Chapter 6 #2
Hoomans will find a way to make anything sound important if they use the right words, Rookie barks. Like when you call my food bowl ‘artisanal dining experience’ instead of ‘thing that holds kibble.’
“The point is,” I continue, “I have actual responsibilities beyond playing amateur detective with a woman who may or may not have committed homicide.”
Okay, so I might be goading her a little. But how often am I the one in the power position?
“I did not commit homicide!” Peyton’s voice carries across the rotunda, causing several socialites to pause their gossip sessions and stare.
Peyton just can’t seem to stop fueling the fire.
“I may have fantasized about it,” she lowers her voice to a fierce whisper, “but fantasy and reality are two very different things.”
“That’s reassuring in a completely non-reassuring way.”
Before Peyton can elaborate on her homicidal fantasies, Winnie breezes into the rotunda with a smile that immediately makes me suspicious.
She’s practically glowing with secretive satisfaction, which in my experience means she’s either planning something wonderful or something that will get us all arrested.
And my week is already headed down one very specific trajectory.
“Hattie!” she calls out, approaching with a giddiness that assures me she’s never discovered a corpse behind a Christmas tree. “Just the sister I was looking for.”
“That sounds ominous,” I say. “What did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did something?”
“Because you’re wearing your ‘I have delicious secrets’ expression. The same one you had right before you convinced me to help you steal apples from Mrs. Henderson’s orchard when we were twelve.”
“We didn’t steal them, we harvested them for the greater good. And this is completely different.” Winnie glances around before leaning closer. “I’m totally getting on the naughty list this year.”
I wince involuntarily. “Winnie, I really don’t need to know about your—”
“Oh, relax.” She waves me off with a laugh, and then her whole face lights up like one of the evergreen trees in the rotunda.
“Actually, I have big news.” She grabs both my hands.
“Fitz and I are moving the wedding up. We’re joining Neelie on Valentine’s Day.
And before you ask, yes, I’ve already told Mom, and yes, she cried for twenty minutes straight, and yes, she’s already ordered more fabric swatches. ”
I blink. “You’re getting married in six weeks?”
“Six weeks!” she beams as if this is the most delightful thing that’s ever happened to anyone. “Which means I need to seriously up my game before the big day. The man deserves a wife who knows her way around more than just craft supplies and scrapbooking adhesive.”
“Does Neelie know?” I ask.
Winnie’s smile flickers for just a fraction of a second. “I may have told Mom first and Neelie... second-ish.”
“Second-ish?”
“She found out when Mom called her screaming about fabric swatches.” Winnie waves a breezy hand. “She’s thrilled.”
She is absolutely not thrilled, I think to myself, because I know my younger sister, and Neelie has been planning the Valentine’s Day wedding of the century since approximately the moment she got engaged.
The idea of sharing her spotlight with anyone—even her own sister—would register somewhere between a personal affront and a declaration of war.
“She said it was romantic,” Winnie adds.
“Those were her exact words?”
Winnie’s smile goes just slightly fixed. “She said, and I quote, ‘I guess that’s just so sweet,’ which I’m choosing to interpret as enthusiastic support.”
I guess that’s just so sweet is Neelie-speak for I am going to make your life very difficult for the foreseeable future.
“I’m sure she’s delighted,” I say, because some battles aren’t mine to fight.
“She’s delighted,” Winnie confirms, in the tight voice she uses when she’s deciding something is true. “Now about that naughty list…”
I wince again, trying not to picture my sweet, crafty sister doing anything that requires getting on any kind of naughty list.
“Winnie, I really don’t think I need the details of your pre-wedding educational goals.”
“Anyway,” Winnie continues, clearly enjoying my discomfort, “that’s exactly why Diva Divine Temptation is hosting a trunk show at Willoughby Hall this afternoon.”
I blink at her. “She’s what now?”
“Hosting a trunk show. You know, Fitz’s place?
The hundred-and-eleven-room mansion on thirty-three acres with more money than most small countries?
” Winnie’s grin widens. “I overheard Diva talking to someone on her phone last night after all the bedlam died down. Apparently, her little shop won’t be big enough to handle the demand after Seraphina’s viral posts about the event.
Something about her business being ‘thrust into the spotlight’ thanks to our dearly departed social climber spitting out all the dirt she could onto every social media platform before she bit the big one. ”
“I was supposed to help moderate the madness at her boutique today at two. So naturally, you offered up your future mansion as an alternative venue?”
“What can I say? I’m a supportive friend to small business owners.
Plus, it gives me the perfect opportunity to do some...
research for the honeymoon.” She winks with enough innuendo to make a Christmas ornament blush.
“And it gives you the perfect opportunity to interrogate Suspect Number One while pretending to shop for gifts that will make Killion forget his own name.”
“Oh, I am absolutely in,” I say, because honestly it doesn’t take much convincing when the words murder suspect and interrogation are involved. “When do we go?”
Winnie blinks. “That’s it? No hesitation?”
“Winnie. There’s a murderer on the loose and a trunk show full of potential witnesses. What’s there to hesitate about?”
She grins. “I knew there was a reason you’re my favorite sister.”
“I’m your only willing sister. Neelie would make it about herself within thirty seconds.”
“Twenty-five,” Winnie corrects generously. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Famous last words, Cricket muses. Although I admit, I’m curious to see how this plays out.
Will there be snacks at this trunk show? Can we come? Rookie asks hopefully. I promise to be good. And by good, I mean I’ll only investigate the food situation.
“Aww,” Winnie coos at Rookie as he whines. “And you had better bring your furry brigade,” she tells me. “I’ll be sure to have plenty of snacks for them, too.”
Both Cricket and Rookie trot her way with glee and she rewards them with belly rubs.
Peyton, who’s been listening to this entire exchange with growing fascination and horror, clears her throat.
“Are you seriously considering shopping for... educational materials... as part of our murder investigation?”
“Our murder investigation?” I repeat. “Since when did this become a team effort?”
“Since my career depends on solving this case before the board of directors decides I’m a liability.” Peyton’s expression shifts from tragic to determined. “If investigating a suspect requires attending another raunchy trunk show, then that’s what we’re doing.”
“We?” Winnie looks between Peyton and me with growing amusement. “Oh, this is getting interesting. Are you planning to coordinate outfits for your undercover operation, too?”
“There is no undercover operation,” I say firmly. “There’s just me, possibly attending an educational event, and definitely not coordinating anything with anyone.”
“Definitely attending,” Peyton corrects. “We’re definitely attending. Together. As a team.”
“Since when are we a team?”
“Since approximately five minutes ago when you became my only hope for career salvation.”
This is better than the time I found out about catnip, Cricket purrs with satisfaction. I can’t wait to see how spectacularly this goes wrong.
Winnie claps her hands together with delight. “Perfect! The trunk show starts at two o’clock. That gives you both time to mentally prepare for what promises to be a very illuminating afternoon.”
She starts to bounce away, then pauses and turns back with an expression of pure sisterly evil.
“Oh, and Hattie? You might want to bring a notebook. You know, for...notes. I have a feeling you’re going to learn things that Killion will appreciate.”
I watch her disappear toward the Cottage Grill, probably to grab coffee and plot further chaos, while Peyton stands next to me wearing an expression that suggests she’s reconsidering every life decision that led to this moment.
“So,” she says finally. “A trunk show at a mansion. Featuring educational materials. To investigate a murder suspect.”
“Apparently.”
“This is either going to solve our case or get us both arrested for public indecency.”
Probably both, Cricket meows cheerfully. But at least it won’t be boring.
I look around the lavish rotunda, with its crystal chandelier and marble floors and clusters of gossiping socialites, then think about spending my afternoon at Willoughby Hall pretending to shop for things that would make my grandmother reach for her smelling salts while interrogating a woman who demonstrates questionable undergarments for a living.
Somewhere in the distance, “Silver Bells” plays softly through the country club’s sound system, because apparently even murder investigations come with a Christmas soundtrack.
One thing is for sure—if this goes sideways, at least I’ll have spoken to a suspect. And possibly discovered something useful for my own honeymoon one day. Not that I’d ever admit that last part to Winnie.