The Christmas Magpie
Also by Mark Edwards
The Magpies Series
The Magpies
A Murder of Magpies
Last of the Magpies
The Psychopath Next Door
Other Novels
What You Wish For
Because She Loves Me
Follow You Home
The Devil’s Work
The Lucky Ones
The Retreat
In Her Shadow
Here To Stay
The House Guest
The Hollows
No Place To Run
Keep Her Secret
The Darkest Water
The Wasp Trap
With Louise Voss
Killing Cupid
Catch Your Death
All Fall Down
Forward Slash
From the Cradle
The Blissfully Dead
The Christmas Magpie
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First published 2025 001
Copyright © Mark Edwards Writing Ltd, 2025
Extract from The Wasp Trap copyright © Mark Edwards Writing Ltd, 2025
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For my sister, Claire
The first parcel was waiting on the doorstep when Noel got home from work. It was the beginning of December and a chill hung in the air, the faintest promise of snow, although Noel wasn’t quite that optimistic. He was thirty years old and had never experienced a white Christmas, but if it did happen this year it would be the almost-literal icing on the cake. Because Noel had already decided that this was going to be the best Christmas ever.
He picked the parcel up. It was the shape, size and approximate weight of a large box of chocolates, wrapped in shiny red paper with a pattern of gold holly leaves. A matching red ribbon was tied around it. He shook it gently and read the gift tag that was attached to it, handwritten in block capitals.
A little something to welcome you to the neighbourhood. Love, Secret Santa x
This was a lovely surprise, but who could be responsible? He looked up and down the street.
Nightingale Crescent, named after the famous nurse rather than the bird, was curved liked a rainbow, and Noel and Dani’s house was right in the middle. The street was part of a development that was less than a decade old, located several miles outside Telford in Shropshire, all the roads named after famous Brits: Churchill, Turing, Elizabeth Fry. The lights were on in most of the houses, although no one had put their decorations up already. They were all too afraid of upsetting Linda, the chairperson of the residents’ association, who lived with her husband at the end of the crescent.
Linda had come to greet Noel and Dani the day they’d moved in, just three weeks ago, while they were still unpacking. Linda was in her mid-fifties, with auburn hair cut into a bob, and Noel wasn’t at all surprised to learn she was the principal of a nearby selective girls’ school.
‘It’s so lovely to see a young couple move in,’ Linda had said, inviting herself in and waving away Dani’s apology that she couldn’t offer her a cup of tea because they had yet to locate the kettle. ‘There are too many old crusties like me and Alan – that’s my husband – around here. How long have you two been together, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Three years,’ Noel had replied.
‘And were you living together before this?’
Dani had answered that one. ‘Only for six months. I was renting a flat in Telford and Noel moved in after my flatmate went to live with her boyfriend.’
‘A trial run. Sensible. So this is your first Christmas living together?’
Noel reached out to squeeze Dani’s hand. ‘It is. I’ve been looking forward to it all year.’
Linda beamed. ‘How exciting. Well, we are thrilled to have you. This community is perfect for families and we simply don’t have enough.’
She had waited expectantly and Noel had been unable to resist filling the silence.
‘We’re hoping to start one soon.’
‘Oh, that’s marvellous. A future Brookes High girl, perhaps.’ She had winked at them. ‘I remember when Alan and I got married and moved in together. Our first little nest. Such a wonderful time.’ A big sigh. ‘This is such a perfect time to move in too, with Christmas just around the corner, I mean. We fully embrace the festive season here. Um . . . assuming you celebrate Christmas?’
‘How could I not,’ Noel said, ‘with a name like mine?’
She clapped her hands together, as if she’d just
seen one of her Brookes High girls do something marvellous . ‘Let me guess – born on the twenty-fifth?’
‘The twenty-fourth. If I’d been a girl my parents would have called me Eve.’
‘Love it. You’ve made a wonderful choice moving here. We’re trying to ensure this is a proper community, not just a collection of strangers who happen to live near each other. Neighbours looking out for each other. It’s a lovely part of the world too, even if—’
‘What?’ Dani had asked.
‘I feel bad saying it, especially as I fully believe in rehabilitation. It’s why I pushed for one of the streets here to be named after Elizabeth Fry.’
Noel hadn’t heard that name before moving here but, as Elizabeth Fry Way was the next street along, he’d looked her up. She had been a women’s prison reformer in the nineteenth century.
‘You’re talking about the prison?’ Linda had pursed her lips. ‘Yes. Franklin Grange. I’m sure you’re aware it’s only a few miles up the road.’
‘It’s an open prison, isn’t it?’ Dani asked. ‘Whitecollar criminals and women who are about to finish their sentences?’
‘Mostly.’ Again, Linda cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, I should let you get on. You need to find that kettle. By the way, I know it’s a few weeks away, but regarding Christmas, the whole neighbourhood has a big switch-on ceremony the first Saturday of December. We encourage everyone to decorate the exterior of their houses. Fairy lights in the trees, wreaths on the front door, that kind of thing. I can tell from looking at the pair of you that you’re the type that prefers tasteful decorations. White lights. No ghastly flashing Santas on the roof or gaudy, bright colours.’ She shuddered. ‘Alan and I have prepared a little guide, in fact. I’ll pop a copy through your letterbox.’
Noel had been taken aback. ‘Um, thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it. Again, welcome to the neighbourhood.’ A wink. ‘Have fun christening the place.’
After Linda had left, Dani had burst out laughing. ‘A guide? Telling us how to tastefully decorate our house?’
‘I don’t think it’s a bad idea. If it helps make the whole street look – what do they say on TikTok? Aesthetic.’
Dani worked as a social media manager for a marketing agency in Telford and spent most of
her workday on TikTok and Instagram. It was how they’d met: Noel worked for a company that managed several local tourist attractions, and they had hired Dani’s firm to run a campaign for them. That had been three years ago, and Noel still couldn’t believe his luck. The first time he’d seen her, he’d caught his breath. He’d never experienced instant attraction like that, and he’d spent the next few weeks trying to gather the courage to ask her on a date, convinced she would say no, and finding excuses to visit her office for meetings to discuss the project. It turned out she’d been about to ask him out herself, fed up with the tension and the teasing from her best friend at work, Zoe.
‘Also,’ Dani had continued, ‘why did you tell her we’re planning to start a family?’
‘Well, we are, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, I know, but . . . you’re such an over-sharer. Also, didn’t you think it’s slightly concerning that she seemed so keen on the idea of us having kids?’ She dropped her voice to a theatrical whisper. ‘Oh, how lovely. A baby. Our Satanic cult is always in need of fresh blood.’
‘Dani!’
‘Come on, it did seem a bit Rosemary’s Baby. If she gives me a necklace containing some dubious,
stinky herb to wear I’m putting the house on the market.’
They had laughed together, then continued their hunt for the kettle. Later, when all the weird stuff started to happen, Noel would think back to this exchange. But that night, they had got a takeaway and watched a movie on Dani’s laptop. Not a horror film, though. Love Actually. Noel had only seen it, ooh, fifty times before. And afterwards, he and Dani had made love right there on the floor of their living room, laughing together about Linda’s comment: Christening the place. They had only been in the house a few hours, but it already felt like home.
Now, Noel went inside, taking the parcel with him and setting it on the counter in the kitchen. He didn’t want to open it until Dani got home.
The house was small, a starter home with two bedrooms, although it also had a basement, and there was something a little modern about it that had initially put him off buying it. Noel preferred old places, homes with history, stories imprinted in the walls. But Dani had made it clear that she would never be able to live somewhere like that.
Old houses reminded her too much of the incident that had terrified her when she was a little girl. ‘Do you want me to have bad dreams every night?’ she had asked, when he’d suggested looking at a Victorian fixer-upper down a dark country lane.
Of course he didn’t. Her happiness trumped everything, and it was all fine because, despite being close to town, this place was surrounded by countryside. There was a playing field on the
north side of the estate and, beyond that, woods that sprawled in every direction.
It was a shame they didn’t have a dog, Noel thought. It wouldn’t be fair for them to get one, with both of them working. They did, though, have a cat, an enormous fluffy Maine Coone called Mogwai. She came padding into the kitchen now, leaping on to the kitchen counter and emitting the chirruping noise that Noel found so adorable. After allowing him to stroke her, she approached the parcel and sniffed it, recoiling instantly and jumping down to the floor, her tail puffed up.
‘I’m guessing it’s not a roast chicken, then,’ he said.
He fed her, then sat at the counter and opened his laptop. He had done a lot of his Christmas shopping already, but he kept thinking of things Dani might like. He intended to thoroughly spoil her this year – even though she kept pointing out they weren’t rolling in cash. Every penny they had saved had gone on the deposit for this place.
He had, though, unknown to Dani, squirrelled away a few hundred pounds for presents. As well as Dani’s gifts, he needed to send something to his niece and nephew, who lived with his sister in Kent. He was browsing a toy site when he heard
Dani’s car pull up outside and, shortly afterwards, her key in the front door. Mogwai ran out to greet her.
He kissed her hello and her eyes fell on the parcel on the counter.
‘What’s this?’ She picked it up and read the label. ‘Secret Santa? Oh no, is that some neighbourhood scheme we’re supposed to take part in? Did we miss a memo from Linda?’
That hadn’t crossed Noel’s mind. ‘I think it’s just a present for us. One of the neighbours being sweet. I was waiting for you to get home before opening it.’
‘Don’t you think we should wait until Christmas Day?’
‘Why? It’s a “welcome to the neighbourhood” gift. I’m going to open it now.’ He tried to take it from her, knowing she wouldn’t let him. She often accused him of being a big kid, but she loved presents as much as he did. Setting it back down on the counter, she untied the ribbon and ripped off the wrapping paper. Inside was a plain cardboard box with a lid. She lifted it to reveal the contents.
‘Mince pies.’
Noel noticed Mogwai standing in the kitchen
doorway, her back arched. She was a house cat, too daft to be allowed outside, and because she never encountered other animals he hadn’t seen her like this before. She was acting like a pet in a horror movie, when an evil spirit the humans can’t detect enters the room.
‘I don’t think Mogwai is a fan of mince pies,’ Noel said, taking one out of the box. They were clearly home-baked, the pastry thick and flaky, with a dusting of sugar on the top. ‘I, on the other hand . . .’
He bit into the pie. Immediately, his mouth filled with saliva, his taste buds yelling at him, a burning sensation filling his nose. He ran to the bin and spat everything into it, then crossed to the sink and ran his mouth under the cold tap, spitting water that still contained traces of the mincemeat and pastry.
‘What is it?’ Dani stared at him.
‘It’s hot!’ He took another mouthful of water and rinsed his mouth out. His tongue burned like he’d just eaten a Scotch bonnet chilli.
Dani split open one of the other pies. Tentatively, she sniffed it, then touched one half against her tongue. ‘Urgh, you’re not kidding.’
He must have looked so disgusted that Dani laughed.
‘Do you think this is someone’s idea of a prank?’ he asked.
‘It’s a pretty weird one if it is. I think it’s more likely that someone got their cinnamon and chilli powder mixed up.’
‘Really?’
‘Remember that time you put salt in my tea?’
‘That was because your housemate kept everything in mislabelled jars! Anyway, cinnamon and chilli powder are different colours.’
‘I know, but . . .’ She paused. ‘It was a probably a kid. Either a mistake or a prank.
‘I wish I’d videoed you biting into that pie. I could have used it in this TikTok campaign we’re running.’
‘I’m glad you find it so hilarious.’ He grabbed hold of her and pulled her close. ‘Here, give me a kiss.’
‘Urgh, get off, chilli face.’ She laughed and pulled away. ‘I’m going to take a shower.’
She left Noel in the kitchen, looking out of the window at the houses across the street. Had it really been a baking mishap? He imagined that soon someone would ask him if he’d enjoyed the mince pies and he’d have to decide whether to be honest. Er, no, it nearly burned the roof of my mouth off.
But what if it was a prank? A stupid practical joke? One of the few kids or teenagers in the neighbourhood, easing their suburban boredom. It was the kind of thing some of his old mates at uni might have done, thinking it was hilarious. But what was the point of a prank when you couldn’t see the reaction of the victim?
Yes, it probably was an honest mistake. And if it wasn’t? Well, he hoped it had been kids. Because for a fully grown adult to pull a stunt like that, you wouldn’t just have to be immature or stupid.
You’d need to have something seriously wrong with you.
It was the evening of the big Christmas lights switch-on. Saturday, 7 December, at least a week later than Noel usually put his decorations up. Linda had gone door to door a week ago to remind everyone that if they wanted to take part (and she very much hoped they would, though no pressure), they would need to put their outdoor lights up in the next few days. She had messaged the neighbourhood WhatsApp group multiple times too.
The fun kicks off at 5pm with the big Switch-On happening at 6. So exciting! Let me or Alan (hubby) know if you need any help!
There had followed an explosion of emojis: a Christmas tree, a snowman, Santa, a party hat and a star, followed by a row of houses. It amused Noel that whenever Linda mentioned Alan she had to remind everyone he was her husband, as if he was so unmemorable that she expected a flurry of replies asking who he was.
Linda and Alan were standing outside their house at the end of Nightingale Crescent now, in front of a pine tree that was so big it looked like it must have been gifted to the people of the UK by some Scandinavian royal. The tree was strung with fairy lights – white ones, of course – which were yet to be turned on, and the house and front garden were festooned with similar tasteful decorations: a lush wreath that hung on the front door, a family of prancing wire reindeer on the lawn, more lights just beneath the guttering, and a large five-pointed star on the front wall. ‘See,’ said Dani, nudging Noel and whispering in his ear. ‘A pentagram.’
All the houses on the street, and the adjoining streets on the development, were decorated in a similar fashion. In her messages, Linda had made it clear this was a holiday celebration, a chance for everyone here to help dispel the winter darkness, so, whatever your faith, it would be ‘absolutely marvellous’ if everyone joined in.
As far as Noel could make out, nobody had been brave, or foolish, enough to resist Linda’s demands – even the guy who lived directly across the street from them at number thirty-seven. Noel had seen him, a man in his early thirties, coming
and going, often heading off towards the woods, presumably for walks. Noel had said hello on their first encounter and the neighbour, who always wore a blue baseball cap, had grunted in response. Yes, even Mr Unfriendly had strung up a few lights in the bushes at the front of his house.
Noel couldn’t see him now, but everyone else appeared to be here. Linda’s immediate neighbour had set up a stall from which she and her teenage children served hot chocolate and mulled wine. A group of children had formed a choir, singing an assortment of carols and seasonal pop songs. There must have been a hundred people here, some with dogs, all of them – the people, not the dogs – wrapped up in parkas and woolly hats and scarves.
‘Nice night for it,’ said a voice behind Noel, and both he and Dani turned to find themselves looking at a man they hadn’t met before. He was around Linda and Alan’s age, with thick hair that had turned almost completely white.
‘I’m Tony,’ he said, introducing himself. ‘I live there.’ He pointed at the house next door to Linda and Alan.
They told him their names. ‘Number fourteen.’
Tony was holding a cup of mulled wine, which
he took a sip from. His eyes twinkled with mirth as he said, ‘Did Linda drop off the instructions on what and what not to do?’
Dani replied: ‘She did. Nothing that flashes. Nothing inappropriate like a Santa dropping his trousers. Absolutely no tinsel!’
‘Tinsel is the greatest threat to civilization,’ Tony said. ‘The temptation to cover my entire house with it was so great.’
‘Linda’s very nice, though,’ Noel said, feeling like he was being too negative about this woman who had been so welcoming to them.
‘Oh yes. A lovely woman. Just, I think she forgets sometimes that we’re not her students. You know, she’s best mates with the governor of the prison too. Peas in a pod, they are. But yes, very nice.’
He lifted his cup in a toast, and Noel and Dani did the same with theirs. The mulled wine was delicious, with a hint of cinnamon. No spice mixups here.
‘How long have you lived here?’ Noel asked.
‘I moved in last November.’
‘And what do you do?’
‘Local government,’ Tony said. ‘I was actually involved in getting planning permission for this