Killion reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. “Actually, I got some news from the lab today. Forensics found fingerprints on the Christmas lights used to strangle Seraphina.”
“Fingerprints?” I sit up straighter, nearly dropping my pizza. “That’s huge!”
“It could be. Forensics is running them through the system now, but it’ll take a day or two to get results. I already have Peyton’s prints on file from when we brought her in for questioning.”
“What about the others?”
“That’s where things get complicated. I need to get prints from Diva, Vivienne, and Millie for comparison.” He pauses, looking slightly sheepish. “That is, if I can get within ten feet of the bakery after today’s incident.”
“I’m pretty sure Millie would happily provide fingerprints if you asked nicely and brought cash for damages.”
“The damages are going to be significant.”
At least the food was good before it became projectiles—and afterwards,Rookie barks philosophically, having settled down with Jolly Bear for a post-victory cuddle.
“Christmas Eve is in two days,” I point out. “Are we going to solve this case in time, or are we going to spend Christmas morning arresting someone between opening gifts?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Killion says, sliding his arm around me. “We make a good team.”
“We do, don’t we?” I lean into him, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the solid comfort of his presence. “Even if our investigative methods involve food fights and elderly women chasing costumed employees.”
“Especially because of that,” he says, his lips finding that spot just below my ear that makes me bite down hard on my lip. “Traditional detective work is overrated.”
“Is that your professional opinion, Detective?”
“That’s my personal opinion,” he murmurs against my neck. “My professional opinion is that we should probably focus on the case.”
“And what does your personal opinion say we should focus on?”
His answer involves kissing me thoroughly enough to make me forget about fingerprints, Christmas lights, and possibly my own name. The fire pops behind us, and for one quiet, snow-muffled moment, the only thing I care about is the fact that he tastes like cedar and woodsmoke and trouble.
Hattie and Killion are so easily distracted,Cricket mewls from the bookshelf.They start talking about murder and end up sucking faces. It’s completely illogical.
I think it’s nice when they’re happy,Rookie counters, hisvoice muffled by Jolly Bear’s fur.Happy humans make better decisions about treat distribution.
When we finally break apart, I am breathless and exactly zero percent prepared to think about murder.
“So,” I say, while his hand traces slow circles on my back, “what’s our next move?”
“Tomorrow, I get those fingerprints. You try to stay out of trouble.”
“I always try to stay out of trouble.”
“You never succeed.”
“Details.”
He laughs and kisses me again, and I realize that some investigations are definitely more enjoyable than others—especially when they involve deep-dish pizza, firelight, and a detective who knows exactly how to make Christmas Eve feel like the most romantic homicide deadline in the world.
CHAPTER 20
Christmas Eve at the Brambleberry Bay Country Club is the kind of scene where you can practically smell the money.
The Glittering Gratitude Gala and Champagne Charity Spectacular is in full swing—crystal chandeliers throwing colored light across the ballroom, a string quartet playing carols dressed up in jazz arrangements, and approximately forty silk gowns rustling against marble in a way I’ll never afford to replicate.
“Merry Christmas, sugar pot pie!” Peggy calls out, appearing at my elbow with a champagne flute in one hand and her third chocolate truffle in the other. She’s wearing a deep green velvet dress that brings out her eyes and makes her look like a sophisticated Christmas tree.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” I reply, adjusting my glittering red gown that catches the light like liquid fire with every movement.
