Chapter 22
“Did you see that elf just wink at me?” Georgie gasps, clutching her peppermint martini as if it were blessed by three wise bartenders and a reindeer. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or filing a report.”
“That’s the third one tonight,” Mom says, averting her eyes. “Face it, Georgie. You’ve got elf magnetism.”
“Maybe it’s my festive pheromones.” Georgie winks. “Or maybe it’s this mistletoe brooch that used to belong to my Aunt Fanny, who ran off with a magician.”
I blink her way. “I have so many questions and zero time.”
I guess you could say the Thornfield Starlight Christmas Eve Gala has everything tonight—ten chocolate fountains, six-foot nutcrackers, a sleigh made entirely of peppermint bark, and now—just to keep things festive—a full-blown sheriff’s department takedown.
The scents of pine garland and spilled chocolate create an oddly festive atmosphere, and I can hear guests murmuring in amazement as they take cell phone videos of what’s probably going to be Cider Cove’s most talked about Christmas Eve ever.
Leo has already escorted Jennilee out in handcuffs, her chocolate-splattered gold gown trailing behind her like evidence of the world’s messiest food fight, while Jasper—still in full Santa regalia—finishes up the paperwork with the kind of professional efficiency that somehow makes detective work look festive.
That woman never stood a chance once my furry buddies and I got involved, Fish mewls from her perch near the destroyed dessert table. Hoomans forget that animals are excellent at cornering prey in expensive evening gowns.
This is the best Christmas ever! Sherlock barks and jumps with glee while vibrating like a furry little tuning fork. We caught a bad guy AND there are cookies everywhere! It’s like all my dreams came true at once!
Before I can fully process the surreal nature of Santa arresting a killer, I’m suddenly engulfed in what can only be described as a Baker family celebration avalanche. Mom steps in close, brimming with pride.
“Oh my goodness, Buffy, Bizzy!” she exclaims, pulling us both into a group hug that threatens to cut off circulation. “You solved it! You actually solved another murder!”
“Excuse me,” Macy interrupts while clearing her throat so loud it could probably be heard in neighboring states. “I was standing right here. And I’m the one who got the confession by being direct instead of dancing around a killer like a couple of timid little flowers.”
Mom blinks like Macy just materialized from another dimension. “Oh! Macy! I didn’t see you there, sweetheart.”
“Clearly,” Macy grunts as if she’s accustomed to being overlooked but has finally reached her limit. “Despite being the sister who actually cracked the case.”
“All three of my daughters are brilliant,” Mom beams with tears in her eyes. “Even if they do have a disturbing tendency to get involved in homicide investigations.”
Dad and Gwyneth arrive wheeling Ella’s stroller through the chocolate disaster zone while she sleeps peacefully through her first murder arrest, because apparently, my daughter has inherited the Baker family ability to sleep through chaos and mayhem.
“That was quite the investigation,” Dad says with a touch of both admiration and apprehension. “What’s it going to take to get the three of you to steer clear of killers?”
“It’s her fault,” both Buffy and Macy say in unison while pointing right at me.
A laugh bubbles from me. “Well, at least you’re unified in one thing.”
“I mean it, girls,” Dad says, attempting a stern dad voice and failing spectacularly. “You’ve hit your holiday crime-solving quota.”
He’s mostly teasing, especially since he’s eyeing the chocolate-slick marble floors like they’re out to take him down.
And judging by the way his gaze keeps drifting toward the dessert buffet, he’s either plotting his next move like it’s a tactical operation or debating whether triple chocolate mousse is worth the risk of a holiday slip-and-slide.
“But I’ve got to hand it to you,” he adds, softening. “You were thorough. I’m proud of all three of you.”
Gwyneth frowns. Note to self, she thinks, never underestimate this family’s ability to turn social events into crime scenes.
She is definitely not wrong.
“Excuse me,” Macy announces, hands on her hips and using the tone of voice usually reserved for correcting major historical inaccuracies. “I’m the one who solved this case! I’m the one who accused her directly and made her confess! Why are these two suddenly getting equal credit?”
Dad bows her way. “And highest compliments to you, Macy. You are clearly the mastermind sleuth around here.” I hope Bizzy and Buffy can forgive me. I’m just trying to keep the peace.
Macy lifts a shoulder my way and smirks. “Finally, someone who appreciates my superior detective techniques.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I say, because sometimes family harmony requires acknowledging that Macy’s sledgehammer approach actually worked better than our subtle questioning. “Your direct accusation broke the case wide open like a pinata filled with the terrible truth.”
“Thank you!” Macy replies with satisfaction. “Sometimes you need someone with the courage to be blunt.”
“You were like a prosecuting attorney,” Buffy adds generously. “Your methods were very effective.”
Macy practically sparkles under the praise, clearly deciding that being crowned the sister who cracked the case is all the glory her ego needs to carry her straight through New Year’s.
Jasper finishes his official business and transforms from law enforcement officer back into Santa Claus with role-switching skills that would impress the head elf himself.
“Ho ho ho!” he announces, reaching into what appears to be a Santa bag filled with chocolate candy canes. “Who’s been good this year?”
“This is either the most festive arrest in the history of law enforcement,” Georgie says, fanning herself with a candy cane, “or I’ve just found my new holiday fantasy—a Santa with handcuffs and a Glock.”
The sight of Santa distributing candy canes immediately after arresting a killer is so delightfully unhinged that guests start pulling out their phones to document what’s clearly going to be the most unique Christmas memory any of us will ever have.
“Can I get a picture with Crime-Solving Santa?” Georgie chirps, somehow looking completely untouched by the earlier chocolate-related chaos. A true Christmas miracle indeed, considering it’s usually Georgie diving into the deep end of the chocolate fountain headfirst.
“Of course!” Jasper replies in full Santa character, posing for photos while an entire swarm of deputies handles the criminal transport logistics like professional elves with badges.
This family never does anything in a normal manner, Ben says as he watches Mom organize a family photo session with Santa Jasper.
In fact, this family wouldn’t recognize normal if it giftwrapped itself and sang carols.
Dating Ree requires a strong sense of humor and possibly hazard pay. But I wouldn’t change a thing.
I can’t help but smile his way. I wouldn’t change a thing about him either.
Even baby Matilda gets in on the commentary action. “Santa caught the bad lady!” she announces with adorable approval from her perch in Hammie Mae’s arms. “Justice for Christmas!”
“Did that baby just use the word justice correctly in context?” Mom asks, bewildered, while looking around at the crowd. “Because I’m pretty sure my own children weren’t using words like that at six months old.” Let alone my grandkids, but I’m keeping that part to myself.
I frown her way for even thinking it.
Meanwhile, Georgie appears to have temporarily suspended her elf evaluation program in favor of documenting the chaos.
“This is better than any Christmas chick-flick I’ve ever seen!
” she shouts, taking approximately seventeen photos of Jasper posing with various guests.
“Santa with handcuffs! Now that’s entertainment! ”
At least she’s found something more interesting than rating the waitstaff, Mom thinks with relief.
Matilda Westoff approaches with baby Matilda and a look of genuine gratitude that makes me realize how stressful it must have been to be suspected of murder while dealing with a missing cat crisis and maintaining social appearances.
“Thank you, girls,” she says sincerely. “I appreciate you getting to the truth, even if your methods were a bit... intense for my granddaughter’s ears.”
“Bad lady is gone!” Baby Matilda laughs and claps as she says it. “GiGi is safe now!”
Smart baby, Fish mewls. She understands justice better than most adults—and most politicians, too.
Even Cordelia Goldleaf manages a gracious nod of acknowledgment my way, although I suspect she’s mostly relieved that her charity fraud issues are minor compared to murder charges.
And I’ll make sure there are charges. If I’m donating to a charity for children, there had better be children who are benefiting from every dollar. She has a lot to answer for.
“Well done,” she says with a stiff composure that suggests she’s already calling lawyers and accountants. “I’m sure we can all move forward from this unfortunate situation with minimal legal complications.”
Translation: please don’t look too closely at my financial irregularities.
I nod her way, watching her maintain a professional smile despite what’s clearly going to be a complicated legal situation for her once we get on the other side of Christmas.
The evening winds down with the kind of organized chaos that only happens when an entire town has just witnessed a murder confession followed by Santa wielding a weapon.
Carolers resume their performance, guests continue taking photos with the chocolate fountain destruction in the background, and the furry among us bask in their newfound status as local crime-fighting heroes.
Mission accomplished, Sherlock announces with a triumphant woof. We protected the hoomans and caught the bad guy. Best Christmas takedown ever accomplished by professional crime-fighting pets!
It’s nice to know they’ve gone pro. Oh heck, I always knew they would. They practically have to with me around.
As we finally prepare to head back to the inn for what will hopefully be a quieter Christmas morning, I look around at the chocolate-covered marble floors, the destroyed ornament displays, and my family posing for one last photo with Santa Jasper while Jennilee gets loaded into a patrol car just outside the door.
Sometimes the best Christmas miracles don’t come wrapped in bows—they arrive courtesy of a gun-toting Santa, a killer who cracks under pressure, and three sisters who couldn’t agree on an investigation plan until one of them ditched diplomacy and went straight for the confession.
Turns out, the only thing better than Christmas magic is Christmas justice, especially when it’s delivered by a guy in a red suit with a badge.
And lucky me—I get to take Santa home and unwrap him.