Chapter 6 #2
Matilda has another verbal explosion that rivals the first.
“Oh boy,” Mom mutters under her breath. “Here we go.”
“Should we retreat?” Georgie whispers, eyeing the exit like it’s a life raft. “Because that woman looks like she’s about to either have a breakdown or declare war on Christmas, and I’m not dressed for either scenario.”
Mom scoffs at her bestie. “Are you kidding? You’re always more than dressed for both. And you’re usually the instigator.”
So very true.
“There’s no way we’re leaving now,” I say as Jasper pushes the stroller closer in that direction as I follow along with my curiosity officially piqued and my amateur sleuth instincts buzzing like Christmas lights on the fritz. “This might be the best entertainment we’ve had all week.”
A crowd quickly gathers as I make my way toward her.
“Matilda? Is everything okay?” I ask.
She whirls around like a woman possessed by the Ghost of Christmas Catastrophe, clutching a photograph to her chest like it’s a lifeline. Her eyes are wild, and I’m pretty sure she hasn’t slept since yesterday—or possibly since last week.
“Bizzy!” she gasps, thrusting the photo toward me with the desperation of someone showing evidence of alien abduction. “Have you seen her? My sweet angel? My precious baby?”
I look down at the picture and my heart does a little flip.
It’s Jellybean, her sweet black and white tuxedo cat with distinctive markings that make her look like she’s perpetually smiling.
In the photo, she’s wearing a tiny pink bow and looking directly at the camera with an expression that suggests she knows exactly how cute she is.
“Oh my goodness,” I say, suddenly understanding the magnitude of the situation. “You mean she never turned up last night after the... incident?”
“No!” Matilda’s voice cracks like thin ice on a frozen pond.
“She’s been catnapped! Hammie Mae has taken one side of the street, and I’ve taken the other—together, we’re going to search the entire town until we’ve found our sweet baby!
We’re going to turn over every rock, check every garbage can, and interrogate every person until someone confesses! ”
The word catnapped hangs in the air like a Christmas ornament made of pure terror, glittering with desperation and just a touch of insanity.
Several nearby shoppers stop pretending to examine quilts and start openly staring.
“Well,” Georgie says under her breath, “this just got interesting. We’ve got another case on our hands.”
“Another?” Jasper raises a brow my way, and I give a nervous smile. Caught red-handed, but then again, I have a feeling he was already two steps ahead of me.
He nods my way as if he had suddenly garnered the ability to read my mind. And that’s exactly why I tagged along this morning. He tips his head my way. Plus, the company is cute. He blows Ella a kiss.
“You’re hilarious,” I whisper with a frown.
Matilda charges at me. “I need you to get that detective husband of yours to put out an all-points bulletin!” she continues, her voice rising with each word.
“I’m hiring a medium, a psychic, and the FBI is going to get involved, too!
I need my cat back, and I don’t care if I have to tear this entire town apart to find her! ”
Jasper raises an eyebrow. “The FBI doesn’t typically handle missing pet cases, Mrs. Westoff. But I certainly will,” he kindly offers.
“They will for this!” she snaps, her eyes flashing with the kind of righteous fury people save for burnt biscuits on Christmas morning. “Because if Balthasar Thornfield didn’t drop dead last night, I’d kill him all over again!”
The entire store goes silent. Even the Christmas music seems to pause for dramatic effect, as if the universe is taking a moment to process what we just heard.
Did she just confess to murder? Fish’s whiskers twitch with interest. Because that sounded suspiciously like a confession wrapped in a bow of crazy.
She’s not wrong.
“Did she just—” Mom starts.
“Yep,” I say quietly. “She sure did.”
“In front of witnesses,” Georgie adds helpfully. “Lots of witnesses and one hot detective.” She winks over at Jasper, and he winks back.
Matilda’s phone chooses that moment to chime with what sounds like a cheerful holiday reminder. She glances at it and makes a sound of pure disgust.
“The Deck the Halls Holiday Home Tour is about to begin,” she announces like she’s reading her own death sentence written in jingle bells and candy canes.
“Well, I’m not going! My home is on the schedule for tomorrow and I still have so much to do, not to mention I need to find the person that so-called Second-Rate Santa cajoled into catnapping my sweet angel, and I’m going to hang them by their toes from the nearest Christmas tree! ”
“That’s very specific,” Georgie points out. “And probably illegal in several states. I’ve tried it with a few other body parts.”
“Not to mention painful,” Mom adds. “Hanging by toes sounds worse than dental surgery.” She shoots a sharp look to Georgie. “And you had better spare us any stories of what you did to who and their unsuspecting body parts.”
With that delightfully violent promise, Matilda stalks toward the door, pausing only to grab a Christmas quilt featuring a pattern of cats wearing Santa hats.
Because apparently, nothing says emotional breakdown like impulse purchasing holiday-themed cat quilts during a public meltdown.
But she doesn’t head for the register; she heads for the exit.
“Ma’am,” Juniper calls out from her post, “you need to pay for that quilt!”
“Put it on my tab!” Matilda shouts over her shoulder. “I’m having a crisis!”
The door chimes jingle frantically as she storms out into the snow, leaving behind a wake of stunned customers and the distinct impression that we’ve just witnessed either a grief-stricken pet owner or a woman having a complete psychological meltdown with a side of confession to murder.
“Well,” Georgie announces into the sudden silence, “that woman is wound tighter than my girdle on Thanksgiving.”
“You don’t wear a girdle on Thanksgiving,” Mom points out. “You wear sweats. And you sweat while you’re stuffing your face, too.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Georgie says with relief. “I was thinking of your girdle.”
Mom shakes her head at the void left in Matilda’s wake. “Did she just admit to murdering someone—and admit to wanting to murder them again?” Mom asks, looking around the store as if she’s checking for witnesses. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s what I heard.”
“And here I thought finding the perfect Christmas gift was stressful,” Georgie adds, picking up a quilt featuring reindeer that appear to be experiencing some sort of antler crisis. “Turns out, it’s nothing compared to public confessions and cat-related breakdowns.”
“Should we follow her?” Mom asks. “Because that seemed like important information for the investigation.”
“Or call the sheriff’s department?” Georgie suggests. “Because I’m pretty sure threatening to hang people by their toes is frowned upon by law enforcement.”
“I am the sheriff’s department,” Jasper says with a frown while relinquishing the stroller to me.
“And speaking of which, duty calls. I have to run.” He dots both Ella and me with a quick kiss.
“I’ll see what I can do as far as Jellybean goes.
But it sounds like Matilda and Hammie Mae are off to a good start.
” He locks his gray eyes to mine. “Do me a favor and stay out of trouble.”
“Oh, I plan to,” I say, trying my hardest to believe it myself. “I have a little time, so I think I’ll swing by the Decks the Halls Home Tour and check out some clever Christmas décor ideas for the inn.”
“Sounds innocent enough,” Jasper frowns as he says it.
Why do I get the feeling it’s not? He lands another kiss on my lips, this time lingering, and every bit of me demands to erase everything on my schedule today and take this man back to our cottage and have my way with him.
Plus, I could probably convince Mom to watch Ella in the steamy interim.
Ella gives a little laugh as we pull away. Our little audience has put a damper on our good time more than once.
Jasper says goodbye to one and all before dashing through the door just as Juniper floats over from the register during a brief lull in customers, her antler headband bobbing with holiday authority.
“The universe has a way of revealing truth through chaos,” she says with the kind of zen wisdom that only comes from years of retail experience. “That woman’s aura is practically screaming guilt. And not just about the cat,” she adds meaningfully, “if you catch my cosmic drift.”
“Oh, we’re catching it,” I say, looking around the Christmas chaos of the shop, then out at the snowy street where Matilda’s footprints are already being covered by fresh snowfall.
Baby Ella makes a happy noise at the twinkle lights, completely oblivious to the fact that we’ve just witnessed what might have been a confession to murder disguised as a missing pet crisis.
“You know what?” I say, adjusting Ella’s blanket. “I think it’s time we took that holiday home tour. For investigative purposes, of course.”
“Of course,” Mom says with a grin. “Nothing suspicious about three women with a baby showing up to look at Christmas decorations while conducting interrogations and accidentally solving crimes.”
“It’s our specialty,” Georgie adds. “Christmas chaos and criminal investigation—we should put it on our business cards.”
We really should.
Experience has taught me the hard way that when it comes to murder and mayhem in Cider Cove, the truth usually hides behind the most festively decorated doors, and the best confessions happen when people think they’re simply having an emotional breakdown about their pets.
“Well, ladies,” I announce, pushing the stroller toward the door where fresh snow continues to fall like nature’s own Christmas confetti. “I guess we’re off to the Deck the Halls Holiday Home Tour.”
After all, what could possibly go wrong with a group of amateur detectives, a three-month-old baby, and a tour of homes belonging to people who may or may not have committed murder?
In Cider Cove, that’s practically considered a peaceful family outing.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this town, it’s that murder and mistletoe are often found in the same zip code.
And in Cider Cove, the real holiday tradition?
Trouble wrapped in tinsel.