“Thank you for that character reference,” Peyton says dryly. “I’ll be sure to include it in my unemployment application.”
Peyton’s phone buzzes again, and this time she looks at it with the expression of someone expecting a dire diagnosis.
“Oh, wonderful.The Daily Dishis already running with it. ‘Murder at Maine’s Most Exclusive Country Club.’ This just keeps getting better.”
“The Daily Dish?” Neelie perks up like a gossip-hungry bloodhound catching a scent. “Do you think they’ll want interviews? I could totally be the family spokesperson!” She touches her hair before touching up her lipstick.
“Absolutely not,” Mom, Winnie, Killion, and I say in unison.
“Fine,” Neelie huffs. “But when this becomes a Netflix documentary, don’t blame me if they get the Holiday family story all wrong.”
Peyton stares at all of us with the wild eyes of a wannabe socialite whose carefully ordered world has just exploded into Christmas-themed chaos. “I don’t care if I have to work with Nancy Drew’s grandmothers here—we’re solving this before my reputation is completely destroyed.”
“Nancy Drew’s grandmothers?” Clarabelle’s voice rises with indignation. “I’ll have you know we’re more like Miss Marple’s younger, moreattractivesisters.”
“Considerably younger,” Peggy adds. “And definitely more attractive.”
I look around at my impromptu investigation team—two octogenarian amateur detectives with questionable judgment, a desperate country club manager facing career destruction, a professional detective who’s dating me, and a family that treats murder like dinner table conversation.
This should be interesting,Cricket mewls from her chair.Although I give it twenty-four hours before someone else ends up strangled with Christmas decorations.
Can we at least solve it before Santa comes?Rookie adds hopefully.I don’t want to spend the holidays hiding from crime scene tape.
I look back at the evergreen forest where Seraphina Sparks met her festive demise, then at the faces surrounding me—each one representing a different kind of chaos I’m about to unleash on this investigation.
One thing’s for certain: this Christmas is going to be anything but silent, and definitely not particularly holy.
CHAPTER 6
Murder Club Group Chat
Chevy: Ladies! I’ve been researching our victim all morning. Seraphina Sparks had more enemies than my editor has red pens. This is going to be DELICIOUS.
Bunny: Count me in! I’m between sugar daddies right now anyway, so my schedule is wide open for detecting. Plus, I look fantastic in investigative wear.
Peggy: Sugar, I’ve already started my suspect list. That blogger was nastier than my ex-mother-in-law, and she once poisoned my prize-winning roses out of spite.
Clarabelle: I brought my interrogation kit! It has everything we need: a magnifying glass, evidence bags, and my lucky hat with theChristmas bells.
Kick: Can we solve this BEFORE Christmas? I have seventeen family events, four school plays, and a husband who has decided this is the year I should make all the gifts by hand. FROM SCRATCH.
Hillary: I’m in, but only if we can wrap this up quickly. I have boots to buy and a reputation to maintain. Also, does anyone know if orange is my color? Asking for when we get arrested.
Tipper: Henry is making special “investigation fuel” appetizers for our meetings. He’s calling them “Clue-stomers” and “Evidence Éclairs.” I think the murder is affecting his brain.
Peggy: Speaking of suspects, shouldn’t we start with the obvious one? Peyton was literally holding the murder weapon when Hattie found the body.
Clarabelle: True! Plus, she threatened to kill Seraphina in front of witnesses. It’s a very sloppy murder technique, if you ask me.
Chevy: The country club manager with the motive, means, and opportunity? It’s almost TOO obvious. Like something out of an Agatha Christie novel.
Peyton: I’M RIGHT HERE IN THIS CHAT. And I did NOT murder anyone!
Bunny: Oh hi Peyton! Awkward... So anyway, about that whole “strangling with Christmas lights” situation...
Peyton: I was about to REMOVE the lights from her neck, not putting them there!
Hillary: That’s exactly what a killer would say.
