Jingle all the Slay

by Dakota Cassidy

  Hobbs took the pen and added his number, too, making me smile. “Same goes for me, sir.” Then he lightly slapped Cyril on the back. “Can I give you a ride to the station? Or are you okay to get there on your own?”

  Cyril grabbed Hobbs’s hand and shook it. “I’m okay, but thanks mightily for askin’.” He nodded to the door. “Now, I’d better git.”

  We made our exit, waving to Cyril with encouraging smiles that felt phony. When we passed Cyril’s employees, they were gossiping about that slacker Jared. I’m sure all of Marshmallow Hollow would be abuzz with Jared being taken in for questioning, and I felt even worse that he’d be the topic of gossip.

  As we made our way back across the street, I took a deep breath of frosty air and looked up at the now gloomy, bruised sky, clearly preparing to dump more snow on us.

  “Do you think Jared had something to do with Hilroy’s death?”

  “I think we don’t have enough information about Hilroy’s death to make a solid deduction. Jared would be the easy answer because of his history, but just because he likes to drink a little too much doesn’t a killer make. I also think I feel pretty cruddy about poor Cyril. He’s a good guy.”

  “He is a good guy. But what about Cyril?” I asked hesitantly, almost afraid to hear his assessment. “Do you think he did it?”

  “He sure had motive after an insulting offer for the garage, and if Hilroy died from a crack over the head with something, it’s not implausible. It doesn’t take brute strength to do it. But what really stumps me is the hoofprints. I don’t get how that fits at all.”

  “Hey, you mind if we walk over to the crime scene? It’s getting pretty cold, so if your Texas blood’s too thin, you can go home and I’ll catch up with you another time.”

  Hobbs smirked. “My Texas blood’s just fine, Filly, but why do you want to go to the crime scene? Forensics is long gone, I’d s’pose. Should be pretty clean. Not much left to see.”

  “Maybe because I’ve never been to one, and call me morbid, but I’m curious. Plus, Deegan Clark has a hot chocolate cart right near there, and seeing as we left our coffee behind, I’ll introduce you to some of our infamous homemade marshmallows and hot chocolate. I’m buying.” I wiggled my fingers over my shoulder and smiled. “C’mon, Cowboy, the best hot chocolate you’ve ever had awaits!”

  Welp, Hobbs was right. There wasn’t much to see. The snow from the night before had covered whatever blood had been let from Hilroy’s head wound and all the yellow crime scene tape was gone. Sadly, so were the sleigh and the reindeer, probably taken for evidence, if what Hobbs said was true.

  I’d secretly hoped I might get another vision—something, anything that could help Cyril, but maybe also explain why I’d seen Hobbs at a table with a cast-iron frying pan and a typewriter. But there was nothing.

  Not a blip of a blip of anything helpful.

  Hobbs, on the other hand, was very happily fixated on his cup of hot cocoa.

  I pulled a napkin from the pocket of my jacket and reached up to wipe a bead of cocoa from his beard with a laugh. “You have a little something on your face. Hold still or your beard’s going to be sticky, and then it’ll freeze.”

  He stuck his chin out for me. “Oooo-wee, you weren’t kidding. This is incredible. And those marshmallows? They’re like little clouds of puffy, gooey heaven. I didn’t even know anyone made homemade marshmallows.”

  “Told you.” I shot him a smug smile before I studied the ground where the sleigh had once been. I saw the tree my nana had been behind, where she claimed she was when animal control grabbed her. A sprawling oak tree, easily thirty feet high, now bent and heavy with ice. But there wasn’t much else except the entrance to the ice festival.

  “See anything?” he asked, taking the last gulp of his cocoa and chucking his cup in the garbage can before pulling his gloves back on.

  “Nope. I don’t know what I hoped to see anyway. I just thought maybe I could get a feel for what happened or…I dunno. It was silly, I guess.”

  “What are you, a psychic?” he asked, capturing my eyes with his gaze.

  My stomach jumped and sloshed but I answered calmly. “Why would you ask that?”

  “You said you were hoping to get a feel for what happened. Sounds like something a psychic would say, or maybe even an empath.”

  I turned around and stared off at the ice festival displays, the glossy surfaces of the elf huts and carved snowmen beginning to sweat from the light of day. “When I said get a feel for what happened, I just meant maybe seeing it would jar a thought or maybe even a clue.”

  “Good idea.”

  Phew. Again, I’m not a fan of lying, but much the way human parents tell their children to look both ways before they cross the street or they’ll get hit by oncoming traffic, my immortal relations had really driven home the concept of burning at the stake.

  “Well, thanks, Ace Ventura. So, on the subject of the crime scene. Did you see any details other than the obvious clunk to his head?”

  “They weren’t exactly invitin’ me into their inner circle for sweet tea and pie, Hal. They kept me at a pretty fair distance just like everybody else. If I saw anything, mostly what I saw was blood. A lot of blood, which is to be expected with a head wound.”

  I wondered how we knew for sure he’d been hit over the head and that was the cause of death? Did we have confirmation?

  “Do you think he could have been shot? That kind of wound would bleed as much as being clobbered, wouldn’t it?”

  “That, I am sure of. I heard a couple of the officers and one of the forensics team talking about him being knocked pretty hard upside the head with something.”

  “Did you hear anything else that might be helpful?” Turning, I looked across the street at animal control and Marvin’s pet supply shop, wondering if the cameras had picked up anything the night of the murder. I knew there were also at least two cameras inside nearby streetlamps—which made me wonder who was in charge of the video at the police department and if I could get a look at it.

  Hobbs shook his head, his nose bright red from the cold. “Nah. They shuffled us on outta there, out of earshot…but there was one thing I noticed.”

  “What’s that?” I asked as I began to walk toward Judy Minch’s craft supply shop. “Tell me while we walk. I have a thought I’d like to poke around in a bit.”

  I looked both ways along the road, grateful for the public works employees of our county for managing to keep up with so much snowfall. The road was mostly clear with only a few icy spots, but the slush of the day would freeze up soon enough.

  I’d just stepped off the curb when, out of the clear blue, a car came barreling down the street, revving its engine, the roar making my bones quake as it skated over the icy patches on the road, the backend of the car fishtailing wildly.

  The black sports car came so close to me, I felt the breeze of air it created—and then I did something I’m not supposed to do. At least, not according to my keeper, Atticus.

  I used my magic. Right there in front of the entirety of Marshmallow Hollow.

  I mean, I didn’t wave a sparkly magic wand or anything—there was no bibbidi, bobbidi, or even a boo. I merely reacted, and in my defense, I was in self-preservation mode. My hand lurched upward as I twisted my wrist to reverse my steps, successfully snapping my body back with a bone-jarring jerk.

  But Hobbs, who’d clearly watched one too many of the Fast and Furious sequels, decided to play hero and dove for me, obviously to knock me out of the way.

  Except, he missed me, falling on the icy sidewalk to his side with a crash and a yelp of surprise.

  That was going to sting.

  “Hobbs!” I yelled, running toward him, but instead of helping, I slipped, too, and went sailing across the ground before landing on top of him with a grunt as a police car whizzed by, sirens blaring.

  We both blinked and looked at each other. I was trying to process what had just happened, and I’m guessing he was, too.


  I struggled to right myself, but the harder I struggled, the more I slipped around in my panic. Stilling all movement, I took a deep breath.

  Hobbs was the first to sit up and look down at me with concern in his deep, delicious eyes. “Hal, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, but holy baloney, did you see that?”

  His dark brows smushed together. “I sure did. You jumped back so fast, it was almost like…like magic.”

  I winced.

  Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

  Chapter 10

  “You sit on a throne of lies!”

  Elf, 2003

  * * *

  Giving him a playful shove, I laughed it off as I disentangled myself from him and we somehow managed to help each other stand. “Don’t be silly. That’s from years of yoga. My mother was a big yoga fan and she got me interested in it for a while, so I’m pretty flexible, and my reflexes are really solid.”

  That was a total lie. Not the part about my mother. Keeva had been a lover of yoga. In fact, she died in a plane crash on the way home from a yoga retreat. I’m also pretty decent at yoga, just ask my warrior pose. Though, since my mother had passed, I haven’t been able to participate in the local classes. Her death is still too fresh, and I’m not ready.

  I lied about my reflexes being solid. Luckily, this time, I reacted appropriately. But my magic can be quite reactive and stress plays a huge role in how my spells play out. I’m a boss of a witch when I’m not feeling any pressure or anger, or more importantly, scared. Give me a good freak-out and things go sideways pretty quick.

  Hobbs rubbed his eyes as if to wipe away what he thought he saw and straightened my hat on my head with a small smile. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant anyway. I meant, who do you suppose was driving that car, and why were the police in hot pursuit?”

  “You seem to know everyone. Did you recognize the car?”

  Thinking about how close I’d come to being hit, my knees began to tremble a little. I drove my hands into the pockets of my thick jacket and shook my head. “I have no idea. Though, it was definitely a sports car. A black one.”

  “Uh-yup. A black Dodge Charger, two-door with copper rims, if we’re into details.”

  The look I shot him was impressed. “Very specific. Nice eye.”

  “Nice car,” he murmured. “Are you sure you don’t know anyone with that model of car?”

  “For sure, I don’t know all makes and models. I’m no car enthusiast, but I do know most of us drive trucks and vans because of the amount of snow we get each year. Still, it could have been anyone’s. Lots of people who drive a sharp car like that in the summer put their cars in storage for the winter, and we also get plenty of tourists this time of year. It might not even be owned by someone who lives in Marshmallow Hollow.”

  The speeding car had drawn a bunch of people out of the shops. They all stood on the sidewalk, likely speculating about who’d been driving, the same way we were.

  That’s when I remembered what Hobbs had said. “Before I was almost hit by Dale Earnhardt Jr. and you so valiantly saved me, you said you noticed something about the crime scene? Did it have to do with Hilroy?”

  He squinted his eyes against the glare of the early afternoon gloom. “First, I didn’t save you. I tried, but you had it under control like the boss you apparently are. Second, I only remembered this detail—and it’s a detail I’m not sure means anything—because bein’ back here at the scene sparked the memory. So go you for coming back here to look around.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Something hanging off the side of the sleigh.”

  “Okay, the suspense is killing me, Tex. What was it?”

  “It looked like a necklace. A beaded necklace, hanging out of Hilroy’s jacket pocket. It caught the twinkling lights from the sleigh. I can’t be one hundred percent positive, but it looked like the ones that you get at Mardi Gras. You know, the ones they throw at you from the balconies?”

  Huh. How interesting. I’d never met the man in person. Only the gruff smooth talker on the phone. But he didn’t seem like a guy who’d have a necklace on him.

  “Haven’t been to Mardi Gras, but I know what you mean. They hand them out on New Year’s Eve in some of the bars in New York, too.”

  “Anyway, where were we going before we were almost the victims of a hit-and-run?”

  I smiled, feeling pretty pleased with myself. “I have an idea about those reindeer prints, and now that you’ve mentioned them, maybe even the beads. You in? Or do you have somewhere to be?”

  We’d been together the better part of the morning. Now that we were into early afternoon, I’m sure he had better things to do.

  But Hobbs held out his arm to me with a grin. “I have all the time in the world, but let’s cross the street together. I didn’t know yoga helped with one’s reflexes, but I want you around if another car comes barreling down the street again.”

  Chuckling, I hooked my arm through his, and he allowed me to usher him across the street.

  I’m pretty sure yoga has little or nothing to do with reflexes, but Hobbs had believed me—or at least he acted as though he did. That was good enough for now.

  It had to be.

  “Judy!” I called to the owner of our local craft supply store, All That Glitters, as we stepped over the threshold, the bells on the door ringing out our entry to the tune of “Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

  Judy poked her permed red head out from the back room and waved to me. “Be right with you!” she sang out in her melodic voice.

  It felt, to me anyway, that Judy had always been a part of Marshmallow Hollow. I’d known her all my life. She and her now-deceased husband, Big Ken, used to run the cotton candy stand at the festival for as long as I can remember, until he died a few years ago.

  As opposed to tiny Judy, Big Ken had been dubbed such for a reason—he was enormous. Three hundred pounds and almost six-five to Judy’s very petite five feet.

  They’d never had children, but they had always treated the kids in town, myself included, as though we were theirs. Big Ken always had change in his pocket and he freely handed it out just because he loved to see the kids smile. Judy volunteered at the elementary school with various events, often bringing some of her homemade peach muffins or making dozens of cookies.

  Coming to ask her questions about a murder made my stomach feel all out of sorts and like I was the biggest traitor there ever was.

  Still, I had something that was bugging me, and I had to see if it was going to pan out or I was completely inept at this investigating thing.

  Taking in the store, I heard Judy on the phone in the back with someone, saying things like, “Oh, heavens to Betsy. I didn’t know things had gotten worse. His poor parents are gonna go bankrupt at this rate. Gotta go, honey. Chat later.”

  When Judy buzzed out from the back like a colorful fairy, pushing open the red glittery curtains that provided privacy to her lunchroom, she was all smiles.

  Wiggling her index finger at me, her dark brown eyes twinkling as though she had a secret, she scooted over to us. “Hey, girl, hey! How are you? Feels like I haven’t seen you in a century.” She grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze.

  Ugh. I was the worst person ever.

  Ever.

  “And you,” she said in a voice that matched her tiny stature, with a circle of her finger, “you must be the nice young man who’s moved into our Hal’s cottage. Digby Dainty, right?”

  “That’s me, ma’am,” he replied, his accent growing thicker. “But you can just call me Hobbs. Pleasure to meet ya.”

  Her laughter tinkled through the store and she held out her hand to Hobbs, batting her thickly mascaraed eyelashes. “I think the pleasure is all mine. We’re glad to have you in Marshmallow Hollow. Welcome.”

  Hobbs took her dainty hand in his larger one and shook it. “I’m sure glad to be here, ma’am.”

  She mock-frowned and sho
ok her head, the crow’s feet around her sharp eyes deepening. “There’ll be no ma’am-ing me. I won’t have it. I’m just Judy.” Then her sweet lined face went grave and concerned. “I guess you heard about Jared? Poor Cyril. Such a good man. He doesn’t deserve this kind of grief, Hal,” she opined, wrapping a hand around her throat.

  “We were there when Ansel and Stiles came to bring him to the station for questioning. I feel awful.”

  Her penciled eyebrows crashed together. “Bring him to the station? I don’t know anything about that. I do know that rascal stole a car and took off down Main Street like a demon escaping Hell.”

  Holy blankety-blank. “That was Jared driving? Cyril’s Jared?”

  Judy scrunched up her heart-shaped face and nodded, clenching her hands together in front of her. “Sure was. He stole a car from someone staying at the bed and breakfast. Can you even imagine coming to a place like Marshmallow Hollow, hoping to experience the warmth of Christmas cheer, only to have one of the kids from town steal your car? It’s unthinkable. I don’t know what happened to sweet Jared, but you can bet the devil’s got him in his grip!”

  “He’d better hope I don’t get him in my grip. He could have killed Hal,” Hobbs muttered.

  “What?” Judy almost screeched, grabbing my hands and inspecting my face. “Oh, honey, are you all right?”

  “You should have seen her, Judy. Hal jumped out of the way like a stuntwoman right out of a movie. Total pro.”

  My cheeks flamed, but I kept my cool. “I’m fine, Judy. Hobbs was the one who took the tumble, trying to keep me out of harm’s way. But we’re both okay. But how do you know that was Jared driving, and how did he get away from the police?”

  She flapped her hands and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know anything about him getting away from the police, but Linny Armstrong saw it all happen, and she called Adya Khatri, and Adya called me because of course we’re all in that seniors Zumba class run by Adya’s daughter, Pri. Called both Honey and me. We just got back from gettin’ our hair did on our lunch.” She fluffed her freshly dyed bob. “You like?”