Chapter 7 Willow
WILLOW
Itext Josie after I drop Gran off at her house with instructions to please take a shower.
Willow: Hey wanted to see if you wanted to hang out and talk through this murder investigation?
Willow: Can’t believe I’m writing those words.
Willow: This year has truly been the worst.
Josie: I’m busy with the kids but I’ll stop by your stall a little later ok?
Josie: I promise we’ll hang later! Save me some of those cookies!
I blink back tears.
It’s just the cold wind. I mulishly wipe at them with a gloved hand.
On the cold, snowy street, I feel about as lonely as I ever have.
That was how Taylor Grace got me. Josie and I used to be best friends—we still are—but she got a handsome, rich boyfriend, then got married, then had a baby, and I barely texted her anymore, let alone saw her.
Taylor Grace had been on the periphery of my social circle for years.
She seemed fun and cool, and when Josie had less and less time for me, I started hanging out with Taylor Grace.
It was like we were kindred spirits. Friendship soulmates. We liked the same music and loved baking and the town of Harrogate.
In hindsight, she was just toxic and pretending to be my friend. I ignored all the little criticisms, the digs about my weight, about my family.
She would always tell me to stop texting Josie so much, to stop asking her to hang out, that I was annoying her, that I was bothering her. Then she would hug me and say, “But don’t worry, we’re best friends.”
As if.
I never should have gone into business with her. We didn’t have a formal contract, so I thought I was protected. But Taylor Grace is bad-mouthing me around town, saying I stole her business.
Too bad she wasn’t the one who died.
“Now that’s an awful thing to think,” I scold myself as I head back into the Christmas market.
People are staring at me.
“What the—”
“You’re the murderer!” several tween girls scream dramatically and run away.
A couple of the maintenance staff from the city give me odd looks.
“What?” I snap at one of them.
“Is that you on the poster?” he blurts.
“The—” I whirl around.
On a stall, a flyer is tacked up.
WANTED: MURDERER!
Do NOT patronize the Jingle Bites Café, or you are supporting a MURDERER!!!!
“Is there really a warrant out for your arrest?”
“Is this reward real?”
I tear down the poster.
“No. It’s not.”
Taylor fucking Grace.
I need to find the killer stat. But I don’t have any clues. The police are useless. Well, actually… I do have one clue. The earring is where I left it at the bottom of the cash drawer. I pocket it as several people approach the stall.
“Do you have cookies left?” one tourist asks. “The ones from Instagram?”
I hate Christmas.
“Of course!” I am really digging deep to sound cheery.
“I need two of them. The prettiest ones.”
Hollis shows up as the girls film themselves holding up the cookies, photographing the cookies in front of the tree, taking a single bite of each cookie, and making orgasm noises.
“I raised the prices on the cookies,” Hollis whispers to me and winks. “Christmas surcharge.”
“Oh! I couldn’t figure out if something was wrong with the system!”
“We need to fix that roof, right?” Hollis grins.
The tourists chuck the cookies, each of which has a single bite taken out of it, into the trash can.
I want to scream then keel over in the snow and not wake up until after Valentine’s Day.
Hollis must have seen something on my face because she whispers, “Why don’t you take a breather? I’ll deal with things here.”
I try to emotionally reregulate as I meander through the stalls. The jewelry stalls tend to cluster near the historic city hall building. I head slowly in that direction, taking a few moments to stop and survey the Christmas stalls.
Two men on horseback—the Christmas market security—are parked right outside one of the stalls. A horse snorts and turns his head toward me.
“On behalf of the Christmas market committee, we are issuing a citation,” one of the men states.
“You’re what?” the stall owner complains. “I have a right to sell my products!”
“You can’t sell candles. You’ve only been permitted to sell fine jewelry and some jewelry-inspired ornaments, Ruby. The Christmas committee doesn’t want the market flooded with people selling candles. We need variety in the Christmas market.”
“I could sell candles last year,” Ruby complains as one of the Christmas cops hands her a box and she starts packing away the candles. “As long as it’s Christmas themed, we’re allowed to sell it. Those were the rules last year.”
“We’re tightening things up.”
“It’s because of Jonah, isn’t it?” Ruby demands.
“RIP, but the mayor agrees with him on this.”
Hmm. Another suspect?
Seems no one except Taylor Grace liked Jonah.
I duck into a random jewelry stall nearby and almost crash into—
Yup.
Hughes.
His dark eyes narrow when he sees me. “I thought you were working.”
“Shopping for your girlfriend?” I counter.
“You have a girlfriend?” the woman behind the counter squeals. “Oh, Mary Lou will be so excited. Is this her?” She points at me. “You’re dating Willow?”
“Barf. God, no.” I make a face.
“Aw, you’d make a cute couple.” She giggles. “And Willow is a minor town celebrity.”
“Thanks to the murder?” Hughes raises an eyebrow.
I kick him.
“Oh!” The jeweler giggles. “You two are so cute. Willow’s going to win the town baking competition. You should have won last year, dear. Those chocolate-covered marshmallow caramel bites were divine. That sprinkle of sea salt. Better than sex. You should give him one.”
Hughes looks down at me.
“And make him wear a coat,” she adds.
Hughes follows me out. “You’re investigating, aren’t you?”
It’s not lost on me how he pulls the thin trench coat around him. “Guess women aren’t the only ones who sacrifice comfort for fashion.”
“I’m not cold,” he says stubbornly as he follows me deeper into the market. “What are you investigating? Did you find another clue?”
“And you’re buying things for Taylor Grace, aren’t you?”
“No. For my mom.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Men are liars.”
“Wow.”
I should tell him to fuck off, but I don’t really have the patience to deal with tourists, and between Taylor Grace being a malevolent Christmas spirit and Josie being busy, well, it is nice to have someone to talk to. Argue with, I mean.
“Okay, fine.” I pull out the earring. “I found this in my stall after Dr. Merriweather, you know, ate his last Christmas cookie.”
He picks it up off my palm, inspecting the earring.
“How do you know it was there from the murderer?”
“I don’t,” I admit. “But if you have better clues to follow up on, I’m all ears.”
“No. The police haven’t been much help.”
“Shocker.”
He follows me into a stall that sells higher-end Christmas-themed gold jewelry.
“Looking for something special?” the middle-aged woman asks from behind the counter.
“Maybe—” I pull out the earring. “Do you sell anything that looks like this?”
“Hmmm.” She inspects it.
“This looks like a design I sold a ton of a couple of years ago. I’m off this design, though. You always have to have new things at the Christmas market.”
“Shoot. I guess you don’t remember who bought them?”
She gives me a weird look.
“My fiancée likes them so much,” Hughes jumps in, “that we are thinking about giving them as bridal party favors.” His arm slides around my waist.
I smile like I’m part of a happy couple.
“But I warned her that we need to check and make sure the girls don’t already have duplicates. And it’s not like she can just snoop in their houses, especially because a lot of them live out of town.”
“Oh!” The woman brightens. “I love a wedding! What a fun gift. Let me pull my records.”
Hughes winks at me.
She hums along to the jazzy tune of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” coming from the speakers.
“This system is so hard to work.” She sighs, peering through her glasses at the iPad.
“May I?”
“He’s a computer wiz,” I tell her. “He sold his company to Svensson PharmaTech for big bucks.”
“Oh! And now you’re making him pay you back for a nice wedding after he worked all those long hours away from home, aren’t you?” She winks.
“He’s definitely going to pay, all right.” I grind my teeth.
“Got the list.” Hughes hits a button, and the list prints on the receipt paper.
“Well, aren’t you clever?” She claps her hands.
“Not clever enough to wear a warm coat,” I mutter.
“Well, I think you look very handsome.” The jeweler smooths down the lapels.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He tips his fedora and everything.
“Seriously?” I hiss at him when we’re out of sight of the stall. “Your fiancée?”
“Hey, who got you that list?”
“I could have gotten it.”
“No, you couldn’t.” A smile plays around his soft, dumb mouth. “You needed a man to get that information for you. She wasn’t going to hand it over. You don’t look trustworthy.”
“I’m trustworthy!”
He points at one of Taylor Grace’s signs.
I tear it down and stuff it into an elf-shaped trash can.
It shrieks, “Merry Christmas!” at me.
“So, should I throw out the list…?” He waves it in my direction.
“No!” I snatch it from him.
He peers over my shoulder.
I expect him to smell like stale coffee and cigarettes for some reason, but instead, he smells crisp and fresh, like walking through an abandoned Christmas tree farm on a winter afternoon.
“I don’t see anyone I recognize on our suspect list.”
“I don’t know most of these people. Gran probably will.” I pocket the list and turn, but he’s right there. I look up at him. “You can go now.”
He stares down at me. “You can’t kick me out when the investigation’s getting good.”
“It’s not getting anywhere. I have to go buy some stuff for Gran’s party.”
“I’ll come too. I can help you carry it. I have to go back to Juniper Avenue in a little bit anyway. Nana’s expecting a delivery.”
I’m not taking him up on that offer, right? I grab the lapels of his trench coat. “Hopefully, you’ll get a real coat while you’re there. The temperature is supposed to drop.”
He briefly wraps his arms around me. “Or maybe I can just keep you to warm me up.”