Taylor Grace’s voice comes out of nowhere.
“Uh.” I look around wildly.
She’s stomping down the sidewalk toward me. “Uhh,” she mocks. “Why aren’t you answering my calls? Why did you send me to voicemail? Are you ignoring me? Huh?”
“It was the middle of the night. I’m trying to work on the case,” I say slowly. “What is wrong with you?” The words escape before I can stop them.
“Why do you think something’s wrong with me?” Taylor Grace demands. “It sounds like you’re trying to accuse me of something. Why? What are you hiding?”
“I’m literally just delivering cookies for my nana, then I’m going to the Christmas market to work on your case.”
“Oh!” It’s unnerving how her features immediately soften. “Well—” Her arms wrap around my waist. “That’s good, isn’t it?” She’s talking in this baby voice that seemed cute the first time I met her. Now, it’s weird.
With how angry she got—and it came on suddenly, like an avalanche on a calm, sunny day—yeah, I guess I could see her being the murderer. I wonder if Willow was onto something after all.
I resistthe urge to go home after delivering the last of the cookies.
“I’m living my childhood dream,” I whisper to myself, teeth chattering as I walk through the nearly empty Christmas market.
There are only a few influencers wanting to take photos before the crowds swarm for lunch and locals getting in a bit of shopping or restocking their stalls.
“I didn’t think dreams would be this cold.”
Willow, who wears a knit hat with a red pom-pom low on her head, is stocking her stall.
I grab the top box before it falls off the cart.
“Give that back,” she snaps.
“You don’t want to say, ‘Thanks, Hughes, for saving my expensive merchandise’?” I set the box on the counter.
“Do you want to say, ‘Thanks, Willow, for not punching me in the stomach’? Also, where is your coat?”
“Look, I ran into Taylor Grace earlier—”
Willow scoffs.
“No, just hear me out. I’m trying to work on this case, and I do have to explore every angle, right?”
“I’m not a murderer.”
“But you have some thoughts on who it could be, right?” I coax.
Willow looks at me with suspicion as she pulls out the little trays of fancy chocolate and starts stocking them in the glass cases. “Thoughts? So now you want me to do your job for you?”
I blow out a breath. It hovers in front of me. “Look, I’m not trying to be your friend, but Taylor Grace is getting a little unhinged about this murder, okay? She is really bent out of shape about Jonah’s death. This is going to sound crazy, but I don’t think she’s sleeping. She’s been acting paranoid and almost possessed.”
Willow doesn’t look shocked or concerned. She just starts laughing. “Whooo! She finally split on ya, huh? Well, you lay down with backstabbing bitches, prepare to get fleas.”
“Look, I think she might literally kill me if we don’t solve this murder.”
“We? Who?” Willow scoffs.
“Just we, the collective? Also, right now, you’re my only suspect.”
And maybe Taylor Grace, but it’s sacrilegious to say that about my client.
“Really, I’m your only suspect?” Willow slams the glass case’s door shut. “What about Jonah’s wife, Lenore? What about Damien, Taylor Grace’s boyfriend? Shit, what about Gideon Cross? Did you look into him?”
