“All right, sugar plums…” Peggy jingles as she stands up, clearly deciding it’s time to restore order before someone actually does commit murder right here in my living room. “I think we’ve accomplished enough amateur detecting for one evening. Y’all have given me enough material to keep my bedmate entertained for hours.”
“We’re pillow talk now?” Hillary asks with horror.
“Honey, you’ve been pillow talk material since you started carrying a purse with a two-year waitlist.”
Bunny claps her hands together as if she’s just been inspired by something. “Oh! Speaking of entertainment, should I bring Nicholas to the next meeting? He couldho-ho-howhile we discuss motives and alibis. If you’re good, he might even let you sit on his lap.”
“No,” I say quickly. “Absolutely not. This investigation is strange enough without adding professional Santa impersonators to the mix.”
These ladies keep making their social situations more complicated,Rookie says.Why don’t they just sniff each other and determine dominance like normal creatures? It’s much more efficient than all this talking.
I couldn’t agree more,Cricket adds.Though I do appreciate that they brought excellent food to accompany their pack drama. Men would have brought chips and beer.
The exodus begins with awkward choreography as nobody wants to be the first to leave but everyone wants to escape.
The goodbyes are a flurry of designer bags, empty plates, and promises to reconvene when someone isn’t actively suspected of murder. Chevy carefully disassembles her murder board, Tipper gathers her pricey platters, and Bunny makes her exit in a flurry of air kisses and hair flips. Peggy and Clarabelle take their time with grandmotherly pats and jingly hugs, while Hillary and Kick flee with varying degrees of grace.
Peyton sticks around, apparently in no hurry to face whatever awaits her outside. She surveys the remnants of our amateur investigation—scattered photos, empty plates, the lingering smell of coffee and murder accusations.
“You know,” she says finally, “I’ve been to a lot of terrible parties in my life, but this one definitely makes the top five.”
“Only top five?”
“You haven’t met my family.” She picks up her purse—also expensive, but not quite Birkin-level—and heads for the door. “Thanks for hosting, Hattie. And for not completely assuming I’m a homicidal maniac.”
“The night is young,” I reply.
She actually smiles at that. “Call me if you need any help solving my own murder case. I have excellent insights into my own criminal psychology.”
The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving me alone with Cricket, Rookie, and the aftermath of what might have been the most surreal book club meeting in the history of literature.
Well, that was entertaining.Cricket stretches luxuriously.Though I still don’t understand why you and Peyton need so many accessories to discuss simple pack dynamics.
I’m just disappointed nobody dropped any of those fancy chocolates,Rookie adds mournfully.All that drama and not a single treat hit the floor. What’s the point of conflict if there’s no food spillage involved?
I toss him a cookie before stepping outside into the crisp December evening, and the night air hits me like a crystalline slap of winter perfection. Snow is falling in soft, fat flakes that catch the Christmas lights strung between the cabins like tiny frozen stars. Above us, the sky is a deep velvet black scattered with glittering pinpricks of light that seem close enough to pluck. The air smells like winter and evergreens and the pristine quiet that only comes with fresh snowfall.
It’s getting colder out there,Cricket notes from inside thewarm cabin.I approve of you venturing into uncomfortable weather while I remain cozy.
Snow! I love snow!Rookie adds, bounding toward the door.Can we go play in it? Can we? Can we?He runs out then lets out a shrill bark and runs right back in.
It really is that cold.
As the last car disappears into the snowy evening, I spot him.
Killion stands on his front porch, and even in the swirling snow, the man looks like he stepped out of some winter romance novel. He’s wearing a dark sweater that emphasizes his shoulders, and the porch light creates this dramatic silhouette that makes my pulse spike.
Our eyes meet across the small space between our cabins, and he nods toward his door like an invitation.
“Cricket! Rookie!” I call back toward my cabin. “Come on, we’re going next door.”
Finally, a sensible decision,Cricket yowls as she runs this way.
Another adventure!Rookie bounds through the snow like a golden, furry tornado.Snow adventures with Dad! This is the best night ever!
I make my way across the short distance between our cabins, following the path that Rookie has already trampled in his enthusiasm.
Killion opens his door before I even reach the steps, and the warmth from inside spills out along with the scent of coffee and something that smells suspiciously like chocolate chip cookies.
