Chapter 2
HUGHES
The snow is falling like powdered sugar over a city that hasn’t been sweet in years.
Christmas lights blink down crooked alleys, but they can’t outshine the shadows.
That’s where I come in. Name’s Hughes. Hughes Whitaker.
Private eye. While the rest of the world is stringing tinsel and kissing under mistletoe, I’m chasing down a case colder than a reindeer’s nose.
And let me tell ya—nothing good ever hides in a stocking that big…
“Hughes, you talking to yourself again? I swear.” My nana swats my arm.
She gets jostled by the townspeople who are eager to catch a glimpse of the crime scene.
“You’re a good-looking kid. You need to stop all that PI nonsense and find a nice girl. No woman wants a man who plays dress-up. Early retirement isn’t mentally healthy for someone your age.”
“I’m not—this is a real private investigation firm. I’m living my childhood dream, Nana.” I set down my notepad. “This is my first real case!”
“I thought that gal with the crazy eyes was your first case.”
“My damsel in distress.”
Nana just raises her eyebrows.
“Now, Hughes, you need a warmer coat. That thin trench coat’s not going to cut it. Why don’t you wear that puffer jacket I bought you for your birthday?”
“That’s not what PIs wear, Nana. And I’m working here. This murder is probably part of the Taylor Grace case. It’s all connected.”
The damsel herself is draped artfully over the body of her beloved therapist, sobbing. A young pregnant woman—Lydia, I see in my notes—takes Glass, her sister, and leads her away as she screams—wails, really.
“Willow killed him!” Taylor Grace sobs as the paramedics load Dr. Merriweather into a body bag then onto a stretcher.
“You’d think they were married the way, that girl is carrying on,” my grandmother mutters.
“Mary Lou! Mary Lou, yoo-hoo!” Nana’s elderly neighbor, Beryl, huffs up. “Did you see the body?”
Willow, the woman my damsel in distress has hired me to investigate, is grumpy in her layers of clothes. “Of all the horrible luck. Fuck Christmas.”
“At least your stall didn’t burn up.” Josie pats Willow’s arm.
“It’s waterlogged!” She glares at me when she sees me staring.
“Oh! I see you two know each other.” Nana beams.
“This is Hughes,” Beryl tells Willow. “He’s just moved back to town. From England.”
“You don’t sound like you’re from England.”
“I was just getting some experience. Walking the same streets as Sherlock Holmes.”
“You were supposed to come back with some sexual experience.” Nana wags her finger at me. “Are you still a virgin?”
“Nana!” I hiss, face hot.
“Not if Taylor Grace has anything to do with it,” Willow snorts.
“Isn’t this an exciting start to the holiday season? You got here just in time. Didn’t he, Willow?” Beryl giggled.
“And here we thought Santa forgot all about us.” Nana claps a hand over her mouth.
The two old women are almost giddy. Small towns are weird like that. I’d forgotten what it was like, being a tech worker chained to my desk in Silicon Valley. Now, I’m home. The city needs me.
“Ow!”
Nana swats me. “I said, we’re going to the Jingle Bites Café to celebrate, Hughes.”
“To pour one out for the deceased,” Beryl interrupts.
“Did you know him?”
“Nooo, of course not.”
The elderly women snort with laughter behind their hands.
“But it’s good to drink to the dead.”
“You all will take any excuse to drink.” Willow’s bubbly red-haired friend smiles.
Willow crosses her arms.
“Why don’t you come with us? Willow owns the café,” the redhead offers.
“That ownership is in question,” I remind them. “Taylor Grace—”
“I don’t give a shit what she says,” Willow snaps. “And I don’t want you in my café anyway.”
“Of course she does. She loves men in her café. She’ll take them any which way.” Beryl grabs my arm.
I don’t want to go sit in a café like a pampered pooch. But I need to mine Willow for clues. She’s technically the person who found the body.
“There you are!”
Taylor Grace, sobbing, makeup running, stumbles through the crowd, her sister in tow. Lydia has an odd expression on her face. I can’t study it, though, because Taylor Grace has thrown herself into my arms.
“My damsel in distress,” I murmur.
Willow makes retching noises as Taylor Grace snuggles against my chest.
“You’re my favorite person. You’re the only one who’s on my side, who’s on my team.
We understand each other, don’t we?” She blinks up at me with those striking blue eyes.
“You have to promise me. You have to promise me you’ll find who murdered Dr. Merriweather.
I know Willow killed him.” She grabs my jaw. “Prove it to the world.”
Then she collapses dramatically in the snow.
“Oh!”
Lydia sighs. “Just leave her.”
Her daughter comes over. “Aunt Taylor?”
“It’s Aunt Taylor Grace!” my client screams at the little girl.
Lydia grinds her teeth. “Come on. You can—” She sighs again. “Stay at my house tonight, Taylor Grace.”
I can’t stay and help her. I left my smelling salts at home anyway. My prime suspect is walking away down Main Street. I trail Willow and Josie, listening in on their conversation.
“…think he had to have had enemies, right? Who would want Dr. Merriweather dead?”
“Besides me,” Willow mutters.
“I mean, let’s be fair. Anyone who gets too close to Taylor Grace gets fucked one way or the other. I should know—hey! Are you eavesdropping?”
“Hoping to overhear a confession.”
“Weirdo.”
“I think he’s cute.” Josie giggles.
I flip to a new page in my notepad. “Where were you in the hours before the murder?”
“In the Christmas market. Wait, you’re not the cops. I don’t have to talk to you.” Willow sniffs.
“Worried you’ll say the wrong thing and the jig will be up?”
Willow stops short. I almost run into her. She turns on me.
“Are you seriously accusing me of murdering—”
“She was with me all afternoon,” Josie interrupts.
“All afternoon?” I press.
“Well…”
“Josie, stop talking.”
I scribble on my pad.
“How do we know you didn’t kill Dr. Merriweather?” Willow demands.
“What? I’m the PI,” I remind her. “The private eye is never the murderer. That’s not how these things go.”
“Yeah, but the jealous lover is.”
“The jealous—you think I’m sleeping with my client? That I don’t have professional integrity?”
“A private eye is not a profession. Taylor Grace was all over you. You two are sleeping together,” Willow says flatly.
“Is she even paying you?” Josie asks.
“I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Be prepared to get taken advantage of.”
“Sounds like someone’s jealous. Could be a motive.” I make a note. “Taylor Grace did say you were obsessed with her.”
Willow looks hurt.
“I know you killed Dr. Merriweather,” I tell her, “and I’m going to prove it.”