“What about your creepy PI?” Lydia’s husband snaps, covering the phone speaker.
“Shoot.”
“Hughes!” Taylor rushes over to me.
“Hey, just, uh, was getting stuff for the Christmas party.”
“Oh, of course.” Her face screws up when she sees Willow. “Of course you’re sneaking around behind my back.” Her tone has this angry, hysterical edge. “You of all people. You can’t buy loyalty these days, apparently.”
Willow stands next to me, her mouth a thin line, like she’s struggling not to say anything.
“And you, you’re always trying to steal people’s things,” Taylor spits. “You’re trying to steal my man like you stole my company. Well, guess what? His penis doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to me.”
“What the—” I’m shocked.
“Taylor Grace!” Lydia claps her hands over her kids’ ears. “Can you watch your language?”
“Maybe you need to do a better job of being a mother. I can’t be expected to police what I’m saying,” her sister snaps.
“She’s not coming to Christmas if she acts like that!” Travis bellows.
“I have to go.” Willow grabs the sack of herb mix.
I watch her run off while Taylor Grace has a complete meltdown in the Christmas market. Yeah, Taylor definitely could have killed Dr. Merriweather. I need to find a way to talk to Lenore.
9
WILLOW
Iwish Josie were here. I want to talk to someone about whatever the hell that was.
The bag in my arms is heavy.
I wish I’d let Hughes take it home for me. The way the muscles under that stupid trench coat bulged. Who knew he was that buff underneath that dumb private eye costume?
My stall is dark. There’s a Be Right Back! sign on the rope crossing the entrance.
I blow out a breath and stand there, trying to decide if I want to set the bag down in the snow so I can undo the rope or if I want to walk five steps to set the bag on a nearby bench.
There’s rustling in the stall.
“What the…?”
A dark figure ducks under the rope and rushes past me, almost knocking the bag out of my arms.
“Hey!” I yell after the figure. “Hey!”
I dump the bag on the bench next to a confused tourist. “Did you see who was in my stall?”
“No.” She goes back to looking at pictures of cats in elf outfits on her phone.
“What the hell?”
I flip on the lights in the stall.
“Hollis?” I call.
I check my phone. There’s a missed call and a text message from Hollis.
