She gets jostled by the townspeople who are eager to catch a glimpse of the crime scene.
“You’re a good-looking kid. You need to stop all that PI nonsense and find a nice girl. No woman wants a man who plays dress-up. Early retirement isn’t mentally healthy for someone your age.”
“I’m not—this is a real private investigation firm. I’m living my childhood dream, Nana.” I set down my notepad. “This is my first real case!”
“I thought that gal with the crazy eyes was your first case.”
“My damsel in distress.”
Nana just raises her eyebrows.
“Now, Hughes, you need a warmer coat. That thin trench coat’s not going to cut it. Why don’t you wear that puffer jacket I bought you for your birthday?”
“That’s not what PIs wear, Nana. And I’m working here. This murder is probably part of the Taylor Grace case. It’s all connected.”
The damsel herself is draped artfully over the body of her beloved therapist, sobbing. A young pregnant woman—Lydia, I see in my notes—takes Glass, her sister, and leads her away as she screams—wails, really.
“Willow killed him!” Taylor Grace sobs as the paramedics load Dr. Merriweather into a body bag then onto a stretcher.
“You’d think they were married the way, that girl is carrying on,” my grandmother mutters.
“Mary Lou! Mary Lou, yoo-hoo!” Nana’s elderly neighbor, Beryl, huffs up. “Did you see the body?”
Willow, the woman my damsel in distress has hired me to investigate, is grumpy in her layers of clothes. “Of all the horrible luck. Fuck Christmas.”
“At least your stall didn’t burn up.” Josie pats Willow’s arm.
“It’s waterlogged!” She glares at me when she sees me staring.
“Oh! I see you two know each other.” Nana beams.
“This is Hughes,” Beryl tells Willow. “He’s just moved back to town. From England.”
“You don’t sound like you’re from England.”
“I was just getting some experience. Walking the same streets as Sherlock Holmes.”
“You were supposed to come back with some sexual experience.” Nana wags her finger at me. “Are you still a virgin?”
“Nana!” I hiss, face hot.
“Not if Taylor Grace has anything to do with it,” Willow snorts.
“Isn’t this an exciting start to the holiday season? You got here just in time. Didn’t he, Willow?” Beryl giggled.
“And here we thought Santa forgot all about us.” Nana claps a hand over her mouth.
The two old women are almost giddy. Small towns are weird like that. I’d forgotten what it was like, being a tech worker chained to my desk in Silicon Valley. Now, I’m home. The city needs me.
“Ow!”
Nana swats me. “I said, we’re going to the Jingle Bites Café to celebrate, Hughes.”
“To pour one out for the deceased,” Beryl interrupts.
“Did you know him?”
“Nooo, of course not.”
