we have a big breakfast and keep sipping champagne. Then we’ll open our gifts, and take the rest of the day off. Or,” Will raised his eyebrows and leered at Maggie behind Aunt Nettie’s back, “take naps.”
    “I see,” said Maggie, trying not to burst into laughter. “And this is a years-long tradition?”
    “Absolutely,” said Will. “My parents celebrated Christmas morning this way, and my father said his parents had inherited the tradition. Right, Aunt Nettie?”
    “In some variation. When I was a girl the meat was moose steak and the bread was apple pie. And my father liked his cider—not the kind you buy at the grocery today. But the idea was basically the same.”
    “So, instead of moose steak, what are we having with our blueberry muffins, Chef Will?”
    “Filet mignon, covered with sautéed mushrooms and onions in a brandy sauce.”
    Maggie swallowed. “Okay. You got me. I am totally flabbergasted.”
    Will bowed. “Happy to hear that, my dear.”
    “And totally starving. So, demonstration time. Please!”
    While Will pulled out ingredients and pans he’d managed to keep in places Maggie hadn’t noticed, Aunt Nettie leaned across the table. “Don’t worry, dear. He’s been practicing.”
    She had no need to worry. Will did a fantastic job.
    “Are you sure you want to open an antiques mall, and not a restaurant?” Maggie half groaned, as she ate the last few pieces of her filet. “This was spectacular. Really spectacular.”
    “I found a great butcher, asked for advice, and tweaked a recipe. And I have two women I love to cook for. What more does a man need?” replied Will, clearly pleased breakfast had gone the way he’d hoped.
    “Now I understand why collapsing after breakfast is a part of the Brewer Christmas morning tradition,” said Maggie, patting her stomach. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this much so early in the day.” She raised her flute in his direction. “Or had this much champagne.”
    “It isn’t time for naps yet,” said Will. “Presents first. Let’s adjourn to the living room. We can clean up later. Today is a holiday.”
    “I think I might need a bit of help,” said Aunt Nettie. “I’ve had a little more champagne than I’d planned.”
    Will helped her to her feet as they laughed and Maggie gathered up their champagne glasses and the most recent bottle they’d been pouring from.
    The telephone rang when they were halfway to the living room.
    “You get that, Maggie. It’s probably someone wishing us ‘Merry Christmas,’” said Will, who was helping Aunt Nettie to her chair.
    “Merry Christmas!” she answered, picking up the phone in the kitchen. “Yes, of course. I’ll get him.” She put her hand over the receiver. “Will, it’s Nick. He sounds serious. I don’t think he’s calling to say hello.”
    She joined Aunt Nettie in the living room. “The tree looks so lovely with all the lights and ornaments and the packages under it. I hate to open them. Then Christmas will be over. It’s been such a perfect day so far.”
    Will was back in a moment. “This is rotten news to have to deliver on Christmas. Nick was calling to tell us that Carrie Folk died late last night or early this morning.”
    Billy’s mother. That little woman who took care of Betty. And who’d been arguing with Aunt Nettie yesterday at the party.
    “Was there an accident?” Aunt Nettie asked. “She seemed well last night.”
    “No. Worse than that. She was murdered. Nick’s calling everyone who was at Ruth’s party yesterday, in case someone noticed anything he should know about. Anything unusual.”
    Aunt Nettie nodded