Hot chocolate macarons filled with marshmallow cream sit next to Christmas tree petit fours decorated with edible pine needles. Candy cane cheesecake bites rest on mini graham crusts like tiny architectural wonders.
“And these,” Millie says, producing another tray, “are our signature holiday lattes. Cinnamon dolce with brown sugar whipped cream, peppermint mocha with candy cane whipped cream, eggnog spice with nutmeg-dusted cocoa, and gingerbread with molasses whipped cream.”
“Holy Christmas cannoli,” Clarabelle breathes, momentarily distracted from her elf-watching activities.
“And I couldn’t forget these little ones,” Millie adds, pulling out special treats from her apron pocket. “Reindeer biscuits for Rookie and Christmas mice for Cricket—all pet-safe, naturally.”
I love Millie more than my own mother,Cricket declares, accepting her salmon and sweet potato treat with her eyes wide with anticipation.If she’s the killer, we should totally look the other way. Just this once.
’Tis the season!Rookie woofs in agreement, demolishing his reindeer biscuit and threatening to knock over a nearby chair with his enthusiasm.Christmas murders don’t count if the killer makes excellent treats!
I make a face at my pets’ moral flexibility until I bite into the gingerbread crème brûlée, and suddenly I understand their position completely.
The dessert hits my taste buds and my brain briefly stops forming sentences. It’s perfect—creamy, spiced, with acaramelized sugar top that shatters under my spoon. I briefly consider converting to whatever religion worships gingerbread-based desserts.
Maybe Cricket and Rookie are right. Maybe we should let this woman off the hook no matter what she’s done.
I should feel guilty, but honestly, Seraphina had it coming,Millie thinks while watching us eat with satisfaction, and a breath hitches in my throat just hearing it.
“This is incredible,” Peyton says, though she’s eyeing Millie with sharp focus, clearly not forgetting why we’re here.
Millie clears her throat. “So, Detective, have you made any strides into who may have sent poor Seraphina Sparks to the big Christmas pageant in the sky?”
Killion pauses with his peppermint mocha halfway to his lips. “No, I was hoping to speak to you about that.”
To my complete surprise, Millie’s face lights up as if she were waiting her entire life for this exact conversation.
“Oh, I have so much to tell you!” she says, settling into the empty chair at our table like she’s about to share the world’s best gossip. “That woman had more enemies than Santa has reindeer.”The Christmas lights were so convenient, just lying there,she thinks, her smile never wavering.
My mouth falls open at the quasi-confession. Although in general, she’s not wrong. Anyone could have grabbed them and done the deadly deed.
“I saw Peyton here arguing with Seraphina just two days before the murder.” Millie gestures toward Peyton with a macaron. “And then I heard her threaten to kill the woman right there in the country club parking lot.”
Peyton gags and sputters. “I was venting frustration,” shesays quickly. “People say things they don’t mean when they’re angry.” She says that last part while looking at Killion.
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean it, dear,” Millie says soothingly, offering Peyton a snickerdoodle supreme that’s practically crystallized with cinnamon sugar. “Here, try this. It’s my signature cookie—brown butter, Madagascar vanilla, organic cinnamon from Ceylon.”
Peyton frowns but takes the cookie anyway. “I didn’t do this.”
“Well, someone did,” Millie points out with logic that’s hard to argue with.
I never meant for it to go that far, but she just wouldn’t stop,Millie’s thoughts continue their guilty parade, and it’s all I can do to keep from gasping again.
“And then there’s Diva Divine Temptation,” Millie continues, with a sigh that sounds suspiciously contrived. “That woman owes money to half the state of Maine. I heard she borrowed fifty thousand from Seraphina last spring and never paid it back. She said her couples after-dark education business was going to revolutionize intimate apparel.”
“Fifty thousand?” I ask, nearly choking on my eggnog tiramisu.
“Oh yes. Seraphina was furious about it. She called Diva a con artist and a fraud. Threatened to expose her business practices to the Better Business Bureau.”
Killion is taking notes on his phone now. His detective instincts are fully engaged despite the sugar overload. You have to admire the dedication to the craft, especially when there are sweet treats of this caliber around.
“But the really interesting one,” Millie says, leaningforward, “is that Vivienne Velour woman. She’s not who she claims to be at all.”
My ears perk up. “What do you mean?”
“Herdesigns,” Millie says, dropping a hint rather than a bombshell. “Let’s just say they’re not as original as she’d have everyone believe. Seraphina had her suspicions about where those European creations really came from.”
“What suspicions?” Killion asks.
