“It’s absolutely stunning,” I tell her, and I mean it, too. “You’ve really outdone yourself with the decorating.”
“Oh, thank you, hon. I do try.” She laughs and raises her glass at the joke. But she didn’t just try, shesucceeded.
“Well, you’re certainly in your element tonight,” I say.
She tips her head at the thought. “Let’s just say, playin’ hostess suits me much better than playin’ employee.”
I’m about to say something else when we spot Matilda Westoff whisking into the room and immediately handing out thosemissing posters of poor Jellybean. And behind her is a small army of people doing the same as they quickly hand them out to every and anyone they can as they quickly canvas the vicinity.
One of them lands in my hand, and I glance down at that adorable black and white face and the staggering two hundred and fifty thousand dollar reward amount in letters large enoughto be read from the International Space Station. I was already privy to that rather large reward, but just seeing it on paper makes my heart skip once again.
Apparently, Matilda’s campaign to find her missing cat has reached epic proportions, because half the conversations I overhear seem to involve people discussing search strategies and potential sightings.
“Poor Jellybean,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t believe she’s still missing. I know for a fact she knows her way around Cider Cove.” I crane my neck in the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hammie Mae. “I just can’t believe someone would take her.”
Jennilee shakes her head. “Well, if they did, they have two hundred and fifty thousand reasons to give her back.”
“True,” I say. “Here’s hoping the reward works.”
“Have you seen the crowds at your inn?” Jennilee asks with a touch of sympathy. “Poor Matilda is beside herself with worry. I really think this reward will have half the county convinced they’re going to be the one to find little Jellybean.”
“It’s been like a treasure hunt,” I confirm. “We’ve had pet psychics, professional trackers, and someone who claimed they could communicate with cats through dreams.”
The hoomans have lost their collective minds over one missing feline,Gatsby woofs as he sniffs the floor for an errant snack.Though I have to admire the marketing campaign.I’d like to think they’d do the same if one of us were missing.
If Gatsby were missing, Emmie and Leo would rent a blimp, hire a psychic, and bribe Santa for intel. All things that Matilda has tried, for sure.
I still think she’s hiding somewhere warm and laughing at all the fuss,Skittles adds, sniffing right alongside him.
Someone calls for Jennilee, and she raises her glass of champagne and belts out a howl in response.
“I’ll catch up with you soon enough, Bizzy.” She winks my way before taking off.
I head into the crowd myself, determined to find that handsome man with the light gray eyes that I used to sleep next to at night—when I was still participating in the act of sleeping, when someone glides an arm around my waist.
“Care to dance?” Jasper appears beside me with champagne flutes and the kind of smile that makes me forget we’re investigating murder at the victim’s workplace while surrounded by enough chocolate to kill a small village.
Jasper is polished to perfection with his dark hair slicked back, his eyes shining like Christmas stars, and that body made to deflect steel happens to be wrapped in an inky dark suit, punctuated with a shiny red tie. Perfection personified.
“Dance? I thought you’d never ask,” I reply, letting him lead me to the dance floor where couples sway to carolers and the entire room glitters in red and green.
The moment his arms close around me, the party fades into a romantic magic that feels like a gift in and of itself. We move together to the music, and despite murder investigations, the chaos that would make circus performers nervous, and general mayhem that follows us everywhere like a persistent stalker, this is exactly where I want to be.
“That dinner was incredible,” I murmur against his ear while trying not to drool on his tuxedo. “I’ve never seen anything like that seafood tower, and the chocolate desserts—all six sweet courses will be the direct reason my pants size is about to change.”
“Mine, too.” A laugh strums through him. “Brings new meaning to growing old together.”
“Who are you calling old?” I tease, mock-socking him on the arm.
“The venue’s not bad either,” Jasper replies, spinning me gently so I can take in the full scope of winter wonderland excess around us. “But I have to admit, celebrating Christmas Eve here after its owner was murdered less than aweek ago feels surreal even by Cider Cove’s standards of dysfunction.”
“You know what would be even less surreal? You, me, our cottage, and significantly fewer clothes. Just saying.” I waggle my brows to drive my point home. Like I said, no one is sleeping at our house, so we may as well find something else to do until the sun comes up.
“Keep talking like that and we’re going to have to make up an excuse to leave in less than ten seconds.”
I’m about to make his excuse-loving dreams come true when Jasper’s phone buzzes like a mood-killing electronic mosquito. He glances at it, expression shifting into professional mode faster than Santa can down a cookie tray on Christmas Eve.
“Leo needs me for something,” he says with reluctance and what sounds like genuine regret. “I have to step away for official business, but don’t go anywhere, and for goodness’ sake, don’t lose your train of thought.”
