T he Jolly Holly Tree Lot looks about as cheery as can be for the holiday season—or what’s left of it.
Thousands of twinkle lights are strung between the evergreens and they transform the place into a multicolored wonderland.
The scent of fresh pine hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the sweetness of hot cocoa and cinnamon churros sold from a candy-cane-striped cart.
The sky is gray, the snow is light, and Christmas carols blast from the speakers as “Jingle Bell Rock” vibrates its cheery tune over the vicinity.
“The toys, the boys, the noise—this place feels just like Santa’s workshop,” Niki practically sings as we navigate through rows of Fraser firs and blue spruces, each tagged with a price that would make my credit card spontaneously combust.
“You say it like you’ve been there.”
“Oh, I have,” my saucy sister shoots back. “One time, Vinnie DeMarto took me to this old warehouse?—”
“And that’s where this story ends,” I’m quick to tell her.
“If we don’t find Stella soon, I might develop a pine allergy,” I mutter, scanning the crowd for our elderly person of interest. Watson trots beside us with his golden fur collecting the occasional snowflake, and his cute little nose working overtime with all the competing scents.
We’ve barely made it past the “Medium Trees for Medium Budgets” section when I hear the unmistakable sound of Aunt Cat’s laugh—a high-pitched cackle that could crack ice—followed by Carlotta’s smoky chuckle.
I turn to see them barreling toward us like two festively dressed missiles locked on a target.
“There you are!” Aunt Cat exclaims, her hot pink parka blinding against the white snow. She’s accessorized with a fuzzy hat sporting actual jingle bells that announce her movements like a cat with a collar. “Running off without us? Now that’s just rude, young lady.”
“Not to mention dangerous,” Carlotta reprimands while adjusting her leopard print earmuffs. “You never know when you might need backup. Or an alibi.”
“I didn’t realize a murder investigation was a group activity,” I reply.
“Come on now, Effie. Everything is more fun with friends and family,” Aunt Cat says cheerfully before her expression turns serious. “Speaking of family…” She reaches into her parka pocket and extracts a red envelope. “This came for you. From your uncle.”
My stomach plummets faster than a kid sledding down an icy hill. The familiar envelope can only mean one thing—a new assignment from Uncle Jimmy.
I take it from her and can’t help but notice that the paper feels heavier than it should, as if it’s weighted with impending doom rather than just a name.
“So soon?” I lament, staring at the envelope of horror. The ink has barely dried on the payment for a hit I didn’t even complete, and here’s Uncle Jimmy, serving up seconds before I’ve digested the first course. I’m about to rip it open when a flash of red and white lights catches my attention.
Not more than a few feet away is Stella Martinelli, helping a family secure a tree to their car.
She looks every bit as if Mrs. Claus herself got tired of North Pole administrative duties and decided to take a retail job.
Her silver-streaked hair peeks out from under a Santa hat, and she’s wearing a red quilted jacket with white fur trim.
Fuzzy mittens and snow boots complete the ensemble, making her look like the quintessential grandma who’s ready to serve up some hot cocoa rather than someone potentially involved in a double homicide.
“Target acquired,” Niki whispers as she nudges me.
“Try not to make it sound like a missile strike,” I whisper back, tucking the envelope into my purse for later. “Remember, we’re just here to shop for a Christmas tree, not give Cooper another homicide to solve before Santa slides down the chimney.”
Niki sniffs. “You mean give you another homicide to investigate before Santa slides down the chimney.”
“I mean me,” I say with a sigh.
“Ooh, speaking of which.” Carlotta’s gaze drifts toward a group of young men dressed as elves, loading trees onto a flatbed truck.
Their green tights leave little to the imagination, and their pointed hats add a certain festive flair to their biceps that suggest they moonlight as lumberjacks.
“I spy with my little eye something beginning with the letter H.”
“Hot elves!” Aunt Cat shouts as if she just got the answer right on a game show. “Hot dog!” she claps up a storm. “It looks like Santa’s workshop got an upgrade!”
“ Ladies ,” I’m quick to reprimand them with my tone. “We’re here to interrogate a suspect, not ogle the North Pole beefcake.” I glance that way and moan because they are so ogle-worthy—for other women, of course. I’ve got all the beefcake I need with Coop.
“Who says we can’t multitask?” Niki asks, already drifting toward the muscular holiday helpers.
Before I can protest, all three women have abandoned our mission in favor of what Aunt Cat declared as “spreading Christmas cheer.”
I sigh and pick up Watson. “It’s just you and me, kid,” I tell him, planting a quick kiss on his cold, wet nose. His tail wags in response and I catch it and kiss the tip, too. I can’t help it. This sweet boy has my entire heart wrapped up around his furry little paw.
Stella has just finished helping the family and is busy adjusting her Santa hat when I reach her. Her cheeks are rosy, she holds the scent of sugar and spice and everything nice, and there’s an ethereal glow about her in general that screams Christmas magic.
Even thinking that she may have had something to do with these murders should be enough to land me on the naughty list—not that I’m not there already.
“Excuse me,” I call out with a little extra friendly pep in my voice. “I was wondering if you could help me find a tree that won’t shed all its needles before Christmas actually arrives?”
Okay, so that line may have worked a month ago, but now that the big day is just around the corner, it feels more like a moot point.
Stella turns around, looking like the perfect picture of helpful retail cheer just before she squints my way. “Oh! You’re the young lady from the bakery—and from the Jingle Bell Jubilee.” She gives a few quick blinks. “Effie, right?”
“That’s me,” I confirm with a smile. “And this is my sweet pooch, Watson. We’re on a mission to find the perfect Christmas tree.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Stella says, gesturing at the rows of trees stretching out behind her. “The Fraser firs are your best bet for needle retention. They’ll stay fresh through the new year if you water them properly.”
We make small talk about tree varieties and proper care. Stella assures me that she’s been working the Christmas tree circuit longer than I’ve been alive, and before that, she worked on the telemetry unit of the hospital. Eventually, I steer the conversation toward more relevant matters.
“Quite a holiday season so far,” I say casually. “First, the Jubilee disaster, and now I heard there was some excitement at the Velvet Fox last night as well.”
“Oh, yes.” Stella straightens the ornament display next to her with her mittens for a moment.
“It’s just been terrible. I don’t know about the Velvet Fox, but I just heard that Lorenzo Bianchi passed away last night, too!
Right after his brother. Must have been the stress from losing Nicholas. It’s all just such a shock.”
“That family has some seriously cursed Christmas karma,” I mutter under my breath.
Stella’s eyes widen at my comment. “What do you mean by that?”
I shrug, going for nonchalant. “Just seems like an unlucky coincidence. Two brothers dropping dead within days of each other? That’s like getting coal in your stocking two years running.”
“Yes. Quite... coincidental.” Stella moves to a table full of bushy wreaths and begins to straighten them as well. “I’m just so sorry for the family.”
“Did you know them well?” I probe. “Nicholas and Lorenzo?”
“Not really,” she says reflexively. “I mean, everyone knows the Bianchis, of course. Old money almost always equals big influence in the community. Nicholas was a regular donor to the hospital.” She glances over my shoulder and offers a gracious wave to a family striding by.
“Now I just volunteer here and run the caroling group.”
“That must be how you knew Nicholas from the Jubilee,” I say, pretending to examine a miniature tree. “You seemed upset with him that night.”
“Oh, that.” Stella waves dismissively. “It was just a disagreement about the upcoming fundraising auction. He wanted to lower the starting bids to attract more participants, but I felt it would devalue the items. Nothing serious. That’s usually my arena, so I was surprised to hear he was trying to steamroll his way into it.
” She frowns out at the bustling tree lot.
Watson squirms in my arms, apparently losing interest in our conversation. I readjust my grip, using the moment to study Stella’s face.
“It’s a shame about their business troubles,” I comment, throwing out a fishing line to see what I might catch.
“Business troubles?” Stella repeats and she sounds every bit neutral with her concern.
“With the toy company,” I improvise, having absolutely no idea if the Bianchis had any trouble at all with their stores. “I heard there were some—financial irregularities.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Stella says primly, though her fingers tighten around the wreath she’s holding.
“Nicholas was always very private about his business affairs. But then, it wouldn’t surprise me either.
The Bianchi brothers were notoriously greedy as can be. That’s just general knowledge.”
A family with three small children who can hardly be contained approach us looking for assistance, and Stella holds up a hand their way.
“I should get going,” she says. “The lot’s getting terribly busy.
” She taps a finger to her lips. “But you know, come to think of it, I did see something odd that night at the Jubilee. Did you happen to see a dark-haired gentleman who was upset with Nicholas? I only heard a snippet of their conversation, but I believe it had something to do with business. Perhaps he’ll know about any financial woes the brothers were having. ”
“Come to think of it, I did see Nick getting heated with a dark-haired man,” I say, as the memory comes back to me. “Do you know who he is?”
Stella nods. “Gabriel ‘Gabe’ Esposito. He owns Miracle on Main Street, the town’s year-round Christmas shop.
And well, the name tells you exactly where you can find him.
” She reaches into a basket hanging from her arm and extracts a candy cane, before offering it to me.
“One for you—and one for your sweet puppy, too.”
Watson gives a quick bark of appreciation as if he understood, and I know for a fact he did. Treats are basically his love language, and they just so happen to be mine, too.
I accept the candy canes, ignoring the irony of taking potentially poisoned candy from a woman I’m investigating for poisoning.
“Thanks for your help, Stella. Will I see you at the Mistletoe and Merriment Gala at the Evergreen Manor?”
“Oh, you bet. That’s the auction I was telling you about.” She hands me an extra candy cane as she pushes past me. “Merry Christmas,” she sings before hurrying off to assist the waiting family.
“So, there’s that,” I say, giving Watson another kiss to his furry little forehead before taking off. I hardly make it back to the entrance when Niki, Aunt Cat, and Carlotta descend upon me like cheap tinsel on an aluminum tree.
“Did you get anything useful?” Niki asks, her cheeks flushed either from the cold or whatever cardio she got in with Santa’s hot helpers.
“Maybe,” I say. “What about you three? Learn anything interesting from the elven workforce?”
“Only that those tights leave nothing to the imagination.” Carlotta gives a chef’s kiss to her fingertips. “But I think we scared them off with our enthusiasm.”
“Word is getting out about what we did to those wax boys.” Aunt Cat gives a mournful nod.
“Their loss.” Niki shrugs. “So, what did Grandma Christmas have to say?”
I fill them in quickly on my conversation with Stella, including her redirect to Gabe Esposito. “Could be nothing, could be something. At least it’s another lead.”
“Speaking of leads…” Carlotta says, eyeing my purse where the red envelope is tucked away. “Go on and open the envelope. The suspense is killing me.”
“Me, too,” Aunt Cat agrees.
Niki snorts. “You’re both just anxious to see if your names are on the list.”
“It’s bound to happen one day,” I say, pulling out the envelope in question. The paper feels slick between my fingers as I break the seal and unfurl the note inside, only to see the last name in the world I’d want to see printed on it.
Okay, so maybe the second to last, or third, or sixth.
“Loretta Semolina Lazzari?” Niki gasps, reading over my shoulder. “But that’s Cooper’s little sister!”
“Oh, my goodness,” I say, staring at the letters in the hope they’ll rearrange themselves.
Aunt Cat reaches into her pocket and produces a lighter before setting the edge of the paper on fire.
I drop the letter onto the snow and we watch as the flames make quick work of it, and Loretta’s name dissolves into ashes like the nightmare it is.
We watch in silence as the last embers die out, the evidence of Uncle Jimmy’s latest request disappearing like smoke. But the damage is already done. The name burns in my memory as clearly as if it were tattooed on my eyelids.
Loretta Semolina Lazzari.
Cooper’s sister.
My next target.
If I thought my relationship with Cooper was complicated before, it just entered a whole new realm of disaster.
One thing I know is true—the only thing dying here is any chance of a future with the man I love.