Chapter 3
WILLOW
“He is the fucking worst,” I rail to Josie as she samples my latest candy creation: hot cocoa and marshmallow cookies with Peppermint Pattie crumbles.
“You need to sell these,” she says, making reaching motions toward the cookies.
I put two on her plate for her.
“I mean, look at him. He’s such a weirdo.”
“Maybe he’s just bored and lonely.” Josie pets Lord Mycroft, my guinea pig.
“He could be the murderer,” I tell her flatly.
“You think?” Josie pauses and drops the cookie.
Mycroft goes for it, making piggy grunting noises.
“Do not eat that,” I scold him and direct him to the greens Hollis brings him from her garden.
Josie picks up the cookie and polishes it off.
“It seems random for him to kill Jonah. I mean, didn’t Hughes just get into town? Why kill a random therapist?”
“I don’t know. Because he has a personality disorder?”
Hughes is lurking in a corner, his fedora low over his head, the trench coat swishing around him as he surveys the townspeople in my café. Already, several people are looking at me, pointing and whispering. Taylor Grace is bad-mouthing me all over town. I know it.
“Taylor Grace is probably the one who killed Jonah,” Josie says.
“Yeah, she would do something like that just to pin it on me because she hates me and wants to ruin my life.”
I set two plates of Midnight Snow Cake—dark chocolate sponge with shimmering edible silver dust and snowflake sugar lace—and two cups of our dark roast Christmas Night coffee onto a tray.
Do I really think Taylor Grace killed Dr. Merriweather? I wonder as I head out to the seating area. I mean, I’m not sure I believe that she didn’t not kill him.
But who else can it be? Aside from Hughes. He might be too incompetent to commit murder. And if he is, the police will figure it out, surely.
“Don’t think anyone will connect it to us…”
“Orders up!”
“Oh!” The two elderly women jump.
“Talking about the murder?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Just my upcoming ugly-sweater party, Willow. You need to come help us set up. Don’t forget.”
“And you’re making your poinsettia petal cookies, aren’t you?” Mary Lou asks me.
“Of course.”
“Fabulous. This will be the best party we’ve had in years.”
“Yeah, it’s going to top the one when Graham spiked the punch and confessed he was in love with the comptroller’s wife.” Mary Lou snickers.
“My stove never did work right after he shot it up.” Gran slaps the table.
“I need to go see if the police will let me back to my stall,” I tell Josie, taking off my apron.
“I should probably go find my child.” She looks longingly at the freshly made sugarplum truffles. “Can we trade chocolate for a little help in the shop?”
“Go for it. Though Hollis can come help once she’s done with the snow-globe truffles.”
“Almost got them, just adding the finishing touch!” my employee calls.
I load up Lord Mycroft into his basket and set out into the wintry night with a broom and some cleaning supplies. The crunch of heavy boots in the snow lets me know I’m not alone.
My lips flatten. “Do you not have a job?”
“This is my—”
“No, I mean a real job.”
Hughes’s stride lengthens to catch up to me. “I’m retired.”
“Bullshit. You’re like twelve.”
“What?” He stops and grabs my arm. “I’m not twelve. I’m thirty-two.”
“You look young.”
“I was a computer programmer, and I spent a lot of time inside. Sold my company to Svensson PharmaTech for a lot of money, I might add.”
“Ohh, yeah. Now I see why Taylor Grace is obsessed with you.”
“She is not. She had a problem she wanted me to solve.”
“Aha! The problem being Dr. Merriweather. Murderer.” I jab him in the chest.
For a computer programmer, he sure is muscular. Probably a padded suit or something.
“No, you stole from her.”
“Wait, you stole from Taylor Grace and murdered her therapist?” one wide-eyed young shopper blurts.
“Yes!” Taylor Grace blows in like a winter storm. A bad one. Not a fun, cozy one that brings holiday cheer.
“I am on the case, Miss Glass,” Hughes assures her.
Taylor Grace has already boarded the North Pole Express to Crazy Town.
“The murderess is returning to the scene of the crime. Police! Police! The murderer is here!”
“We don’t even know if Dr. Merriweather was actually murdered,” Hughes lectures. “The first thing we need is a medical examiner’s report to determine—”
Taylor’s face contorts into pure hatred and rage.
“You don’t believe me?” she seethes. “You think I’m lying?
You think I’m crazy?” She advances on him like a velociraptor.
“You are supposed to be on my side. I need people around me I can trust. She”—Taylor Grace points at me—“murdered Jonah, and you better prove it. Now you come with me. Now!” she screams at him.
I almost feel sorry for Hughes as he follows her like a kicked puppy. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one of Taylor’s tantrums. Serves you right, buddy.
There’s caution tape all over my stall. I duck under as I enter. It’s a little waterlogged and a little smoky, but the fire department did a fairly good job of not blasting the interior. I’ll have to toss all the food, though.
Ugh. More money down the drain.
“Can I have a doughnut, Willow?” Officer Winston Girthman sighs and looks longingly at the display case.
“Sure. Have at it. Take as many as you want. I can’t sell them.”
Officer Girthman scarfs down an eggnog cream doughnut.
“You want a coffee with that?” I offer.
He nods, chewing.
“Did they get the body off my roof? I guess they don’t know what killed him?”
The officer swallows. “Hanging.” He pours sugar into his coffee.
“Hanging?” Several of the firemen come in. “Are you freakin’ stupid?”
Numbly, I offer them all doughnuts.
“Yeah,” Girthman defends himself. “The guy was helping decorate the tree, and he slipped and fell and—accidental hanging. That’s what I’m putting in my report.”
The firefighters howl with derisive laughter.
“It wasn’t an accident.”
“He was electrocuted on purpose.”
“That’s how he died.”
“I’m gonna get the medical examiner to look at it when he gets back in town,” the police officer counters.
They leave, still arguing.
I’m alone with the carnage. My decorations are in disarray. Everything on the back floating shelves has toppled over. The floor is soggy. I sigh, looking up at the damaged ceiling, and calculate how much money I don’t have that it will cost to repair.
Too bad the whole thing didn’t just burn down. Then at least I could have gotten a big insurance payout.
Half-heartedly, I start sweeping up, just to do something. Under one of the cases, I hear a metallic ping. Kneeling, I swish with the broom until a small gold earring rolls out from under the case.
I pick it up. Is it a clue? Surely not. But maybe.
I hurry out of the stall to give it to Officer Girthman, but he’s disappeared into the crowd of townspeople and tourists gawking at the murder Christmas tree, snapping selfies.
“Winston?” I shout, trying to peer through the crowd.
I shove my way closer to the tree.
“…have to get paid—” Gideon Cross’s voice carries.
“Why should we pay you? You started a fire in the tree, and someone died,” Mayor Loring argues.
“That wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.”
“Still, a man was electrocuted with lights you installed.”
“It’s the city’s lights.”
“Scam! This whole town is full of liars and scammers.”
“And murderers. Though he did bring out the tourists, Meg,” Ida remarks. “I see a few fine specimens here, all the way from Manhattan, who might need their Christmas packages unwrapped early.”
“I didn’t murder nobody. She murdered him!” Gideon yells, pointing at me. “Everyone knows it. She and him was fighting earlier, and she did it to get back at Taylor Grace.”
Backing away from the ugly looks of the crowd, I hurry back to the stall.
I have to solve this murder, or Christmas won’t just be ruined. It’ll be an epic disaster.