Yet, I remained skeptical that sharp-as-a-tack Gracie Good, a young woman who could have whomever she wanted, was having an affair with that mother— Well, you know the word.
“You don’t really think he was having an affair with Gracie, do you? She’s so young and…”
“Nice?” Hobbs said. “It wouldn’t be the first time a young woman became involved with an older man, Hal. Think about how many college girls become involved with professors, or rich men with younger women. It happens all the time. Sometimes nice has nothing to do with hero worship.”
Okay, that was fair. I’d had a huge crush on my art history professor in college, and he’d been a bit of a snooty jerk.
I guess it was his air of elusiveness that attracted me. Plus, he was really good-looking, all classically handsome and Rodin sculpture-ish, but even then, I didn’t have an affair with him.
“That’s true. But Gracie? She’s so sweet, and he was such a D-bag, as Elliott said. I don’t get the appeal.”
He stopped by an intricately carved, freestanding trellis covered in ice roses winding up and down the top and sides, and pulled me through with a smile. “Sometimes, that’s what attracts women. You have to know that. It’s not good for you. You know it’s not good for you, but bad boys have a certain mystique some ladies can’t resist.”
I ducked under the trellis and laughed. “You sure know a lot about women, huh? Is that what you’re doing up so late every night? Burning the midnight oil, studying women?”
Hobbs didn’t appear to sleep much. If I got up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen or I just couldn’t sleep, I could almost always guarantee his light would be on in the cottage.
At first he gave me an odd look, but then he shook his head. “Nope,” he said on a grin. “I don’t know a lot, but I do know a little about fantasies, and sometimes the fantasy turns into a nightmare, but it still exists.”
“And what do you know about women’s fantasies, Cowboy?” I looked up at him as we began walking toward Gracie’s stand. “Does that come from all those true-crime podcasts you listen to?”
He shrugged and looked forward. “Probably. Regardless, Gracie could be a perfectly fine lady with a weakness for an older bad boy. That’s all. As related in our earlier conversation about songs, think ‘Good Girl,’ by Carrie Underwood.”
I smiled with a nod. “I think in Gracie’s case, it’s more like ‘Go Away Little Girl,’ by Donny Osmond.”
He grabbed my hand as we walked. “I think that was originally done by Steve Lawrence, and not really the same.”
“Maybe it’s a little like ‘If I Could Fly,’ by Benny Mardones,” I suggested.
“Actually, that was called ‘Into the Night,’ and Gracie’s older than sixteen. Not applicable. Thank goodness.”
I jabbed a finger in the air. “You’re right. Wow. You really know your tunes, huh?”
He grinned, the dimples on either side of his mouth making my stomach tingle. “I know a few. I used to commute to work on the train in Boston. I didn’t only listen to true-crime podcasts. I deem there should always be music. Country music, if I’m playin’ favorites, but I like it all.”
Then it occurred to me, Hobbs might get the wrong impression about me. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I have nothing against May-December love, I just have something against sweet Gracie Good with that heartless—not to mention pompous—you-know-what. She deserves better.”
“Well, I guess we should find out how involved they were.”
We stopped at Gracie’s stand, where she was just opening up for the evening crowd. She smiled when she saw us, raising a hand in a cheerful wave. “Hey, guys! Hobbs, are you back for more hot chocolate? Honestly, you’re going to spit marshmallows from your ears at this rate.”
“Actually, we sort of wanted to ask you a question, Gracie,” I hedged, a little uncomfortable about the topic I wanted to broach.
She stopped putting out baskets of plastic-covered stirrers on the counter and cocked her head at me. “What’s up?”
Hobbs leaned on the counter, staring into Gracie’s pretty blue eyes fringed with eyelashes so long and thick, they left me envious. “I’m sure you heard about Yule Wolfram, right?”
There was only a slight stiffening on her part before she shrugged it off and straightened her snow-white jacket. “Yeah. I heard. So?”
Her tone was definitely defensive, maybe even a little combative. I wanted to keep this as light as possible. I didn’t think Gracie had anything to do with Wolfram’s death, and I wasn’t going to ruin a perfectly good relationship with her hot chocolate over it, that’s for sure.
Hence, I approached with caution. “I’m guessing you’re not terribly upset by his passing?”
“Passing?” She scoffed, her peachy lips turning into a sour line. “I heard he was murdered.”
Instantly, my eyes widened as I feigned innocence. I’d kick myself later for being, as Atti called it, a wanker, and not telling her I knew they were calling it exactly that, but in no way did I want to make trouble for Stiles.
I shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know that for sure. I haven’t heard any official ruling yet, but I am curious about something.”
She eyed me with suspicion. “Okay…”
“Someone mentioned you two were, um, dating…” I hoped I was using a word that wouldn’t offend her.
But Gracie threw her head back and laughed so hard, tears came to her eyes. When she caught her breath, her cheeks red and bright, she asked, “What in the world would make you think that? Yuck! He’s almost old enough to be my grandfather.”
Both Hobbs and I gave each other a strange look. “We just heard through the grapevine. Obviously, it’s not true. But we did hear Blanche had an argument with him and your name was mentioned.”
She grabbed a paper towel and began furiously scrubbing down the countertop. “Well, I had an argument with him, too. And it wasn’t me he was dating; it was my mother.”
“Twyla?” I spit out before I meant to.
Gracie licked her lips, her eyes angry. “Okay, maybe date is the wrong word. I think. But I can’t say for sure because my mother won’t confirm. Still, I’m pretty sure they had a little adventure the other night, if you know what I mean.”
“So they were seeing each other?” Hobbs asked.
I sighed. Men. “I don’t think they were seeing each other, seeing each other, Hobbs,” I mumbled with a nudge to his troglodyte ribs.
She rolled her eyes, her tone disgusted. “No. They were making a little hanky-panky, Hobbs. At least Yule was. On the other hand, my mother was hearing harp music played by angels and filling out a bridal registry.”
That was sticky. “She thought it was something more than it was,” I clarified.
“She sure did. My dad’s only been gone for a couple of years, and she hasn’t dated in at least thirty. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and Yule was all flattery and hearts and flowers. Unfortunately, she took it far more seriously than she should have, and when I found her crying because she’d seen him flirting outrageously with Blanche Ritter, I got really angry. So I confronted him and accused him of taking advantage of her.”
I reached out and grabbed her cold hand and squeezed it. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Gracie. He really was a bit of a jerk.”
“A bit?” she said, her tone bitter. “That’s an understatement. He’s awful. Er, was awful. My mom was setting a place at the table for him, and he was off running around with Blanche Ritter.”
I searched her face. “So you argued with him about it?”
She nodded her fair head, her eyes aglow. “You bet I did. I’m not going to stand around and let my mother be taken advantage of by some ancient lothario who smells like cheap Axe spray and left his prime behind twenty years ago.”
Hobbs took one of the stirrers and stuck it between his teeth. “And I’m guessing it didn’t go over well with Wolfram?”
She rasped an aggravated sigh. “Yule Wolfram doesn’t like anyone
to tell him anything. Least of all how to treat a woman. He had the nerve to say he should have picked me instead of my mother. Oh!” she spat, her eyes flashing the fire of her anger. “The nerve of him! He was a repulsive rat, so full of himself he was ready to explode, and I’m not sorry he’s dead!”
As her voice rose, the few people milling about gave her a strange look, but she didn’t seem at all fazed.
So I decided to change directions. “Remember yesterday when you said you thought Stiles and I were arguing about our failed ice carving?”
Gracie settled down a bit and nodded as she put napkins in a silver dispenser. “I do.”
“Can you try and remember who it was, and what they were arguing about?”
Frowning, Gracie brushed her blonde hair from her face. ”I can only remember what they said, and I thought it was you and Stiles because I heard them mention Star Wars. It was dark by that time, and I couldn’t see them very clearly because they were under the trees over there.”
Hobbs backed away from the counter. “Can you remember specifically what was said?”
“It was something about Star Wars and how stupid it was.” She paused then, and gasped. “Do you think it was the person responsible for trashing your nativity scene? I heard about that. I’m really sorry, Hal.”
“First, you’re too kind, calling it a nativity scene when in reality, it was a bunch of blocks of ice with some chicken scratch dug into them. I don’t know if anyone broke it to be malicious, because let’s face it, we’re not exactly the Van Goghs of the competition. I think it was probably more of an accident someone’s too embarrassed to admit. Second, are you sure they were talking about Star Wars?”
Gracie’s head bobbed. “Positive. Whoever it was said it was stupid, and I didn’t hear what the response to that was because I was pretty busy with the stand at that point, but the tone was definitely angry.”
Well, this had turned out to be a big fat nothing cake. Would Gracie kill Yule over a tête-à-tête with her mother? That was a hard pill to swallow. I could see why she was so angry on her mother’s behalf, but murder?
I don’t know. The motive was strong. It was her mother we were talking about, after all, and had anyone treated my mother that way, I’d have zapped him to Iceland in his underwear…but murder him?
That felt off, for whatever my gut instincts were worth.
Though, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Twyla Good and see if she had any ideas.
I smiled at Gracie, sympathy in my tone. “We’ll let you get back to it, Gracie, but would you let us know if you remember anything else?”
She gave us a return smile and a nod. “Got the crime-solving bug, do ya?”
I scoffed. “I don’t know if you could call me a crime solver…”
“What else would you call someone who’s solved not one, but two crimes, and in the process, saved three girls’ lives?”
The notion embarrassed me, and my cheeks went hot as a result. “You know what it’s like when the factory closes down for the Christmas break. It leaves me with a lot of time on my hands. That’s really all it is.”
“I do know. Remember when your nana and mother were alive and they’d volunteer their time to do community work? Like pick up all the trash around the ice festival or host a soup kitchen lunch at the church, entirely on them, or read Christmas stories to us when I was in elementary school? You’re no different, Hal. You care as much about Marshmallow Hollow as they did.”
I was surprised she remembered that, her being at least ten years younger than me. It warmed my heart that my nana and mom had left such a lasting impression.
Nodding, I answered with a tight throat. “I do remember. I’m glad you do, too. Now,” I said with a clap of my hand to the counter. “You get to work, young lady, and text or call if you remember anything else, okay?”
She gave my forearm a squeeze and shot me a warm smile. “You bet.”
As we strolled back down along the path we’d taken to get to Gracie’s stand, I said, “Guess that turned out to be more like the song ‘Stacy’s Mom,’ by Fountains of Wayne.”
He stopped and looked down at me with a grin. “Wouldn’t that be more like ‘Gracie’s Mom’?”
I hated to do it. It felt wrong, but I couldn’t help myself.
I laughed.
For probably far longer than was appropriate.
“Is it candy cane night, yet?” my Nana Karen complained as I freshened her hay before dinner.
The late-afternoon sun was waning fast, slanting its last weak rays through the windows of the loft of the barn behind my house. This was one of my favorite times of day, when everyone seemed to take a deep breath in anticipation of the end of the day.
I ran a hand over her head and grimaced. “No, Nana. You only get those on Sundays, and you know it.”
“How the bloomin’ onion am I supposed to know what day it is, stuck in this barn like some prisoner the way I am?”
Rolling my eyes at her, I set the rake down. “Stop making it sound like I keep you locked up in here, Nana. It wasn’t me who managed to reincarnate myself in the body of a reindeer. That’s on you, and as much as I love having you back here with me on this plane, even if you’re in an animal’s body, I’m not sure what you’d like me to do about your status. I don’t think you running around town like you don’t have four hooves and antlers is the answer.”
Atti flew to her nose and planted himself on her muzzle to stare her in the eye. “Really, Karen, give the child a break, will you? She’s under a bit of stress currently.”
“Stress?” she asked, her tone anxious. “What’s wrong, Sunshine? Did someone hurt you? Do you want me to shish-kebab them with my antlers?”
I heard the alarm in my grandmother’s tone, and chuckled. “No, Nana. I don’t want you to hurt anyone on my behalf, but hey. Thanks for offering to rough people up for me. It means a lot.”
“Then why are you stressed, Sweet Pickle?”
“Because we have another killer on the loose here in Marshmallow Hollow.”
Nana huffed. “Did that sister of yours open a hellmouth or something when she visited? What in all of the law of averages is going on? That’s three murders in less than a month!”
Rolling my eyes, I flapped my hands. “Leave Stevie alone, Nana. She’s not the problem; this murder is.”
“I don’t understand, Hal. Why does that make it personal for you, honey?”
I untucked Barbra from the pocket of the oversized jacket my grandpa used to wear, which I’d kept to use for chores (and to keep him close), holding her up for Nana to see.
“Oooo,” Nana cooed, nuzzling Barbra’s soft head with her nose. “Would you look at that precious baby. Boy or a girl?”
I cuddled her to my neck, running my hand over her soft fur. “Girl. I named her Barbra Streisand. You remember how much Mom loved her?”
Nana sniffed. “I do. She was forever blastin’ ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade’ in her bedroom when everybody else was playin’ that godawful heavy metal. She sure did love her.”
I smiled and nodded, my throat tight, making it hard for me to speak.
Nana nudged me. “But I don’t get how little Barbra here is stressful. She’s a sweet ball of fur. Balls of fur only bring good things.”
I explained to Nana what could happen to her if the police found out her hair matched the hair in Yule Wolfram’s wound. “And I’m telling you, Nana, I’ll change her hair color if they force my hand. Or I’ll hide her. But I’d prefer to find out who killed him so I don’t have to worry about it at all.”
“Can’t say as I blame ya, kiddo. She sure didn’t kill that man. But you be careful, girl. I don’t want any harm to come to you after the last mess with a maniac.”
“Nor do I,” Atticus agreed. “You will not leave me with these two shedding ruffians and a talking reindeer, Halliday. That will not be my life. Do we understand each other?”
Grinning, I scooped Atti up and planted a kiss on the top of hi
s head. “Says the familiar who took her out of her carrier, gave her a salmon cake, tucked her into her princess bed and was singing her a lullaby when I walked in the door this afternoon.”
He squirmed out of my grip and flew to the top of Nana’s head with an insulted scoff. “Was I supposed to listen to this bit of fluff howl until the cows came home?”
Giggling, I shook my head, tucking Barbra back in my pocket. “And I’m sure making her a fancy salmon cake and singing her to sleep was your way of ‘putting up with her,’ huh?”
“Something had to be done, Halliday. She was positively wretched.”
Dropping a kiss on Nana’s muzzle, I nodded. “Methinks you protest too much, Stuffypants. Now, I’m going to check on my stew and get ready for the second round of judging tonight at the ice festival. I want to see if I can spot anything or anyone suspicious.”
“You takin’ that hunk Hobbs with you?” Nana asked.
I blushed. “I am.”
“Is this my girl falling in love, Sunshine?” Nana asked softly.
I thought about that for a moment. I was definitely falling in something. For now, until I sorted out my heart, I wanted to keep my feelings close to my chest.
“I’m in deep like, Nana. Deep-deep like.”
Nana chuckled soft and sweet like she used to when she was right, but it was the good kind of right. Not the kind she wanted to rub my nose in as a lesson. “I like that, Sunshine. I like that a lot. But you know you have things to address, don’t you? Important things about who you are, my little witch.”
I gulped. Man, did I ever know. “I do, and I promise that will happen as soon as I get up the nerve.” I dropped one last kiss on her head and left the barn, watching as Atti flew back to the house.
Catching a glimpse of Hobbs’s cottage, the lights around the rounded door just turning on at twilight, the soft glow in the fading daylight making me smile, I remembered I needed some allspice for my stew.
Hobbs, a man who liked to cook, had, according to him, plenty of spices if I ever needed to borrow some. I suppose I could just conjure it up, but I was a little curious about what the inside of the cottage looked like these days.
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