“Yes,” I say with marked enthusiasm. “What do you know about her?”
“Bowie?” a familiar deep voice calls from behind, and I freeze solid.
Hazel’s mouth rounds out as she looks over my shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”
And just like that, she zips toward the crime scene like a bolt of lightning.
Shep moves into my line of vision. The level of concern on his face is truly frightening.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” His brows pinch in the middle, and darn it, he looks that much comelier. “Is everything okay with Pixie?” He ticks his head to the side as he entertains the possibility of why I seemed to be having a lively conversation with myself.
“Oh, she’s fine,” I say, and Pixie lets out a yowl as if to protest the idea of using her as a cover. “I mean, I think she’s cold. I was just asking if she wanted to head back to the cabin.” I give a little shrug. “Any idea of who might have done this to that poor woman?”
Shep lets out a sigh. “Not yet. And after speaking with a few people, I get the feeling she wasn’t too well liked. But I don’t want you to worry about it.” He offers a stern look, and I’m tempted to sigh myself. I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for an alpha male. “I mean it, Bowie. Whoever did this most likely didn’t plan on it. They’re probably shaken and scared. Leave this one to the pros. I have a feeling it’s going to wrap up pretty quickly.”
“What makes you think so? Did you find any evidence near the body? Something other than that footprint?”
His lips knot up. Shep has eyes that remind me of a classic Siberian Husky’s, light blue rimmed with navy, and it’s entirely unfair to the female population that he looks so vexingly delicious.
He takes a step in close, and his thick, woodsy cologne engulfs me. “We’ll talk later.” He lands a kiss to my lips, and I can’t help but swoon.
We’ll talk later seems to be the buzzwords of the house, but I like the spin Shep’s lips put on it.
“Correction,” I say, giving the lapel of his coat a slight tug. “We’ll do more of that later.”
His lids hood low, and the beginnings of a dangerous smile flickers on his lips.
“I like how you think.” He takes off, and I spot Regina and her brand new blonde bestie again.
I do a little fox trot on the way over—slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, as I try not to slip in the snow and land myself in the morgue right alongside Holly.
The blonde is currently hugging herself, a lock of hair hangs over one eye, but that other eye looks to be displaying genuine fear.
“Regina,” I say as I come upon them. “I just wanted to see who was manning the booth.” I glance past her. “Ah, yes, Thea and Flo.” Thea and Flo are my best two waitresses at the Manor Café. I could have done the good waitress, bad waitress math and come up with the right answer without looking, but I needed something to say. Not that Tilly and Stephanie are bad waitresses—they just have an affinity for the more testosterone-laden aspects of life, and well, that has led to all sorts of levels of distractions. And Regina thinks she’s above all the waitressing noise because she once held the managerial position.
Regina smirks as she looks to Carol. “Didn’t I tell you, she’d come sniffing around soon enough?”
Carol gives a tight smile my way, and those marionette lines around her mouth press in deep. My guess is she’s somewhere in her fifties. But you can tell she takes excellent care of herself, and if I look like that in my fifties, I’ll be counting my lucky supernatural stars.
Carol nods. “Regina mentioned that you tried to pin the last few homicides on her.” She shudders as she looks to the crowd gathered behind the shadowed evergreen. “I just can’t believe this.”
“Did you know the deceased?” I ask while giving Regina the stink eye for trying to ruin my investigative mojo.
Pixie mewls up at me as if agreeing.
“Oh God, yes.” Carol glances to the sky. “Holly and I go way back. She and my brother had a fling for a while. But then, who didn’t Holly have a fling with?”
Regina nods. “There’s a reason she’s the ex-Mrs. Wright.”
“Wow, I guess so,” I say. “The mayor didn’t seem too thrilled to see her here tonight.”
Carol gasps. “That’s right! I saw them arguing earlier.”
Regina chuckles. “I think we all saw that.”
“No.” Carol shakes her head. “I distinctly saw them arguing behind the tree.” She clutches at her neck with a gloved hand. “In fact, it was right there where she’s lying now.”
I note a scratch on the woman’s forearm just above her glove where her skin glows pale.
“Are you okay?” I ask, pointing over to the red welt that looks to be rising.
“Oh, that?” She pulls up her sleeve and blows on it.
“Cat scratched her.” Regina makes a face. “That’s why we’re next to the booth. Come on, Carol. Let’s get something for that before Bowie shoves us both under the homicidal bus.” They take off, and I turn back toward the crowd just as the coroner’s van pulls up.
It’s certainly possible that a cat scratched her. The Mortimer Manor has more than its fair share of feline guests that love to linger around the periphery. And despite their cute furry faces, they tend to have an ornery disposition.
I head over toward the homicidal hub and spot Kaila, the official, far less inebriated Mrs. Claus of the evening.
“Are you okay?” I ask as she stares blankly in the direction Holly is sprawled out in the snow.
“You know, I don’t think I am.” A tiny laugh bucks from her. “I guess it hasn’t sunk in yet. A part of me still expects to see the
