The police officers are all standing around when we walk into the police station, passing several elderly people sleeping off their eggnog in the drunk tank.
“We brought cookies, boys! New recipe!” Willow calls.
“Hughes.” Officer Girthman trudges over.
Bobby greedily takes two cookies. “Delicious. I saw these on Instagram. So good,” he says around the crumbs.
“Yeah, it’s a new recipe. Hopefully, everyone likes it.”
I can’t take any more of the small-town small talk. I need answers. I cut in. “Now, Bobby, look. A man’s been murdered, and we need some information.”
Bobby squirms.
“This is a high-profile case. The mayor didn’t like it when we said it would be ruled an accident. I can’t just be giving out evidence.”
“We don’t want evidence, just a little information,” Willow presses.
“We can leave her out of it. She doesn’t have to know.”
“Well—”
Willow tries to shove me aside. “Bobby, you tell me the information. I made you cookies,” she wheedles. “You like them, don’t you? I’m making extra-special cookies every day this month. You can have one of each.”
“I can?”
“And I’ll give you that peppermint tea you like so much too.”
He perks up. “Well, we don’t really have any information.” He hands me a folder.
“What’s this?”
“That’s our evidence.”
“This is your evidence?”
“His clothes, all burnt up.”
“What about his phone?” I demand. “I know computers. I can recover data as an assist to the department.”
“No phone. We didn’t find one on him.”
“Did you check under the tree?”
“Yeah, I did,” he whines. “The mayor made us.”
“Great detective work,” Willow says dryly.
“When can I get my cookies?” he asks hopefully.
“You didn’t give us anything useful, Bobby. You’re not getting cookies.”
“But—”
“You know where to find me if you have something.”
“Call me,” I mouth over my shoulder as I trail an angry Willow out of the station.
I try to look tough and not shiver beside her on the street while Willow paces angrily.
