Chapter 9 Willow
WILLOW
Iwish Josie were here. I want to talk to someone about whatever the hell that was.
The bag in my arms is heavy.
I wish I’d let Hughes take it home for me. The way the muscles under that stupid trench coat bulged. Who knew he was that buff underneath that dumb private eye costume?
My stall is dark. There’s a Be Right Back! sign on the rope crossing the entrance.
I blow out a breath and stand there, trying to decide if I want to set the bag down in the snow so I can undo the rope or if I want to walk five steps to set the bag on a nearby bench.
There’s rustling in the stall.
“What the…?”
A dark figure ducks under the rope and rushes past me, almost knocking the bag out of my arms.
“Hey!” I yell after the figure. “Hey!”
I dump the bag on the bench next to a confused tourist. “Did you see who was in my stall?”
“No.” She goes back to looking at pictures of cats in elf outfits on her phone.
“What the hell?”
I flip on the lights in the stall.
“Hollis?” I call.
I check my phone. There’s a missed call and a text message from Hollis.
Hollis: I have to step away for a minute, back to the cafe! Apparently, Rose left to go see her boyfriend. *grimace emoji* Left a sign up on the stall.
“Maybe that was her,” I wonder as I retrieve the spiced wine mix.
At least I don’t see anything missing from the stall. But I don’t believe that was Hollis—there’s no way she would run past me like that without saying hello.
I hear something jostle behind me.
Is it the intruder?
“Josie!”
“Hi!” My friend hugs me. “Finally got away from the kids. Oh! Are those the peanut butter truffles?”
“Sure, you can have one.” I roll my eyes but can’t help grinning at my friend.
“Is this the wine mix for the party? You can’t let me drink too much,” Josie warns.
“You’re coming still?”
“Yeah, duh,” she says around the gooey truffle. “I never miss your granny’s party. I already told Mace he has to watch the baby.”
“Mace can come, too, if he wants,” I tell her, trying not to be the possessive friend. I can hear Taylor Grace in my head.
“He’s not a big party person anyway. Though maybe I’ll get him to come out. Whoo! Par-tay! It’s going to be epic. I’ll come early to help set up, and also you have to tell me which ugly sweater you think is best. I have one that says, ‘I’m a ho ho ho,’ but maybe that’s more trashy than ugly.”
She chatters as I fill orders for people, carefully wrapping up gift boxes of truffles.
“Speaking of trashy, any progress on the murder?” She looks excited.
“Not much.” I fill her in on the earring, the phone, and Lenore.
“That’s progress,” she says. “Baby steps.”
“I don’t have time to make baby steps.” I show her one of Taylor Grace’s flyers. “She’s trying to ruin me. She wants to steal the business, and she’s trying to get me arrested. She’s batshit insane!”
“We need to find that phone. The murderer clearly took it.” I glance around. “I don’t even know where to start looking.”
“The scene of the crime. No, I mean the scene of the crime.” She makes porno-music noises and gyrates her hips.
“Oh, barf, gross, blech.”
“We need to sneak into Dr. Merriweather’s office. The police must have missed some clues there.”
“Yeah, just let me see if I can get Hollis back over here to—Rose! Hey!” I wave.
“Hollis sent me over to help.” The teenager touches up her lip gloss. “You really should hire another person.”
“Yeah, if Taylor Grace hadn’t burned through our financial reserves chasing stupid product ideas, I might be able to. Thanks, Rose.”
She’s bouncing up and down.
“If you want your boyfriend here, then he needs to help.”
Josie links arms with me, skipping along next to me through the Christmas market.
“I also told Mace I’m going to be out tomorrow afternoon and to make arrangements. I need to make sure I can fit in my little black dress.”
“You’re going out?”
“To the funeral.”
“The what? We can’t go to the funeral.”
“We need to look for clues. I’m addicted to your candy. I can’t have Taylor Grace shutting you down because she’s jealous and crazy. I’m a sugar addict.”
“Okay, soooo…”
We stare up at Dr. Merriweather’s office in the middle of the block on Fourth Street. The sounds of the Christmas market are a dull murmur.
Josie grins. “Let’s do a little breaking and entering.”
“Oh my god, we’re going to get arrested.” I tug half-heartedly at the door with Dr. Merriweather Psychiatry etched on it in faded gold lettering. “It’s locked. Too bad.”
“You give up too easily.”
“What are we, breaking the glass? We need a key, or—” I look up at the window above me. “A monkey?”
“Nope, we’re going through the window. And right on schedule.”
She beams at three little blond boys, who toddle up, trailed by a surly teenager, nose buried in his phone. He grunts in greeting. The triplets dance around Josie as she claps her hands.
“Hellooo! Hello! Hi!”
“Hi!” they squeal. Then they turn to me. “Hi!” They surround me, hugging my legs.
My heart melts.
Part of me wished I could have kids like Josie. But I don’t have a steady job or a business. I live in the shed in the back of my granny’s house, and I’m surrounded by crazy people. So…
I really need Santa to bring me debt relief, not a baby for Christmas.
“Can you boys get up there?” Josie points at the window.
“Yeah.” They nod. “Yeah, yeah, we got it.”
I frown then look at the teenage brother. “Hey, Calvin, is this normal?”
He shrugs. “Crawford just took the triplets to Boston with him to break into someone’s house, so I guess Josie can do it too.”
The triplets have already shucked their shoes and socks and are scampering up the drainpipe to the window.
“That’s it, there you go! Yep, crowbar that up. Whoo, they’re in!”
In half a second, the boys have scampered down the stairs. One jumped on the other’s shoulders so he could flip the dead bolts.
“And we’re in!” Josie whoops. “Nice!” They slap her a high five.
I hold out my hand for a high five as well.
“There better be money in that fist bump, lady.”
“Oh, you!” Josie pokes one boy in his round little belly.
He giggles.
“Here.” She hands them several twenties.
The teen perks up.
“Stole it from Mace’s wallet. Shhh. Go nuts, but don’t spend it all in one place.” She puts a finger against her lips. “I love being a detective! Maybe I should get a fun hat like your handsome private eye.” Josie winks.
“He’s not handsome.”
“Mm-hm, those arms, and I bet he has a nice butt under that trench coat. You should unwrap him like a present and find out.”
I creep up the stairs behind Josie. She’s walking like she owns the place—which I guess she does.
If we get arrested, her husband’s brother is married to the mayor, and his other brother regularly sends bribes to the police.
Not to mention her husband owns the factory that basically keeps this town running.
Me? My gran is a regular in the drunk tank, so maybe I’m not too bad off. But still. I can’t afford to be away from Jingle Bites, not when we’re so understaffed.
Josie and I walk into the musty office. It’s like stepping back in time to the seventies.
“Guess Jonah never updated after his dad retired.” Josie looks around at the wood paneling on the walls.
Dust motes float through the chilly air. On one shelf sits a photo of a man with a miniature train. Next to the photo is a bare patch of empty shelf, like something’s been moved.
“Jonah’s late father.” I snap a few photos. Then I thumb through the lawbooks, trying to see if he has anything hidden in them.
Josie opens desk drawers and rifles through papers.
“Anything?”
“Take a look at this,” she says.
We sit on the couch.
“Divorce papers.”
“Was he filing?”
“Yep. Cites irreconcilable differences, dead bedroom, claims Lenore disrespected him. I don’t think he filed these.” She shows me the Post-it. “I think his lawyer told him that it’s probably not a good idea to air all your dirty laundry in court like that.”
“So she didn’t know. If she knew, then I’d say that’s motive.”
“She could have found the papers or seen something on his phone, or he could have verbally told her, so his wife killed him. Then, instead of everything fifty-fifty, she would get it all.”
I sit back on the couch, rubbing my face. “We don’t have anything concrete.”
“Don’t speak too soon.” Josie reaches next to my arm and digs out a scrap of pink fabric wedged between the couch seat cushions.
We stare at the panties.
“I think these are too small for Lenore.”
“The perfect size for Taylor Grace.” I poke them with a pen. “How did the police miss these?”
“Full of nepo hires. Apparently, the Svenssons like it that way because they don’t want smart cops looking into their business.” Josie shrugs.
The front door slams. Then a current of cold air flows up the stairs.
We freeze.
Heavy male footsteps ascend the old wooden steps.
We look around wildly. Where are we going to hide?