The North Pole Confectionery is going on tomorrow’s to-do list.
I’ll play it cool, of course. After all, I have a feeling the best way to catch a killer is to let them think they’re getting away with murder.
CHAPTER 13
No sooner did I leave Midnight Velour Intimates than I got a text from Killion asking if I’d be willing to meet at the Cottage Grill for dinner.
He’s working late and said he’d shoot right over. A hot date with the hottest detective this side of the North Pole? Of course, I couldn’t say no.
Evening settles over the Brambleberry Bay Country Club like a cocktail being poured slowly, and the Cottage Grill hums with sophisticated dinner conversation that only happens when people have too much money and too little to worry about.
The scent of garlic butter and rosemary mingles with pine garlands and cinnamon candles, while soft jazz plays underneath the gentle clink of crystal glasses and silver cutlery. Twinkle lights cast everything in their cheery warmth, and the fireplace crackles merrily in the corner, surrounded by enough poinsettias to supply a small greenhouse.
After that traumatic educational experience, I need to cleanse my mind with normal social interaction,Cricketannounces from her tote bag as we enter the restaurant.My poor innocent eyes have seen things that can’t be unseen. I couldn’t be happier than to be back at the club.
Plus, the kitchen staff always drops treats!Rookie adds with his tail already wagging at maximum velocity.And there will always be other dogs to play with! This place is like the dog park but with better collars.
“You’re not wrong,” I whisper. “And some of those collars are diamond-studded.”
Who are we kidding? They all are.
Oh Rookie, your priorities are disturbingly simple,Cricket meows down at him.But I suppose visiting civilized pooches is far better than watching Hattie shop for... those things.
Killion isn’t here yet, but I spot Bunny immediately, and she’s glowing with the radiance of a naughty Disney princess or someone who’s discovered the fountain of youth. She’s tucked into a corner booth with a hot pink cocktail keeping her company, and her blonde curls bounce with every animated gesture as she waves me over.
“Hattie! Perfect timing!” she calls out, causing several other diners to turn and stare. Bunny has never met a volume setting she couldn’t exceed.
I slide into the booth across from her, Cricket’s tote bag nestled beside me while Rookie immediately begins his social rounds, visiting every table where he’s likely to score a snack, a scratch, or a belly rub.
“You look unreasonably pleased with yourself,” I say. “Do we need to secure legal counsel?”
“Only if there’s a prenup involved,” Bunny sighs dreamily. “I’m in love.”
“Again?” I can’t help but muse. Bunny falls in love approximatelyevery three weeks, usually with men who have more charm than sense and occasionally more criminal records than assets.
“This one is different,” she insists, her blue eyes sparkling with a questionable fervor. “He’s sophisticated, charming, and he has the most incredible beard.”
“Beard?”
She nods. “It’s white and fluffy, like fresh snow.” She fans herself with her menu. “And those eyes! They twinkle like Christmas morning.”
“Bunny, please tell me you’re not dating someone’s grandfather.”
“He might be.” She shrugs as if she’s indifferent. “But who cares? The man is confident enough to wear a red suit.”
I blink over at my blonde bestie. “You’re dating Santa Claus?”
“A Santaimpersonator,” she corrects as if that makes it better. “Think upscale mall Santa, not sketchy costume rental. He does private parties, corporate events, the works. He’s very professional and very exclusive.” She wiggles her shoulders as she says it. “His name isNicholas, which is obviously meant to be. We met at the Christmas market downtown. He was doing photos with children, and I just couldn’t resist sitting on his lap.”
“I’ll bet,” I say, taking a sip of her glowing pink cocktail just to get the visual out of my mind.
This explains so much about Bunny’s mating rituals,Cricket says.She’s always been on the hunt for someone who gives good gifts.
I nod at my cute kitty because she may have hit it on the nose.
“By the way,” Bunny continues, pulling out her phone and scrolling through what looks to be a professional Santa portfolio, “I can book him for Christmas Eve if you like. For the gala. Imagine how perfect it would be—Santa arriving at the Glittering Gratitude Gala and Champagne Charity Spectacular with me as his naughty plus-one.”
“That would be something,” I say, considering this for exactly half a second. At this point, I’m so overwhelmed with event planning that I’d probably agree to hire trained circus monkeys if it meant one less thing to coordinate.
