I stuff the basket under the sink in the bathroom, making a mental note to retrieve it before any new Airbnb guests come.
Then, I stare at my murder wall and add the printout of Lydia and her husband. It’s always a loved one, right? Or the person one would most suspect. Willow does have a lot to gain from this murder.
“Shut up,” I tell the ceiling. It’s the wannabe PI in me. But I’m evolving. I wear a puffer jacket now. Maybe I’ll start getting into woodworking or meat smoking.
I probably should put a photo of Nana and Beryl on the board, but if my granny is a murderer, I really do not want to know.
I check Taylor Grace’s phone. The code is running and will run for a while longer as it works to break into the iPhone.
I lay back on the couch and try to think through the murder.
I really need a permanent workspace. There’s shared office space available in the city, but maybe I should buy a house—after the Christmas season is over, of course. I wonder what kind of house Willow would like. I scroll through Zillow.
There’s a nice Victorian with a big yard and a carriage house out back. Probably would be a great yard for kids—nice and flat. Kids. With Willow. Yeah, that would be nice.
The phone beeps. Done already? I get a high when one of my codes works. But breaking into an iPhone?
“Man, I’m good,” I crow when I see the phone’s contents splayed out on the screen in front of me.
I type another command, then the phone is copied onto my hard drive.
“And we make an extra copy because you can’t have too many backups. Done.” I carefully wipe down the phone for fingerprints and wrap it in a tissue.
I can’t have the phone on me. I’ll dump it in the Christmas market and let some tourist turn it in to the cops. I don the trench coat to venture out. I’m dumping evidence of a murder, after all. I have to look the part.
It’s a little warmer in the market with all the tourists packed in and the various fires going. The smell of smoke, roasted chestnuts, and spiced wine fills the air.
I’ve left my phone at the carriage house so it can’t track me as I make my way through the market to a more remote area.
I work my fingers into the pocket of my trench coat—the pocket that I’ve cut—and push the phone through while I’mwalking by a stall, pretending like I’m shopping for my holiday sweetheart. The phone thunks into the snow with barely a sound. Done. Now it’s time to find Willow.
I turn a corner, thinking I can take a shortcut back to the carriage house. Then, suddenly, I’m in a dark part of the market. The temperature drops, and I pull my trench coat around me, hunching my shoulders.
Over the whistling of the wind, I faintly hear someone cry, “Help!”
21
WILLOW
An earring, a bracelet, and odd-smelling leaves. All clues from two different murder scenes near or at places that I own.
“What does it mean?” I whisper to the items laid out on the counter of the shop. I’m waiting for the last batch of cookies to finish baking so I can take them to the Christmas market stall.
Could someone be trying to frame me? Why are both murders connected to me? Not to mention the only person who would have any logical reason to frame me is currently in the morgue.
I pack the cookies into a basket, drape it with a towel, and head out into the Christmas market.
I’ll open the shop tomorrow. I guess.
All while in business with Taylor Grace, I fantasized about quitting, about running away to Tokyo or something and just leaving the business to rot. Now that she’s out of the picture? Well, this might just be a merry Christmas after all.
“I really shouldn’t be so evil,” I remind myself.
Taylor Grace was my friend before she showed her true colors. Thinking ill of the dead could come back to bite me.
Still guilty, I start mentally calculating the numbers now that I don’t have to pay her any more money.
“I’m free!”
