Hughes unbuttons the trench coat. “So, what d’ya got? Crack the case wide open?”
I drool at him. He gives me a questioning look as he peels off that stupid trench coat to reveal a stupidly hot body. What kind of man has a body like that and hides it under a trench coat?
“I, um—” I’m going to pass out. “Well, there’s been a development,” I squawk.
“You don’t look so good. What happened?” He grabs my face. “Willow, what is it?”
“I want to have sex with you.”Actually, no, that’s not what I say. “Just, gosh, it’s warm in here.” I shove Hollis’s bag at him, drag off my coat, and fan myself. Yeah, I really need to start working out or something. This is ridiculous. “I think—okay, this is going to sound crazy, but I think Hollis is the murderer.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Hollis? She’s so friendly, and she likes to bake. Isn’t she your right-hand man?”
“Means, motive, opportunity.” I tick off the items on my fingers.
“Motive?”
I pull the little train out of her bag. “I’m 100 percent—okay, maybe 90 percent—sure she took this from Dr. Merriweather’s office.” I show him the photos I’ve taken of the blank space on the shelf. “It’s a souvenir or a reminder or something of Dr. Merriweather. And she goes back and forth to my stall all day. She could have rigged something to murder Jonah.”
“So, we know she was a patient? And if so, what would he have done to make her murder him?”
I shrug. “Cheating on her with Taylor Grace?”
“We actually don’t know that they were sleeping together,” Hughes argues.
“You’re so naïve.”
He pulls out his phone.
“Are you calling the police?”
“I’m checking the log of names… Hmm,” he says. “I don’t see a Hollis.”
“Darn.”
Frowning, he looks harder at the list of names we got from the therapist. “Is Hollis her actual name?”
“Uh, no. It’s Katie Hollister. There were a lot of Katies in class that year—”
“Here it is. Katherine Hollister. Damn, Willow. I think you just found us another suspect.”
“Shit, maybe those are her underwear. I need to—” I look back toward the Christmas market and my stall, where Hollis is currently. “It’s all circumstantial. I need more clues.”
My phone rings.
“Gran… yes, we’re coming—Hughes, let’s walk and talk,” I tell him, gesturing.
“Oh, you’re with a man? Never mind.” Gran cackles on the other end of the line. “That Airbnb-er was complaining to me that you’re running some sort of cathouse out of the shed.”
I clap a hand to my face while a smirk plays around Hughes’s mouth.
“No, that’s not what’s going on here.”
“Good. Now, you know I’m on Team Willow, but real talk: You’re not in your twenties anymore. You can’t be making a man like Hughes pay to have sex with you. Now, a man like Trudy’s son? Yeah, go ahead and make him pay. Make him shower too.”
“Okay, thanks for the advice. I’ll definitely incorporate that into my day-to-day life. Gotta go. See you in a bit.”
Hughes has a sly grin on his face. “You look cute in that sweater.” His hands circle my waist. “I’d definitely pay big bucks to have sex with you.”
I’m not going to think about him spying on me,I tell myself firmly.It’s not hot. It’s embarrassing.“Say, do you want to—” I grab his bicep. It’s as hard as a rock under the black turtleneck. “Do you want to use those big, strong man muscles”—Willow, what actual the fuck?—“to haul some garlands?”
