“He was electrocuted on purpose.”
“That’s how he died.”
“I’m gonna get the medical examiner to look at it when he gets back in town,” the police officer counters.
They leave, still arguing.
I’m alone with the carnage. My decorations are in disarray. Everything on the back floating shelves has toppled over. The floor is soggy. I sigh, looking up at the damaged ceiling, and calculate how much money I don’t have that it will cost to repair.
Too bad the whole thing didn’t just burn down. Then at least I could have gotten a big insurance payout.
Half-heartedly, I start sweeping up, just to do something. Under one of the cases, I hear a metallic ping. Kneeling, I swish with the broom until a small gold earring rolls out from under the case.
I pick it up. Is it a clue? Surely not. But maybe.
I hurry out of the stall to give it to Officer Girthman, but he’s disappeared into the crowd of townspeople and tourists gawking at the murder Christmas tree, snapping selfies.
“Winston?” I shout, trying to peer through the crowd.
I shove my way closer to the tree.
“…have to get paid—” Gideon Cross’s voice carries.
“Why should we pay you? You started a fire in the tree, and someone died,” Mayor Loring argues.
“That wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.”
“Still, a man was electrocuted with lights you installed.”
“It’s the city’s lights.”
“Scam!This whole town is full of liars and scammers.”
“And murderers. Though he did bring out the tourists, Meg,” Ida remarks. “I see a few fine specimens here, all the way from Manhattan, who might need their Christmas packages unwrapped early.”
“I didn’t murder nobody. She murdered him!” Gideon yells, pointing at me. “Everyone knows it. She and him was fighting earlier, and she did it to get back at Taylor Grace.”
Backing away from the ugly looks of the crowd, I hurry back to the stall.
I have to solve this murder, or Christmas won’t just be ruined. It’ll be an epic disaster.
4
HUGHES
The office is darker than a fruitcake left in the back of Grandma’s pantry. A single strand of Christmas lights blinks in the corner, mocking me with its cheer. I have no leads, no suspects, not even a footprint in the snow—just a body colder than last year’s eggnog and a case that smells worse than a candy cane left in a kid’s pocket all summer…
“Hughie!” Nana pokes her head into my bedroom, flinging the door wide open. “Oh, Hughie, you haven’t been up all night, have you?”
“I work best in the dark, Nana.”
“Well, you’re not going to sleep in all day, not in my house.” She bustles in and throws open the curtains. “It’s the Christmas season, and you can’t waste the day. You were raised better than that.”
“It’s too bright.” I wince at the sunlight bouncing off freshly fallen snow.
“There’s coffee on the stove.”
“It’s seven fifteen, Nana.”
