It’s almost two-thirty—T-minus thirty minutes until go-time, and just as I’m about to create an antipasto platter that will put every other antipasto platter I’ve ever created to shame, Shep asks if I could help him outside for a minute.
“Anything for you, Stud Muffin.”
“Thanks, Kitten.” He gives a sly wink.
Shep has on a forest green flannel paired with jeans. That dark scruff peppered over his cheeks gives him that outdoorsy appeal, and I’d like nothing more than to pull him into his cabin and help him right out of that flannel and jeans.
Shepherd Wexler might just be the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on, and I’m not talking in any sort of pretty boy way. He’s a man’s man, and he’s got the gun strapped to his muscular side to prove it.
“What’s up? If you want to put up the Christmas lights, I think maybe we should wait until tomorrow. I’m already feeling as if I should be horizontal. I’m pretty sure I’d be bad luck on a ladder,” I say, pulling on my peacoat. Another layer of snow fell last night, and all of Starry Falls looks downy to the icy touch. “Let me guess, you’ve strung up some mistletoe to the pergola and you want to test it out?”
“I like how you think. But it’ll have to wait. Beauford Wright is out front unloading a half a cord of firewood onto the log rack on the side of the cabin.”
“Oh. Well, that’s nice. But I’ve got enough wood in the cabin. In fact, thanks for having the plumber out yesterday. My heater has once again unlocked fire-breathing dragon status. Hurry back in, you’ve got to try the prosciutto. The guy at the deli sliced it so thin it tastes like butter. And the soppressata has just the right spice and tang. I’m telling you I never thought I’d get decent Italian deli meats outside of New Jersey, at least not in Vermont, but boy, am I glad I was wrong about that.”
Shep takes a breath as those dark brows of his swoop in vexingly low and turn my hormones into a fire-breathing dragon as well.
“Beauford Wright is offloading some firewood,” he says it a little slower this time. “He owns the local wood mill. Are you sure you don’t want to say hello?”
I squint over at him. “Why would I want to say hello to Beauford—Ford! As in Mayor Wright’s brother?” I quickly traipse down the snowy steps and lead Shep out front where a familiar looking man stands holding onto his truck while a couple of younger, far more stronger men shuttle the wood to the side of Shep’s cabin.
“Beauford,” Shep calls out. “I’d love for you to meet my girlfriend, Bowie Binx. She’s the one that had the heating problem I was telling you about.”
Girlfriend. It never gets old.
“Well hey there, pretty lady.” He sheds an easy grin while holding out a hand, and I’m quick to shake it. Beauford is taller than he seemed that night of the murder, and in the light I can see the resemblance between him and his brother. He has a halo’s worth of graying blond hair, white stubble on his cheeks, and pale eyes that have a naughty gleam in them. “You can call me Ford.”
“Bowie,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you. So how do you know Shep?”
“Small town. Small minds for the most part, with the exception of this one. He’s our local brainiac. My brother is a big fan of his work. I’m not much of a reader, but if I were, I’m sure I would be a big fan, too. I guess that circles right back to small minds.” He gives a jolly laugh while patting his belly. If Mayor Wright ever retires the red suit, I’m sure his brother would be willing to fill it—just like he filled his position with the mayor’s ex-wife.
Shep nods my way. “Mayor Wright is his brother.” His left eye comes shy of winking. I know that, but Beauford, or Ford, as it were, doesn’t know that I know. Shep really is a brainiac, keeping one step ahead of the suspect at hand.
“Sorry to hear about your old sister-in-law.” I blow out a slow breath, and a plume of frosty air lights up in front of me. “Any news on who could have done something like that?”
He inches back. “You’re dating the lead detective.” He belts out a laugh before sobering right back up. “But then again, I suppose it doesn’t make such good dinner conversation. Heck if I know what happened. Holly was a smooth operator when she wanted to be, but most of the time she was plain old annoying. She thrived off tearing apart other people’s lives. She grew up under a dictatorship in her household, and she spent her adult years taking it out on the rest of the world. She could be a real nice person when things were going her way. But boy, you turn the table and you might as well have a tiger by the tail.” He shoves his fists against his hips. “What have you got, Detective?”
“Just speaking to friends and family right now. A business across the street had a surveillance camera pointed that way, but the holiday tree blocked the scene of the crime.”
Ford shakes his head. “What luck for the killer.”
“I don’t believe in luck,” Shep fires back.
“Ford”—I offer the man a sweet smile—“did you happen to see Holly having a disagreement with anyone that night?” I happened to see her having a disagreement with four people that night—and he just so happened to be one of them, but I keep that tidbit to myself.
He tries his best to poke his tongue through his cheek.
“My brother.” He shrugs. “That’s no secret.” He slaps the back of his neck. “Carol Bransford, too. I guess that’s not a secret either. They’ve been bickering for years now.”
“About
