Buffy snaps her fingers with a touch too much excitement. “Wait! You mentioned your jewelry cleaner when we toured your house! Commercial jewelry cleaners contain cyanide compounds. I’ve read about all sorts of random things during slow days at the bookstore.”
Macy grunts, “You’re such a bookworm.”
“And I’ve never been happier about it,” I say.
“He deserved to die!” Jennilee shouts, completely abandoningSouthern propriety like someone throwing off uncomfortable shoes. “And I let him off easy! If I’d had more time, I would have made it a lot more painful!”
She makes a break for it, darting toward the main exit with desperation as if she just realized confessing to murder in public might not have been the best strategy.
Oh no, you don’t!Sherlock barks, immediately positioning himself in her path like a furry roadblock bent on justice.
“Move, you mangy mutt!”she hisses, dodging left.
Block the exits!Fish commands like a tiny general directing troops into battle—the battle for justice. Okay, so I’m going a little hard on that whole justice thing, but still.
Skittles appears out of nowhere, apparently taking his crime-fighting duties more seriously than a Secret Service agent.
Jennilee stumbles, her gold gown billowing like liquid metal as she tries to regain her balance.
We got her!Fudge barks, diving for the hem of her dress and getting thoroughly tangled in yards of expensive fabric.
“Let go!” Jennilee shrieks, trying to shake off the determined little Westie who’s now wrapped in her skirt like a furry Christmas ornament.
A woman in pearls screams as Jennilee careens into the chocolate fountain, sending a cascade of liquid dark chocolate across the white tablecloth. The tower of petit fours explodes in a shower of pastel frosting that makes every four-footed creature here yelp with joy.
“Holy tinsel and frosty whiskers!” someone shouts as carolers abandon “Silent Night” mid-verse, their mouths hanging open at the spectacle of an elegantly dressed killer being pursued by what appears to be a coordinated pet police force with serious professional dedication.
The ten-foot Christmas tree starts swaying dangerously as Jennilee crashes into its base, and I watch in slow-motion horror as hundreds of expensive ornaments begin their descenttoward the marble floor like the world’s most expensive hailstorm.
This is the best Christmas ever!Sherlock declares with glee as he helps corner Jennilee near an overturned display of chocolate ornaments.
“No chocolate for the dogs!” I shout in a panic, but then it does appear they’re going for the sugar cookies. I guess they know their limits.
I’m about to head toward Jennilee when the gallery doors burst open and Santa Claus charges into the chaos with his gun drawn.
No, seriously. Full red velvet suit, white beard, black boots, and a Glock pointed directly at Jennilee, who’s currently wrestling with Fudge over control of her dress hem like they’re competing for fabric custody rights.
“Freeze! Sheriff’s department!” Santa bellows in Jasper’s unmistakable voice.
“Hands up!” he shouts with professional authority that somehow manages to be commanding even while delivered while dressed as Saint Nicholas. “Now!”
Jennilee skids to a halt, probably because being arrested by Santa Claus on Christmas Eve is surreal enough to stop anyone in their tracks.
“She did it,” I shout over the blooming chaos. “She confessed to killing Balthasar Thornfield!”
“And I got her to admit it!” Macy adds with an abundance of pride in her interrogation skills.
Leo appears like backup Santa (minus the costume), and they wrangle Jennilee into handcuffs while a chorus of impromptu applause and gasps breaks out in equal measure.
Soon enough, Leo is escorting our confession-happy murderer out of the building while guests gawk like they’re watching the world’s most expensive chocolate-covered dinner theater. And really, they sort of are.
Jasper locks me into his arms and lands a kiss on my lips that makes me forget about chocolate fountain disasters and ornament casualties.
“Bizzy,” he pants, his heart thudding against my chest like it’s trying to sleigh ride its way out.
“Really?” I say, eyeing the red velvet suit and the oversized belt buckle. “This is what you meant when you said I might not recognize you?”
“You gotta admit,” he says with a twinkle in his eye and a wink that would make Mrs. Claus blush, “I’m the jolliest undercover agent in Cider Cove.”
