The elderly women snort with laughter behind their hands.
“But it’s good to drink to the dead.”
“You all will take any excuse to drink.” Willow’s bubbly red-haired friend smiles.
Willow crosses her arms.
“Why don’t you come with us? Willow owns the café,” the redhead offers.
“That ownership is in question,” I remind them. “Taylor Grace—”
“I don’t give a shit what she says,” Willow snaps. “And I don’t want you in my café anyway.”
“Of course she does. She loves men in her café. She’ll take them any which way.” Beryl grabs my arm.
I don’t want to go sit in a café like a pampered pooch. But I need to mine Willow for clues. She’s technically the person who found the body.
“There you are!”
Taylor Grace, sobbing, makeup running, stumbles through the crowd, her sister in tow. Lydia has an odd expression on her face. I can’t study it, though, because Taylor Grace has thrown herself into my arms.
“My damsel in distress,” I murmur.
Willow makes retching noises as Taylor Grace snuggles against my chest.
“You’re my favorite person. You’re the only one who’s on my side, who’s on my team. We understand each other, don’t we?” She blinks up at me with those striking blue eyes. “You have to promise me. You have to promise me you’ll find who murdered Dr. Merriweather. I know Willow killed him.” She grabs my jaw. “Prove it to the world.”
Then she collapses dramatically in the snow.
“Oh!”
Lydia sighs. “Just leave her.”
Her daughter comes over. “Aunt Taylor?”
“It’s Aunt Taylor Grace!” my client screams at the little girl.
Lydia grinds her teeth. “Come on. You can—” She sighs again. “Stay at my house tonight, Taylor Grace.”
I can’t stay and help her. I left my smelling salts at home anyway. My prime suspect is walking away down Main Street. I trail Willow and Josie, listening in on their conversation.
“…think he had to have had enemies, right? Who would want Dr. Merriweather dead?”
“Besides me,” Willow mutters.
“I mean, let’s be fair. Anyone who gets too close to Taylor Grace gets fucked one way or the other. I should know—hey! Are you eavesdropping?”
“Hoping to overhear a confession.”
“Weirdo.”
“I think he’s cute.” Josie giggles.
I flip to a new page in my notepad. “Where were you in the hours before the murder?”
“In the Christmas market. Wait, you’re not the cops. I don’t have to talk to you.” Willow sniffs.
“Worried you’ll say the wrong thing and the jig will be up?”
