“It’s late. I’d have been up here sooner if I’d known you were already up. Now get dressed.” She goes to my closet and startslaying out clothes—Christmas clothes, including a sweater and snow pants.
“I’ve got my detective uniform.”
“It’s cold outside.” She kisses the top of my head. “I need you to take these invitations for the ugly-sweater party to Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Locke. There are cookie tins, too, with holiday treats for them. I did want to just let you know that Mrs. Locke—her granddaughter just got into town. Now, she’s married—”
“Nana—”
“But! I think that she and her husband are on the fritz. You should shoot your shot. You’ve been working out the past few months.” She squeezes my bicep. “You’ve got money in the bank. You’re a good catch. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”
“I’m focused on my case, not relationships.”
“Hmm.” Nana purses her mouth. “There are lots of lonely women out there. ’Tis the season for divorce.”
“I don’t want to marry a divorcée.”
“Of course not. You just need to get a little experience, get your dick wet, then you’ll turn all that energy you’re wasting on Jonah’s accident into finding a nice girl!”
I want to die. “You want me to get with a woman my mom’s age?” I complain as she bustles around picking up the empty seltzer cans and my dirty T-shirts. “Nana, I can do it.”
“Let me spoil you.” She kisses my cheeks. “My little grandbaby, oh, you were such a cute baby, such a chubby little tummy.” She pinches my ear hard. “Now, when you do get a girlfriend, don’t you leave your dirty undies lying around. You have to clean up after yourself, or she’ll leave you.”
“I was going to—”
But she’s already bustling out.
“Mrs. Cabot tried to sleep with the UPS man, so you have a shot with her!”
“Ugh.” I flop back down on the bed and stare at my murder wall of clues.
I have… not that much evidence. Anything I do have is circumstantial.
I stare at Jonah’s photo, which I’ve printed off his website.
“Who killed you and why?”
I spin the case over and over in my head as I sip my coffee from the Santa mug Nana has left out. It’s not my aesthetic, but there are no normal dishes in this house. As soon as December hit, everything was replaced with Christmas dishes.
I double-check the addresses on the deliveries then head out into the snow.
Don’t tell Nana, but I am slightly regretting my trench coat as I hoof it down the icy sidewalk. The temperature dropped with the incoming snowstorm, and it’s freezing.
“Oh! You’re Mary Lou’s grandson!” A car pulls up.
“Doesn’t he look handsome? You did buff up.”
“Yeah, I can see the muscles under that thin tarp you’re wearing. Don’t they have coats in California, boy?”
“Ha ha! Weather’s definitely not like here.” I’m trying to be nice, but this is the fourth time since I’ve left Nana’s house that someone has stopped to tell me to put on some clothes.
Another car honks at me.
“Hey! Kid, you need a warmer coat!” an old man hollers then skids out and creams a mailbox.
I don’t knowif Mrs. Locke is awake when I stop at her house.
Her newspaper is at the end of the walkway. I stop to pick it up.
“What are you doing here?”
