“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Hollis says breathlessly. “Dr. Merriweather was—”
“A dick. A liar and a cheat.”
“Oh, you mean like he was having an affair?” Hollis’s voice drops.
“I’d bet my life on it,” she says. “He always hid his phone and laptop from me. No.” She gestures with her wineglass. “I don’t care. I’m making bank off this. Make sure, girls, that you take a life insurance policy out on your man as soon”—she snaps her fingers—“as you marry him. The biggest you can get. Because Mama needs to get paid. Thank you, karma!”
“How could you?”
The crowd parts.
There is Taylor Grace in a humongous black hat, complete with a veil and a skintight little black dress with a fake fur coat. “You… you witch!” Taylor Grace shrieks.
“Damn.” Lilith and her twin sister pull their sunglasses down, affronted.
“He was the only person keeping me sane. Jonah!” Taylor Grace lets out a wail. “Oh, Jonah.” She looks like she’s getting ready to throw herself over the coffin, except, of course, there is none, so she settles for collapsing on the floor in front of his photo.
Everyone gapes.
Taylor Grace’s foot catches the easel, sending something clattering to the floor. A little locomotive. It rolls over to us.
Lenore tries to kick it out of the way, misses, then curses.
“Did Jonah like trains?” I ask, thinking of Gideon.
“Ugh, the trains. I hate them.” She drains her wine glass. “The whole house is filled with them. No. Jonah kept them for his father. He had daddy issues. Probably why he became a therapist in the first place.”
Her friend refills her glass.
“I told that weirdo in the market he could have them all. Serves my husband right. He kept thinking they were worth money because his father said so. Like I’m going to waste my time trying to sell them when I have this life insurance payout.”
“Wait, the weirdo at the market—you mean Gideon?”
“Oh, is that his name?” She sniffs. “Do you know if he does yard work? I want to dig up the stupid Christmas tree my late husband planted in the yard one year. Idiot.”
“You needto make more of those Santa’s kitchen sink cookies,” I tell Hollis. “They were weirdly a big hit at the funeral.”
She beams.
I stack the last of the boxes on the dolly to take to the Christmas market stall. I text Josie again to see if she wants to meet me at the stall at some point so I can fill her in on the funeral from yesterday. But as I’m walking to the door, I see a flash of red hair. There’s Josie and Lydia with their kids, walking and chatting and laughing. But they don’t come into my shop—they just walk right on by. I see Josie pull out her phone, read my text, then put her phone away. I’m crushed.
“She’s extremely ADD and forgetful,” I remind myself. But still, it stings.
“Yeah, she’s got kids now. That’s what happens,” Hollis says, appearing next to me. “Josie is like those moms who just don’t really get along with non-moms. Taylor Grace had that problem with Lydia. Not that I’m judging anyone. I guess we just need to get husbands and babies!” She giggles. “Or you need a new friend circle. Don’t worry. I’ll be your bestie! I’ll be over in a bit with those cookies. Have a post ready to go for the socials.”
I plodthrough the Christmas market, trying to focus on the murder so I don’t focus on my imploding friendship. Is Hollis right? Are we growing irreparably apart? Should I just go get knocked up by a Christmas tourist so I have something in my life to be proud of? Then Josie and I could hang out. But she has a rich man supporting her. I would have what? Gran and her illegal Airbnb scheme?
“There you are!” Hughes impatiently grabs the dolly handle from me and practically sprints to my stall. “I have something to show you. Hurry up.”
“I have to put these cookies out.”
He grabs a pair of gloves and starts stacking cookies, cupcakes, cake pops, and other sweets in the glass cases to entice Christmas market visitors. “So, you know about the Christmas committee and the Christmas cops, right?”
“Yeah, everyone loves a man on horseback. Their legs spread like that… drool.”
His face goes red, and I snort.
“Is that payback for me accidentally—accidentally”—he holds up a finger—“seeing you change yesterday?”
