Chapter 18 Hughes
HUGHES
“Whoo! The strippers are here!”
Several elderly women whoop when the police walk into the living room.
The party is crazy. The Christmas punch is flowing. And Willow has disappeared.
Bobby tries to yell something over the thumping remixes of Christmas carols.
“What?” I yell at him.
Bobby yells something unintelligible.
“What? There’s been a what?”
Someone pulls the plug to the music right as Bobby screams at the top of his lungs, “There’s been a murder at the Jingle Bites Café! Taylor Grace is dead!”
The partygoers let out drunken gasps, then it’s a free-for-all as people yell for their coats and stream out into the night, heading into town.
“A murder? Who murdered her?” I demand.
“We have the suspect in custody.” Bobby sounds out of breath as we head to the café.
“It’s probably the same person who murdered Jonah,” Josie says, hurrying up next to me.
Mace Svensson runs after her with her coat, yelling, “Stay away from that crime scene, Josie, please!”
“Oh, go drink some hand sanitizer—you’ll be fine!” she calls to her husband.
“Where is Willow?” I search the crowd. “She’s going to want to see who the murderer is. Has anyone seen where she went?”
Bobby looks grim. “She’ll be difficult to find, because the person we have in custody is Willow.”
“What?” I stop short. “Willow didn’t kill Taylor Grace.”
“She was shot dead in Willow’s café. The evidence begs to differ,” Bobby tells me.
I shove my way through the crowd of people peering in through the windows of the Jingle Bites Café as, inside, the police conduct their investigation. An ambulance pulls up, and the EMTs start unpacking the stretcher.
Willow sits on one of the café seats, head in her hands.
Winston Girthman points at her. “Caught the murderer. It’s always who you least expect.”
“Willow didn’t murder Taylor Grace—she’s been at the Christmas party this whole time,” I argue.
“The whole time? Because several people”—Bobby gestures to the crowd outside—“said they saw her leave twenty minutes ago.”
“So she leaves the party, lures Taylor Grace here, and kills her? Then what? Calls the police? Doesn’t go back to the party, doesn’t just leave the body here and pretend to discover it in the morning?” I argue. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Don’t talk to the cops!” Willow’s grandmother rails, swatting at the police as she bursts into the café. “They don’t want to do their jobs, so they go after my granddaughter. She’s about to get married and have a baby—she’s not out here murdering anyone!”
“You’re getting married?” Nana exclaims, hugging me. “Oh, this is a wonderful Christmas!”
“If you’d caught the murderer earlier, then Taylor Grace would still be alive,” I argue with Bobby.
“This isn’t our fault!” the police argue with Nana.
I look around at the crowd gathered outside the café. The murderer has to be among them. I just don’t believe that Willow killed Taylor Grace.
“You don’t even have the murder weapon!” Nana shouts at Bobby, batting him with her handbag. “I’m this close to having great-grandbabies—you’re not going to lock Willow up while her uterus is still functional.”
I survey the crowd. Most people are a mix of shocked and horrified.
One elegant-looking woman has her arms wrapped around herself.
There’s a weird red patch on the white of her sweater under her arm, but I don’t dwell on it because two people here look neither shocked nor upset.
Lydia is arguing with her husband, Travis.
Neither of them seems at all concerned that Taylor Grace is dead, I notice.
Hollis appears, tears streaming down her face as she wraps an arm around Lylia.
I open the door to gesture them inside.
“Is the body still in there?” Hollis asks, voice trembling. “I don’t know if Lydia needs to see this. Lydia’s in shock, aren’t you?”
“Oh, bring her inside, poor thing,” Beryl tuts.
“She’s pregnant! You’re stressing out a pregnant woman!” Nana snaps at Bobby.
“I’ll go get you some water,” I tell Lydia as her husband helps her into a seat.
The police look longingly at the stacks of pastries for tomorrow.
“Willow won’t mind if you have one,” I tell them.
While they’re distracted, making their choices, I survey the crime scene. There’s a smear of blood on the floor where Willow shoved the door open. Taylor Grace looks like she was killed right before Willow arrived—shot by a small-caliber weapon, a pistol, three times in the back.
Had she been arguing with someone then turned to leave? Or had she been ambushed?
I notice a phone half hidden next to the spice rack on one of the counters. It’s blush pink. I swipe it and stick it in my pocket before the police see.
“Any sign of a murder weapon?” I ask as I slowly fill a glass of water.
“No.” The police shrug.
“Did you check the dumpster outside?”
Bobby snaps his fingers. “Good idea. You should be a detective on the force.” He beams at me.
I let the EMTs come through then head back into the café.
Lydia is being comforted by Josie.
“It was a delayed reaction from the shock.”
“Dead. She’s dead. My sister is dead. Taylor Grace’s dead.” Lydia sobs as I set the water down near her.
Her husband looks angry.
“Do you have any idea who might have killed her?” I ask.
“Yeah,” her husband says.
“No,” Lydia snaps at him.
“Yes, we do.” He’s stubborn.
The police fumble out their notepads. Winston drops his tape recorder. The firemen, who’ve been called for crowd control, roll their eyes.
“She did it.” Travis points at Willow.
“Me?” she cries. “I would never!”
“You stand to gain the most from her death. No, Lydia, we have to tell them,” Travis says, cutting her off. “Taylor Grace was trying to regain control of her company.”
“Not regain control—she was trying to steal it from Willow! Willow did all the work,” Josie argues. “Taylor stole from her.”
“Well, now Willow gets the company scot-free,” Travis says nastily.
“Yeah, and all the debt,” Willow snaps. “It’s not like I’m making out like a bandit here.”
“Willow did it. She found the body. Why did you disappear from the party?” Lydia’s husband demands.
“I had to get the maple bacon twists.”
“Very convenient!” Travis shouts.
“I was about to go get them,” Josie argues. “Why are you so intent on blaming this on Willow, huh? Maybe you killed Taylor, and you’re trying to throw people off the trail.”
The husband sputters. “Me? I was at the party.”
“Were you?” Josie shouts.
“Just, please. Taylor Grace is dead. Can we do this another time? I can’t—” Lydia holds a fluttering hand to her head.
“You’re stressing her out.” Hollis comforts Lydia.
I glare at Travis, who doesn’t look sorry.
“Besides,” Nana says stubbornly, “everyone knows it’s always the wronged husband.”
The police look confused.
“Taylor Grace was having an affair. Don’t ask.”
They nod along.
“Bobby, are you investigating Damien?” I ask.
“No? He was the high school football championship team’s QB. He’s the nephew of the police chief. We can’t just go investigating him for no reason,” he protests.
“So you haven’t even questioned him?” I raise an eyebrow.
“He’s innocent until proven guilty,” he whines.
“You’re not even trying to prove guilt. You’re just letting him walk!” I raise my voice.
“Ding-dong, the bitch is dead!” Damien bursts in drunkenly, raising a glass as he stumbles around. “And I killed her!” He leans over like he’s bowing. Then he collapses on the floor of the café.
“Well.” Bobby flips his notepad closed. “Guess that ends both investigations. We have a confession, boys!”