Chapter 30 Willow
WILLOW
“What’s wrong?” Hughes asks anxiously as his grandmother rushes over. “Nana, what happened?”
“Oh, it’s horrible! You have to come help.
Jordan brought his pet alpaca—I mean, honestly, he dresses the thing up like a reindeer, like people aren’t going to notice it’s a completely different animal—and it’s knocked over the judges’ station and is eating the mints.
We need all hands on deck! Now it’s time to show everyone those muscles aren’t just for vanity’s sake,” she says as she drags him off.
He gives me a quick kiss before he goes.
“You can boink him tonight.” Josie waggles her eyebrows as I look after him longingly.
I know my face is Rudolph red.
“Oops, I promised I would help with kid wrangling so some of my sisters-in-law could enter the baking competition. I need to run. I’ll see you in a few hours?” Josie tells me, checking her phone.
“Yeah, hopefully Hollis isn’t freaking out too much.”
“She always has everything under control,” Josie waves.
I call Hollis just to make sure she’s at the shop and not in the market so I don’t have to walk back and forth.
It goes to voicemail.
Hollis: Sorry! There is an apple cider emergency!
Willow: Uh-oh, I bet it has something to do with that alpaca.
Hollis: *angry emoji*
Hollis: Do you think you could run to Amy’s farm and get some more herbs? They are all out at the general store. There is going to be a fight!
Hollis: I need it to finish off the Holly Jolly Cupcakes.
Willow: On my way!
It’s snowing heavily as I drive Gran’s old Cadillac down the winding country roads to Amy’s farm.
The greenhouses there grow flowers and other natural decorations that Amy uses for her big showstopping Manhattan weddings.
“I don’t know if I want a big wedding like that,” I tell the guinea pig.
He snuffles, looking for food in his basket.
“But it’s not like we’re going to elope or something.
I mean, half the town will want to come.
Just Josie and her family are going to fill up the church.
Better have it outside. Gosh, I’m so silly, sitting here, planning a wedding when there’s a murderer or two running loose.
I don’t even know what I’m entering into the Bake-Off competition, and I don’t have a ring or anything. ”
I pull into a parking space and duck out into the falling snow.
“Oh! Hey!” Amy waves when I enter one of the warm greenhouses.
“Did Hollis mention I was coming?” I greet her.
“No,” she says, confused. “I’m glad you caught me. I was about to head out to the Bake-Off.”
“It’s crazy down there. Also, there’s not a leaf of mint anywhere in town.”
“Oh,” she says. “Weird. Well, what kind of mint do you want? We have spearmint, chocolate mint, pineapple mint, banana mint—Hollis was just up here earlier. It’s too bad she didn’t realize that y’all were out. It would have saved you a trip.”
“I think just regular mint?” I shrug.
“Boo! I have lemon mint and water mint and—oh, Mycroft, you need to stay away from my pumpkins!”
The guinea pig is half hanging out of his basket, little rodent mouth open to snag a bite of a pretty white-and-yellow-swirled pumpkin.
“That looks like Cinderella’s carriage.” I admire it.
“He’s a hybrid.” Amy pats the pumpkin affectionately.
“You must be a Halloween girlie,” I remark. “It’s not even Christmas, and the pumpkins are out.”
“Getting started on next year’s batch. So don’t ruin my hard work.” Amy snuggles the guinea pig.
“Oh, do you two know each other?”
“Hollis brings him by sometimes when she’s babysitting.” She snips off a few leaves and feeds them to the guinea pig, who scarfs them down.
“If you have any reject pumpkins,” I tell her, “I’ve been wanting to make pumpkin tarts at the shop. Taylor Grace thought it was a stupid idea, but apparently, I don’t have to listen to her anymore.”
“No!” Amy barks at me. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, okay, sorry.” I take a step back.
Amy softens. “Sorry to scare you, but never eat squash that’s not from seeds. You can get cucurbit poison—toxic squash syndrome. Only eat squash you grow from a seed that you buy,” she says urgently.
“Well, I’m not a gardener, so I don’t think that will be a problem,” I joke.
“Guinea pigs can have them, though,” Amy coos and feeds Mycroft some more leaves. “I’ll give you a bag of clippings for him. And here’s some mint. I personally think that the apple mint will go amazing with your desserts. Good luck! I can’t wait to taste everything!”
I hum along to the Christmas carols on the radio while Lord Mycroft sits happily in his bed of lettuce leaves and munches.
“Not lettuce leaves,” I correct myself.
I turn the radio tuner to another Christmas station. Yeah, Gran’s old-school, no touch screens in this car. Or airbags, either, so I need to be careful.
In the side-view mirror, I see a huge pickup truck going pretty fast. It speeds past me and clips the side of the Cadillac. I scream as the car jerks. The Cadillac swerves as I try to regain control on the icy road. We fishtail into a snowbank on the side of the road.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” I repeat over and over.
The truck doesn’t even slow. I watch the taillights speed down the country road.
“Oh my gosh, did someone try to kill us?” I shriek at the guinea pig. “Help!” I call forlornly into the forest. “Oh, no, your salad is all over the floor.”
My hands are shaking. I don’t know why I’m fixated on the salad. I need to call 911, right? Wait, Gran doesn’t have this thing insured. I need to phone a friend. I dial Hollis.
“Hey, where are you?” she asks.
“Just coming back from the farm with the mint.” I stare at the leaf in my hand. Then, suddenly, I know who killed Taylor Grace and Dr. Merriweather. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t freaking out.” I try to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Snow’s pretty heavy.”
“Gotcha.” There’s a long pause on the phone. “Well, better concentrate on driving. Lots of crazy people out here. Hope no one runs you over.”
“Frickety frickety St. Nick.” I pace around in the cold, trying to call Hughes. No answer.
I need to get back to the Christmas market.
Sitting behind the wheel once more, I say a little prayer to the Christmas gods.
“Okay. Let’s do this.” I rev the engine of the old Cadillac. “Come on, go!”
The back tires catch, and the massive tank lurches back onto the road.
“Whoo!” I holler as I floor it.
As I race back to town, I try Hughes over and over, but he never picks up the phone.