“A lot to gain? That’s underselling it.”
“Yeah, that life insurance policy was like a million dollars.”
“Oh.” Nana laughs as she scrapes the bowl. “That’s nothing. She’s lucky he was too busy trying to ruin people’s livelihoods to run off with another woman and divorce her. She inherited tens of millions from her childless aunt, plus a number of properties around town that the Svenssons are highly interested in purchasing. I bet she never marries again. Can’t have a man after your assets. Present company notwithstanding. I know you won’t run off with a woman’s hard-earned money. You have your own, don’t you, dear?” She pats my arm. “Don’t worry about Jonah. No one liked him. Now, are you staying at a sweetheart’s house for the winter holidays?”
I think of Willow. Was she just joking? Does she really want me to stay with her? Was it flirting? I wish I’d just kissed her in the bakery, let my hands drift over her curves. “Uh—”
“You need to get on it,” Nana tuts. “There’s a new girl back in town—Mrs. Locke’s granddaughter. She’s a nice girl. Very pretty. Went to California and really toned up. I’d kill for that behind.” She laughs to herself. “Kill.”
It makes my stomach flip-flop. “Where’s my coat?”
“Your trench?” She wipes her hand on a towel.
“My red one.”
“Oh, wonderful. You’ll look so handsome in that. I even embroidered some snowflakes on it. I wanted it to be more festive and fun for you. And I was just at old Mrs. Banner’s house—she made you a matching hat and mittens.”
“Great. Sounds warm. I’m heading over to Willow’s.”
“Take the ham over there. It’s in the garage fridge.”
I relaxas I step out into the cold and flex my arms in the coat. It’s nice to be warm, though I do look dumb in this puffy jacket. There’s even a little Rudolph at the edge. I look like I’m one of the Christmas market cops.
“Hughes!”
Fuck. I stand stock-still, but of course, Taylor Grace sees me in the bright-red coat.
“I need you to know that I’m feeling very stressed.” She lays into me, saying, “I need to know what’s going on with the investigation.”
“Well, we’re working on it.”
“We?We who?” Taylor Grace pounces on the word.
“I meanIam working on it,” I backtrack.
“What is this?” She thumbs the jacket. “What are you wearing?”
Jesus.
“Just a warmer coat.”
“But why? Why are you wearing it?”
“It’s cold.”
“Yes, but why are you wearing this coat?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Why are you dodging the question?”
“I’m not. I just answered.”
Talking to her is disorienting—like being trapped in a riptide.
“It’s Willow, isn’t it? She told you to wear this, didn’t she? Did she do this embroidery?” The tears fill her eyes. “You don’t understand what I’m going through right now. I need a strong man, a leader in my life.”
I start trying to edge around her. It’s hard with the oversized pan of ham.
