Gone By Christmas – J Cronshaw (1)

He hates you enough to want revenge. He has opportunity. He knows our routines, our weaknesses.” “Stop.” “He could have been planning this for months. Watching Courtney, learning her schedule—” “It’s not Michael.” Steve cuts across me before I can continue, his voice carrying a note of finality that makes my stomach twist. “How can you be so certain?”

“Because Michael’s in Spain.” “But what if he’s not? What if that’s just what he wanted everyone to think?” Steve shakes his head with violent emphasis. “He’s not involved.” I stare at him, confusion mounting. “Why are you so resistant to this theory? It explains everything. The phone, the handwriting, the photograph.” “Because I know it’s not him.” “How?” “I just know.” The answer lands hollow, evasive in exactly the way that suggests there’s more he’s not telling me. “Steve, if you know something—” “I don’t know anything.

I just know it’s not Michael.” His tone has the ring of someone trying to convince himself as much as me. Like he’s afraid to consider the possibility, not because it’s impossible but because it’s too dangerous to acknowledge. “I need to tell the police what I’ve found.” “No.” The word comes out sharp enough to make me flinch. “You can’t tell them about Michael.” “Why not?” “Because he’s not involved.” “But if there’s even a chance—” “There isn’t.” I study his face, searching for any hint of what’s driving this desperate resistance.

Fear, guilt, something else I can’t identify. All I see is a man terrified of a conversation he refuses to have. “How many enemies do you actually have, Steve?” He opens his mouth to answer. My phone buzzes on the coffee table before he can speak. I reach for it automatically, expecting another update from the police or a message from one of Courtney’s friends who might finally have information. A new message appears from an unknown number.

It shows an unfamiliar address. Then: Come alone. Steve leans over to read the message, and all the colour drains from his face. “Don’t even think about it.” “This could be Courtney.” “This could be a trap.” “I have to go.”

First edition. December 2, 2025. Copyright © 2025 J. Cronshaw. Written by J. Cronshaw. OceanofPDF.com Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Gone By Christmas 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. Claim your free copy of The Lodger Find J. Cronshaw online About the Author OceanofPDF.com For my amazing readers!

OceanofPDF.com Join my newsletter and get The Lodger—a twisted tale of obsession and betrayal—absolutely free. Plus, you’ll be the first to know about new releases, exclusive content, and the dark secrets I uncover in my next psychological thriller. Sign up at: jcronshaw.com/thelodger Because the most dangerous enemies are the ones who smile while they destroy you. OceanofPDF.com 1. Lancaster Christmas Market glows against the December cold, fairy lights strung between wooden stalls that smell of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts.

I edge the car through streets clogged with shoppers bundled in scarves and woolly hats, their breath steaming in the freezing air. Courtney hums beside me—the alto line from tonight’s performance, something classical I don’t recognise. Her fingers tap the rhythm against her knee, and I catch the familiar tangle of pride and worry that comes with watching your fifteen-year-old prepare to sing solo in front of strangers.

“You’ve got your phone?” She rolls her eyes without stopping the humming. “Yes, Mum.” “And your gloves?” She pulls one blue mitten from her coat pocket and waves it at me like evidence. “See? Not completely hopeless.” I pull into the drop-off zone beside the market entrance, where the choir coordinator stands with a clipboard tucked under one arm. Mrs Galloway waves us over, her smile bright enough to power the Christmas lights.

Courtney climbs out, cheeks flushed with excitement and nerves. The cold hits us both like a slap, and I get out to hug her even though she pretends to hate the fuss. “I’ll be home by nine,” she says into my shoulder. “We finish at half eight, then Mrs G needs to do the register.” “Stick with the group when you’re walking back to the car park. Don’t wander off.” She pulls away and gives me the tired smile of a teenager who’s heard this twenty times.

“I know, Mum. It’s Lancaster, not Gaza.” I watch her join the line of blue-scarfed singers gathering beneath the bandstand lights.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: b12523448aa18008
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 750,406 bytes (0.716 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 116
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 141.79 minutes
• Total Words: 28,358
• Total Characters: 166,670
• Average Words per Page: 244.47
• Average Characters per Page: 1436.81

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