A small blond-haired, gray-eyed child in angel’s wings trots out to the middle of the stage. He takes a deep breath. “Peppermint and Poison: A Murder in Three Acts.”
I raise the fake axe and slowly bring it down while the little boy starts reciting his lines, setting the stage for the gruesome Christmas murder.
“Can you believe,” the guy who’s been press-ganged into playing Jonah whispers to me, “that they only just finished writing it yesterday?”
“Oh, I believe it.”
The townspeople cheer as “Jonah” pretends to die while the child angel screams dramatically.
“That’s my boyfriend!” Willow whoops. “You’re doing amazing!” She gives me two thumbs up.
“Merry Christmas!” I boom out my line. “With a side of murder!”
EPILOGUE
Willow
“This wedding was a mistake.”
Josie nearly spits out her peppermint mimosa. “You don’t want to marry him?”
“No, I do,” I hiss, yanking at a piece of tulle that’s trying to smother me. “I just should’ve eloped. Maybe to a courthouse. Or a cave. Or the moon.”
“Who doesn’t love a Christmas wedding?” she asks, twirling in her red-and-white-striped dress. “It’s festive! Magical! Wholesome!”
“There are at least a hundred thousand people here,” I mutter. “I don’t even know all these people. That guy over there just asked if I’m the understudy for Mrs. Claus.”
Josie pauses. “Be honest—do I look like a stripper in a candy cane wrapper?”
Before I can answer, the bagpipes start.
A platform has been built in front of the enormous Christmas tree at the center of the square, surrounded by garlands, twinkling lights, and about seven thousand spectators clutchinghot cider. The banner reads:A Very Merry Wedding, Hughes & Willow.
I hitch up my dress. The bagpipes blare out something that sounds like a mix of “Jingle Bells” and the “Wedding March.” Fake snow falls. Drunken townspeople cheer.
Trying not to trip over the hem of my dress, I slowly make my way up the short ramp to Hughes, my fiancé, my soon-to-be husband, waiting for me with a soft smile.
Mayor Loring, wearing a Santa hat, beams at us as she begins the ceremony.
I blink back tears when we get to the vows and take a breath. “Hughes, when we first met, I thought you were an uptight, judgmental wannabe detective with the emotional range of a snow shovel.”
The crowd laughs. He tries not to.
“And you thought I was a murderer, so really, we started off strong.”
He laughs now, shoulders shaking.
“But somewhere between arguments in the middle of the Christmas market, I realized you weren’t just stubborn—you were good. The kind of good that risks everything to find the truth. So, yes, I promise to love you, to annoy you daily, and to remind you that I was right about the murderer.”
“Eh, I think I might have been right about a few things.” Then he takes my hands. “Willow,” he says, voice soft, “you drove me insane. You talked too much, questioned everything, and got me arrested. I wanted to throttle you. And then, somewhere between chasing suspects and hiding in a bakery freezer, I realized I didn’t want to solve anything without you. You make chaos feel like home. You make danger feel worth it. I promise to protect you—even when you don’t want me to—and to stand beside you, whether we’re solving murders or survivingyour gran’s booze-laden Christmas punch. You’re my favorite mystery, and I never want to stop trying to figure you out.”
Mayor Loring grins. “By the power vested in me by the great city of Harrogate, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Hughes doesn’t wait for a second invitation. His hands are at my waist, and the kiss is warm and certain and tastes like cinnamon and second chances. Snow swirls around us, and the whole square cheers.
The market transformsinto a glittering party. The band, a group of enthusiastic teenagers—hey, it was them or the polka band of eighty-year-olds—plays “Jingle Bell Rock.” Fairy lights shimmer over the cider booth, and Gran stands on a table, yelling, “Drink up, it’s what Jesus would’ve wanted!”
I’m halfway through a soft pretzel when someone screams, “Oh my god—Mary Lou!”
