Chapter 22 Hughes
HUGHES
“Help!” I hear again, faint over the wind.
It takes me a second to figure out where the cries are coming from as I turn through the twisting, narrow pathways of stalls crammed into the Christmas market.
“Help!”
I’m closer now, and I smell the smoke of something burning. I turn down a small alley behind the narrow rows of stalls.
A figure all in black slams into my shoulder as he runs past me.
“Hey!” I call out to him.
It’s dark. I can’t get a good look at him—just a flash of heavy black boots and canvas work pants. I have to make a decision: Follow the guy, or help whoever is calling for it? I race after the perp. Hoofbeats thud on the gravel path, and I’m almost mowed over by a huge black horse.
“Hey!” I wave down one of the Christmas cops. “Did you see a guy run past here? I think he hurt someone,” I tell them urgently.
One of them looks at the other, a big bushy-bearded man. “Remy, you want to do the honors?”
I don’t wait to see if they follow the perp. I just race back to follow the cries for help.
They’re coming from a stall painted all black with weird sigils all over it.
“Help!”
“Willow? Willow!”
“Hughes!”
I step back, take two steps, then kick in the door. Wood splits. I kick it again, then the metal latch breaks off the wood, and the door slams open.
“Oh my god! Willow!” I gather her to my chest. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” Her voice is muffled against my chest.
I squeeze her to me, kissing her hair, her cheeks. I cup her face. “What happened? How’d you get locked in here?”
“I don’t know. I was investigating and—” She looks around wildly. “I have so much to tell you.”
“Okay, come home where it’s warm.” I take off my trench coat and wrap it around her.
“I’m really fine. I promise.”
A black cat crosses in front of our path and yowls eerily.
“I think I’ve had enough Christmas market for one day.” Willow shivers.
“Funny, because we didn’t say you could leave,” someone says.
Two black-haired twins materialize out of thin air.
“You broke my sister’s stall,” one of them says.
“Yes, and you need to repair it.”
I look back at the busted door.
“I’m a computer software engineer, not a woodworker. Can I just pay you for damages?”
“You can come work at the stall to pay off your debt,” the twins say as one.
“You don’t take cryptocurrency?” I grimace.
“Money is the root of all evil,” the left one states flatly.
“I can give you gold galleons…”
They stare blankly.
“Fine, indentured servitude it is.”
Horses snort, then the huge animals round the corner, half dragging a man in black with them.
“Damien?” Willow says, shocked. “You’re the killer?”
“The what?” the man squawks.
The Christmas cops glare down at him.
“Remy, you need to arrest him,” I tell the bearded man hotly. “He shoved my girlfriend into a shed, locked her in, and set it on fire.”
“Another fire, Lilith?” Remy sighs.
“It wasn’t burning,” one of the black-haired twins states, unblinking. “We were making a witch’s potion.”
Remy shakes his head. “Y’all aren’t supposed to be having unpermitted bonfires in the market.”
“It’s ambience. Besides”—as one, the twins stare down at Damien—“our cauldron is conveniently large enough to boil a murderer. Alive.”
“I swear,” Damien babbles, “I didn’t lock her in the shed.”
Morticia pulls out a long, thin stiletto blade.
“I swear on my life.” Damien falls to his knees.
“Yes, you did, and you killed Taylor Grace and Jonah Merriweather because they were having an affair,” Willow says accusingly.
“I didn’t kill my wife.”
“She was your soon-to-be ex-wife, and there are multiple instances of the two of you arguing in public. Your pending divorce was contentious. You’re the jealous type.”
“I never—” Damien chokes out.
“He locked her in the stall. At least arrest him for that.” I point at the ruined shed.
Damien sets his jaw. “This is bullshit. I didn’t lock up nobody.”
“Then why were you over here?”
“I was looking for Willow, but”—he babbles before I can castrate him—“I didn’t want to lock her in the shed. I need to talk to her.”
“Uh-huh.” The Christmas cops don’t look like they’re buying it.
“Yeah, because I want to know how to get my half of the shop.” Damien nods.
“Your half of the—”
I have to grab Willow around the waist before she launches herself at Damien, who runs to hide behind Remy.
“That isn’t your shop. That’s my shop!” she shrieks.
“Taylor Grace owned half the shop. She told me. And now that she’s dead, it’s mine,” Damien bellows while Willow tries to struggle out of my grasp.
“You don’t even know how to bake! You don’t know how to run a business! You have a gambling problem, and you eat microwave burritos from the gas station.”
“Do you have any paperwork that says it’s half hers?” Remy asks.
“She and Willow had a verbal agreement that Willow reneged on.” Damien is stubborn.
“Fine,” Willow spits, eyes flashing. “You want half the shop? Have it. We’re twenty thousand dollars in debt, thanks to your wife, so that means half of that debt is yours. You need to pay me ten thousand dollars immediately.”
“I—what?” Damien’s face wrinkles. “Taylor Grace said you had lots of money coming in.”
“We do not. She has been taking a salary because she claimed that her creative energy was keeping the stall afloat—spoiler, it wasn’t.
So we need a cash infusion.” Willow holds out her hand.
“Pay up. Now. Oh, and you’re taking the 4 a.m. shift, so I expect to see you at the kitchen bright and early in, oh, seven and a half hours. ”
Damien blanches. “That’s awful early.”
“Running a business is work,” Remy tells him. “Sounds like you have a second job. Congratulations.”
“Why don’t we all go to the bank right now?” Willow’s face is splotchy. “And you can go ahead and withdraw that money from your bank account. That will help us make payroll.”
“Well, never mind,” Damien mumbles.
“No, I insist,” Willow says hotly. “You’re right. It is half yours now. The Harrogate Community Bank should still be open.”
“I don’t want any part of that business. It’s not mine, and I don’t want any creditors breaking down my door about it.” Damien backs away. “You can have it. I’m not setting foot in that shop or giving you a dollar.”
Remy taps his body cam and winks at Willow. “Maybe you know a computer person who can download this for posterity’s sake.”