Betty Fletcher has survived thirty years in MI6, a rogue hitman in a blizzard, and Sybil Higgins’s opinions about scone technique.

Surely she can handle Christmas.

The Flour & Flower bakery is buried in mince pie orders. Major has been fitted with reindeer antlers he didn’t request. And Bramblewick is wrapped in fairy lights, mulled wine, and more festive cheer than one retired spy can reasonably endure.

Then the 400-year-old baby Jesus vanishes from St. Mary’s nativity scene.

No forced entry. No witnesses. Just an empty manger—swiftly occupied by Churchill the swan, who has no intention of giving it back.

The village blames the Moreton-in-Marsh Historical Society. Sybil is writing strongly worded letters. Constable Puddifoot is dusting for fingerprints. And Betty—who only wanted a quiet Christmas—finds herself chasing clues delivered by a postman who doesn’t know he’s an informant, battling a swan who fights dirtier than the Stasi, and facing the most terrifying challenge of her career:

A solo in the village Christmas concert.

The truth, when it comes, is smaller than a crime and bigger than a theft. And it might just teach Betty Fletcher something she never learned in the Service—how to let people in at Christmas.

No murders. No violence. Just a retired spy, a grumpy German Shepherd in antlers, and a village that won’t leave her alone.

Perfect with a mince pie and a cup of tea.