“Ms. Dawson does not have any comments about recent events!” he barked before Abbott could race up to me, microphone out for a statement. “Purchase something, or get out.”
Abbott looked apprehensively at the cupcakes behind the glass case.
Zoe took a big bite. “Yum! Tastes amazing.”
“I guess I’ll take two.”
After I packaged up his purchase, Gran hustled out of the kitchen, where she and several of her friends were helping me restock my cupcake supplies. The cupcake advent calendar was a day behind, and I needed a thousand peppermint-bark cupcakes yesterday.
“You need to give that man a blowjob. We’re about to go on break,” she hissed at me too loudly. I saw the muscle in Marius’s cheek twitch. “Just take him to the storeroom. You’re almost out of flour, by the way.”
I turned my back to Marius. “I’m not—no!”
“He’s doing all sorts of free labor for you,” Gran argued. “He’s done more for you in twenty-four hours than Brooks ever did, and you were shackled to that walking prolapsed anus for seven years.”
I gave Marius a guilty glance. Hewasdoing a lot. Just heading off the prying questions and dissuading the police fromshutting down my shop was keeping my mental state from driving off a cliff.
I went into the kitchen, dodging seniors running around with vats of batter and huge bags of frosting, and put together a selection of snacks for him. Plate and fresh cup of coffee in hand, I approached Marius.
“I know this isn’t a drop in the bucket to repay you,” I said, “but I thought you might need some sustenance.”
He peered down his nose at the plate.
“Murder cupcakes? No, thank you.”
I slammed the plate down on the counter next to him. “Fine,” I spat. “Do you want a blow job instead?”
“No man wants to get involved with a sheltered small-town widow—married young to a piss-poor excuse for a man, too stupid to move out of town, and too useless to get a real job,” he drawled. “Now, if you were a divorcée, I’d know that at least the sex would be wild before you eventually offed me for the money.”
“You think I’m dumb?” I couldn’t stop the tears. Fuck him.
“Please stop crying. You know it’s true. You married Brooks, after all. I’m sure all of your friends told you not to.”
I cried harder because they had. Zoe had staged an intervention.
But I had been inlove.
“I know I should never have married him, but I didn’t kill him.” I wiped my face, trying to get ahold of myself. “We need to solve the mystery.”
“Youneed to,” he corrected. “Otherwise, you’re going to prison.”
“You’re not helping?”
“This isn’t the movies; lawyers don’t investigate crimes. We make sure that the proper legal proceedings have been followed. Come Christmas, I’m out of here,” he warned.
“I know. I’m working on it. I have a suspect.”
“You have half a suspect.” He nodded as Charles came in, irate. “Now, him? That’s a suspect. Could he have murdered Brooks and now, succumbing to guilt, returned to the scene of the crime?”
“Marius, don’t.” I grabbed his arm, which was surprisingly muscular under the suit. Probably all he did was work out and act like an asshole to people.
Too late. Charles had heard Marius, and his anger had ratcheted up to fury.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t a Christmas miracle. Santa’s little cupcake shop of horrors open for business,” Charles sneered.
Outside, Gertrude, Alice, and several other members of the feral-cat committee were gearing up for a protest. It was shaping up to be a headache-inducing day.
Ducking behind the counter, I ate a chocolate cherry cupcake with red-star sprinkles.
