The Santon Sacrifices
On the last day of November 1891, a village in southern France is preparing for the Christmas season. Small clay figurines called santons, representing the nativity scene, go on display in the church for everyone’s enjoyment. Surrounding the Holy Family are other santons which represent the traditional tradespeople of the village. But on the first of December, one of the children notices that a santon is missing. Later that day, the man represented by that santon is found murdered.
The country guard, Bailey Dufort, is asked to find the murderer. But the next day, another santon goes missing and another man is murdered. Guard Dufort is trained only to catch poachers, and these murders go far beyond what he knows how to handle. The mayor sends for help, and a day later two officers from Aix-en-Provence arrive to help solve the crimes. But the santons keep disappearing and the murders keep happening. The villagers are terrified and the officers are faced with a harrowing task. Of the two thousand residents of the village, who among them is a killer, and why? Eventually, the clues begin to add up, but not before this quiet and quaint village experiences its worst nightmare since the French Revolution.
Available in Paperback (Kindle edition coming soon):
Published 2025 by Templar Media | 268 pages | ISBN-13: 979-8986984858
EXCERPT:
On the first day of December, the school children ran to the church to look at the crèche before school started. Farther Benoît stood on the front steps of the Baroque façade, waiting to see the smiling faces of the children. His long black robe was tied around his waist with a wide black sash with long fringe ends. A narrow white clerical collar under the black Mandarin neckline of his robe was always present. When he went out into the night or cold, he wore an outer robe over his first that had a short shoulder cape, and then his sash went on the outside to secure them both. On his head he wore a black Biretta that covered half his forehead. The stiff square hat with three rounded ridges had a small black tassel attached on top. The children loved to tug on his waist sash fringes to get his attention when they had questions, but he didn’t mind. They were God’s young gifts to the village.
It was moments like this that confirmed within him that the love of Jesus and his story would be firmly embedded in these young hearts, and the beliefs of the church would continue into their adulthood. The children shuffled forward as the priest lit the candles in front of the display, so everything in the chapel was seen bathed in a warm glow. They pointed and commented on several of the figurines.
A boy in a brown jacket spoke up. “Look at the silly grin of Lou Ravi.” Another boy pointed to the young shepherd holding the lamb. “See the young shepherd. He looks so amazed.”
Another boy with rosy cheeks responded to him. “You’d be amazed too, if the baby Jesus was not in his crib.” They all laughed at that.
Another young man with curly brown hair spoke up next. “Look at the mayor. He looks so proud of the village.”
Still another young boy spoke, wearing a green coat. “Look at Claud, the blind man. He really does look like he is staring out into nothing.”
They pointed to the figurines that represented their fathers or mothers and smiled approvingly.
Then one boy with stubby fingers cocked his head in confusion. “Father Benoît, where is the hunter? Yesterday he stood on that hillside, but now I don’t see him.”
The official website of Lita-Luise Chappell, writer on sex, magic, food, distant lands, and everyday life with articles, poetry, novels, travelogues, rituals, cookbooks, and short-stories.
