“I’ll find a way. Spite gives you superhuman strength.” She crosses her arms with persistence as if planning a very upscale revolution. “Besides, like I said, I’m not going anywhere until we solve this case and clear my name. So stop lollygagging and start detecting, Holiday. We have a killer to catch. And do it soon, would you? I still have a lot of Christmas shopping to do.”
“Lollygagging?” I repeat. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours since we found the body. I think that falls within acceptable investigation timeframes.”
I’m sort of feeling a little behind myself, but there’s no way I’m letting her know she’s right. I’m also sort of with her on that whole still needing to shop thing. How does every Christmas season literally get away from me?
“Acceptable for whom?” she balks. “My reputation is being destroyed in real time on social media. Every minute we waste is another nail in my professional coffin.”
She’s more dramatic than a dog who’s been denied a treat,Cricket says.Although I appreciate her commitment to the chandelier theft plan. It shows initiative.
Before I can respond to Peyton’s declaration of investigative war, the reality of my actual job crashes down like a poorly secured Christmas ornament.
“Speaking of wasting time, I still have eight hundred and forty-seven things to coordinate for the Glittering Gratitude Gala and Champagne Charity Spectacular before Christmas Eve.”
“The what?” Peyton’s eyebrow climbs toward her hairline.
“Your ridiculous charity event. The one raising money forthe Society for the Preservation of Vintage Christmas Ornaments.”
She gasps. “I almost forgot all about that. It’s the most important evening of the year. And if it wasn’t for your little foray into risqué accouterments, I wouldn’t be forgetting any of the important details in my life.”Like the fact I burnt off a lock of hair with my curling iron this morning.She taps her bun with her hand.And now I’ll have a bald spot for Christmas. Just what I’ve always wanted.
She’s right back to glaring at me as if I held the curling iron itself.
I consult my phone, which currently displays a list of tasks that would make Santa’s elves file for workers’ compensation.
“I need to approve ice sculptures, test champagne fountains, coordinate with caterers, and somehow convince three hundred of Maine’s wealthiest residents that preserving antique tree decorations is a worthy cause.”
“That is a worthy cause,” Peyton sniffs. “Those ornaments are historical artifacts.”
“They’re shiny balls that hang on trees.”
“Historical shiny balls that hang on trees.”
Hoomans will find a way to make anything sound important if they use the right words,Rookie barks.Like when you call my food bowl ‘artisanal dining experience’ instead of ‘thing that holds kibble.’
“The point is,” I continue, “I have actual responsibilities beyond playing amateur detective with a woman who may or may not have committed homicide.”
Okay, so I might be goading her a little. But how often am I the one in the power position?
“I did not commit homicide!” Peyton’s voice carries acrossthe rotunda, causing several socialites to pause their gossip sessions and stare. Peyton just can’t seem to stop fueling the fire. “I may have fantasized about it,” she lowers her voice to a fierce whisper, “but fantasy and reality are two very different things.”
“That’s reassuring in a completely non-reassuring way.”
Before Peyton can elaborate on her homicidal fantasies, Winnie breezes into the rotunda with a smile that immediately makes me suspicious. She’s practically glowing with secretive satisfaction, which in my experience means she’s either planning something wonderful or something that will get us all arrested. And my week is already headed down one very specific trajectory.
“Hattie!” she calls out, approaching with a giddiness that assures me she’s never discovered a corpse behind a Christmas tree. “Just the sister I was looking for.”
“That sounds ominous,” I say. “What did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did something?”
“Because you’re wearing your ‘I have delicious secrets’ expression. The same one you had right before you convinced me to help you steal apples from Mrs. Henderson’s orchard when we were twelve.”
“We didn’t steal them, we harvested them for the greater good. And this is completely different.” Winnie glances around before leaning closer. “I’m totally getting on the naughty list this year.”
I wince involuntarily. “Winnie, I really don’t need to know about your?—”
“Oh, relax.” She waves me off with a laugh, and then her whole face lights up like one of the evergreen trees in the rotunda. “Actually, I havebignews.” She grabs both myhands. “Fitz and I are moving the wedding up. We’re joining Neelie on Valentine’s Day. And before you ask, yes, I’ve already told Mom, and yes, she cried for twenty minutes straight, and yes, she’s already ordered more fabric swatches.”
I blink. “You’re getting married in six weeks?”
