A beloved benefactor lies frozen, and everyone at the South Pole has something to hide…

Juniper Hollybright thought she’d left murder investigations behind at the North Pole. But when the South Pole headquarters needs an impartial investigator to look into the death of a supposedly universally loved yeti, Juniper finds herself on a new continent with a new mystery—and a new partner. Enter Pip, a chatty, observant penguin with a heart as big as the Arctic ice, ready to prove that friendship can bloom in the most unexpected places.

As Juniper uncovers the truth, she discovers that the yeti wasn’t the kind benefactor everyone mourned. Behind every good deed was a demand, and every helping hand came with invisible chains. Multiple people have reason to celebrate this death—but only one snapped under the weight of manipulation. Armed with her detective instincts, her trusty knitting needles, and Pip’s unwavering optimism, Juniper must find the one person who finally broke.

With suspects ranging from desperate toymakers to reluctant accomplices, a deceptive benefactor revealed, and a tight-knit community that doesn’t want to point fingers, Juniper must solve the case before the killer’s true motive stays buried under the South Pole snow. Because everyone at the South Pole is grieving someone—just not for the reasons they claim.

Perfect for fans of cozy mysteries, found family, and observant animal sidekicks who see the world exactly as it is. Frozen with a Yeti delivers shocking character revelations, the magic of unexpected friendships, and a detective duo who prove that sometimes the most dangerous secrets hide behind the kindest smiles.

Frozen with a Yeti is Book 4 in the Ho-Ho-Homicide Cozy Mysteries series. No graphic violence. Maximum penguin charm and South Pole intrigue.

FROZEN WITH A YETI
Ho-Ho-Homicide Book 4
BY R.A. MUTH

Hey reader pal,

Sometimes when I tell people that I have ADHD and social anxiety, they look at me as if I’m joking. At book signing events I am very social, as long as it’s behind the safety of my table, with my favorite pen in my hand and a thermos full of iced coffee nearby. Afterward, I usually go home and take a nap to recharge my internal batteries.

 In virtual events, sometimes I use the cat avatar filter to help manage the anxiety. Besides, who wouldn’t want to interact with a talking pet? Either way, I’m blessed to have people in my corner who understand and support me regardless of my anxiety level.

All of my characters have little quirks, but Juniper, the main character of this series, is the first one to actively display some of the traits that I experience in real life. Overthinking. Fidgeting. Mind wandering into a dozen what-ifs. Berating myself for that time in the fourth grade when… you get the idea.

Thanks for choosing this book. The story was such a joy to write, and I hope you’ll love escaping to the South Pole to help Juniper and Pip, her penguin assistant, solve a mystery.

Happy reading,
Becky aka R.A. Muth

Special note: You’re getting the first peek at the book—even before my editor! Although the published version might have a few tweaks, the core story will be the same.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

The thing about solving murders at the North Pole is that eventually people stop treating you like the elf who accidentally hot-glued her own scarf to a wooden rocking horse and start treating you like you know what you’re doing. This is unfortunate for everyone involved.

Especially me.

I was currently sitting at my workstation, trying to remember whether I’d already rinsed my paintbrush or had only thought about rinsing my paintbrush. ADHD makes memory feel less like a web browser and more like a wind chime of constant background noise. Everything’s technically still in one of the many open tabs, but good luck finding which open one is playing the music.

All around me, the toy workshop buzzed with its usual organized Christmas chaos. Conveyor belts rattled beneath strings of glowing garland while elves hurried from station to station carrying toy soldiers, stuffed bears, and enough ribbon to strangle a medium-sized moose. It might be summer now, but that didn’t mean we elves took off for the season. Providing enough gifts for Santa to deliver to good children around the globe was a year-round job.

The air smelled like fresh sawdust and peppermint varnish. Somewhere across the room, an elf was loudly arguing that the tyrannosaurus rex probably would have celebrated Christmas if they’d only survived long enough. A different elf debated that even if they had survived, their toy selection would be limited due to their tiny dinosaur arms.

Personally, I thought the bigger question was whether dinosaurs could be trusted around breakable ornaments. And would their nativity scenes have standard humans or would they be dinosaur versions?

Deciding that my brush was clean, or at least clean enough, I dipped my brush carefully into green paint and added another decorative swirl to the plaque balanced on my desk. Tiny silver stars framed the edges, and I’d already redone the lettering twice because apparently my brain had decided Figgy’s graduation gift needed to look like it belonged in a museum instead of a reindeer training barn.

Congratulations on Your Completion of the Sleigh Corps Training Program felt too formal. Way to Go, Tiny Hoof Roomie felt too laid back.

Proud of You, Antler Friend was currently winning, though every time I looked at it my chest did this weird achy thing I preferred not to examine too closely. The empty space beside my chair wasn’t helping.

Normally Figgy would have been sprawled next to my workstation, napping while I painted toys. I’d recently graduated from trains to toy soldiers, and Figgy had zero cares about how much I obsessed about getting their painted expressions just right.

Instead, he was away at Sleigh Corps summer training camp learning advanced rooftop landings and, according to the most recent update letter, showing strong leadership potential despite one unfortunate sled-related incident. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but Figgy was in that clumsy age between adolescence and adulthood. Clarification wasn’t necessary.

“Juniper Hollybright?”

The unfamiliar voice startled me badly enough that I nearly knocked over an entire jar of green paint. I caught it against my apron at the last second, which unfortunately only succeeded in smearing emerald streaks across the front of my sweater, which wasn’t even in a color that matched.

Nothing implied that I was a competent professional investigator quite like looking like I’d lost a fight with a Christmas wreath.

An elf from the Administrative Wing stood beside my workstation holding a silver envelope embossed with the Claus family seal. Unlike the rest of my workstation, this elf looked painfully organized. Her uniform was crisp, her hair perfectly braided, and not a single glitter particle had attached itself to her clothing.

Across the way, Tinsel Brightstar glanced up from assembling a toy carousel. “Oh no,” she whispered sympathetically.

“I haven’t even opened it yet,” I said.

She shook her head sadly. “You don’t get summoned with silver envelopes for good reasons.”

Although she had a point, I was not going to admit that out loud.

The administrative elf handed me the envelope with the careful expression of someone transferring custody of a glitter bomb. “Mrs. Claus requests your immediate presence.”

My stomach dropped so fast it practically needed a sled.

“Oh, that’s never encouraging,” Tinsel said.

I pursed my lips and stared at Tinsel.

The elf cleared her throat. “Mrs. Claus is waiting.”

“Yes. I’ll go right there.” I wouldn’t even take time to change my sweater. The green just made me look more festive, and not like a total klutz. I hoped, anyway.

The administration elf left without another word. I stared at the envelope in growing horror.

Around me, several nearby workers had gone suspiciously quiet. Somewhere in the back of my brain, anxiety immediately started generating increasingly catastrophic reasons for being summoned. Maybe another crime had been committed. Or Figgy had been dismissed from camp. This would be so much better if I knew why, which required opening the envelope.

Using the wooden end of a thin paintbrush as a letter opener, I tore open the top edge of the envelope. I pulled a stiff card containing a single line of text.

Mrs. Claus requests your presence immediately.

That was it. No comforting details beside the scent of cinnamon cocoa.

Tinsel slowly lowered her screwdriver. “Should we be worried?”

“Not sure about you, but I’m worried,” I admitted. “Mrs. Claus is the nicest person I’ve ever met, but that hasn’t stopped me from reaching concerning levels of panic.”

I glanced down at the plaque sitting on my desk. Proud of You, Buddy shimmered back at me, suddenly making me miss Figgy with enough force to physically hurt. Plenty of elves who fostered young reindeer survived when their charges went off to train, but Figgy was part sleuthing sidekick and part emotional support friend. How would I survive the summer without him?

I cleaned my brushes on autopilot before making my way toward the Administrative Wing, passing rows of noisy workshops and bustling wrapping stations where elves worked with terrifying levels of efficiency. Miniature toy trains rattled along decorative ceiling tracks overhead, puffing pine-scented steam into the warm air. Without Figgy trotting beside me, everything felt slightly off balance.

I pulled my current knitting project from my tote bag, a red-and-white striped scarf inspired by peppermint sticks, and added additional rows as I walked.

In the Administrative Wing, the sound of my footsteps on the polished floors replaced the sounds of the workshop. By the time I reached Mrs. Claus’s office, my imagination had fully convinced itself I was being fired for something I hadn’t even realized I’d done. This was how my brain worked. It hoped for the best but was always prepared for the worst—just in case.

Mrs. Claus’s personal secretary smiled warmly as I approached. “Juniper, there you are. Mrs. Claus is waiting for you.”

I peeked into the office before stepping inside. A warm glow that felt like opening gifts on Christmas morning enveloped me. Shelves lining the walls held things like jingle bells, snow globes, and cookbooks. Electric candles reflected against frost-covered windows.

Mrs. Claus beamed from behind an ornate wooden desk. She wore a deep burgundy sweater patterned with mischief-making reindeer. Her reading glasses perched low on her nose. Unlike Santa, who carried an aura of chaos around him like festive confetti fueled by jolly laughter, Mrs. Claus had a calmness that made people comfortable in their own skin.

How could I have forgotten how actually nice she was? This was what I was thinking as I sat in the chair across from her desk.

There was no fooling this woman, though. “Juniper, dear, why do you look nervous?”

“Historically speaking, being summoned by authority figures has never improved my day. Did, um, someone die?”

Although I hoped her bell-like laughter would fill the office, the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes deepened. “Yes, but not here. Yolo was found dead near the observation cliffs outside Snowhollow Crossing.”

“Yolo the yeti? Why would someone do that?” I asked. Everyone had heard of Yolo, the inventor of the Weather Predictalator. The sale of his invention had made him the South Pole’s first billionaire.

She shook her head sadly. “We’re not sure, but your help is needed.”

“Of course. I’m not sure how I can help from here, though.”

“You won’t be helping from here, Juniper. You’ll need to visit the South Pole.”

I took a few seconds to let her words sink into my brain. The room was completely silent. “With all due respect, Mrs. Claus, that feels like a terrible idea.”

Mrs. Claus leaned forward slightly, her expression warm but serious. “You notice details other people overlook, Juniper. Despite what you seem to believe about yourself, people trust you. Snowhollow Crossing needs someone observant and compassionate who exists outside of their local politics.”

I’d been called a lot of things, like chaotic and distractible. Mrs. Claus was possibly the first person to ever call me compassionate.

Before I could respond, Mrs. Claus opened a small drawer beside her desk and removed a simple glass snow globe with silver trees inside. “I know you miss Figgy.”

“I’m fine,” I replied automatically. My throat tightened, betraying the words even as I spoke them.

She slid the snow globe gently across the desk toward me. “Of course you are. Shake this every night before bedtime, and you’ll be able to see how Figgy’s progressing. I know it won’t be the same as seeing him in person, but it’s better than waiting for camp to finish.”

I picked up the snowglobe. Silver glitter swirled inside the glass. If I stayed here, I wouldn’t get to see Figgy until he graduated from the training program.

“You’re right,” I conceded because she was, and even if she wasn’t, nobody would dare argue with Santa’s wife. Not even Santa.

Mrs. Claus beamed. “I’m so glad you agree. Now go home and pack a bag, because you’ll need to go to the South Pole as soon as possible.”

About Author R.A. Muth…

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