Christmas with the Franks Read online

  Copyright © Leena Clover, Author 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Thank You

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  Books by Leena Clover

  Have you read all the Meera Patel books?

  Gone with the Wings – Meera Patel Cozy Mystery Book 1

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071WHNM6K

  A Pocket Full of Pie - Meera Patel Cozy Mystery Book 2

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072Q7B47P/

  For a Few Dumplings More - Meera Patel Cozy Mystery Book 3

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072V3T2BV

  Back to the Fajitas - Meera Patel Cozy Mystery Book 4

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0748KPTLM

  Christmas with the Franks – Meera Patel Cozy Mystery Book 5

  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B077GXR4WS/

  Chapter 1

  I checked the rearview mirror to make sure everyone was settled in. Putting the LX in gear, I eased my foot off the brake. Christmas music filtered through the sound system and my grandma Motee Ba hummed along with it.

  “They better have something I can eat,” Pappa, my 83 year old grandpa, grumbled.

  Swan Creek, Oklahoma may be a small college town but we know how to do Christmas. We were headed to one of the most talked about Christmas parties of the region, thrown by local millionaire Theodore Frank. Self proclaimed ‘sausage king’ and bigwig, he is as eccentric as my grandfather. No wonder they are buddies. This party invitation was courtesy his long standing friendship with Pappa.

  In Christmas season, any party is fair game. So I wasn’t complaining.

  I am Meera Patel, a 24 year old grad school dropout who never lived up to her potential. I shelve books for a living and cook my heart out at the local diner. My life has been a roller coaster ride this past year or two. First I got accused of murdering my childhood nemesis. So I had to solve the murder to exonerate myself. Then I got roped into solving a few more cases. My father, the head honcho of the Electrical Engineering department at our local university finally put his foot down. Since then, I have been moonlighting as a Teaching Assistant in the department and working on my thesis for my graduate degree.

  “When is your mother coming back?” Motee Ba asked from the back seat.

  “They get back Sunday evening,” I told her.

  My mother came home earlier this year after being missing for almost two decades. Unbeknownst to us, she was living her own life with her own little family, completely unaware of our existence. That’s another story for another day. My brother Jeet is home for the holidays after his first semester at Harvard. He has flown to California with our mother to put out some fires and bring her spoilt brat Cristina back with them. Cristina’s part of the package deal that is my mother.

  I’m still dealing with Sally’s reappearance in our lives. I am not ready to talk about Cristina.

  “Can’t wait to see Cristina again,” Tony spoke up.

  Tony is my best friend, a handsome blond hunk who I’ve grown up with. We are joined at the hip, but not in the way you think. Yet.

  “Why does she have to come here?” I complained. “Christmas is supposed to be just us.”

  “Cristina’s a part of this family now,” my Dad called out sternly from the back seat. “Start acting your age, Meera. I’ve had enough of babying you.”

  “She’s not your kid, you know,” I said sullenly.

  Motee Ba tapped me on the shoulder.

  “That’s enough. You better behave when she gets here, Meera. I am warning you.”

  I clammed up after that. We met Cristina when we went to California in the spring. She had wrapped my family around her little finger. She had been here to visit us a couple of times. She had managed to get kicked out of her private school so Sally had enrolled her into the local high school. Cristina was coming here with bag and baggage to live with us and attend school in Swan Creek.

  “Tune in to the weather channel,” Pappa boomed. “I want to hear the latest on that blizzard.”

  “We’ll be back home long before the weather turns, Pappa,” Dad assured him.

  Pappa mumbled under his breath and tapped his cane on Tony’s shoulder.

  “What if we get snowed in?” I joked. “We might have to spend the night at the Monster House.”

  Theodore Frank had been christened Frankenstein long ago by some cheeky local kids. The name had stuck. His estate had become the Monster House.

  “Don’t bet on it,” Tony laughed. “Old Frankenstein will be counting the minutes long before dessert is served.”

  Theodore Frank may have millions, but he was stingy with his hospitality.

  “Ba…” my Dad exclaimed in frustration, addressing his mother. “Are they ever going to grow up?”

  Motee Ba hid a smile and told us to behave ourselves.

  The car had been rolling along at a steady 20 miles per hour. We had six inches of snow on the ground and at least six more were expected tonight. Folks were speculating about whether it would stay long enough to give us a white Christmas.

  At 6 PM, the winter evening was pitch dark. The snow glittered like diamonds, lighting up the surroundings. The Frank estate was deep in the country, ten miles on a road that led nowhere else. Although I had been there a couple of times before, I almost missed the turning. Massive iron gates guarded the entrance to the king’s dominion. A speaker crackled as I pulled up in front. I identified myself and everyone in the car, and the gates slowly swung open. They began to close after I had barely driven in.

  “What are they afraid of anyway?” I muttered.

  “Rich people!” Pappa shook his head, agreeing with me for a change.

  Tall, sturdy oaks lined a winding drive that led me through the dense acreage. Rumor had it that the estate spanned fifty acres. I doubt anyone had actually taken a tape to it. We spotted some bright lights through a gap in the trees and I rolled to a stop in front of the mansion. There’s nothing else you can call a giant pile of stone and wood.

  The Monster House extended in both directions as far as the eye could see. Our six bedroom ranch paled in comparison. This house must have over ten bedrooms, I reasoned. A few outbuildings were scattered in the distance, built for the staff and guests.

  An old man, impeccably dressed in a suit wi
th a bow tie stood at the massive doors, ready to welcome us.

  “Is that…” Tony whispered.

  It was his first visit to the Frankenstein’s lair. He had no clue what he was in for.

  “Welcome to the Frank residence.”

  The six feet tall figure stared straight ahead without an ounce of expression on his face. He bowed as Dad helped Pappa up the front stairs and I thought I heard a creaking sound.

  “How are you, Chamberlain?” Pappa growled. “All set for the annual party?”

  “The master is waiting for you,” Chamberlain droned, raising an eyebrow at the rest of us.

  “Chamberlain is the butler here,” I told Tony. “Right?” I raised an eyebrow back at the old man and followed Dad inside, pulling Tony along with me.

  “That’s correct, Miss,” Chamberlain said with devotion.

  He ushered us into a spacious foyer or hall as the Franks liked to call it. A domed ceiling hung four stories above us, lined with frescoes. An indoor waterfall graced one wall and a round carved table held a giant flower arrangement housed in expensive crystal. I wondered what had cost more, the antique table, the crystal vase, or the Oriental rug the table rested on.

  Chamberlain led us through into a living room that could easily seat twenty people. A fire roared in a big stone fireplace in one corner. Several seating arrangements were scattered across the big room. So were a wide variety of people.

  A giant Christmas tree stood against one wall, lit up with hundreds of lights and loaded with all kinds of Christmas ornaments. A pile of gift wrapped packages were scattered at the base.

  “The Patels of Swan Creek, Oklahoma,” Chamberlain announced.

  Everyone looked up and stared at us.

  A slim, brown eyed woman stood up from a sofa and patted her bun. She walked toward us and smiled in welcome.

  “Dad has been waiting for you. He will be happy you all came.”

  She tipped her head at Chamberlain and told him to escort Pappa to the study. She looked back at us and introduced herself.

  “I’m Amanda, Teddy’s wife. Welcome to Frank House.”

  We exchanged some pleasantries and I looked around, trying to guess who the other people were. I spotted Henry Robinson, a retired Pioneer Poly professor. She was deep in conversation with a pretty blond girl but she waved at me. I waved back.

  “I see you know the Robinsons,” Amanda said. “We have a few other guests. My kids should be around too.”

  A tall, attractive man had joined us while Amanda was speaking. He put a hand on her elbow, looking proprietary. I had met Teddy Junior before and he didn’t look anything like him.

  “Noah Williams,” he said, extending a hand to Dad.

  The men shook hands and Noah offered Dad a drink.

  “I see you met my wife,” another voice said.

  Teddy Junior looked puffier than the last time I had seen him. He pulled up his trousers with one hand and offered the other to Dad. I giggled at the reindeer sweater he wore over khakis. His broken nose gave him a sinister appearance.

  Teddy Junior was the old man’s only son and heir apparent to the Frank fortune. He had been steadily working at the business along with the old man and was equally responsible for any prosperity they enjoyed today.

  “Noah’s taking care of you then?” he said, looking up at the tall, attractive man.

  Two pairs of gray eyes met each other and I realized they were exactly like the Frankenstein’s.

  Amanda led me and Motee Ba toward Henry.

  Henry Robinson has this way of clapping her hands when she speaks. She brought them together in a resounding way almost before we reached her.

  “Look at this Meera, a genuine honest to God stripper. Isn’t that a hoot?”

  She guffawed and laughed until her shoulders shook. Amanda looked embarrassed.

  The blonde haired, green eyed vision stood up and stretched to her full height. She towered over my own five feet ten.

  “The term you’re looking for is exotic dancer,” the girl said in the sweetest voice I had ever heard. “But you’re right. I do strip for a living.”

  “No need to sugarcoat it,” Henry said bluntly. “We’re all adults here, right?”

  She looked at me and slapped me on the back.

  “Meera’s smarter than she looks. She’s our very own super sleuth.”

  A petite young girl looked up from another chair. She jumped up and came over, her silver gray eyes shining with excitement.

  “Are you Meera Patel? I’ve heard so much about you.”

  I mumbled something, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. All pairs of eyes in the room seemed to be directed at me. Motee Ba sighed silently.

  The pretty young girl pursed her lips and pouted.

  “I miss all the local excitement, you know, being away at college. How I wish I had been in Swan Creek.”

  “You can’t stay here all your life, Julie,” Amanda spit out. She looked at us. “Meet my daughter. She studies in Texas.”

  Julie’s face clouded and she looked down.

  “You’re right, Mother. But Grandpa says…”

  Amanda’s face turned a nice shade of red. She opened her mouth to speak but held herself back just in time. I suspect her opinion about what Julie’s grandpa said was not fit for our ears.

  “Black!” a woman next to Julie cried out. “I see black clouds hanging over your head.”

  All eyes swung away from me toward the voice that had just spoken. A majestic woman dressed in a flowing purple dress lounged on the arm of a couch. Her golden turban rested over a tall forehead and her orange eyes glittered as she peered at me.

  “There is danger in this house,” the woman spoke with force. “You have brought it here.”

  “What rubbish!” Motee Ba rose to my defense. “Who are you?”

  Amanda cleared her throat. She was looking a bit ashamed.

  “This is Madam Isadora.”

  “Isadora Queen,” the vision in purple added.

  “Madam Isadora is a psychic,” Amanda explained. “Dad invited her for the party. She is here to entertain us.”

  Amanda’s voice clearly suggested what Madam Isadora’s role was. She was supposed to tell fortunes or do whatever psychics did and entertain everyone. Accosting guests was not part of her duties.

  “The spirits don’t lie,” Isadora said, waving her hands expansively. “I sense danger in the air.”

  The bell rang just then and Amanda looked puzzled.

  “I think we’re all accounted for.”

  She looked inquiringly at Chamberlain as he walked in slowly, followed by a short old woman. Expensively dressed in designer clothes, her bright blue eyes surveyed the people in the room. Her face was mottled with brown age spots. Julie jumped up and ran toward the old woman just as Chamberlain announced the surprise guest.

  “Madam Frank.”

  Chapter 2

  Old Theodore Frank – Frankenstein – snapped his fingers and ordered Chamberlain to begin serving the meal as a clock struck seven. Just shy of five and a half feet tall, his face barely rose above the dining table. But he cut an imposing figure as he glared around the table with silvery gray eyes. Two large ears stuck out of his balding head and bones poked out of his wrinkled skin.

  An orange and brown striped tabby reposed on a high chair next to the old man. This was Chorizo, his beloved companion. He didn’t go anywhere without her. A bowl of cream was placed in front of the tabby, and she lapped at it periodically, following it up with a meow. As if anyone could forget there was a cat at the dinner table.

  Old Frankenstein was somewhere in his 80s, maybe a year or two older than my Pappa. But the similarities ended there. Pappa is tall and stocky and has plenty of meat on him. They had both started working at an early age and their devotion for hard work had brought them together.

  I picked up a goblet of wine and looked around the table. Like everything in the monster house, it was made of giant proportions. It eas
ily seated everyone present, almost twenty of us, with room to spare. I wondered if there were going to be any more surprise guests tonight.

  The arrival of Sophia Frank had set some tongues wagging. Henry Robinson brought us up to speed. She was the Frank’s wife, Teddy Junior’s mother. She had walked out on her husband several years ago and lived in a fancy senior center somewhere up north. It was all courtesy of her husband, of course. I wondered if they had actually been divorced. Julie was the only one who seemed happy with Sophia’s arrival.

  Tony dug his elbow into my side and tipped his head at the table. Tray after tray of sausages lined the center. I had heard about people endorsing their product, but this was something else. I had expected a ham at the Christmas table, maybe a turkey. A platter of hot dogs lay in front of me. There were different types of sausages placed on platters and I could easily guess where they had come from. I tried to suppress a giggle.

  “What’s the matter?” a cold voice called out from the head of the table. “Something wrong with sausage?”

  I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. I faced the old man’s piercing gaze and shook my head.

  “I love sausage, Mr. Frank,” I said earnestly. “I always get Italian Sausage on my pizza. There’s a lot here I have never tasted though.”

  “Today is your lucky day,” the old man grinned, exposing a mouthful of brand new sparkling white teeth. “You can find every kind of sausage on my table.”

  He lifted a bony finger to point at various platters.

  “There’s chorizo from Spain, kielbasa from Poland, bratwurst from Germany, andouille sausage from Cajun country. Then there’s your favorite Italian sausage…all from right here, from our own plant in Swan Creek.”

  He looked at me expectantly. Was I supposed to clap?

  “Wow!” I exclaimed, trying to muster a suitable amount of enthusiasm. “That’s a lot of sausage.”

  “We have specialties too,” the old man droned on. “There’s smoked chicken with apple wood, turkey and what not. Your grandpa can eat the chicken sausage.”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t mind a leg of lamb,” Pappa spoke up.

  “I told you!” Teddy Junior burst out. “Didn’t I tell you so?”