“Call Ford,” I read. “And look”—I point to the bottom of the yellow piece of paper—“it says twenty-five hundred. Ford mentioned she owed him money. Maybe that was the total?” I flip it over and scrawled across the back it reads. “Over my dead body.”
The sound of something or someone knocking against the window sends both Regina and me mobilizing, evicting ourselves from the office as we race to gather Tilly and Steph. The four of us, along with that pink box of donuts, hightail it out of the library, jump into our cars, and race our way to the nearest fried chicken drive-thru.
What can I say? It’s been a long night. I think we all deserved a little chicken lovin’.
Stephanie and I pull up to the cabin at the same time as Shep, and he pauses with morbid curiosity as he examines the greasy bucket in my sister’s arms.
“Bowie? Please tell me that chicken doesn’t represent anything other than the fact you’re hungry.”
“Why do you ask?” I pretend to study the cheery Christmas lights garnishing our cabins as if reliving a wonderful memory, and hoping he’ll do the same.
Shep exhales, and a plume of smoke curls from his nostrils.
“Because the last time I caught you with a drumstick in your hand, you had just broken into someone else’s office.”
“Ooh.” Stephanie shakes her head. “You’re a really good detective.” She holds the bucket his way. “Does all that hard work make you hungry?”
“Bowie,” Shep says it stern and sexy as all get out, and I’m left to wonder what do I have to do to get this man alone.
“Come on, you two.” Stephanie herds us into my cabin. “I’ll pull out the cookies, the leftover lasagna, and you two kids can duke it out while getting some good food in your bellies.”
Shep nods her way. “What about the chicken?”
“It’ll cost you my company,” Stephanie says while pulling up a seat at the table. “But what the heck.”
I heat up the lasagna, plate it up, and land some forks on the table along with my Nana Rose’s anise cookies. The anise cookies are about the size and shape of a walnut, and each one is dipped in pink icing then rolled in sprinkles. No use in pretending we’re not going to attack those cuties right after dinner. In fact, I might just skip straight to dessert.
“So where were you and what have you got?” Shep asks before shoveling in a forkful of lasagna and engaging in one of those deep throaty moans that typically means the food is better than most carnal things that feed the body.
I shrug over at him. “We were at the library, Holly Wright’s office to be exact, and I found nada. What about you? What’s this new evidence?”
“Nora had a few specifics on what Holly owed Ford and why. Turns out, it was less than three thousand dollars, and Holly claimed she needed the money for a garden she was putting in.”
“Who told her that?” I ask, partially because I’m not believing anyone borrows that much to put in a garden in the dead of winter.
“Beauford’s ex-wife.” He shrugs. “Not that I believe anyone is borrowing money for a garden in the dead of winter.”
I point over to him with a cookie in hand. “I knew I liked you. So what’s next?”
He shrugs. “You tell me. Who are the suspects in the lineup?”
“Let’s see. Kaila? She and Holly didn’t get along, but then who did Holly get along with? The night Holly was killed Kaila made a rather dark remark. She said Holly had better hope their paths didn’t cross again that night. And then there’s that whole thing about her lying regarding her relationship with Ford. So weird. Unless, of course, Ford is the liar in that equation.”
Stephanie picks up an anise cookie off the platter. “What about that woman we met at DoReMi Karaoke?”
“Carol Bransford.” I nod. “She and Holly were in the same sorority together. But things soured once Holly wanted Carol to ditch her job at the distillery.” I look to Shep. “And Ford told us that Holly’s uncle owned that distillery. But Kaila told me that he died recently, and that Holly was fuming because she was left out of the will.” A thought comes to me. “You know, I saw a business card that fell from Carol’s purse that said she was the CFO of that place. She said it was just for a little while. I guess Holly got her demoted somehow—something to do with all the drama.”
“Men hate drama,” Stephanie says while fishing another drumstick out of the bucket.
“Women hate it, too,” I’m quick to point out. “That’s why the killer could just as easily be a woman.”
Shep grabs a cookie. “But there are two men we’re looking at.” He pops the anise goodness into his mouth and savors it. “Wow, these are amazing.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say, snapping up another one, and my sister does the same. “Okay, how about Beauford? Holly destroyed his marriage, and she owed him money. And let’s not forget Mayor Wright, aka Santa Claus.”
Stephanie shakes her head. “The mayor may have hated her guts, but he was dealing with hundreds of screaming kids that night. The man didn’t do it.” She pauses with her cookie in midair. “On second thought, dealing with hundreds of screaming kids could drive anyone batty. If my ex showed up, I’d strangle him with Christmas lights, too, just to take the edge off. Maybe we should give the poor guy a pass?”
I frown over at her. “Nobody gets a pass when it comes to murder. Especially not murder during the holidays. It’s twice as sacrilegious as it is any other time of year.”
We finish up our meals deep in contemplation. Once we’re through, I walk Shep out and we stand between our cabins, admiring our multi-colored handiwork.
“I can’t believe Christmas is just about here.” I sigh as I wrap my
