“Really? Holy moly! Why? How? What happened? Did he confess? Does Susannah know? Is he in jail now?” Grace and Kate both began peppering Ian with questions at the same time.
Ian held his hands up. “One thing at a time.”
“Start at the beginning,” Kate said.
“Was it because of Rina you caught him?” Grace asked.
“If you two would let me talk we'd get there a lot faster.”
“Sorry,” Kate said.
“Me, too,” Grace added. “Go ahead. We won't interrupt.”
“We got there quicker because of Rina, that much I'll say,” Ian answered. “The city has begun a project of installing security cameras on the light posts. Unfortunately, the project isn't finished. If it had been, we'd have seen his car and picked up his license plate and gone to question him.”
“How did you get him to confess?” Grace asked.
“I'm not going to go into details, but we got a search warrant after questioning him. We found the bloody fireplace poker wrapped in a sheet in his trunk.”
“That's gruesome. Why would he keep the murder weapon?” Kate shuddered.
“Probably looking for a good place to dispose of it. You'd be surprised at how many killers don't discard their murder weapon, but instead hide it, hoping no one finds it.”
“What happened next?” Grace asked.
“We brought him in and confronted him with the evidence that his fingerprints matched the fingerprints on the poker, as well as on the door of the bookstore. He knew he couldn't deny it. Blake's blood was also on the sole of his boots. There was a bloody footprint he didn't clean up very well. And there was blood in his car.”
It was Grace's turn to shiver. “Why did he kill Blake? Did his mother put him up to it?”
“No. Blake was supposed to have left his entire estate to Joshua, but when Blake’s godson’s parents were killed in a car accident, he sent a letter through his attorney to Joshua, telling him that he intended on leaving the majority of the estate to his godson, instead.”
“He must have lost it,” Grace cried, “and gone into a rage. How could Blake have done that? The more Kate and I learned about him, the more we realized we didn’t know him very well.”
“It seems like it. He’d gone to Thistlewood to talk to Blake and try to convince him to change his mind. When he couldn’t, a fight ensued.”
“Which is what Rina heard,” Kate surmised.
“Correct. He apparently followed Blake and went into the bookstore. Blake hadn’t bothered to lock the door. They argued some more and he picked up the poker and . . . well, you know the rest, I don't need to go into details.”
“I’m glad it’s all over,” Grace said. “It’s sad in a way that Joshua has ruined his life, but he killed Blake. He has to pay.”
CHAPTER 12
* * *
Grace went to the front door and flipped the sign in the window from Open to Closed. Kate had gone home earlier. She didn't mind being at the bookstore alone, surrounded by books, with Charlotte and Emily for company. Especially since Blake's killer had been caught. Had it only been three days since Ian had given Kate and her the whole story?
Charlotte and Emily followed her around as she straightened up, making sure everything was in order for the next day. “I think that’s it, girls. Too bad this tree and all the decorations have to come down soon.” She smiled at the cats. “I know you’ll both be happy to have your window seat back.”
“Meowwwwww,” Charlotte replied. She and Emily settled on the rug in the children’s section and drifted off to sleep.
She was halfway up the stairs to get her coat and purse a few minutes later when the door opened, startling her. She should have locked it as soon as Kate had left. It seemed as if good sense had deserted her.
She quickly turned around and felt her heart lurch clear up into her throat. “Ian. What are you doing here?” She came back down the steps. “Actually, I'm glad you're here. I never got a chance to thank you for finding Blake's killer and clearing up the mystery.”
The door clicked closed behind him. “No thanks necessary. You and Kate were a big help. So was Rina Foster. It was great that Kate had pictures of Joshua. Everything pretty much fell into place. Those are the best kind of cases.”
She smiled at him. “My sister and her camera. I'm glad it's all behind us. I hope we don't have to face anything like that again.”
“Me too.”
Silence stretched between them until Grace spoke. “I didn’t give you a chance to tell me why you’re here.”
He combed his fingers through his short hair. “Remember that email to his agent in the draft folder of Blake's phone? The one I thought he wrote about you?”
He was going to bring that up again? “The one I told you he didn’t write about me? Does it even matter now? You have Blake’s killer.”
“I know, but I want to explain. We found the same words in a partial manuscript that was marked up when we went through his house. He must have wanted to email it to his agent and had forgotten, maybe.”
She relaxed. “Thanks for telling me.” It wasn’t exactly an apology, but she understood why he would’ve thought that, and he was, after all, merely doing his job.
“You're welcome.”
Grace expected him to say goodbye and leave, but he remained planted. He seemed to be nervous about something, which wasn't like him at all. “Is there something else?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, Grace. I’ve carried a grudge against you all these years. It was stupid of me. And immature.”
“Oh, Ian,” Grace cried as she looked into his eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should never have left you like that before our wedding. I’m the one who did something stupid. Then you were so angry I was afraid to approach you. I never stopped loving you. Please believe that, but I was convinced it was too late, that you'd never want me in your life again. But of course, I would never have come between you and your wife.”
“Our marriage wasn't the best. I wanted to hurt you by getting married again right away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hate thinking you were unhappy all those years.”
He shrugged. “There were some good times. But it’s water under the bridge. So, you still love me?”
“I do. It was always there, buried inside me.” There was no sense in playing coy, or beating around the bush. Not that she was ancient, but she wasn’t twenty, either.
A crease of doubt appeared between his eyebrows. “What about the thing you had for Blake?” He folded his arms across his chest.
Her lips twitched in effort not to smile at the scowl on his face. Suddenly, he was upset about her non–existent thing with Blake? “I didn’t exactly join a convent, you know. But it didn’t mean anything. Not in the long run. None of the men I had relationships with after you quite made the cut. That's probably why I never got married.”
He hadn't said he loved her, too, but that was okay. Why would he after all this time? Maybe they could be friends. She could deal with living alone the rest of her life if that was how it turned out. Better that than with one of the men she’d met on that awful dating site. Plus, she had Kate and Jeremiah, and her two nieces and two nephews, and her friends. Not to mention Black Cat Books, Charlotte, and Emily. “You’re quite a guy, and not a bad detective.”
“Did I?” he asked.
“Did you what?”
“Make the cut.” His voice was so low she could barely hear him.
She gave him a huge smile. She couldn’t help it. He still took her breath away. Maybe it wasn’t too late for them. “Yes. Yes, you did.”
“Would you ... would you...um...mind if I called and asked you out sometime?”
She found his loss for words humorous and endearing, but she didn't want to tease him. “On a date?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Yes. That's the general idea.”
Grace didn't think her smile could grow any larger, but somehow it managed. “No, I
wouldn’t mind at all.” She refrained from asking when she could expect his call.
“I’ll be in touch then. Merry Christmas, Grace.”
“Merry Christmas, Ian.” She watched him leave, her smile still in place. When the door closed, she squealed and pumped a fist in the air as if she were fifteen and the most handsome, nicest boy in school had just asked her to the prom. Charlotte and Emily looked over at her with their large green eyes, clearly not pleased to have their sleep disturbed by such silliness.
“Girls,” she said, “I have a feeling that despite Blake's murder, it will indeed turn out to be a very Merry Christmas.”
“Meowwwwww,” they answered together.
Merry Christmas from Grace & Kate!
CHOCOLATE WALNUT COOKES (makes 3 dozen)
COOKIES
Cream ¼ butter and ¼ cup shortening; add ¾ cup sugar gradually. Beat well.
Beat in one egg. Stir in two 1-ounce squares of unsweetened chocolate, melted.
Add 1 ¾ cups flour, sifted with ½ teaspoon baking soda and ½ teaspoon salt, alternating with ½ cup milk. Mix.
Stir in 1 teaspoon vanilla, and ½ cup chopped walnuts.
Drop cookie dough by teaspoonful onto ungreased baking sheet, leaving w inches in between cookies.
Bake at 400 degrees about 8-10 minutes.
Slide cookies onto cooling rack.
FROSTING
Add enough whole milk or cream to 2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar to make an easy spreading frosting. Add a dash of salt, and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Top frosted cookies with walnut half.
Colorado
Christmas
Killer
An “Authors of Summer Prescott Books”
Christmas Cozy
By
Jenna St. James
DEDICATION
* * *
To the Aunts: Earlene, Connie, Barb, and Beverly…my step-mom, Michelle, my sister, Juliana, and my cousin, Thomas…thanks for drinking “the juice” and brainstorming with me.
And thanks to my mom and dad and John and Judy Redman for taking me, my sister, and their three boys every year to Colorado to ski…I had years of wonderful memories to draw upon for this book!
CHAPTER 1
* * *
“I don’t know about this.” I tucked my feet in under me and settled back against the plush couch cushions. “It just seems weird. We won’t know anyone we’re staying with.”
“Here.” My best friend and roommate, Ophelia, handed me a Candy Cane Martini. “Drink this and hush. We’re going and that’s final.”
Knowing better than to fight her when her mind was made up, I took a tentative sip of the drink. “Wow! That’s pretty strong…but good.” I licked my finger and ran it around the rim to capture a few of the crushed peppermints that encircled the glass.
“I found the recipe yesterday and thought I’d try it out,” Ophelia said.
“You were hoping I’d get tipsy enough to just go along with whatever you say,” I chided softly.
Ophelia grinned but said nothing to counter my accusation.
“Aren’t your parents expecting you home for Christmas?” I asked.
Ophelia shook her head. “Nope. I told them earlier that I had other plans this year.”
“Uh-huh. And how did they take that news?”
“They understood,” Ophelia said, giving me a knowing look. She sat down on the chair opposite me and pushed a lock of dark, coarse hair off her face.
I averted her dark, soul-piercing eyes and took another drink.
We’re opposites in nearly every way. My skin tone was so pale it was practically see-through compared to her coffee-with-lots-of-cream complexion. I grew up as an only child on a farm surrounded by animals. If a meal didn’t have meat and potatoes as the main ingredient, then my dad didn’t consider it a meal. Ophelia was raised surrounded by numerous brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles. She was raised on traditional southern soul food, even though her family had migrated from Louisiana two generations back.
“A few more of these,” Ophelia said, trying to lighten the mood, “and you’ll be wondering why you ever dragged your heels coming.”
“I doubt that.”
Ophelia looked at me with pity and my heart lurched.
I didn’t want her pity.
“Holly Anderson, you can’t just sit here by yourself through the holidays. Your parents are in Hawaii for Christmas because they thought you were celebrating with that rat-fink ex of yours. Now that you’ve finally seen the light and dumped him, you can’t just sit here!”
I laughed sardonically and took another huge swallow of my drink. “I didn’t so much see the light as I caught him with another woman.” Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them back. I refused to cry for the rat-fink anymore. It was going on two weeks since the break-up, plenty of time to get over him and our one-year relationship.
Ophelia waved her hand dismissively in the air. “Doesn’t matter how you came to the wonderful decision to dump him. The thing is you finally came around. And we aren’t going to waste our much-needed holiday just sitting around this stuffy apartment. We’re going.”
I smiled at her continued use of the word ‘we’ in her sentences. No way was my best friend abandoning me during the holidays.
“I guess it would be kinda cool to show the kids pictures of us skiing down mountains and the huge chateau all decorated for Christmas,” I mused. “A lot of them have never seen, much less done, anything like this.”
“Fine,” Ophelia said. “If it helps, think of this as your cross to bear so all your students can experience something through you.”
Ophelia and I met our first year of teaching. We both teach first grade at Kaden Elementary, a school in downtown Kansas City, Missouri. We bonded that first year over hours of lesson planning, parent complaints, and extra teacher duties. In order to live off our first-year teaching salary, we decided to share an apartment in the city. That was five years ago, and our friendship is still as strong as ever.
“So all we do is hit the send button and the last room in the condo is ours?” I asked.
Ophelia grinned. She knew she had me. “Yep.” She set her drink down and grabbed her laptop off the coffee table. She scooted over to where I was sitting on the couch and showed me the website again for the chateau and ski resort in Winterdale, Colorado.
“It’s a huge college town,” Ophelia told me, “so there should be plenty of nightlife in the town if we want to go clubbing one night.”
I gave her my best ‘get real’ look. She was always trying to get me to go out, but I’m more of a homebody.
“Look how beautiful it looks,” Ophelia whispered as she ran her hand over the screen. “All the green from the pine trees, the glow from all the Christmas lights, the snow…” she looked at me and wiggled her eyebrow, “the handsome men.”
I laughed at her lewd behavior. “I’m doing this for the children…not the men!”
“Whatever floats your boat, sister!”
I looked back down at the screen and sighed. It really did sound like fun. I read the advertisement aloud. “Christmas Special Extravaganza for Twenty-One and Over. Five-night stay at a five-star resort. Private ski lessons from professional instructors, state-of-the-art day spa, and fun-filled adult activities at night. Guaranteed to make your holiday bright. Book as a group or take advantage of our individual bedroom packages. Santa and Mrs. Claus agree, this Christmas package is a ho-ho-home sweet home holiday experience!”
“Doesn’t it sound amazing!” Ophelia gushed. “I’ve checked the booking availability, and there’s a condo that has a room available.”
“But we don’t know these people,” I argued. “What if they’re axe murderers, or—”
“Seriously, Holly? That’s where you go? Straight to axe murderer?” Ophelia clicked on the booking link then looked at me. “Let’s do this! We drink a couple more drinks, pack our bags full of sexy little black dresses, and head out tomorrow m
orning. I’ve already mapped it. It’s about a ten-hour drive. If we leave around nine, we’ll be there by seven tomorrow night. Just in time for cocktails!”
I laughed again and realized it had been awhile since I laughed so much. Ophelia and her crazy ideas usually did that to me.
“Well, the exercise would be nice. You’ve done nothing but bake since we went on Christmas break two days ago.” I paused and pretended to think. I knew my answer…I just wanted her to sweat a little. “Let’s do it!”
CHAPTER 2
* * *
“According to the navigation app,” I said, “we should be there in ten minutes.”
“Thank goodness. I’m exhausted.” Ophelia looked over and grinned at me. “Whose idea was it to drive all this way?”
I chuckled. “Yours! And I think we made great time.”
The last twenty miles had been slow and torturous. The county road, half-covered in snow, was extremely windy and treacherous. But we were only thirty minutes behind our original schedule. We would pull into the resort by seven-thirty. Drinks were served until ten, so we had plenty of time still.
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