Jingle all the Slay

by Dakota Cassidy

  While I was glad to hear Honey had turned down Hilroy, she was my last suspect—at least for today. I felt backed up against a wall, and I didn’t know why.

  I wasn’t sure if it was because I didn’t want a killer running loose in Marshmallow Hollow, or because I was getting nowhere and a killer was running loose in my beloved town.

  And excuse me, Miss Nosy Pants, exactly what right do you have to get anywhere at all? No one’s paying you to look into this. It’s not your job. You’re just fiddling because you couldn’t resist. So what’s the prob?

  Patting her on the arm, I nodded my understanding. “I get it, Honey. I’m sure by now someone on the phone tree’s told you Hilroy wanted to talk to me about selling the factory, and I turned him down, too. But that happened a while ago. I had no idea he’d actually been in town, or I’d have warned all of you.”

  “We’re all adults, Hal. You can’t look after all of us,” she said with a warm tone.

  My heart clenched. “I know…” But I felt like I should, and maybe that’s where this stems from. This need to figure out who’d killed him. Because I felt like I’d done them all a disservice by not sharing his attempt to get me to sell.

  “And good for you for telling that crook to pack sand, Miss! I’ve seen the things he’s done. I looked him up on the Internet. I watched the news reports about how he tricked those nice people into selling their land somewhere in Jersey.” She waved her knobby finger at me and shook her head. “I’m old, but I’m no fool. I know how to use the resources available to me, and I did my research.”

  “That’s good to know, Honey, and if anyone ever tries to pull one over on you, come to me, okay? I have lawyers at my disposal. I’d be happy to have them look over an offer or whatever anytime you need a legal eye.”

  “You’re a good kid, Halliday Valentine. But I’m okay.”

  Zipping up my jacket, I asked, “You know if he got to anyone else and made an offer?”

  She screwed up her face as she thought, but then she shook her platinum-blonde head. “I don’t think I remember hearing about anyone else. As far as I know, it was just us three older folks. Makes sense, seeing as that’s how that slimebucket worked. Preying on the elderly.”

  Dragging my hat back over my head, I pulled on my gloves. “Were you around when this happened last night?”

  “You mean when he was whacked?” she asked in her typically blunt manner. “I wasn’t around, if you’re asking if I saw anything. I closed up at four and went home to make Walter an early dinner. It was cold, and I was pooped from such a long day. Lots of tourists shopping yesterday. But I sure heard about it. Heard about Jared, too. Now if there ever was a candidate for murder, it’s that boy.”

  Wincing, I grimaced at her direct response.

  Hobbs, who had only just finished stuffing his face with cookies, finally spoke. “Well, Ms. Honey, we don’t know for sure what Jared’s capable of. Just because he likes the bottle a little too much doesn’t make him a killer. Innocent until proven guilty, right?” he asked, pouring on his Southern accent.

  Her plucked eyebrows rose. “I suppose you’re right, young man.” Then she sighed with a long puff of air. “I guess it’ll all play out in the courts. But I’m still not sorry that jokester is dead. He was a mean man with mean intentions.”

  On that much, she was correct. “I’d better get going, Honey. I’m glad to hear you and Walter are doing well.” Then I remembered her daughter and her grandchildren. “Hey, how’s Charice and the kids? I remember hearing something about your grandson Joey is it? Wasn’t he sick?”

  Her face instantly changed from a hard mask to a beaming light. “Everyone’s okay. Thanks for asking.”

  Honey didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t want to pry, so with that, I grabbed her hand and gave it one last squeeze. “I’ll see you around, Ms. Honey. Stay pretty.”

  I turned to leave, with Hobbs following close behind me. When we got to the sidewalk outside, quiet for the moment with people going home before the dinner hour, until the festival opened, I took a deep, cleansing breath. Driving my hands into the pockets of my jacket.

  “You feel better?”

  I looked at the sky and the coming darkness and nodded. “A little, yes. I didn’t get the sense she was a killer, did you? Or were you too busy eating cookies to hear what she was saying?”

  “Ha-ha. Look, you can’t blame me. Those cookies were rib-ticklin’ good. Also, you had it under control. I didn’t want to interfere.”

  “How chivalrous of you. But that still leaves us with a big fat nothing.”

  “So you don’t think Jared did it?”

  Quite frankly, I was torn. “I don’t think he’s ever sober enough to kill someone. He’s a drunk, but he’s never been violent. I guess…I guess, I don’t know. Obviously, anything’s possible, but I just don’t know. The only thing I know is it hurts my heart for Cyril and Aggie.”

  Hobbs reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about Cyril, Hal. He seems like a really good guy.”

  I blinked away tears and decided I needed the comfort of home and Atti and my nana. “It’s okay. It’ll all sort itself out. Now, we still on for Christmas tree decorating tonight?”

  He held up a fist for me to bump. “You bet. Me and my long arms are at your service.”

  I bumped his fist. “I’ll see you about seven?”

  “Does a bottle of wine sound good? I’ve got a few good ones stashed away. Today seems like the perfect day to dig one out.”

  I smiled. “Wine sounds like Heaven. Thanks, Hobbs. See you later.”

  “Later, Hallie-Oop,” he said, before laughing as he strolled away, his tall body growing smaller as he headed off into the distance.

  The reminder of the nickname my mother had used for me made more tears sting my eyes.

  Crossing the street for what felt like the umpteenth time today, I beeped my truck open and got inside, hoping my nana was awake.

  I needed some good old-fashioned poor babies.

  I could also really use a hug.

  If only someone in my family had arms.

  Chapter 13

  It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

  Written by George Wyle and Edward Pola 1963

  “You used your magic thrice today, Miss Witch. Care to explain?”

  “Um, it was only twice, warming my coffee doesn’t count, and in light of the fact that using my magic was preferable to me being flattened like a postcard ready for a mailbox, I didn’t have a choice.”

  He flapped his wings and landed on the railing of my nana’s stall. “Lest ye forget, you attempted to make your bed with your magic this morning.”

  My nana gasped in mock outrage. “Oh, horror of horrors, save the children, hide your wife! Halliday used her magic to do a boring chore. What’s next? She actually gets to be a witch and not just play one on TV?”

  Atti bristled. “Pard-own-a-moi, Karen, but was it not you who forbade her to use her magic for mundane chores and insisted she live like the rest of the mortals you’ve foisted us all upon unless she was engaging in a sanctioned ritual?”

  Atti wasn’t a fan of Marshmallow Hollow. Or at least, he wasn’t at one time. Now, he lovingly called it home, but it had taken him a long time to adjust to the cold weather and magnitude of snowfall, which, according to him, was weather far worse than jolly old England could ever produce.

  “That was before I died and realized how much I miss having arms and legs. Live like you’re dyin’ never means more to a gal than when she’s reincarnated in a reindeer’s body. Let our girl here live a little, Atti.”

  I reached out and stroked my nana’s head. “Yeah, Atti, let her live.”

  “Bah! The two of you are incorrigible. The rules we created when we agreed to live amongst mortals still stand, Halliday, and I shall not bend. Saving yourself is one thing. Using magic to make your bed is simply lazy and slovenly, and there will be no further discussion!”

  I booped him
on his beak and kissed the top of his very tiny head. “Fine, fine. I’ll make it with manual labor.” With a sigh, I moved closer to the heater. “So how was your day?”

  I’d already told them about mine, my vision of the frying pan and the typewriter (which I still didn’t understand in correlation to the frying pan), seeing the officer bring the frying pan into the station, and overall, how abysmal I felt for not figuring out who’d killed Lance Hilroy—because I wasn’t convinced Jared was responsible, and I hated knowing Cyril and Aggie were likely suffering.

  As always, Nana and Atti were supportive…if not argumentative while being supportive.

  “My day was busy, cleaning up the mess you made in the kitchen last night with your heathen mortals and hiding in abject fear from the fluffiest heathen of the bunch, your beloved Phil.”

  I snorted. “Oh, stop. I cleaned up the kitchen last night, and I’d lay bets Phil never left my bedroom. Stop being so dramatic. You’re like a telenovela.”

  Nana reared her head upward against my hand and nuzzled my gloved palm. “More to the point, how do you feel about your day of snooping, now that you’re home, Suzy-Q?”

  Leaning back against the stall, I let my chin drop to my chest, tucking it under my scarf. “Hmmm. Let’s see. I think I still feel pretty shady. I questioned some of the people I love while suspecting them all of murder. I found out that Lance Hilroy isn’t just a jerk, he’s a son-of-a-B; saw the police chase after Jared Chatham, catch him, lose him, and almost got run over by him in a speeding car before he was apprehended and dragged into Marshmallow Hollow PD, kicking and screaming, now a suspect in a murder investigation. Oh, and for a hot sec I thought Hobbs might be a suspect, but he had a sound alibi so I had coffee with him instead of handing him over to the police. I’m not sure I feel better.”

  “Aw, honey. You still got the blues?” Nana asked, her tone tender.

  “I do. I hate feeling so suspicious of the people I’ve known all my life. I hate that Cyril and Aggie are suffering. In summation, I hate this day with the fiery passion of a thousand Texas suns.”

  Nana shuffled her feet and reared back to look at me. “Jared was always in some kind of trouble, loveykins. As far back as I can remember, he was bringin’ his parents grief. You can only do so much wrong before everyone points their finger at you when wrong takes place.”

  My gut clenched. “But it doesn’t mean he’s a murderer, Nana.”

  “Doesn’t mean Judy is either, even though she’s got a pretty shady past, Suzy-Q.”

  I blinked my surprise. “Um, what are you talking about?”

  “She was arrested for assault and battery. Hessy Newman accused her of hittin’ her with her purse.”

  “What?” Why was I only now hearing this? “When in all of when did this happen?”

  Nana scoffed. “Long before you were born. You know what Hessy’s like, a little left of center, accusing us of witchcraft and whatnot. Anyway, they got into an argument at bingo one night and Hessy tried to have Judy arrested for assault.”

  To say I was shocked was to say the series finale of GoT wasn’t a huge disappointment. Yes, Hessy had accused us of witchcraft, and while she was right about us, I still couldn’t believe Judy would assault her.

  “And was it true, Nana? Did she hit her?”

  “Welp, I wasn’t there, and to tell ya the truth, I think it was more about Big Ken than it was about assault. Hessy had a sweet tooth for Big Ken, they even dated a few times back in the day, but he always liked Judy better.”

  “Holy Toledo. I had no idea.”

  “Oh, yeah, Hessy was right mad about Judy stealin’ him away. Anyway, I heard a bunch of rumors about what happened that night, of course. But Judy said she didn’t mean to hit Hessy with her purse at all. She was just throwin’ it down on the table because she lost a hundred bucks. Hessy didn’t feel the same way. Though, Judy has a temper, for sure. I know she seems like a sweet chocolate-covered cherry, but take a bite and you’ll find out there can be a little bit of vinegar under all that chocolate from time to time. The charges didn’t stick, but Hessy wanted her in the hoosegow for sure. Judy spent the night in a cell.”

  I blinked in surprise again. Sweet Judy? “So sweet little Judy has a temper?”

  “Meh,” Nana said. “I don’t know. Maybe temper isn’t the right word, but she can get riled up, for sure.”

  I had to wonder if the police had taken that into consideration. “That still doesn’t make her any more a murderer than it does Jared.”

  Atticus flew to my shoulder and rubbed his head against my cheek. “But it is an indication of what can happen when your reputation precedes you, Poppet. Do try and remember that.”

  I leaned into his soft feathers. “You’re right, all that aside, when I set out today, and after talking to Cyril, I’d hoped to help. I didn’t really do anything but hit a wall. I don’t know how Stevie does this and doesn’t lose her mind in the process.”

  “That sister of yours is one tough cookie,” Nana reminded me. “She might look like fluff with all her cute clothes and snow bunny outfits, but she has a strong constitution—and so do you. She does it because she believes in doing what’s right. So you didn’t solve a murder today. Big shakes. You know what you did do? You offered to help the people who love you if they ever run into trouble again. That counts for somethin’.”

  Bouncing my head in agreement, I shook off my melancholy. “You know what Cyril called me today?”

  “Nosy?” Atti quipped to lighten the mood.

  “Still salty, aren’t you, old pal? No, he called me Hallie-Oop. Just like Mom used to,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “No one’s called me that in a long time.”

  “I miss your mother, too, Poppet. She was a princess among paupers.”

  Nana huffed, nudging my arm with her nose. “That she was. She was a spitfire of a girl, and she’d be proud of what you, Hal. She was always proud of you, even when she disagreed with you.”

  That made me feel a little better. “Thanks, Nana. I love you. I’m glad you’re still here.”

  “Me, too, sugarlips.”

  I wrapped my arms around her neck and squeezed. “Get in here, Atti.”

  “Not if you offered me a familiar position with Beyoncé herself.”

  But he came and nestled on my shoulder anyway.

  And I’d take that over a hug any day of the week.

  Chapter 14

  Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree

  Written by Johnny Marks 1958

  * * *

  “Riiiight there,” I directed Hobbs, who was putting the finishing touch on the tree. A gorgeous, chunky wood hand-carved star that lit up. “Perfect!” I beamed a smile at him.

  Boris had indeed dropped off a Christmas tree, and while it wasn’t as big as last year’s, it came pretty darn close. But in its favor, it looked gorgeous. Lots of soft twinkling lights and white ribbon I’d weaved into the branches.

  As I’d flocked the tree with spray snow and added ornaments, I’d told Stiles what I’d learned today, which wasn’t much. But he’d remained unsurprisingly quiet.

  It stood to reason he’d want to keep what he knew close to his vest, especially seeing as we’d been Poky McPokersons today and he was an officer of the law who couldn’t reveal much.

  But I sure wish he’d give me an opening so I could confess I’d read his notes and get it off my chest.

  Hobbs went off to pour us glasses of wine while Stiles hung the last of the ornaments on the upper portion of the tree and I admired from my much shorter perspective, at a mere five-two to his almost six-two.

  It looked perfect against the backdrop of the fireplace, tall and graceful, with soft green branches so large and full. It almost hit the raised planked ceiling.

  I plopped down on my newly reupholstered couch where Stephen King had parked himself and stroked his spine to the tune of his contented grunts. Some jazzy Christmas music played in the background and for the first time today, I took
a deep breath and relaxed, soaking it in before I had to confess my sins.

  Letting myself sink into the multitude of farmhouse-style pillows in red and white with touches of silver, I licked my dry lips, preparing to confess my sins.

  I was nervous. As a result, I deflected and threw me feet onto my repurposed hope chest turned coffee table. “Boy, knowing tall people has its perks.”

  Stiles smiled vaguely, his thoughts very clearly somewhere else. “I’m the man with the perks.”

  “Hey, what’s going on? You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  But I knew that tone and expression. He wasn’t fine. “No, you’re not. What’s up? Is it Jared?”

  He frowned and rolled up the sleeves of his favorite cable-knit sweater with the ugly snowmen on it. “You know I can’t talk about him or his case, Hal.”

  Pulling my legs underneath me, I nodded. “I get that, but you can talk about your feelings, can’t you? Or are you not allowed to have them when you’re a police officer?”

  He ran the palm of his hand over the top of his head and grimaced. “Then I guess I’m feeling bad. It was a long, rough day of seeing folks I’ve known all my life in and out of the station like cattle.”

  Boy, did I ever get that. “Speaking of long, rough days, I have a confession…and I want you to promise to hear me out before you get upset with me.”

  He shot me a smugly grim look. “If you tell me you killed Lance Hilroy, I’ll give you a head start, but just so’s ya know, the BFF pact doesn’t extend to murder unless the guy cheated on you or physically hurt you. Murder invokes the tackle rule, and I think we both know I can run faster than you.”

  I chuckled and shook my head, tucking my hair behind my ears. “No. I didn’t kill Hilroy, but like I told you earlier, I did a lot of snooping around today with Cagney…er, Lacey… Um, whoever.”