Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Melissa Westemeier’s new release: A Holiday Habit
’Tis the season for Secret Santas, second chances…and murder.
When donations to the parish holiday charity fall short, Sister Bernadette needs a Christmas miracle for Eugene’s neediest families. Then a fire damages an abandoned house with deep ties to Bernie’s childhood, and Bernie sees a way to turn the wreckage into hope—with a little help from her friends at The Abbey: Senior Living.
But before Bernie can swing a sledgehammer, Detective AJ Lewis finds a body in an upstairs bedroom.
The dead man has no identification or obvious connection to the house, and it’s not clear if this is an accident, arson, or murder. Hidden in a bedroom closet, Bernie discovers a box of mysterious items, including a diary with an unsettling link to her family and past.
As Christmas closes in, Bernie must untangle a haunting family mystery, keep her well-meaning Abbey friends from taking over her charity project, and dodge AJ’s increasingly firm attempts to sideline her. But this time, Bernie is not just chasing a killer. She has something to prove.
Before Christmas, Bernie not only needs to help solve the mystery, she needs to accept that some miracles arrive disguised as a painful truth.
Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from A Holiday Habit
Chapter One
A brisk December wind turned Sister Bernadette Ohlson’s nose bright red while she dragged a spindly artificial Christmas tree through the courtyard of The Abbey: Senior Living. Gaudy displays of holiday lights flickered in her neighbor’s windows—candles, wreaths, tinsel, Chinese lanterns, and snowflakes brightened the building’s facade. Her own windows were tastefully decorated with a single shining star hung above the nativity figures lovingly arranged on the windowsill. She’d purchased the nativity while on a trip to the Holy Land years ago. As early as the fourth-century, Greek Orthodox monks had taught people in the region how to carve a variety of religious artifacts. She preferred the simple, rustic lines of her carved olive-wood nativity to Jan’s gift-shop resin nativity. Those faceless figures gave her the creeps and lacked character.
Bernie reviewed her to-do list while she hurried across the wet pavement. Over thirty years ago, she’d organized a Christmas charity at St. Aloysius to provide gifts for children living in Eugene. After a reconfiguration of parishes closed St. Aloysius’s Catholic church and school, she continued running the charity over at St. Mary Catholic Church. What originated as a small collection to buy gifts for a half-dozen needy families in Eugene’s Jefferson Westside neighborhood, had ballooned into a massive undertaking. This year, over two hundred families had been referred. The week before Thanksgiving, Bernie and a small team of volunteers from church shared the families’ requests into the wider community via the artificial Christmas trees set up in local businesses. The Caring Trees, as they were called, were decorated with paper ornaments detailing the gift requests and instructions on where to bring the donations. Since COVID, however, participation in the giving end of the operation had lagged. Falling shorter than ever before with donations, she asked Meadow Jackson, the building manager at The Abbey: Senior Living, to host a Caring Tree.
A list of tasks swirled in Bernie’s mind while she approached the heavy wooden doors of the old monastery and Catholic school where she once worked and now lived since it was converted into apartments. She needed Meadow to print out the updated spreadsheet because her current one was so marked up, it was impossible to read. She had to check the donation bins set up at various businesses, the public library, and St. Mary Catholic Church. Then she had to update the spreadsheet and plan a shopping trip to fill in the gaps, and the way things were going, the gaps were huge. Everything needed to be ready for delivery before December 22. By her most recent count, only a quarter of the children would get Christmas gifts. She’d never fallen so behind with donations, and she needed to devise a plan to spark people’s generosity.
“Bernie! You need a hand?” Leo Tanaka waved to her from across the courtyard. He carried a mesh grocery bag in one hand and his cane in the other. The former shopkeeper had moved to The Abbey after his wife died. Leo was an avid gardener, and he and Jorge Garcia were responsible for most of the raised beds of vegetables and flowers planted around The Abbey’s courtyard. Last month he sprained his ankle playing pickleball with his grandson and was still limping around.
“Can you please hold the door for me?” Bernie shouted. The tree’s metal branches snagged between the planks of a raised garden bed, and Bernie leaned over to wiggle it loose. Usually, she appreciated the landscaping now covering the former school playground, but today she felt life would be easier if she didn’t have to drag this tree around a maze of benches and planters. Adding to her frustration were the shepherd’s hooks hung with birdfeeders kept filled by Jorge and Nancy Pessig, The Abbey’s newest tenant. Scattered seeds and shells covered the ground, and Bernie knew she’d have to knock the debris out of the tree’s branches once she got it inside.
Leo braced one of the wooden doors open with his cane, and Bernie heard yelping from inside The Abbey. Shut the door! Were you born in a barn? Leo, it’s freezing out there! He grinned wider at Bernie from beneath the brim of his flat wool cap, his shiny brown eyes nearly disappearing in the wrinkled folds of his face.
“Thanks, Leo.” Bernie maneuvered the tree into its upright position. As she’d predicted, seeds and shells from the birdfeeders rained down on the wooden floor while the tree teetered unsteadily before balancing on its three metal legs. She stepped back and considered the best location for it. Meadow had decorated the lobby with red and silver garland and white twinkling lights. Shiny red ornaments and silver stars hung along the wooden staircase that led to the second-floor apartments. More garland was draped over the entrances leading to the first-floor apartments, the common area, and the dining room.
“Bernie, you can set that up right over there,” Meadow said from where she was working at her desk on the other side of the lobby. She pointed to an empty spot beside the long wooden pew nearest the entrance. “Cliff, can you find something heavy to anchor Bernie’s tree in place? I’m afraid it might get knocked over.”
Meadow had an arrangement with Cliff Warneke, the retired mechanic who lived on the main floor of The Abbey in a former third grade classroom. For a reduction in his monthly rent, Cliff handled minor repairs around the ancient building and harassed anyone Meadow hired to fix bigger problems, like the heating system or electrical work. He grunted in response and glowered at Bernie through his black-rimmed glasses. Sawdust from his latest project sprinkled his thick gray hair. Meadow had him removing the old, warped shelves in the first-floor storage closet to make room for rolling metal racks. Cliff eyed the tree with contempt. “Can’t she just pile some of those old hymnals around the base? Or put the thing in the dining area where the wind won’t blow it over?”
“Cliff. Please.” Meadow rolled her eyes and shot an apologetic grin at Bernie, showing the small dimple in her cheek. “It’s for a good cause.”
Cliff stomped down the hall, grumbling about stupid holiday traditions, the dumb fuss around Christmas, and the Trail Blazers losing in overtime last night.
“Not everyone can say they live with the O.G. Grinch.” Meadow laughed.
“O.G. like Oscar the Grouch?” Bernie wanted to know.
“No. O.G. like Original Gangster.” The easygoing young woman handled the residents’ personality quirks and their frequent complaints with a combination of charm and sarcasm. Her colorfully tattooed arms were visible below the loose sleeves of her denim shirt and silver bangle bracelets clinked across her wrists while she reached back to roll her long honey-blonde curls into a knot. After securing it with two chopsticks, Meadow joined Bernie beside the tree. “Tell me what you need, Bernie.”
Bernie’s canvas shopping bag slid from her wrist to the wooden floor with a quiet plop. “I need a minute to collect my thoughts.” She unbuttoned her coat before removing her wire-rimmed glasses, so she could wipe the fogged-up lenses clean. A warm citrusy-cinnamon aroma wafted through the air, and Bernie sniffed again. “Is that tonight’s dessert?”
Meadow laughed. “Don’t I wish! No, your friends are busy making some kind of potpourri.”
Voices drifted from the common room where The Abbey’s residents often gathered to pursue their hobbies or watch TV. Bernie could hear her best friend, Jan Kovitz, talking with Rin Sato and Elena Lopez about some cheating husband’s new mistress on Real Housewives of New Jersey. Nat Williams cut in, telling them the housewives had nothing on the women at her country club. The warbling voices of the Harrington twins singing “Silver Bells” added to the cheerful mood. Bernie caught her breath while she considered who to enlist for the next set of tasks.
“Can you please print the updated spreadsheet for me?” she asked Meadow.
“Did you send it? I just checked my emails…”
“I will in a few minutes.”
“If you’d just let me put Google docs on your phone…” Meadow began.
Bernie raised a liver-spotted hand to silence the argument she knew was coming. Yes, she knew she could be more efficient with technology. But Meadow didn’t appreciate how much faster she already worked these days. Thirty years ago, she would’ve typed out each donation list on her baby blue IBM Selectric typewriter—or written them in longhand. For a while, she even used a mimeograph machine to make copies! Now it was simply a matter of going upstairs, firing up her laptop, pulling up the file, typing in the changes, and sending the new spreadsheet to Meadow via email for her to print. Within minutes she’d be on her way downstairs to pick it up from Meadow’s workstation. Piece of cake. The task would take twenty minutes, tops.
“It’s your time, Bernie.” Meadow returned to her seat and the skein of buttercup-colored yarn she was crocheting into a blanket. “I’ll keep an eye out for your email.”
“Thank you.” Bernie started upstairs, resisting the temptation to join the fun in the common area where Jan was passing around a plate of her almond cookies. Bernie wasn’t much for doing craft projects, but the group always included her for conversation and cookies. Perhaps she could join them later.
Bernie removed her shoes at the door of her apartment, a former sixth-grade classroom. Each apartment at The Abbey had generous closet space, bathrooms with walk-in showers and safety rails, and bedrooms large enough for a queen-sized bed and a dresser or two. Her apartment faced the courtyard and huge windows provided plenty of natural light—when Oregon’s skies were clear. She hung her coat on the rack behind the door and moved to her kitchen to fill the electric kettle for a cup of tea. After switching on the kettle, she crossed the living area to a wooden desk in the far corner of the room. Its surface was covered with envelopes, receipts, and lists. Her old typewriter sat beside a laptop computer, which Bernie turned on.
She updated the spreadsheet and sent it to Meadow before treating herself to a mug of orange spice tea and a small dish of pretzels. Bernie’s gaze drifted to the newest estimate of gifts still needed. The amount was staggering—even if she cut corners. Many of the children requested such simple gifts, too. Backpacks and art supplies, stuffed animals and sweatshirts. She wished she could give each needy child lavish presents—gaming consoles and computer tablets—the sorts of presents wealthy children received at Christmas—instead of essential items like socks and blankets. Her complaint rose in her mind, a high-pitched whine which grew louder until Bernie realized the noise wasn’t coming from the voice inside her head.
The wail of sirens grew louder, and a firetruck blared its horn. Bernie stood to press her face against the window, and she could see the pulsing lights glowing above the rooftops two blocks away. That’s over on Spruce Street! Whose house? Even though she’d retired from teaching over fifteen years ago, she still knew most of the families living near The Abbey. While she kept watch, she prayed to St. Michael to protect the unknown family from physical harm.
Billows of smoke filled the room faster than he’d expected. He remained crouched on the floor while the flames snaked up the curtains and flowed across the rugs. Roaring and crackling filled his ears, the racket punctuated by the high-pitched alarms piercing the air. He could still make out the shape of his fallen partner while he struggled to his feet and coughed. Blood oozed from the wound on his forehead, and the room grew darker while the voice coming through his comm unit continued to spew out garbled nonsense.
There has to be a way out. He should’ve headed for the exit when he had a chance, but he’d been suckered in, thinking he could play the hero. Damn it! Now he was trapped in this inferno with nobody to rescue him. Only one option remained: stay low and force his way through the flames and hope he had enough strength to survive…
His phone’s ringtone interrupted his plan to escape in the game. Detective AJ Lewis answered to hear the station’s dispatcher asking him to respond to a fire on Spruce Street. His stockinged feet were on the floor and his game controller tumbled across the couch while he got the address. “I’m on my way.”
Within minutes he’d swapped out his sweatpants and DEADPOOL T-shirt for the khakis and dress shirt he’d left draped across the foot of his bed. He zipped up his winter jacket while jamming his feet into his shoes, and then he patted down his pockets to confirm he had everything he needed: keys, phone, wallet, flashlight, radio, and notepad with pen.
He was about to step out of his apartment when someone knocked on his door. AJ yanked it open to see a teenaged boy with blond hair flopping over his eyes. The kid held up a paper bag with the dinner he’d ordered from Killer Burger. “Door Dash delivery, dude,” he sang.
AJ’s stomach grumbled when the aroma of his dinner hit his nostrils, and he groaned. Thanking the kid, he set the bag on his kitchen counter.
“Aren’t you gonna eat that?” the kid asked when AJ slammed his apartment door shut and ran past him in the hall.
“Trust me, I want to,” he called back. His Fun Guy Box Lunch wouldn’t taste quite as good cold, but duty called.
While he merged into the heavy stream of traffic on River Road, AJ consulted with his partner who’d also been called to the fire. “I hope nobody’s hurt,” Taylor said, her voice coming through his phone so clear she could’ve been sitting next to him.
“Bad enough to lose your house right before the holidays,” AJ agreed.
His car’s headlights reflected against the evening fog and created an impenetrable wall. AJ pumped his brakes to slow down and checked the speedometer. He could barely make out the taillights of the car ahead of him, and he cursed under his breath while he laid on his horn. Between the fog clouding visibility and muffling sound, the other driver probably didn’t even notice him. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Taylor had pulled up behind him in a squad car.
“Maybe take a side street and hope for less traffic?” Taylor suggested as he signaled to turn.
“You read my mind.”
After several tense minutes, three fire trucks came into view in the middle of a residential neighborhood AJ recognized. He’d grown up a few blocks away and one of his best friends had lived on this block. Flashing strands of multicolored lights, white icicle lights, and projection displays of blue snowflakes decorated houses on both sides of the street except one, which was illuminated by the orange glow leaping from its windows.
He parked next to an ambulance and jumped out to help Taylor set up roadblocks to keep traffic away from the scene. She tossed him a reflective vest before reaching into the trunk of the squad car for barricades.
“I’ll take the other side!” he shouted over the noise of the sirens, engines, crackling flames, and rushing water. Firehoses shot streams of water at a two-story house and smoke billowed across the tiny front yard. Embers and sparks shot through the air and drifted into the neighbors’ yards before settling on their roofs and lawns. Two firefighters instinctively ducked when an upstairs window shattered and sent shards of glass crashing over them. AJ’s eyes watered from the smoke while he jogged to the end of the block, dodging people who’d come out to take a look.
“Get back!” he shouted at two kids gawking at an aerial truck. They were so entranced by the scene unfolding that they jumped, startled by AJ’s angry command. He couldn’t believe the heat and smoke didn’t force bystanders to keep a safer distance. After setting up the barricade across the street and confirming no one remained in harm’s way, he returned to where a group was clustered on the sidewalk, captivated by the action taking place. He studied the small crowd, aware of an arsonist’s proclivity to return to the scene and admire their handiwork. From what he could tell, everyone standing around seemed to know one another, but appearances could be deceiving. None of them seemed to notice as he used his phone to take pictures in case the fire inspection concluded the cause was suspicious. Then he edged closer to eavesdrop while he kept the perimeter intact.
“…been empty since last spring.”
“That’s right. Mrs. Oldenberg’s kids emptied it out but never put it up for sale. How old was she when she died?”
“AJ!”
He turned to see Keegan Donovan. His old classmate never wavered from his desire to be a firefighter since their class visited the fire station for a kindergarten field trip. Gray ash covered his bald head, and black soot streaked his round face. Keegan’s boots were covered in thick black muck.
“Hey, Keegan. This looks nasty.”
Keegan stomped his feet, leaving clumps of mud on the street. “We think it started near the back of the structure. It really spread fast. We barely reached the second floor when the heat forced our retreat.”
“Anyone hurt?” He hadn’t noticed anyone getting attention from the EMTs who stood off to the side near their truck. They’d stay until the firefighters finished their work.
“No. Luckily the house was empty. A neighbor noticed the smoke and called it in. Thank God they did, otherwise it could’ve spread and taken out another property, especially easy in an older neighborhood like this one, where the houses are so close together. That’s really the threat here. This one’ll be a total loss.” Keegan’s voice sounded hoarse and tired.
The men watched the battle raging on both sides of the burning house. In this neighborhood, many homes still had wood siding. Less than twenty feet separated the blaze from the neighbors.
“Lucky break, then,” AJ said. It made him sad though, to think of a house destroyed this way, even if it was empty. Someone’s family had gathered here for birthdays and holidays. Even if the owner was dead, their children and grandchildren could never drive past this place and remember those moments the same way. The walls preserving this family’s memories were destined for the nearest landfill.
As if reading his thoughts, Keegan said, “It’s a tight housing market, right? There’ll be a new house on the lot before spring.”
Excerpt. ©Melissa Westemeier. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
Giveaway: An ebook copy of A HOLIDAY HABIT + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice
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Meet the Author:
Melissa Westemeier grew up around the edge of nerd culture, but marriage and motherhood with three sons immersed her in it. She’s fluent in Marvel, DC, Dr. Who, Star Wars, Godzilla, and more thanks to their influence. Her fiction work includes rom-com and a trilogy loosely based on her experience tending bar on the Wolf River in Wisconsin. She’s thrilled to realize her childhood dream of writing murder mysteries. Her books blend her humor and appreciation for nerd culture while tackling serious themes and unpacking the puzzle of whodunnit (and how and why!). In her spare time, Melissa needs to be outside or near a window. Her passions include hiking, swimming, biking, reading, and fantasizing about her next vacation destination.
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