Pierce snorted. “Yeah. You take one. I have Florence, Bernie’s ex-wife and Lawrence’s current fiancée in the other room right now, and I have no doubt she’ll have plenty to say.” He snatched the phone and knife off the table and stood, heading for the door. “I’ll log this into evidence so we can get prints and DNA off it. Let’s hope we find more than your client’s on here or on the body.” He opened the door and slipped gracefully through.
Bernie turned toward me. “I guess I should’ve mentioned that, huh?”
I walked outside with Bernie,the snow falling gently down to add to the foot already accumulated on the flowers around the justice building. Flashbulbs instantly went off, blinding us.
“Did you kill Santa?” Jolene O’Sullivan asked, stepping closer to Bernie.
I shoved my body between the two of them as her photographer, a medium-sized guy with a goatee that belonged in the nineties, kept snapping pictures. “We have no comment right now.”
Jolene smiled her catlike grin. “Come on. Doesn’t Santa want to defend himself?”
Why was Bernie still in the darn Santa suit? I should’ve had him change into anything else before we walked outside, but I hadn’t thought the press would have the story so quickly. “Come on, Jolene,” I muttered, not wanting to deal with theTimber City Gazetteyet. Well, ever.
She angled her blonde head around me. “Santa? You want to get the truth on the record, don’t you? What if all the kids think Santa is a murderer?”
Irritation prickled my Irish-Italian temper. Jolene had been a witch in high school who’d dated the guy I was currently dating, had slept with my sister’s date on prom night, and more recently had tried to make my life even more difficult than it already was—and it looked like she wasn’t stopping in her efforts now. “Like I said, no comment.”
I grasped Bernie’s arm and tugged him to Thelma’s older Buick, where the ladies were already waiting. “Go home and don’t talk to the press.” I opened the back door and all but shoved him in. Then I marched back to Jolene. “Watch yourself. Libel is a good area of practice these days.”
She smiled, her blue eyes glittering. “How’s Aiden? Does he miss me?”
I wasn’t sure how Aiden was doing right now, considering he was undercover somewhere outside of Idaho. “Nobody ever misses you,” I retorted.
She tucked her notebook in a black Coach bag. “Don’t tell me he’s already gotten bored with you? It was bound to happen. That’s not a man who’ll settle down. Ever.” She leaned in, the shade of her lipstick a little too red for her skin tone. “Have fun with him while you can, but when he’s out the door, don’t pine. It’s not a good look on you.”
I calculated the battery charge I’d get if I punched her in the nose and then decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. “Have fun chasing ambulances today, Jolene.” With that, I turned and walked toward the courthouse, not having time to return to my office before my morning hearings.
During the misdemeanor hearings, I managed to settle three cases and set five for trial, my mind on Jolene’s words the entire time. There might be some truth to the fact that Aiden wouldn’t settle down, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for that, either.
It was difficult building a relationship when one party was out of town so much pretending to be somebody else.
I finished the hearings and walked out into a frigidly cold day, tucking my hands in my wool coat before reaching my car. The ride back to my office was quick, and my stomach was growling by the time I walked inside to see Oliver Duck behind the reception desk. Oliver was around eighteen with short reddish hair and a wide smile. He did a great job with the scheduling and filing, and I wasn’t sure what we’d do without him. He was also getting pretty good at tracking down information. “Howdy. Tell me that somebody ordered lunch.”
He rolled his eyes. “Pauley ordered lunch.”
I sighed and my chin dropped to my snowy coat collar. Pauley was my cousin, and I adored him, but he’d been on a kick lately to try different types of food. I should be ecstatic about this because Pauley was autistic and usually mired in routine, but lately, my stomach had been unhappy on more than one occasion. “What did he order?”
Oliver winced. “It looked green?”
Ugh. I took off my coat and gloves, wandering through the doorway to the hub of the office. Clark’s office was right in front of me, and I turned since mine was at the very back. On the way, I passed vacant offices and then the conference room, where Pauley had already set out lunch.
He looked up, his brown eyes focused, his hair perfectly in place. “I purchased lunch.” He rocked back and forth. “Not true. Not true. Not true.” His fingers tapped on the table in a familiar three, two, three rhythm. “You purchased lunch. I ordered lunch with the firm’s credit card. You bought lunch. Thank you.”
I looked at the offerings, forcing a smile into place as I sat. “What do we have here?” Did I still have antacids in my desk? If not, I’d need to replenish my stock if this continued any longer.
He swept out his hand. “Salads with quinoa. It’s healthy for people under stress. You are under stress. Santa was murdered and you are representing another Santa. There are two Santas and one is dead. Quinoa is good.”
Well, it was healthy at least. I reached for a fork, wondering if Clark had any antacids. My stress level was rapidly rising, and it was just noon. I had several meetings later in the afternoon, not to mention a deposition right before suppertime. Hopefully this stuff wouldn’t make me all gassy because that’s all I needed. “Looks good, Pauley.”
I took a deep breath and dug in, my mind already on the dead Santa case. It should be hitting the online news right about now.
Chapter 3
My temples ached when I trudged from my garage to the front door of my cottage through a couple inches of snow. It had been a long day of not getting many answers about Bernie, although I did have interviews set up with the remaining Kringle Club members the next day. I looked at my too snowy porch, which had icicles hanging from the wood to the white blanketed brush. It was time to shovel, whether I liked it or not.
I didn’t.
But I did love my place. I rented the small cottage that was part of a much larger estate overlooking Tamarack Lake, which was smaller than Lilac Lake but still big enough to waterski, jet ski, and sail. The main house was far enough away through fir and spruce trees that I couldn’t even see it. The place was like my little slice of paradise, and with my Christmas lights twinkling merrily thanks to being set on a timer, it felt peaceful.
