Chapter 17 Willow
WILLOW
I’m so close to nailing Taylor Grace. She murdered Jonah and tried to blame it on me, and now she’s trying to steal my man.
Wait, my man?
I look across the room to where Hughes is talking to some of our grandmothers’ friends.
Now that he’s ditched the trench coat and the fedora—and I’m on my second cup of too-strong Christmas punch—I could be convinced to admit that he is pretty hot, and I could see myself—with a few more cups of punch—sleeping with him.
Tonight.
Maybe.
But probably.
We’re only half an hour in, but the party’s hopping.
The crowd titters when a tall blond man enters the room and looks around as he takes off his coat.
Mace, Josie’s husband, maneuvers through the space. “I thought Josie was here,” he says, frowning. He sounds concerned.
“Oh! No, she said she went back home to get changed,” I tell him. “I haven’t seen her at all this afternoon.”
“You’re sure she’s not here? There’s no answer when I call her.”
I can feel Mace getting more distressed by the second.
“We’ll find her. She probably got distracted by something. You know how she is.” I give him a pained smile.
He doesn’t return it.
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
“There’s a murderer running loose around town.” Mace’s voice is dangerously flat. “I’m going to call the police, and—”
“Oh, Josie!” Gran cries, running to the door, where another pack of guests is arriving. “Isn’t that the cutest sweater? Did you see her sweater?”
Mace’s shoulders drop in relief. “Josie, where were you?”
“I got a hole in my sweater, and I had to buy some yarn to fix it, then I realized, duh, I actually don’t know how to knit, so I went to the Christmas market to find a new sweater, and I just lost track of time,” my friend rambles.
“You’re such a disaster,” Mace says affectionately.
“Ooh, are those cupcakes?” Josie perks up.
“The ones in the back have extra gummy snowmen. Help yourself. Be back in a sec,” I tell her, still feeling a little shaky.
Like anyone’s going to murder Josie. She’s Mace Svensson’s wife. No murderer is that stupid. I’m just being drunk and paranoid. I grab the bundle of coats from the couch, ferry them to one of the upstairs bedrooms, and dump them onto the bed.
“I need to put the Brie-and-prosciutto pinwheels in the oven,” I tell myself as I mentally go through the to-do list. They’re going fast. And I stare down at my hands—they’re covered in blood.
Oh God. I look around, turning my hands this way and that in the lamplight. I flick on the overhead light. Am I bleeding? Did I get stabbed? I didn’t have blood on my hands earlier, right?
I blink, hoping it’s the punch and I’m drunk, but no—blood. Not from me.
I tear through the coats on the bed. Then I find it.
I can’t tell if it’s a man’s or a woman’s coat.
It’s black, and it’s covered in blood. The murderer.
It has to be the murderer’s. They’re here at the party, and they’ve killed again.
With that much blood, it has to be on someone’s clothes, right?
I just need to survey the guests—the hundreds of guests who are in Gran’s large Victorian house, spilling out into the front yard, on the back deck, out in the back yard with the firepit.
I stand on the back deck, looking out over the crowd in the dim light. Oh, and everyone is wearing some shade of red, so yeah, it’s going to be really easy to see blood smears. I chug my punch. But I have to find the murderer.
“It’s her,” Hollis whispers to me.
I jump out of my skin. “Her who?”
Hollis looks at me like I’m crazy. “The author of all her pain. The traitor herself.”
“What?”
“Maris.” Hollis nods her chin to the elegant woman—the same one I saw at the funeral.
“Wait, that’s Maris? Taylor Grace made her sound like a troll.” I stare at her. She’s talking to Hughes’s granny. “She doesn’t seem crazy.”
“I know, right?” Hollis whispers.
“I want to go talk to her. But—” I chew my lip.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Taylor Grace would freak out.”
“She always said that Maris screwed her out of her business.”
Hollis and I stare.
“I felt so sorry for Taylor Grace,” I admit. “That’s why I covered for her so much on the Jingle Bites Café, because I didn’t want her to think I was screwing her over like Maris.”
“It really makes you question her whole narrative, doesn’t it? It’s just lies on lies on lies with Taylor Grace.” Hollis shakes her head. “She bad-mouthed Maris to everyone, made herself out as a victim.”
“Now she’s doing it to me,” I say bitterly. “I hate that I fell for it.”
“We all fell for it.”
“Oh my god, hey, girls!” Josie grabs me in a hug then hugs Hollis. “Lydia’s here somewhere,” she tells Hollis. “She was asking about you, and I was like, ‘I’m sure Hollis is here. She and Willow are such good friends.’”
“Oh, I have a present for her. I was going to give her…” Hollis heads off into the crowd.
“Sorry I’m late,” Josie says breathlessly.
“I heard the saga.”
“I’ve been so scatterbrained lately. For a second, I thought I was preggo, then nope. I feel like I’ve been bailing on you.”
“Mace was more concerned.”
She wrinkles her nose. “He thinks I’m about to get murdered.”
“We haven’t caught the murderer yet, so he’s right to be worried,” I remind her.
“We?” Josie asks pointedly.
“Er, the police?”
“Or do you mean you and Hughes?” Josie licks her lips.
My face reddens. “We’re not—that’s not—”
“Ida said she saw you two canoodling in the Christmas market.”
“We weren’t canoodling. We were looking for clues. I’m trying to solve the case,” I protest.
“Are you close?”
“Yeah.” I whisper all the clues about Taylor Grace to her as Josie helps me put out more Christmas-themed snacks.
“Damn. I mean, you did think it was her from day one,” Josie remarks as she shoves another tray of reindeer nibbles and stocking-stuffing muffins into the oven.
“Yeah, I’m trying to remain impartial, though. I mean, I can’t pin a murder on her just because I’m jealous of her kissing Hughes.”
Josie grabs me. “She what?”
I can’t stop grinning at her.
“Why are you smiling? She tried to steal your man. Well, the man I’ve picked for you.”
“He says he likes me.” I finally let it out. “I wanted to tell you, but there was no time. I think he almost kissed me in the kitchen today. He was pressed right up against me. I really must be sex starved because it was the most action I’ve gotten in a while,” I admit.
“It’s all the threats of violence that are making you horny. Don’t let him do the nasty in the garden shed. Make him spring for a hotel.”
“You can’t get a hotel during Christmastime. Besides, all the B-and-B owners gossip, and the whole town will hear about it.”
“So stake your claim.”
“He’s a catch.”
“Ooh, girl gossip!” Gran throws her arms around us. “Doris already said that you and Hughes could do your wedding at the Broughton Estate, where she works. She says she’s got an in. But I think you should get married in the gazebo.”
“Everyone gets married in the gazebo,” Josie complains.
“We haven’t even kissed yet. We can’t get married, Gran.”
“You need to get on that. I’m not getting any younger.
You want more than one kid, don’t you?” Gran swats my hip.
“I’ll be dead and in the ground if you keep waiting.
You need to lock Hughes down before someone else does.
” Gran throws the freezer open. “Shoot, are we really out of the maple bacon twists?”
“I made a ton of them, remember, Josie? We made all those a few days ago at the Jingle Bites?”
“IIII—” Josie makes a face. “Forgot to get those from the shop. That’s actually what I went to do, then the sweater thing happened. I’ll go get them now.”
“No, Mace will kill me if you wander off again. I’ll get them. brB.” I grab my keys.
Gran lives a few streets over from Main Street. Since I’m not carrying anything, it won’t be a bad walk.
For a second, I think I should invite Hughes, maybe sneak in a make-out session, but I don’t see him in the crowd as I grab my coat.
Main Street is bustling. The Jingle Bites Café is dark, though. If I had more cash flow—thanks a lot, Taylor Grace—I could have hired someone to keep it open tonight. Now I’m losing revenue. Maybe it’s better if it just fails.
Josie says Mace can get me another admin job at Svensson PharmaTech. Perhaps I just need to accept my lot in life.
Or, part of me whispers as I heave against the back door that I use to take deliveries, maybe you and Hughes could get married and have babies, and you could stay home with them.
It does sound nice to finally not have to lie awake at three in the morning, trying to figure out how to make payroll and conduct a UN-level negotiation with Taylor Grace to keep her from taking money out of the company.
I can’t quite get the door to open. Did something fall behind it? I shove at the door with all my strength and hear something slide across the floor. I squeeze in through the crack in the door and fumble for the light switch. The LED light dims then powers up.
I blink in the bright light, then I see the hand and the pool of blood.