“Maybe not right now,” I tell him. Although, let’s face it, we may need her sooner rather than later.
“Jennilee!” I call out with cheerful enthusiasm that hopefully doesn’t screamI’m about to accuse you of homicide.“That was quite the crowd you had gathered by the chocolate fountain. You are such a wonderful hostess.” She really sort of is.
She turns with a smile that could probably charm ornaments right off a Christmas tree. “Oh, bless your hearts! Folks are just so kind with their compliments. This whole event has been such a blessin’ to coordinate, and everyone’s been sweeter than pecan pie.”
The way she saysblessin’with that sweet Southern drawl almost makes me forget that we’re here to discuss a cold-blooded murder.
“Speaking of blessings,” Buffy says with a slight grimace, “we couldn’t help but notice this article about your husband.” She holds up her phone like she’s presenting evidence to a jury.
Wow, okay. So, I probably wouldn’t have opened with that, but here we are.
The change in Jennilee’s expression is subtle but unmistakable—like watching a perfectly smooth marzipan-covered Christmas cake develop a hairline crack. And marzipan really does sound delicious right about now. I probably should have indulged in a little dessert before making my move.
“Oh, that old thing,” she says with a laugh that sounds like wind chimes in a tornado as she waves the article away. “The media just loves to blow things out of proportion, don’t they? David’s just taking an extended business trip to... explore new business opportunities.”
More like taking an extended business trip to avoid federal prison,Fish muses, and I can’t help but agree with her.
“With a mystery woman?” I ask gently, because apparently, I’m the designated bearer of uncomfortable truths. “That must be challenging for you.”
“Well, sugar, marriage has its ups and downs like a roller coaster designed by someone with questionable engineering skills,” Jennilee replies with forced brightness that suggests she’s had plenty of practice deflecting uncomfortable questions. “A woman learns to make do with what the Good Lord provides.”
“Making do must be expensive,” Buffy points out with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “Especially when you’re maintaining appearances while your financial situation is on shaky grounds.”
Jennilee’s smile becomes slightly strained, like plastic wrap stretched a little too tight. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, honey. The Lord provides, hard work pays off, and everything happens for a reason.”
I happen to glance to my left and spot Macy stalking toward us with a determined expression as if she’s just realized she’s been left out of something important—moving across the room like a missile programmed to target sister bonding activities that don’t include her.
“You’re confronting a killer, aren’t you?” she announces without preamble, jabbing her finger at me as if this were all my fault. She wouldn’t be wrong. “And you’re doing it with yourothersister! Well, I’ll show you how it’s really done!” She turns to Jennilee with a growl, and all three of us lean back a notch. “You murdered Santa!” she declares with authority as if delivering a judicial verdict. “You did it because you’re broke and desperate, and he found out about your financial disasters!”
Clearly, Macy has been eavesdropping longer than I suspected.
Oh, good grief, she’s gone full nuclear,the thought comes from Mom’s direction, even though she’s clear across the room. And believe me, I always know my mother’s voice. I’ve heard her in the night a time or two, and we don’t even live together.
The silence that follows in our midst could probably be used to preserve holiday fruitcake for the next century.
And just like that, Jennilee’s perfect Southern belle facade crumbles like a house of cards in a hurricane—Hurricane Macy to be exact.
“Okay, fine!” she snaps, her accent becoming more pronounced as her composure evaporates like cheap cologne. “I did it! I killed Balthasar Thornfield, and I’m glad about it, too. That snake had it coming, and I’m not even a little bit sorry! He was a terrible, horrible, no-good man who deserved everythin’ he got! Including a bucket full of poison.”
Buffy and I look at each other with shocked expressions because, let’s face it, neither of us was expecting much from Macy tonight.
“She’s good,” Buffy says admiringly.
“Reallygood,” I agree, though I’m not entirely sure whether I’m complimenting Macy’s interrogation technique or Jennilee’s confession delivery.
“You want to know why?” Jennilee continues, her voice rising with each word like a Southern belle having a very publicnervous breakdown. “Because that pompous, blackmailing son of a biscuit figured out I was done flat broke! He knew David left me with nothing but debt and a reputation to maintain, and he used it against me like the heartless monster he was!”
Now we’re getting to the truth,Fish mewls with satisfaction.Hoomans always confess when they get angryenough to forget their manners. It’s like emotional burping—ugly, loud, and surprisingly informative.
I nod at the woman. “You were working here because you needed the money, not because you were bored. And Balthasar discovered you’d been stealing from Cordelia’s charity foundation to make ends meet.” I have a feeling I’m looking at the phantom who was dipping her hands into Cordelia’s charity funds.
“Those programs barely existed anyway!” Jennilee protests with indignant fury. “Half of them were just tax shelters! I was just redistributing funds to someone who actually needed them!”
“And Balthasar threatened to expose everything,” Buffy adds. “The theft, your husband’s crimes, your complete financial ruin.”
“Unless I signed over my Victorian house to him for practically nothing!” Jennilee’s eyes are blazing now with the fury of a Southern belle who’s been pushed past her breaking point. “That house is all I had left, and he was going to steal it from me just like David stole everything else!”
“So, you poisoned his eggnog,” I conclude. “With cyanide. But where did you get it?”
