Chapter 32 Hughes
HUGHES
The snow is coming down thick, muting the sirens and the city’s sins alike.
She is gone now—the dame who dragged me into this tinsel-tangled mess—and I’m left with her ghost and a bullet graze that stings like regret.
I should’ve seen it coming, but love and bourbon make a lousy pair of glasses.
And love is all I see. My girl Friday, my partner in crime-solving, stands by the window.
She patched me up and poured me coffee strong enough to burn the truth out of my throat.
Outside, Christmas lights blink like confessions, and for once, I believe in love and Christmas miracles…
“Men are so dramatic.”
Nana fusses as she rearranges the pillows behind my head, sending Lord Mycroft grunting from where he’s made a nest next to my hip.
“Ow! I’ve been in the hospital for days,” I tell her incredulously. “I almost died. I got shot.”
“No, you didn’t,” she snorts. “That was a scrape from a tree branch, and anyway, I told Jenine’s daughter—she’s the head nurse there, you know—I told her I had Airbnb-ers until Tuesday and she needed to keep you there because I didn’t have anywhere to put you.”
“Thanks, Nana.”
She smooches the top of my head.
“There’s my big brave PI.” Willow climbs onto the bed to wrap her arms around me.
“When you say it that way, it sounds condescending,” I say, kissing her mouth. “Thanks for rescuing me.”
“I had ulterior motives. Five children, remember?” She curls up in the crook of my arm.
“I was told no strenuous activity,” I say, but I kiss her neck.
At that moment, Nana barges back in.
“I made you chicken-and-dumpling soup. Eat up—you need your fortification for the Christmas pageant tonight.”
Willow kisses me again.
“So, I hear you’re keeping the shop?”
“Well, obviously. I can’t give it to Hollis, though maybe she could run it from jail,” she muses. “She was a fantastic employee.”
“She tried to kill me,” I complain.
“Hey, good help is hard to find in this town, especially during the holiday season.” She pokes me.
“I really don’t want you to work. I want you to stay with me.” I nuzzle her nose.
“Fresh bread!” Nana comes back in with a steaming basket. “They’re French onion rolls. And did I hear you say you need someone to watch the shop so you can get cracking on those great-grandbabies?”
“Er—”
“Fantastic!” Nana beams. “I already have volunteers lined up. Several seniors in town are itching for a chance to work at the murder café.”
“Well, Maris is going to help.” Willow grimaces.
“You need more than Maris. We’ve got several ex-strippers who will hit the Christmas market paths to do promotions.”
“Nana…” I turn to Willow. “I can help, too—any excuse to see you.”
“Any excuse?” She waggles her eyebrows.
“This isn’t exactly what I meant,” I tell Willow as she and Josie try to fit me into a hangman’s costume that’s a size too small.
“Just duct-tape it and keep it moving!” Ida blares from a megaphone. “The Christmas pageant cannot start forty-five minutes late like it did last year!”
Willow giggles. “You look so hot in that costume.”
“You see what you started? Now she has a murder fetish.”
“No, I have a private-eye fetish. You should wear that trench coat tonight.” She giggles. “And the hat.”
I lean in to kiss her. “Anything for you. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Merry Christmas.”
She salutes me as I head onstage, raise the axe, and take my position.
A small blond-haired, gray-eyed child in angel’s wings trots out to the middle of the stage. He takes a deep breath. “Peppermint and Poison: A Murder in Three Acts.”
I raise the fake axe and slowly bring it down while the little boy starts reciting his lines, setting the stage for the gruesome Christmas murder.
“Can you believe,” the guy who’s been press-ganged into playing Jonah whispers to me, “that they only just finished writing it yesterday?”
“Oh, I believe it.”
The townspeople cheer as “Jonah” pretends to die while the child angel screams dramatically.
“That’s my boyfriend!” Willow whoops. “You’re doing amazing!” She gives me two thumbs up.
“Merry Christmas!” I boom out my line. “With a side of murder!”