Chapter 31 Willow
WILLOW
The Christmas market is mayhem. Bookies run around taking bets on the baking competition. Tourists and townspeople crowd up to the stage next to the large Christmas tree to get a good spot.
“Have you seen Hughes?” I shout to Josie.
She’s surrounded by a sea of Mace’s younger brothers, all hyped up on sugary festive snacks and hot chocolate.
“No, he wasn’t here when I came back,” she says, frazzled.
“I have to tell you something,” I tell her urgently.
“Give me like ten minutes,” she pleads as several kids start wailing. One of the older kids has her baby strapped to his chest, and he starts complaining loudly.
“When you have women falling all over you because you know how to change a diaper, you’ll thank me one day. Also, the baby likes you better than me, so Merry Christmas.”
“Oh, hi!” Lydia says to me, her own overstimulated kids in tow. “Have you seen Travis?”
“No, have you seen Hughes?”
“Ugh, men! They just wander off!”
I make my way to where all the bakers are being staged.
“Where are your Christmas cookies?” Ida yells into the tinny megaphone. “All baked goods must be on the tables, or you’re disqualified!”
“Oh, there you are!” Hollis chirps.
I peer at her as she emerges from the shadows, carrying a tiered tray of cupcakes.
“Good, you have the mint!” She beams at me. “Thank you so much for getting that.”
“Bakers, ready your pastries!” Ida blares.
“I’m looking for Hughes,” I tell her, trying not to give it away that I know.
“Come on! This is the first day of the rest of our lives. Forget Hughes. You only just met him. If he wants to run off with another girl, let him.”
“He’s with another girl?” I feel sick.
Hollis blinks at me. “I mean, he was with Taylor Grace while he was with you, right? It’s the most likely scenario. You can’t trust men like that.”
Do I have it all wrong? Was it a holiday-fueled hallucination? “I, uh—”
“Don’t be sad, Willow. He’s not good enough for you anyway. It’s just you and me now, making holiday magic together.” She pats my arm sympathetically.
“I need to wash the mint,” I tell her, hurrying away.
I duck around the back of the stage. Hughes didn’t run off. I know he didn’t run off. And I know I’m not wrong about Hollis. She’s been poisoning people with the toxic pumpkins. And now she’s done something to Hughes. I race around, trying to find him, but there’s no sign of him.
I’m about to head back to the Bake-Off when I hear the roar of a truck. I duck behind an elf trash can and watch a pickup back up to a pile of pallets covered with a tarp. A man dressed all in black jumps out of the still-running truck then slowly manhandles something out of the pile.
Hughes. Crap. I did have it wrong. It wasn’t Hollis. It was…
I don’t know who that is, but I don’t have time to figure it out. The murderer is busy loading an unconscious Hughes into the bed of the pickup truck.
I sneak around, climb into the cab, and floor it.
The tires squeal as the man screams, “You bitch!”
His voice is muffled, but the shots that ring out from the gun he fires aren’t. I shriek a curse, ducking as bullets ping off the car’s frame.
“Hughes!” I cry. Looking in the rearview mirror, I don’t see Hughes’s body lying lifelessly on the snow. “He must still be in the bed of the truck,” I say, trying to angle the mirror to find him.
Crash!
Snow, branches, and Christmas lights rain down on me as I drive headfirst into the Christmas tree. The tree doesn’t even budge. The truck crumples like tissue paper, though.
The man runs at me, gun raised.
I rush to rescue Hughes from the back of the truck. Branches snag on me. “I need to lift weights,” I groan as I heft Hughes’s unconscious body and stagger out. But there’s no way I’ll be fast enough. I stare as the man in black aims his gun.
Crack! goes the sound of the rifle.
The man screams. Blood spurts out of his wrist.
Is there another murderer? I look around wildly.
The man pulls the hood from his face and continues screaming. “You shot me!”
“I didn’t shoot you.”
“Yes, yes, you did,” Travis seethes. He looks crazy. “You shot me. You and Hughes, you orchestrated these murders.”
“What the—no, I didn’t!”
“That’s what I’m telling the town, and they’re going to believe me,” he snarls, spittle flying from his mouth.
Somewhere above me, in the tree, I hear a woman yell, “Go after him! I’ll take care of Hughes.”
“What do you mean, take care of him?”
Someone swings down from the high branches.
“Is that you, Maris?”
“Go!” she yells.
Once again, I curse the fact that I am not in good enough shape as I hoof it after Travis while he runs screaming and bleeding back to the Bake-Off.
“The murderer struck again!” Travis is yelling into the microphone in front of the judges when I practically collapse back onto the stage.
“That’s not—” I wheeze.
“Willow and Hughes, they orchestrated the murders of Taylor Grace and Dr. Merriweather, and when I confronted them about it, they shot me!”
“He was trying to kidnap Hughes, and Maris shot him. She’s a witness!” I try to grab the megaphone.
“Wait, that was Maris who shot me? She kills deer and turkeys. She knows how to shoot. She could have killed me!” Travis whips around to yell at Hollis. “You should have told me she was in on it! I would have Primed a bulletproof vest.”
“I—I—I—” Hollis stammers.
“I knew it! I knew you were poisoning them with the toxic squash!” I holler.
The crowd titters.
Someone from the crowd says drunkenly, “Is this the Christmas pageant?”
“I never—police!” Hollis screeches. “Where are the Christmas police? This man is insane. Check his desk at Svensson PharmaTech. I bet you’ll find Dr. Merriweather’s phone in his office.”
“No, you won’t. Unless you planted it there,” Travis fumes at Hollis.
“I would never. I’m no murderer. I’m a baker.” She presses her hands to her chest.
“I knew you were going to pull this shit. That’s why I saved the video I cut from the security feed.” Travis advances on her, teeth bared.
“You what?” Hollis squawks. “I told you to delete it or we would both go to jail!”
“Well, I’m not taking the fall for you. I want a plea bargain,” he demands as the Christmas cops advance on the stage.
“Hollis, why?” I ask.
Hollis is teary-eyed. “I killed them for you, Willow,” she says, “because we’re best friends.
Dr. Merriweather was talking Taylor Grace into stealing our shop.
Then Taylor Grace had to go because she was stressing you out.
And Hughes—he isn’t good for you. He’s monopolizing your time.
You’re better off without him in your life. ”
“Why’d you get Travis involved in the murder?” I ask her.
“I blackmailed him into helping because he was having an affair with Taylor Grace.” Hollis glares at him.
“You piece of shit!” Lydia hollers from the crowd.
“It wasn’t an affair,” Travis argues. “It was one time,” he tells Lydia. “She came onto me once when I was drunk. Can I get a temporary insanity plea? Taylor Grace literally drove me insane!”
Lydia hurls her cup of apple cider at him.
“Ow!”
The Christmas cops move in, red-and-green handcuffs out.
“I didn’t murder anyone!” Travis begs.
“You strung up Dr. Merriweather’s body and shot Taylor Grace’s corpse,” Hollis argues. “You’re an accomplice.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t kill anyone! Lydia, please don’t divorce me,” he pleads as the Christmas cops snap the handcuffs on him.
“I’m innocent too.” Hollis bursts into tears. “It was self-defense. I’m your best friend, Willow.”
“No, you’re not. I am!” Josie hollers.
“Poisoning Hughes was not self-defense!” I tell her, furious. “Oh! Hughes, poor Hughes! Remy, we need to call the ambulance.” I start freaking out.
“What? I thought it was a prank. I didn’t know that he was actually dying,” Travis complains as the Christmas cops haul him and Hollis away.
“Willow!” someone cries painfully from the back of the stage. “Willow, I’m coming to save you.”
Maris is a few steps behind Hughes.
“He insisted.” She rolls her eyes.
“Oh, Hughes, you’re too late.”
“No,” he groans.
“Just lie down,” I beg.
“Ugh.” He slumps onto the ground.
“You’ve been poisoned. Where are the EMTs?” I look around wildly.
“EMT? Pshaw.” Gran appears with a bottle in a paper bag. “Bought the last bottle of moonshine from Lilith. She puts extra special herbs and spices in it.” She shakes the bottle.
“It looks like pond water. I don’t think we should—”
Gran tips it down Hughes’s throat.
He gurgles then shoots straight up. “Oh my god!”
“That’ll put the spirit of Christmas in you.” She pats his back.
There are complaints from the tourists watching the Bake-Off. “Give us the cookies! We want cookies!”
Hughes pukes on the stage.
The crowd groans.
“Don’t worry,” Ida says into the microphone. “Cookies are happening as soon as we clean out the riffraff. The Jingle Bites Café is, of course, disqualified on account of the cupcakes probably being poisoned.”
“Maybe a little more. Second time’s the charm.” Gran holds the moonshine to Hughes’s mouth.
“Gran, stop giving that to him!” I bat the bottle away.
“See?” Gran drags Hughes upright and pats his cheeks. “He’s all right.”
“I don’t think that’s how this works.”
“He’s not all right,” Hughes groans then collapses.