All eyes turn to me, and I realize I’m supposed to share my deepest holiday joys and frustrations with a room full of women who could probably buy and sell my entire life.
“My rose is that Killion moved in next door,” I say, trying not to grin like an idiot. “The view from my kitchen window has definitely improved.”
“I bet it has.” Bunny winks.If Hattie wasn’t into him, I would have landed in that man’s bed a year ago.
I lift a brow her way. Honestly, I can’t blame her. Killion is a specimen.
“My thorn is that I still don’t have a firm publication date for my cozy mystery. It’s about a baker who can see the dead—she helps solve murders by talking to the victims. Chevy’s publishing company picked it up, and it’s supposed to come out soon, but at this point I’m starting to think the universe isn’t on board with my literary career.”
“The universe is notoriously unreliable,” Chevy says supportively. “But good art takes time.”If only she knew that the publishing industry moves at a glacial pace. And if she did, she might abandon fictional murder in favor of the nonfiction variety.
Finally, all eyes turn to Peyton, who’s been sitting in the corner, a storm cloud in designer clothing. She looks aroundthe room with an expression that sends Rookie hiding under the couch with a whimper.
“Rose?” she asks, her voice icy enough to frost a window. “I have no rose. It’s allthorn, and you darn well know what that thorn is.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Well,” Bunny sniffs as if detecting cheap champagne, “spoken like a true killer.”
Peyton’s eyes flash, radiating enough fire to melt steel. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Bunny waves her hand airily. “Just an observation.”
This is about to get very interesting,Cricket mewls with satisfaction.Peyton and Bunny’s pack dynamics are fascinating when survival is involved. I do believe a good old-fashioned cat fight is still on the table.
Good gravy, I hope not.
Before Peyton can respond with what I’m sure would be a beautifully crafted verbal assault, Chevy claps her hands together, calling the room to order like an experienced moderator.
“All right then! Time for the murder board.” She stands and moves to the dry erase board she’s set up on an easel near the fireplace, complete with markers in multiple colors, and a slide projector.
“Did you bring audiovisual equipment to my book club?” I ask, mostly amused.
“I believe in thoroughness,” Chevy replies, pulling out a stack of black and white glossy 8x10 photographs. “I had these printed at the camera shop downtown. They’re professional quality.”
She starts arranging the photos on the board, creating an art exhibit. Each suspect gets their own section, complete with name cards written in Chevy’s flawless handwriting.
“Looks like a modeling career gone wrong,” Peyton says, studying her own photograph with detached interest. “Good grief, these could double as headshots.”
“Very funny,” Chevy says, adding red string between various pieces of evidence. “Now, let’s review what we know about each suspect.”
She writesPEYTON BLAKELYat the top of the first section and stands back to admire her work.
“Based on our investigation so far,” Chevy begins, consulting a leather-bound notebook with her initials embossed in gold, “Peyton had motive—Seraphina was threatening her job. She had means—access to Christmas lights throughout the country club. She had an opportunity—she was at the event when the murder occurred. And she was found holding the murder weapon.”
“I was removing it from her neck for the hundredth time,” Peyton says through gritted teeth.And right now, I’d like to place it on yours.
I groan just hearing the thought.
“So you claim,” Hillary adds with a shrug.
Peyton and Hillary are turning on each other,Rookie barks.This is like watching squirrels fight, but with better snacks.
“DIVA DIVINE TEMPTATION,” Chevy writes on the second section, adding Diva’s picture like she’s pinning up a wanted photo. “Financial troubles, potential blackmail, and according to our source, her business isn’t as successful as she pretends.”
“AndVIVIENNE VELOUR,” she adds the third name andphoto. “Mysterious, well-informed about everyone’s private business, and suspiciously eager to point fingers at other people.”
I clear my throat. “Actually, Vivienne mentioned someone else during our conversation. Millie Ashford from the North Pole Confectionery.”
