“Anyone ever tell you, you’re full of good ideas?”
“I’m under direct orders from Opal Mortimer to show you a good time.”
Shep and I share a kiss that tastes like a good idea, and maybe a touch of vino.
It truly is the most wonderful time of the year, unless you’re Holly Wright’s killer.
Whoever killed Holly Wright is experiencing their final holiday season outside of prison walls. And if Shep and I have our way, they’ll spend their first official Christmas inside them.
Here’s to watching the killer jingle all the way to a life sentence with their shiny new silver bracelets. And when that happens, it truly will be the most wonderful time of the year.
Chapter 11
Last night after Shep and I made some good use of the mistletoe, I had a hard time falling asleep.
I was surging with adrenaline, so I stayed up poking around at the dark corners of the internet until I found screenshots of those strange posts Holly made. A total of five that contained dark and grainy pictures you couldn’t quite make out—but her words, well, they were a little less diluted. There were three a few weeks ago, and then two just a few days before she died. It seemed they were almost evenly spaced three days apart each, then a week’s pause, then the final two. For the most part, they were gibberish—incomplete sentences that rambled on about chickens and the wood mill. The last two were gibberish as well, but included so many lewd innuendoes you knew exactly what was on her mind. They made her sound desperate for a man in the very worst way, and I can see where they would be highly humiliating. I can see why she would want to deny these posts and insist she was hacked. But it does seem like a veiled attempt to hide the fact she went on a drunk posting spree. Some people shouldn’t be let near a keyboard when they’re sober, let alone after they’ve had a few.
It’s the middle of the next afternoon, and best-selling author, S.J. Wexler, just so happens to be having a book event down at the Starry Falls Public Library that I wouldn’t miss for all of Nana Rose’s cooking. Good thing I went into the Manor Café early and cooked up a storm. There’s enough of Nana Rose’s lasagna in there to feed the whole town twice, not to mention the fact Stephanie and I baked our little hearts out. You can’t have the holidays without a platter of Nana Rose’s Christmas cookies. They’re so delicious, Opal and I decided we’d start selling them by the box and taking holiday orders, too. We’re booked right up to Christmas Eve.
The library is pulsating with life this afternoon. Tilly and Stephanie decided to join me in the event any hot men decided to show. So far it’s just Shep and Mayor Wright in a sea of women.
To the right of the reception counter, an entire slew of folding chairs have been set out and a thick crowd of the aforementioned women sit at rapt attention as Shep reads an excerpt from a book he has coming out later this spring called The Family Man. It’s part of his ongoing Manon Tate series—yes, the same series that is loosely based on my family. I think it’s interesting to note that Shep not only had a fascination with my family before we met, but that both his father and mine are both serving time at the same correctional facility.
My father, Angelo Santini, aka the Sunday Sinner, is in for a RICO charge that ended up taking down the Fazios, one of the biggest crime families in New Jersey at the time. And Shep’s father is in for killing his wife, Shep’s stepmother.
Grisly, I know. But Shep says his father insists he’s innocent. Shep also said the evidence said otherwise and the prosecution had an ironclad case.
Shep finishes up with his reading, and the room explodes with applause. Mayor Wright is one of the first up on his feet, and my sister smacks me on the arm.
“See that?” she whispers a notch over the noise of the crowd. “He jumped to his feet first. He’s kissing up to the lead homicide detective in order to hide the fact he killed his ex.”
Tilly grunts. “I’m about to kiss up to the lead homicide detective. He’s the only hottie in this place.”
I shrug over at her. “If it makes you feel better, it looks as if Kaila Clark went all out. She’s got fresh coffee and donuts at the reception table.” I point to my left, and the both of them fly right out of their seats.
Speaking of flying, a spray of pink miniature stars floats this way as Hazel Newton’s ghost slowly materializes before me. Her red hair is flowing and wild, and her eyes are lit up like unholy wonders.
“Boo!” she trills as she floats on over. Her black tattered dress wafts behind her as she glides my way. “I heard Opal and Regina talking back at the café, and they mentioned you were here. Oh, how I miss the library.” She gives a mournful look around. “I guess the good news is that I can visit anytime I like. Only now I’d have to steal the books to read them.”
“I have an idea,” I whisper, trying my hardest not to move my lips. “Why don’t you find some books you’re interested in, and I’ll check them out for you and leave them in the attic at the manor? That way you can read all the books you like, and you won’t be a book thief.”
Her hair blows back as if a very strong breeze just hit the vicinity. “I think I’ll take you up on that.” She squints over at the crowd. “I recognize those women.” She nods
