“What?” He stops and grabs my arm. “I’m not twelve. I’m thirty-two.”
“You look young.”
“I was a computer programmer, and I spent a lot of time inside. Sold my company to Svensson PharmaTech for a lot of money, I might add.”
“Ohh, yeah. Now I see why Taylor Grace is obsessed with you.”
“She is not. She had a problem she wanted me to solve.”
“Aha! The problem being Dr. Merriweather. Murderer.” I jab him in the chest.
For a computer programmer, he sure is muscular. Probably a padded suit or something.
“No, you stole from her.”
“Wait, you stole from Taylor Grace and murdered her therapist?” one wide-eyed young shopper blurts.
“Yes!” Taylor Grace blows in like a winter storm. A bad one. Not a fun, cozy one that brings holiday cheer.
“I am on the case, Miss Glass,” Hughes assures her.
Taylor Grace has already boarded the North Pole Express to Crazy Town.
“The murderess is returning to the scene of the crime. Police! Police! The murderer is here!”
“We don’t even know if Dr. Merriweather was actually murdered,” Hughes lectures. “The first thing we need is a medical examiner’s report to determine—”
Taylor’s face contorts into pure hatred and rage. “You don’tbelieveme?” she seethes. “You think I’mlying? You think I’mcrazy?” She advances on him like a velociraptor. “You are supposed to be on my side. I need people around me I can trust. She”—Taylor Grace points at me—“murdered Jonah, and you better prove it. Now you come with me.Now!” she screams at him.
I almost feel sorry for Hughes as he follows her like a kicked puppy. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one of Taylor’s tantrums. Serves you right, buddy.
There’s caution tape all over my stall. I duck under as I enter. It’s a little waterlogged and a little smoky, but the fire department did a fairly good job of not blasting the interior. I’ll have to toss all the food, though.
Ugh. More money down the drain.
“Can I have a doughnut, Willow?” Officer Winston Girthman sighs and looks longingly at the display case.
“Sure. Have at it. Take as many as you want. I can’t sell them.”
Officer Girthman scarfs down an eggnog cream doughnut.
“You want a coffee with that?” I offer.
He nods, chewing.
“Did they get the body off my roof? I guess they don’t know what killed him?”
The officer swallows. “Hanging.” He pours sugar into his coffee.
“Hanging?” Several of the firemen come in. “Are you freakin’ stupid?”
Numbly, I offer them all doughnuts.
“Yeah,” Girthman defends himself. “The guy was helping decorate the tree, and he slipped and fell and—accidental hanging. That’s what I’m putting in my report.”
The firefighters howl with derisive laughter.
“It wasn’t an accident.”
