“The what?” the man squawks.
The Christmas cops glare down at him.
“Remy, you need to arrest him,” I tell the bearded man hotly. “He shoved my girlfriend into a shed, locked her in, and set it on fire.”
“Another fire, Lilith?” Remy sighs.
“It wasn’t burning,” one of the black-haired twins states, unblinking. “We were making a witch’s potion.”
Remy shakes his head. “Y’all aren’t supposed to be having unpermitted bonfires in the market.”
“It’s ambience. Besides”—as one, the twins stare down at Damien—“our cauldron is conveniently large enough to boil a murderer. Alive.”
“I swear,” Damien babbles, “I didn’t lock her in the shed.”
Morticia pulls out a long, thin stiletto blade.
“I swear on my life.” Damien falls to his knees.
“Yes, you did, and you killed Taylor Grace and Jonah Merriweather because they were having an affair,” Willow says accusingly.
“I didn’t kill my wife.”
“She was your soon-to-be ex-wife, and there are multiple instances of the two of you arguing in public. Your pending divorce was contentious. You’re the jealous type.”
“I never—” Damien chokes out.
“He locked her in the stall. At least arrest him for that.” I point at the ruined shed.
Damien sets his jaw. “This is bullshit. I didn’t lock up nobody.”
“Then why were you over here?”
“I was looking for Willow, but”—he babbles before I can castrate him—“I didn’t want to lock her in the shed. I need to talk to her.”
“Uh-huh.” The Christmas cops don’t look like they’re buying it.
“Yeah, because I want to know how to get my half of the shop.” Damien nods.
“Your half of the—”
I have to grab Willow around the waist before she launches herself at Damien, who runs to hide behind Remy.
“That isn’t your shop. That’s my shop!” she shrieks.
“Taylor Grace owned half the shop. She told me. And now that she’s dead, it’s mine,” Damien bellows while Willow tries to struggle out of my grasp.
“You don’t even know how to bake! You don’t know how to run a business! You have a gambling problem, and you eat microwave burritos from the gas station.”
“Do you have any paperwork that says it’s half hers?” Remy asks.
“She and Willow had a verbal agreement that Willow reneged on.” Damien is stubborn.
“Fine,” Willow spits, eyes flashing. “You want half the shop? Have it. We’re twenty thousand dollars in debt, thanks to your wife, so that means half of that debt is yours. You need to pay me ten thousand dollars immediately.”
“I—what?” Damien’s face wrinkles. “Taylor Grace said you had lots of money coming in.”
“We do not. She has been taking a salary because she claimed that her creative energy was keeping the stall afloat—spoiler, it wasn’t. So we need a cash infusion.” Willow holds out her hand. “Pay up. Now. Oh, and you’re taking the 4 a.m. shift, so I expect to see you at the kitchen bright and early in, oh, seven and a half hours.”
