I laughed and blew Atticus a kiss before responding to Hobbs. How much will that chop off my medical bill?
…she asked with trepidation.
Nice word choice! Now pony up. I need to see if it’s worth my while, because in some circles, this would be considered extortion.
We’ll call it even. With Love, The Extortionist.
Giggling, I gave in because it really was only some coffee. Beans brewed into brown water with some sugar and cream. A staunch feminist might accuse him of holding me hostage with the bit about payment for services rendered, even though he was only joking. But I just thought he had a healthy sense of humor I was totally on board with.
Then coffee it is. I’m going to drop in on a couple of the people Hilroy talked to. I want to be sure that creeper didn’t get anything from them—like their life savings—and offer to let my lawyers see any future offers. So I’ll be in town around eleven. That work?
That’s really nice of you. You mind if I come with? Cyril was real good to me when I first got here. He helped me get a part for my old Jeep that was hard to find. Really went the extra mile. I’d like to be sure he’s okay.
More proof the hunk wasn’t just hunky, he had a heart. I wasn’t mad at that.
But then, he was also a true-crime fan. Maybe he wanted to poke Cyril for information? I decided to ask rather than speculate.
Is that all you want from Cyril? Or do you want to ask about his dealings with Lance Hilroy, Mr. True Crime Boss?
Fair question from a fair maiden. Yes, ma’am. I’m curious to know what Hilroy said to him. Can’t lie about that. But I’m also concerned about how he is. I’ve met his son Jared, and I felt what Stiles said about him tonight deep in my gut. He is lazy, and Cyril is tired. He told me so himself. I kinda wanna make sure no one browbeat him into doing something he didn’t want to do.
Hunk with heart is honest hunk with heart.
Another check mark in Hobbs’s favor.
Thanks for being honest, I typed. Sure, you can come along.
So I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven. Meet at Heathrow’s Coffee Haus? We can grab coffee to go.
Sounds like a plan.
See you then. Oh, and hey, thanks for including me tonight. I haven’t made Christmas cookies with anyone in longer than I care to remember. It was fun. Anyway, night, Hal.
Night, Hobbs.
He sent me a winky emoji, then he was gone, and I was left with some warm feelings I wasn’t prepared to have.
“So, you have a date then, Poppet?” Atticus asked sleepily from his silk pillow.
“I have a meeting for some coffee and a chat with the people Lance Hilroy talked to about selling their stores. I want to see if they need help financially, because as a town, you know we’d all contribute.”
“You say meeting, I say date. Let’s call the whole thing off,” he sang.
“Listen, my feathered friend, I reiterate, we’re just meeting for some coffee. It’s not a date. How about we don’t talk about me dating and we do talk about Nana.”
Atticus sighed, lifting his tiny beak as though it were a chore foisted upon him. “That woman reincarnated purposely to taunt me, Halliday. I swear ’tis true.”
Nana was a handful, and she and Atticus had been at odds with one another since the day I was born and he’d become my familiar, but their love for me outweighed the contention between them. Even if Atti wouldn’t admit it.
I rolled to my side and tickled his belly with my index finger. “I’d lay bets on it.”
“Did you ask her what she meant when she said she saw the murderer?”
After Hobbs left, I’d gone to check on Nana with Atti, hoping to talk her into coming into the house (she preferred the cooler temps of the barn, because reindeer like it colder), only to find her still sound asleep. While in the barn, I’d explained to Atticus what she’d told me.
Scoffing, I narrowed my eyes as I curled my arm around one of my pillows and really sank into my mattress. “I didn’t get very far. Hobbs walked in on us at animal control, and then insisted he help me get her to the barn, where he babied her like she was made of glass. After that, she fell asleep, and you know what she’s like when she falls asleep. There’s no waking her. It’ll have to wait for first thing tomorrow morning.”
Atticus chuckled, his tiny red and green body rocking with the effort. “She certainly knows how to play the femme fatale, most especially when a handsome young fellow is in the mix. Alas, you must wait for tomorrow to speak with her, but speak you must, Halliday.”
I yawned and pulled up the comforter, letting the soft velvet graze my chin, my eyes heavy. “I don’t have a choice. Also, if you think I’m getting out of this nice warm bed to trudge through a snowstorm just to find her still sound asleep, forget it.”
“I want to warn you not to involve yourself, but I saw your handsome young tenant—and the gleeful delight in his eyes this eve as he learned you, too, share his passion for murder—and I’m afraid my wishes will fall upon deaf ears.”
“First of all,” I said sleepily, “it’s not a passion for murder. That sounds icky, Atticus. I have a passion for romance novels and mysteries, not dead people. Second, your concerns would fall on tired ears. I’m just going to do the neighborly thing and check in on everyone. I have the means to make legal advice available to them, and I will if they need some. Promise, that’s all it is.”
“Well then, goodnight, my sweet Poppet. Rest well with the goddesses. Blessed be and all that malarkey. Kiss-kiss. Hug-hug.”
With a last chuckle, I went to snap my fingers to turn off the bedside light.
“Halliday, you have two hands, and despite your dramatic medical emergency, leaving you just shy of a life flight to a burn unit, you can turn the light off yourself.”
“I could. But what fun would that be?”
I snapped my fingers and the light clicked off to the tune of Atticus’s grunt of displeasure. Meaning, all was right in my world.
“Night, Atti. I looove you.”
He rasped a deep, exasperated sigh like only Atti can when he disapproves of me using my magic.
And that made me smile.
“Nana, it’s freezing for those of us without built-in heaters meant for winters in the North Pole, and I don’t have time to play reindeer games with you today. I’m going to miss my morning meeting. Please, quit playing possum and open your eyes. Or at least open your mouth and speak.”
My nana groaned in protest, stretching out her front legs. “Child, can’t you see I’m sleeping?”
No matter how often I hear her voice, crackling with life yet coming from the body of a reindeer (will wonders never cease?), I still find myself caught off guard. In my mind, she’s still Nana Karen.
A woman who’d prided herself on her crazy peacock-feather sweaters, statement-necklace pearls, and a short, poofy bouffant hairdo she meticulously died the color of coal every four weeks without fail (that I used to call her helmet head).
Sometimes it was hard to connect the two, but I was growing used to it.
Narrowing my gaze at her, I plumped up the hay in her stall before planting my hands on my hips. “You’ve been doing that for fourteen hours. Stop stalling and tell me what you were doing in the square last night, and what you meant when you said you saw the murderer. I’m going into town for coffee, and if you know something, I want to know what it is so I can somehow get the information to Ansel without the whole town finding out my reindeer is really my nana and she talks.”
She lifted her big head, her velvety horns gleaming in the morning sun, streaming in from the barn window as she shifted positions in her bed of hay. “Weeell, maybe I was too quick to open my pie-hole. Now I’m not so sure it wasn’t the sugar rush from all the candy canes, makin’ me see things.”
I tapped my toe in the cold barn and tightened my scarf around my neck. “Well, how about you tell me what you did see, and then we’ll decide.”
She belched and backed away. “Ooo,
child, those candy canes sure have some kickback.”
I leaned on the gate of the stall and eyeballed her, running my hand over her forehead. “Nana, I love you like I love my kidneys, but you have five seconds to tell me what you saw or I’m going to take away your afternoon fiber biscuit.”
She snuffed at me and reared back on her hind legs. “Boo-hoo, Halliday. You’re breakin’ my heart. I don’t want your fiber biscuit anyway. Makes me shi—”
“Karen Eunice Valentine, you will not use such language in front of the child, understood?” Atticus cut her off at the pass, buzzing into her sightline. “How do you think our Halliday became so proficient at profanities? I absolutely will not tolerate such ignorant language. Only guttersnipes and—”
“Scallywags say such things,” I finished on a cackle of laughter. It was nice not to be a victim of the Language Police for once.
Nana gave Atti a long guilty look with her sweet brown eyes. “Poop,” she said, deadpan. “It makes me poop like a forgin’ horse. Treats shouldn’t make you poop the size of a Scottish castle.”
“Believe me, I know. I muck your stinky stall,” I teased.
“Bah! What do you know of Scottish castles, Karen?” Atticus buzzed, the tails of his scarf flying behind him. “Be grateful we feed you at all after some of the stunts you’ve pulled. You behave like a teenager. It’s disgraceful.”
Rocking back on my feet, I refereed with a whistle. “Okay, you two. It’s too early to come to fisticuffs. Can we please skip the mortal combat—just for today? I have things to do.”
“I was just lookin’ to get some fresh air, Halliday,” she groaned. “I was feelin’ cooped up. That’s all.”
I began to clean up from her morning feeding, grabbing the rake as I said over my shoulder, “We only have three acres you can do that on. You were looking for candy canes and easily manipulated children. But you’re going to get caught, Nana, and you’re going to expose me, or end up euthanized by animal control.”
“Bitty wouldn’t euthanize me. That bleeding heart’s too soft to euthanize a fly.”
I stopped, leaning my chin on the handle of the rake, inhaling the cold air and the scent of barnwood. “But a hunter? A rogue hunter? Not too much of a bleeding heart to kill you and gut you for supper. Listen, it was hard enough losing you once, Nana, but when you wandered into this barn after Mom had just died, it was like a gift from the universe.
“I don’t know how you did it. I don’t want to know how you did it because knowing would probably get me into a whole lot of coven trouble. But I don’t want to lose you again. You have to stop roaming about Marshmallow Hollow like it’s yours to roam. It’s dangerous, and I won’t lose you again because you’re being careless. I don’t get why you spent all that time lecturing me when you were alive about being careful with mortals, and now you’ve gone hog wild in front of all the mortals you can get your hooves on.”
I tried to keep my tone even, but a hot tear escaped my eye anyway, slipping down my cold cheek. Despite my rebellious past, we’d always been tight-knit.
When my grandfather died when I was ten, the Valentine girls became even closer, and no matter how much I’d longed to leave Marshmallow Hollow and make my own way, we’d always found ways to stay connected. It wasn’t always easy, and being brutally honest, I wasn’t always easy to get along with, but we did it.
I always thought the women in my life would live forever. Witches are immortal, but we’re not immune to accidents, my grandmother included. When I heard she fell from a ladder and hit her head, dying instantly, I almost couldn’t breathe.
It was just like Karen Eunice Valentine to refuse help and climb a thirty-foot ladder to take care of business—the business being a clogged storm drain. She was independent and stubborn, much like all the Valentine women were.
I’ll never forget the punch in the gut when my mother called me in New York to tell me she was gone, and I’ll never forget seeing her wander into the barn in the body of a reindeer a couple of years later.
But I’ll always remember how cold and empty my life felt without her. I knew I’d lose my grandfather someday—he wasn’t like us. He was human. But my mother and my grandmother so close together?
It was almost too much, and now that I had her back, I wasn’t going to let her become some hunter’s trophy.
Nana nudged my hand with her cold, wet nose. “I’m sorry, Susie-Q. I know I gave you what-for all the time about revealing yourself, but when you die and come back, even as a reindeer, it changes your perspective. Sometimes my good sense evaporates like rubbing alcohol. But I love you, honey. I’ll try and be better.”
I cupped her chin before dropping a kiss on her muzzle. “I love you, too. Now tell me what you know and don’t leave out any details.”
“All I can tell ya is, that man they found in the sleigh—”
“His name’s Lance Hilroy, and he’s a creeper.”
“Sure-fine. Lance Hilroy the creeper came running across the street from outta nowhere. I was behind the big oak about forty feet away.”
“No doubt waiting to pounce on the next unsuspecting child with a candy cane.”
“Actually, I was hoping the festival would open soon and I could score some cotton candy. Anyway, maybe he came from the alley between animal control and Marvin Gentry’s pet supplies, but he was stumblin’ and trippin’ on the snow and ice like he’d knocked a couple back real hard at Sassy’s—”
“It’s not called Sassy’s anymore,” I reminded her as I stretched and yawned. “It’s called Livvie’s Bar and Grill. Sassy moved to Saskatchewan to live with her sister after she broke her hip. So she sold it to Liveria Olson.”
“I’d know that if you let me get out more often, child.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “Nana…”
She stomped a hoof and snorted. “Okay, okay. He was runnin’ across the street, and his face looked pretty beat up, but I figured he’d just tied one on. His hair was a mess and he had no jacket. Well, he gets across the street, right? Wobbles a little, reaches for the edge of the sleigh and falls in headfirst. Thought for sure he’d pass out drunk, but no. This quackadoodle somehow manages to sit himself up before he starts jerkin’ like he’s having a seizure and flops around like a fish out of water, gruntin’ and moanin’ before he stops moving altogether. That’s when I saw all the blood pouring from his head.”
I gripped the edge of the stall, my knuckles white from the effort. “Was anyone else around? Did anyone else see this play out?”
“How the heckles should I know, Halliday? My stomach was feelin’ a little saucy at that point from all the candy canes, so I stayed hidden by the trees, but hardly anyone was out at that point anyway. It was around suppertime, and the ice festival hadn’t even opened yet. You know how most everyone in Marshmallow Hollow likes their supper at five-thirty sharp. The festival was pretty quiet then.”
“So you say he stopped moving, right?” I bit my lip, giving that some thought. “Maybe he did have a seizure and hit his head? Maybe it’s not a murder at all. From my vantage point last night, even in the dark, it looked like the blood on the ground was from the back of his head, and a head wound is always extra bloody. So maybe someone clobbered him? But that still doesn’t explain how you thought you saw the murderer, Nana. What was that about?”
She snuffed at me, her nostrils flaring as she reared her head back. “I don’t know if it was the murderer, I s’pose. I didn’t see him do it, but I saw someone there.”
“Who, Nana. Who did you see?”
She paused for a moment, the sun streaming in from the streaked windows above, grazing her dark brown head. “I’m not sure I wanna tell you, Halliday. It could ruin everything.”
“Ruin everything? Like ruin what?”
“The good thing I got goin’.”
“With?”
“Hobbs.”
Chapter 7
“Surprised, Eddie? If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wou
ldn’t be more surprised than I am right now.” Clark Griswold
Christmas Vacation, 1989
“Hobbs?” I almost screamed my surprise at her answer, backing away from the stall and shoving my fingers over my mouth to shut myself up.
We were only a few hundred feet away from Hobbs’s cottage. I didn’t want him to hear my conversation or my shout of concern.
“See?” Nana yelped. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. If he’s a murderer, they’ll lock him up. He can’t bring me any treats if he’s locked up in the klink. Plus, he’s a looker. Who will I gawk at around this dump if not that hot piece of—”
I rasped an aggravated sigh, cutting her off. “Nana, he shouldn’t be bringing anyone any treats if he’s a murderer! I can’t believe you let me bake Christmas cookies with him, knowing he might have murdered Lance Hilroy!”
“Child, he no more murdered Lance Hilroy than I’m a ballerina with the Bolshoi. He was just there, is all I meant.”
I dropped the rake on the barn floor and hauled a fresh bale of hay from the corner across the old floor with a huff. “So if he was just there, why didn’t he mention it last night while he was making cookies with me and Stiles? He acted like he was seeing the crime scene for the first time right along with the rest of us when we came to pick you up from Bitty.”
“Maybe he was…” she murmured as Atticus flew toward her, buzzing his wings in a flutter of motion.
“Karen, you’re upsetting Halliday. What in all of Mother Earth that is good and worthy are you blathering on about? Either Hobbs was there or he wasn’t. Do choose a lane and stay in it. Was he there or wasn’t he, for Goddess’s sake?”
Nana bared her teeth at Atticus. “Hush, you mini flying Wallenda! You’re confusing me. I’m tryin’ to remember if he was there before I saw that Hilroy man or after. I can’t remember! I just remember he was there.”
Atticus landed on the stall, his beady eyes blazing. “And now you’re not even sure if he was present at a time frame that would leave him under suspicion of killing Hilroy? Oh, Karen,” he spat in disgust. “If you would pay less attention to your hormones and more attention to your brain, we’d all be safer for it.”
Jingle all the Slay Page 6
