Baby Ella latches on happily, making those little satisfied sounds that suggest she’s perfectly content to provide me with the perfect excuse for an extended private conversation with my suspect. We’re basically the perfect crime-solving duo, with the exception that she’s just a little over a foot tall.
“You have such a beautiful home,” I say, settling back in the chair. “That wedding portrait is absolutely stunning.”
Jennilee’s smile brightens, but there’s something almost fierce about it now. “Thank you, honey. David and I had the most magical wedding day. There’s nothing like marrying the love of your life.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say with a sigh.
She talks about it like it was yesterday,Fish mewls,but that dress in the picture looks like it’s from another decade.
She’s right. It looked vintage, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have worn it yesterday. Vintage is all the rage.
“He must be so proud of what you’ve accomplished with the Christmas decorating,” I continue. “Will he be back soon from his business trip?”
“Oh no, David is always traveling for work. Import-export keeps him very busy. I’ll be lucky to see him just in time for Christmas, if he makes it at all.”
“Oh wow,” I say.
I’d be heartbroken to spend Christmas without Jasper. In fact, it would ruin the entire month for me knowing we’d have to spend it apart.
Ella makes happy nursing sounds, giving me time to studyJennilee’s expression. She seems so genuinely friendly—I’ll give her that. But there’s something about the way she holds her shoulders, the slight tension around her eyes, that suggests the perfect Southern belle routine might be covering up some serious cracks in the foundation.
Okay, fine. I’m at the point in my life where I’m basically suspicious of just about anyone. And with the murder rate as high as it is in Cider Cove, with good reason.
“Well, it must be lonely for you during the holidays with him gone so much,” I wince as I say because I feel bad pointing out the obvious.
“Oh, not at all!” she says quickly. “I keep myself plenty busy with decoratin’ and... well, work at the chocolate shop keeps me occupied.”
There it is. The connection to Balthasar Thornfield.
Now we’re getting somewhere,Fish purrs from her cozy spot in my coat.
“Oh my word,” Jennilee coos. “I just saw your sweet cat poking her head out. For a second, I thought maybe she was one of those ugly sweaters everyone wears around the holidays, but we both know there’s not an ugly thing about her.”
“This is Fish. She loves to come with me wherever I go.”
This is a catnapping, and we both know it, Bizzy.Fish glances down at her paw as her claws come out one by one.You and I both know I’d rather be napping in the traditional sense. But I’m used to it by now.
I shoot her a look that says,you’re hilarious,before glancing down at baby Ella, who’s nursing contentedly while I sit across from a woman who might have committed murder less than twenty-four hours ago.
The tea room is decorated with such care and attention to detail that it’s almost heartbreaking—like someone trying desperately to create the perfect Christmas moment.
Time to see if this sweet Southern belle’s charm can stand up to some pointed questions about dead chocolate magnates and missing cats.
After all, nothing says holiday spirit quite like a little suspect interrogation with your afternoon nursing session.
CHAPTER 8
There are some things you expect to juggle during the holidays—cookie trays, in-law meltdowns, maybe the occasional blackout. Solving murders while nursing a baby in a room full of porcelain teacups? Not on the list. Yet here I am, settling into a chintz chair that probably costs so much it belongs in a safe, while Jennilee Holly makes herself comfortable across from me like we’re old friends about to dish dirt over holiday mimosas.
Jennilee Holly arranges herself across from me with the kind of elegant Southern grace that screams finishing school and lots of practice charming her way out of speeding tickets. “There now, much better than trying to manage in a crowd, don’t you think, sugar?”
Baby Ella continues to nurse happily, making those little satisfied sounds that mean I’ve got the perfect excuse for an extended interrogation session. This kid is going to grow up thinking suspect interviews are normal family bonding time.
This woman smells like expensive perfume trying to cover up cigarettesand crimes,Fish points out from hercozy spot inside my coat.Also, cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. And judging by those Christmas cookies on that plate, Sherlock is missing out on a feast.
For the first time since I met her, Jennilee’s perfect hostess facade completely dissolves. This is the real deal—still charming, but without the performance for the crowds.
“This is wonderful,” I tell her. “Thank you for helping find a nice place to nurse.”
