This is what I came for!Rookie barks with joy, diving into the fray to save a chocolate yule log that’s rolling toward certain destruction.Mr. Jolly Beary and I are saving Christmas desserts! We’re heroes! Nice list, here we come!
In the midst of this spectacular catastrophe, I notice Vivienne Velour making her escape toward the salon’s exit with casual urgency that screams guilt louder than Clarabelle’s Christmas bells.
“Peyton,” I grab her arm, still clutching our recommended educational materials, “we need to follow Vivienne before she disappears.”
“Right,” Peyton agrees, stepping over a fallen gingerbread chimney while Clarabelle continues her battle with decorative ribbons in the background. “Because nothing saysprofessional investigation like chasing suspects through a mansion while carrying Christmas-themed lingerie.”
As we head toward the exit in pursuit of our fleeing suspect, I can’t help but think that in a room full of secrets, scandals, and strategic cutouts, the most revealing thing might be who runs away when the chaos starts.
CHAPTER 9
By the time Peyton and I barreled down the hall, it was too late—Vivienne Velour was long gone. Either she had left the building or she took an unfortunate series of left turns. Willoughby Hall is essentially a nightmare version of Narnia once you get lost.
But it’s evening now and Ginger and I just pulled into my driveway at Moonlit Meadows. Ginger would be my 1953 Ford F-100, oxidized red and freckled, once belonging to my grandfather and now the most reliable relationship in my life. No offense to Killion.
The scent of pine from my neighbor’s wood-burning fireplace mingles with the salty ocean air, and Christmas lights twinkle from cabin windows like fallen stars scattered across the gravel. It’s that magical hour when the world turns soft and golden, and even the crunch of footsteps on frost sounds like Christmas morning.
I’m hardly out of Ginger’s cab when I spot Killion emerging from his own cabin next door, looking unfairly good for a man who’s been working a murder scene all day.
He’s carrying a bag that smells suspiciously like General Tso’s chicken and wearing that grin that makes my knees weak.
“Please tell me that’s not another frozen dinner for one,” I call out as he approaches my front door.
“Do I look like someone who eats frozen dinners?”
“You look like someone who owns exactly three plates and considers cereal a food group.” It’s all true and he knows it.
He laughs, and the sound makes something warm unleash in my chest. “For your information, I own four plates. And I brought enough Chinese food to feed a small army, assuming that army includes two very spoiled pets.”
Cricket drops out of the cab first, as she always does, with the air of a cat who has somewhere more important to be and is generously allowing the rest of us to keep up. Rookie bolts out behind her in a blur of golden fur and wagging tail, nearly flattening me before he catches Killion’s scent and changes course entirely.
Food,Rookie announces to no one, nose already working overtime.Good food. Hot food. Food that is definitely not whatever Hattie was going to make tonight.
He’s not wrong,Cricket mewls, falling into step beside me with her tail raised in quiet approval.I could smell that from the driveway.
“I’m standing right here,” I tell them both.
We know,Cricket says.
Dad’s home! Wait, is that sweet and sour pork I smell? And egg rolls? Oh my goodness, Christmas came early!His tail is going so fast it’s creating a small hurricane behind him.
I unlock the door and we’re immediately greeted by the sight of my tiny A-frame cabin, which currently looks likeChristmas exploded in the most wonderful way possible. Garlands of evergreen snake along the exposed ceiling beams, twinkle lights cast everything in warm amber, and miniature Christmas trees occupy every flat surface that isn’t already claimed by wrapped presents or holiday candles. My black-and-white checkered curtains sport festive red ribbon tie-backs, and the braided rug that takes up most of my floor space has been joined by a smaller holiday-themed accent rug by the door.
“Holy Christmas overload,” Killion says, pausing in the doorway to take it all in. “Did you rob Santa’s workshop?”
“I prefer to think of it as embracing the season with enthusiasm.”
I may have added to my decoration collection since the last time he was over, which would have been a scant three days ago.
“It looks like the North Pole had a yard sale in here.”
“Well, trust me, none of this stuff was cheap. But ’tis the season. I like to think of it as doing my part to boost the economy.”
“Singlehandedly,” he says, tucking a kiss to my temple and wrapping his arms around me from behind.
Cricket winds around Killion’s legs, purring like a tiny motor.You brought the good food. This earns you approximately fifteen minutes of affection before I go back to pretending you don’t exist.
“Ooh,” I muse. “You’ve impressed Cricket with your choice of cuisine. Smooth move.”
