T he Evergreen Manor radiates holiday spirit with the subtlety of a Times Square billboard. Think lots of crystal, lots of bling, and lots of holiday spirit coming straight from the credit cards ready to kick this auction up a notch.
The ballroom practically vibrates with holiday opulence, from the twenty-foot Douglas fir dripping with crystal ornaments and velvet bows to the forest of smaller trees flanking the dance floor, each decorated in a different color scheme.
Crystal chandeliers—fourteen in all—cast a warm, golden glow over everything and everyone, making even Honey Hollow’s most notorious gossips look angelic. That would be Suze. There’s even a snowman ice sculpture situated in the midst of all the dessert tables that’s at least four feet tall.
The smell of gingerbread, peppermint, and pine mingles with expensive perfumes, creating a sensory assault that screams Christmas is at hand.
“Carol of the Bells” blasts through the speakers and every surface not occupied by auction items sparkles with tinsel, holly, or miniature white lights. It’s as if a Christmas bomb detonated in the ballroom, then someone sprinkled diamond dust over the mess for good measure.
“Well, don’t you look hot-to-trot,” Carlotta coos, appearing at my side in a red sequined dress that makes her look like she’s auditioning for the role of Sexy Mrs. Claus: The Vegas Years .
The neckline plunges so dramatically it’s practically introducing itself to her navel.
“Nice to see you wearing something besides those elf pasties from the community center,” she teases.
“You clean up nice, Toots,” Aunt Cat agrees, sidling up on my other side.
Her silver lamé pantsuit reflects so much light she could probably be used as a backup generator if the power went out.
“Though I still say you should have gone with the plunging neckline. Detective Dreamy wouldn’t have known what hit him. ”
“I prefer keeping my assets under wraps in public,” I reply, smoothing down my emerald green cocktail dress that apparently is quite the spectacle. “Besides, the last time I showed that much cleavage, someone died face-first in it.”
Carlotta lifts her champagne glass my way. “Now that’s a compliment to the girls—a couple of lethal weapons if ever there were some.”
“Hear, hear,” I say.
Suze and Lily materialize from the crowd, both looking festive in their holiday best. Suze’s navy sequined dress makes her look like a starry night sky, while Lily’s red and white striped number gives strong candy cane vibes without crossing too much into costume territory.
“Have you tried Lottie’s mini gingerbread cheesecakes?” Lily asks, already halfway through one. “They’re criminal. I’ve eaten six, and I only got here twenty minutes ago.”
“Pace yourself,” Suze advises. “You’ve still got seven dessert stations to hit, and that’s not counting the Italian cookie table.”
The dessert spread along one wall showcases Lottie’s finest creations from the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery with towering platters of holiday cookies, bite-sized pecan tarts, peppermint fudge squares, gingerbread houses too pretty to eat (although that’s never stopped anyone before), and at least four different varieties of cheesecake—eggnog, gingerbread, peppermint swirl, and double chocolate—all decorated with a festive flair.
Just looking at it all adds five pounds to my hips.
Around the perimeter of the ballroom, auction tables display everything from vacation packages to jewelry to gift baskets the size of small cars.
Bidders mill about, sipping champagne and scribbling on sheets with escalating fervor.
It’s a silent auction, but the competitive glares being exchanged over certain items are anything but quiet.
In the center of the action, Santa’s throne—a gold monstrosity that looks like something out of Game of Thrones but with fewer skulls and more tinsel—sits occupied by none other than Gabriel Esposito, who appears to have found his true calling.
His white beard is fluffy as can be, and the line of children waiting to sit on his lap stretches halfway across the room.
The irony of the Christmas shop owner playing Santa after complaining about Nicholas Bianchi usurping his Santa role isn’t lost on me.
I spot Lottie across the room with Noah and Everett flanking her like particularly attractive bookends.
Lottie’s strapless crimson gown hugs her curves in a way that makes both men look as if they’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Of course, Noah and Everett look far too dapper for their britches, both in classic black tuxedos that have every woman in the room paying them the attention they deserve.
“Merry Christmas Eve Eve ,” I sing as I come upon them.
“Eve,” Suze adds.
“Eve Eve ,” Lily corrects.
“Eve Eve Eve,” Aunt Cat concludes with a solemn nod, like she’s completing a sacred ritual.
Lottie laughs and manages to sound as warm as fresh-baked cookies. “Merry whatever-number-of-Eves-we’re-at to you, too. Any updates on the Santa Slayings?”
“Is that what we’re calling them now?” I ask.
“The Bianchi Brothers Bludgeoning has a better ring to it,” Noah suggests.
“Except they weren’t bludgeoned,” Everett points out. “They were poisoned.”
“The Pentobarbital Pair-Off doesn’t have the same snap,” Noah admits.
“I’ve got nothing,” I confess, snagging a flute of champagne from a passing server. “Cooper is playing his cards close to his vest, and I’ve got my own... complications to deal with.”
Like how to avoid assassinating my boyfriend’s sister while still appeasing my homicidal uncle.
“Speaking of complications”—Lottie nods toward the dance floor— “I wouldn’t mind busting a move.”
Sure enough, Noah and Everett exchange challenging looks, before each extending a hand toward Lottie.
“Dance with me?” they ask in unison.
“Maybe I’ll just dance with both of you,” Lottie suggests with a mischievous smile, taking both their hands as they lead her toward the dance floor with expressions that suggest they’ve won the lottery but have to share the prize.
“That woman is playing with fire,” Suze observes.
“And having the time of her life doing it,” Lily adds admiringly.
The crowd shifts, and I spot Niki weaving through partygoers with the determined expression of someone on a mission. And that mission, apparently, is dragging Loretta Salamander directly to me.
“Look who I found hiding by the dessert table,” Niki announces, clearly pleased with herself.
My sister’s outfit—a silver mini-dress with candy cane striped tights and jingle bell earrings—makes her look like an elf who decided to hit the club after her North Pole shift ended. “I thought you two might want to chat.”
I make a face at my insane sister before switching my attention to Cooper’s equally insane sister.
Loretta’s dress can only be described as “weaponized holiday cheer”—a red sequined number with a neckline cut down to her navel, a slit up to her hip, and enough sparkle to cause a seizure.
Her red hair is teased higher than an ’80s prom queen, and her makeup looks as if it was applied with the goal of using every product in the store.
She’s not so big on subtlety, but then neither is my own sister.
“Loretta.” I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Merry Christmas. How are you holding up?”
“As if you care,” she sniffs, clutching her champagne flute like she’s considering using it as a weapon. “I know you’ve got it out for me.”
More than she realizes.
“I’ve got questions, not a vendetta,” I clarify, although Uncle Jimmy might disagree. “I was wondering what other connections you might have had to Enzo or his brother.”
Loretta looks affronted by the thought. “I’m not into threesomes, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m implying that you were somehow connected to them in a way that could, let’s just say, make certain people very, very angry.” Like my uncle, who presumably had reasons beyond just being a psychopath to put her on his hit list.
She gasps hard. “Listen here, you walking, talking bad luck charm.” Loretta pauses long enough to jab a scarlet fingernail in my direction. “Just because two men dropped dead around you, doesn’t mean I had anything to do with it. Enzo loved me. Nicholas approved of our relationship. End of story.”
“And coincidentally the end of their lives,” Niki mutters, and Loretta glares her way as if she were about to cause yet a third homicide in Honey Hollow before the big present-laden day.
Loretta sniffs. “The only person who wasn’t thrilled was that busybody from the tree lot who was always hovering around them,” she continues, tossing her hair with enough force to disturb nearby orbiting satellites.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to stuff my face with cannoli and forget this conversation ever happened. ”
She storms off toward the dessert table with the determined stride of a woman on a sugar mission.
“Those cannolis do look amazing,” Niki admits, already moving to follow her. “Don’t wait up, sis.”
I sigh as they both disappear into the crowd.
I crane my neck into the crowd and spot both Holly Bellini and Stella Martinelli mingling among the who’s who of Honey Hollow.
They’re both still on my suspect list, along with Gabe, but so far, everyone seems to have motive, means, and opportunity.
It’s like playing a bad game of Clue because all the cards say, “It could be anyone, anywhere, with anything.” Although the anything is most certainly the pheno-what’s-it-called.
“You look like you could use a dance partner,” a familiar voice says behind me, sending a pleasant shiver up my spine.
I turn to find Cooper looking criminally handsome in a black tux that makes his shoulders seem even broader and his wavy brown hair even more touchable. Watson sits obediently at his side, sporting a tiny red bow tie collar that coordinates with Cooper’s.
The event invitation had specifically mentioned “pets welcome,” and it seems half of Honey Hollow brought their furry companions, all decked out in holiday finery.
“You clean up nice, Detective,” I say, leaning in for a kiss that tastes like peppermint and more of those naughty promises we made to one another just a few short hours ago.
“Last night was wonderful,” Cooper murmurs against my lips before pulling back slightly.
Last night.
The memory brings heat to my cheeks despite the fact that we mostly just made out like love-sick teenagers, ate pizza straight from the box, and watched three shoot-’em-up flicks in a row. If there was more, I’ll never tell.
“We should do it again sometime,” I suggest, linking my arm through his. “Preferably when we’re not investigating a double homicide and I’m not being pressured to add to the body count.”
Cooper winces. “About that. Have you figured out why Jimmy’s targeting Loretta?”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it. My leading theory is that he’s just naturally homicidal and drew her name from a hat.”
“Very reassuring,” Cooper deadpans just as his phone buzzes. He checks the screen and his expression shifts. “I need to take this. Toxicology has more findings.”
“Go,” I say, waving him off. “Catch the bad guys. Save Christmas. Just try not to arrest any of my relatives in the process.”
“No promises,” he replies, already moving toward a quieter corner. “Stay out of trouble. And try not to kill any of my relatives in the process.”
“No promises,” I echo and wince at the thought, but luckily he’s already out of earshot.
Once Cooper disappears into the festive crowd, I scan the room for my next target.
And sure enough, there by the enormous Christmas tree at the front of the ballroom stands Holly Bellini, looking uncharacteristically subdued in a black dress with just a subtle touch of holiday sparkle.
Unlike at the Jubilee, where she radiated a calm efficiency, tonight she seems distracted with her gaze constantly shifting toward the entrance as if waiting for someone.
I straighten my shoulders, plaster on my most innocent smile, and make my way toward her, while snagging another champagne flute for courage.
Holly Bellini has some explaining to do about her falling-out with Nicholas Bianchi, and I intend to get answers—even if I have to spread a little Christmas fear to do it.