His eyes widen a notch as he shakes his head. “Do you think they had a silencer on it?”
“I would think so. But that gun found at the scene didn’t have one.”
He blinks back. “I’ll let you know what forensics says about the weapon. It would be strange for the killer to leave a decoy behind. Unless they were trying to pin it on someone else. We’re checking the registration on the gun as well.”
“Oh no.” I moan as a horrible thought comes to me. “You would have been able to tell if that gun was recently fired had I not shot off into the night. Please tell me I didn’t ruin your case.”
“My case?” Noah’s dimples dig in as if he was amused. “No, Lot, I promise, you didn’t ruin the case. You may have entertained the killer, but the case is still going strong. And for the record, I’ll let you work on the case, too—with me at home. That way I’ll know you’re both safe.” He gives my stomach a pat. “I’ll see you back at the house.” He glances to the conservatory. “And I’m assuming you’re here to question my mother. Go easy on her.” He dots my cheek with a kiss before taking off.
In a lot of ways it very much feels as if I’m still with Noah. Odd, considering my husband just beat him up. Come to think of it, that might be why.
I’m about to head to the conservatory when Thirteen traipses this way with a supernatural looking mouse in his mouth. Thirteen is one of four ghosts that lives in—or rather haunts the inn.
Thirteen is a black cat with sparkling silver whiskers and glowing green eyes. Then there are Greer Giles, a girl about my age who was shot about a year ago, her boyfriend Winslow Decker, a two-hundred-year-old pig farmer who also happens to be a bit of a hottie, and their adopted daughter Azalea—Lea.
Little Lea is a haunted sight to behold, with her stringy, long, dark hair combed over her face, her dirty pinafore, and her scuffed up Mary Jane slippers. She’s permanently about six and carries a machete wherever she goes in hopes to avenge the blood of her family, which was slain over this very land.
Thirteen drops the little cute critter right at my feet. “I believe this belongs to you.”
A sprinkling of red and green stars ignites the area around the adorable mouse as he wiggles his round little ears.
“Is this Lottie?” He twitches his nose my way. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for the delicious buffet.”
It wasn’t always that I could communicate with the dead, but as my powers grew so did their abilities. At first, I could hear them, then they were able to move things in the material world, and not too long after that they garnered the most supreme ability of them all—they can eat. Don’t ask me where it goes or why it happens, but not a single ghost has complained about that culinary feat.
“You’re welcome, I think? So you’re Gloria’s pet mouse, Kringle, huh?” I ask as he jumps up my leg and lands on my forearm.
“I was her brother’s best friend. Gloria had a hopeless crush on me.”
A laugh bumps from me. “From what I hear, a brother’s best friend is always a hot commodity around a sister. So are you ready to nail the killer so we can get on with our holidays?”
His thin pink tail whips back and forth and it gives me the heebie-jeebies.
“Oh yes.” His whiskers twitch and tiny red stars emits from around them. “But I’m in no hurry to get back to paradise. I spent all night eating my way out of an eggnog trifle.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll put a few trifles in my office for you so long as you leave the rest of my inventory alone.”
“Sounds good, but do bring one back to the house. I rather enjoyed tormenting the kitties. Did you know they’re both down a few lives already?”
“That’s terrible.”
He squeaks out a laugh. “And by the time I’m through with them, they’ll be down a few more. I specialize in cat conniptions.”
“That’s even worse. I’d prefer to keep my kitties, so if you want your trifle you’ll have to spare their souls.”
“Done deal.”
The three of us head into the conservatory, and both Kringle and Thirteen make a run for the dessert table.
“Trifle!” Kringle shouts as he floats through the air and nosedives right into one of my eggnog delights. Thirteen heads for the gingerbread men and yanks one right off the platter. Lucky for me, most people blame odd occurrences like that on gravity.
The tables in the conservatory are conjoined and set up lengthways as two-dozen women all unwrap a gift at once.
I head over to Carlotta and my mother just as Carlotta leans my way.
“You just missed a meeting of the cheapskate minds, Lot Lot.”
Mom waves her off. “This is Suze’s living on a shoestring budget club. They meet once a week right here in the conservatory, and I provide the free cookies and coffee.”
I shoot a look to the cluster of conservative looking older women each in either a red or green sweater.
“Free cookies and coffee?” I muse. “Sounds as if they really know what they’re doing,” I say.
Mom leans in. “This is the exciting part. They’re having their annual regifting exchange. Each year they save a gift that someone gave them from the previous Christmas and they give it away to someone else.”
I spot a woman at the end of the table holding up a pair of bright red knit socks with snowflakes embroidered over them.
“Hey?” I strain to get a better look. “I think I gave those to Suze last Christmas. She regifted my gift!”
“Don’t worry, Lot.” Carlotta chuckles. “They’ve already made a pact to give all this junk away to some unlucky sucker for Christmas. You literally gave her the gift that will keep on giving—and maybe even regifting. If you live long enough, those socks just might come back to warm your feet.”
“Wait a minute.” Mom’s eyes bulge with wily intent. “Do you think these women would like a copy of my latest book? I bet once they’re through with it, they’d pass it on, too.”
“Not if they have to pay for it,” I whisper.
“Huh.” Mom taps her chin with her finger. “I’ve got a few dozen copies lying around. I don’t see why I couldn’t gift a few away as a marketing ploy. Once they get addicted, they’ll all be clamoring to buy my next book and Wiley will have to take me on as a client again.”
She takes off, and I shake my head after her. “Wiley is a nutcase. Can’t you do something to spook that man into leaving town or something?”
Carlotta’s chest expands as she considers this. “I could, but it involves a cargo ship, a casket, and some duct tape.”
“It doesn’t sound legal, but I like where you’re headed.”
“Oh come on, Lot. Feed him some of your poison pie and be done with it. And you can pin the whole thing on Suze and not even Foxy would be the wiser.”
My hands glide over my belly. “I’d run with it, but if this baby belongs to Noah, I’d hate to be responsible for pruning an entire branch off its family tree.”
Someone mentions Gloria’s name and my ears pique with interest.
“No fancy funeral for her.” Elodie shakes her head. “Gloria was frugal till the end. A cremation is on order I hear.”