He lets out a mighty roar, and Hazel offers a warm smile.
“He says that things are going well, Bowie Binx. Opal is pleased, and that pleases him. He’s never seen her happier than he has with you and your sister around.”
My lips twist at the thought. “What can I say? Steph adds the naughty, and I add the nice.”
King rubs his head against my hand and mewls again.
Hazel chuckles at whatever it is she’s hearing. “He wants to know if there’s any chance of getting a few more discards of Nana Rose’s cookies. He says Mud dropped a few their way, and there have been talks of storming the kitchen in hopes to garner a few more.”
“Consider them yours. In fact, I’ll bake a cat-friendly batch with no sugar.”
He swipes his paw my way.
“Did I say no sugar? I meant low sugar.”
A shadow darkens the halls, and Hazel gasps before she begins to dissipate right before my eyes.
“I’ve had about enough of this man.” Her disembodied voice trembles with anger. “Do something. I’d hate to vacate the manor so soon, but he’s giving me no choice.”
The stalky man with a mustache who was walking around with a vacuum attached to his back pops up. “Pardon me, miss.”
“No. You pardon me,” I say as I block his path. “I’m the manager here at the manor, and I’m relieving you of your ridiculous duties. We don’t have any ghosts in this dusty, musty, overgrown house, and if we did, we’d like to keep them.” Okay, so I’m not the manager of the entire manor, but some days it feels like it.
“That’s not for you to decide, little lady.” He takes off, and I scoff in his wake. “See that?” I say to King. “No cookies for him.” I pull my phone out and am just about to text Shep when my fingers start typing Alpha Pi into a search engine instead. I input Carol and Holly’s names as well, and the screen populates with Alpha Pi, Benton University. “That’s right,” I whisper. “Carol said they went to Benton together.” But no smoking gun here. I note the graduation date under Holly’s name and type that in along with the name of the sorority, and something very, very dicey pops up.
“Well, well, King,” I whisper, looking out toward the ballroom. “It looks as if Carol Bransford and I have something to talk about, after all.” King gives me a tap over the chest before leaping out of my arms.
Carol and Holly certainly had an incident at their old sorority house.
Now to find out exactly how involved either of them was.
I’m guessing if Carol were involved, she’d do anything to stop Holly from spreading the word.
It’s the exact type of blackmail Holly Wright lived for.
Or should I say died for?
Chapter 14
I’ve always been an ardent lover of the holidays.
Christmastime in Hastings had just as much cheer as it did fear, but growing up, that didn’t bother me much. I miss all of it. I miss my high-strung parents bickering. I miss their salty language. I miss Nana Rose working in the kitchen, making the house smell like the best Italian restaurant this side of the old country. I miss my brother Lorenzo and all of the habits that once annoyed me. I would give anything right now to have him walk into my living room and steal the remote so he could yell at the TV for the next three hours. I miss the way my family gathered around the tree on Christmas morning, the way we spent the day visiting relatives and showing off our new holiday duds. But mostly, I miss my father’s warm embrace and my mother’s soft eyes. And, I miss every last bit of Nana Rose. My family wasn’t perfect, but at least we had each other. I’m not perfect, but I’m darn glad I get to celebrate another holiday outside of a government correctional institution.
Holly Wright wasn’t perfect, but that doesn’t mean someone had the right to strangle the life out of her because they felt like it. But I have a feeling the killer didn’t do this on a whim. It was very much planned. I have a gut feeling the killer felt as if they were running out of options fast. And Holly Wright simply had to go.
I spot the woman I’m looking for as she talks to a couple of people by the entry, and by the time I head over, the small group has disbanded and she’s standing there alone.
“Carol,” I say, mustering a cheerful tone. “You look great tonight.” And oddly, I mean it. Her vanilla-colored hair is swept back into a French twist, and she’s wearing a bright red sweater with felt cutouts of gingerbread men dancing across the front. But what have really caught my eye are those glowing navy velvet skinny jeans she’s donned along with it. I’d love to know where I could find me a pair, but I force myself to tend to the matter at hand.
“Hey, Bowie.” She offers a peaceable smile. “Great party.” She snatches a glass of eggnog off the table next to us. “Would you like some?”
“No, thank you.” I study her a moment, so very calm, so very confident. “Can I speak with you?”
“Sure.” She blinks my way as I lead us out of the ballroom, through the boisterous crowd, and into the next alcove, which leads to the library. “Would you mind if we stepped in here?” I ask. “I can’t seem to hear myself think.”
“Are you kidding?” She laughs. “The Mortimer Library is the stuff legends are made of. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since Stitch Witchery. Besides, my ears can use a reprieve from the noise despite the fact I just got here.”
We step inside, but I leave the door open in the event one of us needs to make a quick escape—namely me. I’ve cornered my fair share of suspects over
