by Molly Fitz
He winced. “Okay, maybe not the best choice of words.”
I laughed bitterly. “The fact that you would say such a thing—even accidentally—just goes to show what a horrible person you actually are. It’s like you think it's okay that your friend killed two people to try to bring more money into your city.”
“Of course it's not okay,” Mr. Milton responded, his gaze narrowing at me, “but we tried everything else and nothing worked.”
“Everything short of murder,” Nan mumbled and crossed her arms over her chest defensively.
Mr. Milton continued, keeping his eyes fixed on me. “When the planning started up for this year, Bill and I pushed for moving the festival to Caraway Island, but Gable and the others were quick to shoot us down. Bill said that Glendale wouldn't have a snowball’s chance in hell of keeping the festival once a well-respected outsider got murdered on their watch. Naturally, Caraway would come to the rescue and agree to host going forward.”
“And Bill told you all of this after the fact, I’m assuming.” I tapped my foot in irritation. “Was this before or after your friend killed two innocent people? Oh, and the cops are already after him by the way. I spoke to my good friend Officer Bouchard while my grandmother was busy beating you up.”
I thought I heard Charles chuckle under his breath, but it was hard to tell over the sound of Paisley's harried barking.
“Obviously, it was after. I already told you I had nothing to do with the murders.”
“What about Fred Hapley?” I asked. “You mentioned shooting a well-respected outsider. But Fred wasn’t either of those things. I'm sure most people tried to avoid his insurance sales pitch whenever they saw him coming.”
Mr. Milton cleared his throat several times but remained every bit as angry as he had before resorting to this maneuver. “What about Fred Hapley? He got in the way. That's all. Bill missed the last meeting, so he didn't know the guy would be there. Luckily, he had a gun on him in case the icicle failed to do its job with the woman. The icicle worked, but he still found a use for the gun, anyway.”
“Luckily?” Nan and I cried once again in perfect sync.
Nan reared back and slapped him across the other cheek. “I can't believe I ever considered you a friend,” she said with disgust.
“If that's all, I'll just be going on my way,” Mr. Milton said with one last look toward Nan as a giant frown took over his face. “It's really too bad. I liked you, Dorothy. I thought we had started something special. I can see now your affections are fickle.”
“I don't date criminals,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
“Believe what you want. I don't have to answer you anyway.”
“No, but you do have to answer to him,” Charles countered, drawing all our attention to the officer approaching from behind. It was the same cop we had run across earlier, the one who had questioned Mags and insisted on remaining in full control at the station.
Several paces back, Dad followed.
“Where's Mags?” I asked when he stopped at my side.
“Your mother took her home and sent me to find out what was going on here.”
We watched side-by-side as the out-of-town officer slapped a pair of cuffs on Harvey Milton. Whether or not he planned any of it, he'd still been an accomplice by keeping his neighbor’s secret.
As happy as I was to see Milton carted away, something still wasn’t right. “What about the other guy?”
“Yes, what about Bill Randone?” Nan demanded.
“Bouchard's got him,” came the answer. “That's right, you'll see your buddy soon enough at the station.”
Milton drew on his right to remain silent, leaving the rest of us gaping until the officer escorted him from our view.
“Well, that's one way to celebrate Christmas Eve,” Nan remarked with a shrug as we all burst into relieved laughter.
“I think I prefer the more traditional methods of celebration.” Charles wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead protectively.
Octo-Cat got squished in between us but didn't utter a single meow in protest. “I knew it the whole time,” he said instead.
“You did, did you?” I asked with another chuckle.
“The cat always knows,” he explained, winking up at me.
Seeing as it was Christmas, I decided to let that one go. “You did good,” I told him, backing out of Charles’s embrace so he could breathe easily once more.
“You, too, Paisley. Good dog.” I bent down and picked her up, and after having accepted a few pets and kisses from me, she vaulted into Nan's arms, completely unconcerned for her own safety.
“Whoa there,” Nan cried, praising the wriggling little ball of fur.
“I'm sorry about your new boyfriend,” my dad offered with a frown.
“Me, too,” she said. “Luckily we weren't quite to that point yet, though.”
“Think you'll ever forgive him?" Charles asked.
“Heck no,” my grandmother shouted, then hacked a giant loogie onto the snow, drawing shocked laughter from all of us.
“Even though he swears he wasn't involved in the murders, he still warned his friend rather than turning him in. As far as I'm concerned, that's just as bad. I'd never be able to trust him again. Not after that stunt."
“You know what? Forget about Mr. Milton,” I said. “He's not important.”
“Actually, I do owe him one thing.” Nan glanced from the street toward the sky, then met my eyes head-on. “I hadn't quite realized how lonely I let myself become since your grandfather passed. Of course, I have you and Paisley and…”
“And enough friends to fill a football stadium,” Dad pointed out with a smile.
“That, too,” she admitted her smile matching his, “but it's not quite the same as having a partner.”
Charles pulled me into his side as we beamed at Nan and the touching news she’d just shared with us.
“So you think you're ready to date again?” I asked, my heart swelling with excitement for her.
“I think I'm getting there,” she said with a sly grin. “One step at a time.”
Chapter Twenty
We spent Christmas holed up at home. Mom, Dad, and Charles all joined us at different points in the day, but mostly it was just me, Nan, and Mags sitting around our enormous Christmas tree and sharing our favorite memories from the years we’d missed out on celebrating together.
Nan, of course, dressed Octo-Cat and Paisley in their homemade holiday sweaters but held her tongue when Mags decided to wear a floor-length khaki skirt with a mint green cardigan set.
I opted to remain in pajamas, because nothing beats the comfort of flannel after a long, hard day—and the one we’d had yesterday was certainly a doozy.
That was Christmas.
On the day after Christmas, Mags finally taught us how to make candles the traditional way. Although I always loved learning something new, I didn’t foresee many more candle-making sessions in my future. The whole process of dipping seemed to take forever, and I had nowhere near the skill Mags did when it came to swirling colors and carving patterns.
She made it fun, though, dropping random facts in here and there and entertaining us with a carefully curated collection of jokes.
I’d wondered if she was feeding us some of the same lines she gave her students back home. I kind of hoped she had.
We continued to eat up every moment together, but as the days passed, I grew sad knowing our time was almost up. I wished my cousin didn't live so far away because she'd very quickly become the sister I never had—and, despite everything, she said she felt the same way about me, too.
“Next time we’ll have to get Nan and Aunt Lydia together with us,” she said with a laugh I didn't understand, having never met Lydia for myself.
“Once we put those two together, all we'll have to do is sit back and watch while laughing our butts off," she added with a guffaw.
A couple more days passed, bringing us to New Year's Eve. Mags w
ould be on an early flight out of town the next day. The rates, she explained, were far too good to pass up in favor of sleeping in.
I, however, balked when I saw just how early her flight was scheduled. “Are you going to be able to stay up?” I asked, having waited for the ball to drop every year since my mom had first let me stay up at the age of six.
“Of course I'm going to stay up!” she said with a scandalized gasp. “I might not even go to bed at all.”
I laughed, Octo-Cat groaned, and Paisley danced, not quite knowing why. All was as it should be in my little corner of the world.
The doorbell chimed, this time to the tune of Feliz Navidad—in honor of Paisley's Mexican heritage, Nan had informed me, even though that little dog had never stepped foot out of Maine a single day in her life.
Nan rushed to the entryway, fluffing her hair as she went. Her normal hot pink attire had been retired for the evening in favor of a sparkly silver dress. She looked like an award show trophy, and I looked rather out of place in my polka dotted pants and Grumpy Cat T-shirt. The latter had been a gift from Mags who said she'd never known anyone who loves their cat quite the way I do.
"Come in, come in.” Nan’s voice carried throughout the lower floor. “So glad you could make it.”
I heard her exchange European-style kisses on either side of her visitor’s cheeks and a moment later they appeared. “Happy New Year!” Mr. Gable announced cheerfully, carrying E.B. in one arm and a large bag of take-out in the other.
“Happy New Year!” Mags and I wished him back.
“Something smells marvelous,” my cat said, perking up from his nap. He sniffed the air and then a grin spread between his whiskered cheeks. “Could it be…?”
Mr. Gable handed E.B. to me and the food to Nan, then ran out to his car for a second load.
“Hello again, little bunny,” I said, conscious of Mags’s eyes on me.
“Hello,” E.B. answered all the while wiggling, wiggling, wiggling that nose. Mr. Gable returned with a triangular-shaped litter box filled with hay and fresh produce. He took his rabbit back from me and set her on the ground near the area he had fashioned for her.
Paisley trotted over, head held high. “Hello again, dear E.B. Do you still want to talk about your feelings?”
Oh, that sweet Chihuahua, always willing to do whatever it took to make others happy.
“What feelings?” E.B. asked, taking a tentative hop toward a piece of lettuce while keeping one eye glued to her canine acquaintance.
“When we met you at the festival you said you were always afraid that others would hurt you. Let's explore those feelings, shall we?" Paisley tilted her head to the side, both ears perked high as she waited for E.B. to share.
The lop-eared bunny nibbled on her veggies for a spell, then said, “No one's ever asked me about how I feel before. Are you sure you want to know?”
Paisley plopped her wagging butt onto the ground. “Oh yes. I want to know everything,” she said, her eyes sparkling with kindness. “Let's start with your childhood. Were you a happy baby bunny or a sad baby bunny?”
I stifled a laugh and left those two on their own.
Octo-Cat had followed Nan into the kitchen and Mags, Mr. Gable, and I now moved to join them there.
“I didn't know what to bring for our little New Year's shindig,” he explained with an infectious grin. “So I stopped by my favorite restaurant and picked us up something to nosh on.”
The logo for the Little Dog Diner was emblazoned across the bag, and scents of shrimp, garlic bread and lobster rolls now mingled with those of the baked goods Nan had prepared earlier in the evening.
Nan pulled each item out of the bag and set it on the counter.
The moment the lobster rolls made an appearance, my cat jumped onto the counter and twirled in three tight circles. “It is! It is! It is!” he cried as he spun even still. “It's my favorite food! Oh, Happy New Year to you, good sir.”
I stifled another laugh. Sometimes it was really hard not to react to the animals in front of others, especially as I remembered E.B. using Merry Christmas as a curse word when last we met.
“Wonderful, thank you so much for bringing it,” Nan said, and I could've sworn I saw a slight blush rise to her cheek. "Little Dog Diner is a favorite of ours, too.”
“I'll get the plates,” Mags volunteered.
"And I'll pour the drinks,” I chimed in.
Nan plated up a nice variety for each of us, and together we retreated to the formal dining room table. None of us were big drinkers, so we shared a bottle of celebratory cider instead.
And although I hadn't known Mr. Gable and E.B. would join us, I was definitely happy they had.
“What should we toast to?” Mags asked, a sweet smile tilting her lips upward.
“Well, first of all, to you,” I sang out. “To you being a part of this family. To us getting to know and love you. And to you surviving the kidnapping.”
We all laughed at the not-so-distant memory.
“I'll drink to that,” Mags said with a giggle.
“Wait. Just you wait one second,” Nan clucked. “I want your resolutions. That's right, all of you.”
Mr. Gable stood. “I resolve that this year no one will get injured on my watch.”
“Does that mean the Holiday Spectacular is returning to Glendale?” I asked hopefully.
“Not quite,” he answered with a small sigh. "We’re moving it to Cooper's Cove, but the remaining committee members, those who haven't gone to jail, elected to keep me as the head. And I of course was happy to accept.”
Cheers rose around the table.
“That's awesome!” Mags enthused. “But I hope you don't mind that I probably won't be going next year.”
We all laughed again. My heart remained light, mostly because I knew I'd be seeing lots more of Mags in the months to follow. In fact, we'd already begun planning a family reunion for the coming summer.
“All right, who's next?” Nan asked, looking between Mags and me and waiting for one of us to volunteer resolutions.
“Mine's easy,” I said, shooting to my feet and lifting my glass. “This will be the year I get my private investigation firm off the ground.”
“Our,” Octo-Cat corrected, though only I understood. “And when do I get my lobster roll?”
Mags drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I don't know what I want out of this year other than to try new things. New things are what brought us together, after all, and I don't think I've ever been happier than I am now.”
"That’s a bold proclamation given what happened on Christmas Eve,” Mr. Gable quipped.
“It is,” she agreed, “but it also speaks of just how much I love my new cousin and my new Nan.”
Nan and I both awwwed.
When the table grew quiet again, Nan rose with her drink in hand. “I live every day like it's my first, my last, my everything. That's how you make life fun, you know. But this year I'm going to be a bit more careful about who I let into my life, and maybe this year I'll even find love again.”
She glanced coyly toward Mr. Gable, who blushed and looked away.
My heart did a giant happy somersault. I never would've pictured the two of them together but seeing it now made perfect sense. I wondered if they felt it, too. If they were already well on their way to something wonderful together.
Yes, the next year was looking pretty good as we dove into our meals, chatting and drinking happily enjoying the good company.
“Ahem,” my cat said, jumping onto the table and flicking his tail ominously. “Aren't you forgetting something?”
Ugh. I had forgotten his lobster roll in all the excitement over Nan and Mr. Gable's possible forthcoming relationship.
“Off the table,” I told him, taking half of my lobster roll and setting it on the ground so that he would leave me in peace.
He jumped down after it, joy sparking in his amber eyes. He moved quickly but not quite enough.
As if fr
om thin air, Paisley appeared and snatched the treat away, racing back toward E.B. with the giant hunk of food protruding from her impossibly small mouth.
“Unhand my sandwich, thief!” Octo-Cat cried.
“I'm sorry, Octavius,” she said, blinking slowly, as she regarded him. “I've been looking forward to this ever since I first smelled these things at the festival. You didn't share then, but it's okay. I forgive you.”
“Angela!” my cat cried, staring at me in horror. “She took my sandwich! She stole it!”
I laughed, unable to hide my amusement any longer.
I tossed him a large shrimp, which he pawed at morosely.
“It's not the same” he mewled.
No, it wasn’t the same.
Nothing was the same as it had once been.
But you know what? Ever since Mags and Mr. Gable had joined our lives, it was better.
I couldn't wait to see what the next year would bring.
What’s Next?
Nobody does the holidays like small-town Maine, and my particular small town just so happens to be the very best at decking the halls and rocking around the big Christmas tree downtown.
Yes, every year, Glendale puts on a Holiday Spectacular that’s grander and greater than the one that came before. Unfortunately, the only thing everyone’s going to remember this year is the two dead bodies that show up in the center of the ice sculpture garden.
With the whole town having come out to play, everyone’s in close proximity to the crime scene—and everyone’s a suspect. A great many fingers are pointed my way, too, since it was me and my cat that discovered the deathly duo. With only my whacky Nan, recently discovered cousin, overly optimistic Chihuahua, and snarky feline to help me, can I clear my name and save Christmas all in one perfectly executed investigation?
Hold on to your jingle bells, because it’s going to be a wild ride.
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