“About as polite as a candy cane to the eye. Come on, Macy, what’s really going on?”
“She’s just not my type of person,” Macy replies with the kind of dismissive tone that suggests this conversation is over before it started.
I can’t stand that I’m being replaced as Bizzy’s favorite sister by some know-it-all bookworm,the thought drifts from Macy with enough pain behind it to make my chest tighten.
My mouth falls open, but I can’t help it. First of all, Macy was my only sister until a couple of months ago, so the wholefavorite sisterthing is a relatively new concept around here. Second, I had no idea she was feeling replaced or threatened or whatever emotional cocktail is currently brewing in her mind.
“Macy, you know you can never be replaced, right?”
She looks at me with surprise, and I realize she’s probably wondering how I knew exactly what she was thinking.
“I mean it,” I continue. “You’re my sister. You were there for me before I even knew Buffy existed. Finding out I have another sister doesn’t diminish what we have—it just means there’s more room at the family table.”
Macy’s expression softens slightly, though she’s clearly trying to maintain her dignity. “I suppose she’s not completely terrible.”
“High praise from you,” I say with a grin.
“She did handle Matilda’s relationship advice session withoutrunning away screaming,” Macy admits grudgingly. “That shows character.”
“Or she’s mastered the art of smiling while screaming internally,” Emmie suggests. “Heaven knows I’ve done that a time or two myself.”
We’re just getting back to the menu planning when my phone buzzes with the distinctive sound that means someone’s sent a mass text to what appears to be half of New England. I glance down at the screen and feel my stomach drop somewhere around my ankles.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, reading the message that’s apparently been sent to the entire town of Cider Cove.
“What now?” Jordy asks, probably recognizing my expression of impending doom.
“It’s a text from Mayor Woods,” I say, reading aloud. “The Starlight Christmas Eve Gala has been moved from Bizzy’s cursed corpse collector inn and will now officially be held at Thornfield’s Premium Christmas Confections gallery. Expect to experience a night of elegant dining, dancing, and a Santa surprise like no other!”
The silence that follows could ironically be heard in the next county.
“Cursed corpse collector inn?” Emmie repeats slowly. “She did not just call our inn cursed.”
“Oh, she went there,” I confirm. “She absolutely went there.”
“She moved our gala to a dead man’s chocolate factory?” Macy asks with disbelief as if gravity has been canceled.
“Apparently so,” I reply, staring at my phone like it might suddenly display a different, less insane message.
Jordy runs a hand through his hair. “So, all the decorating we just planned...”
“Completely pointless,” I confirm.
“And the menu I just perfected for the past three hours...”Emmie trails off, looking like someone’s just told her that Christmas has been canceled due to budget cuts.
“Also, pointless. Sorry about that.”
“Well,” Macy says after a moment, “this is either the worst Christmas Eve planning disaster in the history of Cider Cove or the most convenient way to walk directly into whatever trap the killer’s been setting.”
“Knowing our luck? Probably both,” I reply grimly, watching the snow begin to fall outside the café windows.
Nothing saysMerry Christmasquite like discovering your town’s holiday gala has been moved to a murder victim’s business, complete with promises of mysterious Santa surprises that probably don’t involve milk and cookies.
But much like my sister Macy, I’m betting it will involve a killer.
CHAPTER 15
If Matilda’s house was the Taj Mahal of Christmas excess, then Cordelia Goldleaf’s estate is what happens when someone with unlimited funds decides that subtlety is for poor people.
