Page 47 of Laced With Secrets

“Over there,” Dominic said, nodding toward a vendor cart where an elderly man was scooping chestnuts into paper cones.

We joined the short line, and I found myself smiling at a group of children pressing their faces against a toy store window nearby,their breath fogging the glass. Christmas music drifted from somewhere—Bing Crosby crooning about a white Christmas.

“Two, please,” Dominic said when we reached the front, and moments later he was pressing a warm cone into my hands.

The first chestnut was perfect—sweet, slightly smoky, the warmth seeping through the paper into my cold fingers. I made a sound of appreciation that had Dominic smiling.

“Good?”

“So good.” I popped another into my mouth. “The baby approves.”

“Then we’ll get more for the walk back.”

We strolled down Main Street, eating chestnuts and window shopping. The furniture store was three blocks down, but neither of us were in a hurry.

“So,” I said finally, “the sheriff.”

Dominic nodded, his expression shifting to something more serious. “He’s bringing in the FBI. Special Agents from the Organized Crime unit.”

“Good.” Relief loosened something in my chest. “That’s good.”

“From now on,westop investigating.” Dominic’s mouth quirked. “And by that, I meanyou.”

“Yes, sir.” I ate another chestnut. “What else did he say?”

“Forensics came back on Thomas.” Dominic’s voice dropped. “He was stabbed. Kitchen knife, probably. The angle suggests he was facing the killer during the confrontation.”

I stopped walking. “So he maybe knew his killer? Possibly even trusted them?”

“That’s the theory. There were defensive wounds, but minor—like he was surprised by the attack, not fighting for his life.” Dominic’s jaw tightened. “Hawkins thinks the murder wasn’t planned. Someone panicked, stabbed him, then had three days to figure out how to hide the body before the concrete was poured.”

“Three days.” I tried to imagine it—the fear, the calculation, the cold-blooded determination to bury that secret. “Someone he trusted enough to meet with at the pharmacy site.”

“Someone who knew the construction schedule.” Dominic shook his head. “Could be any of them. The judge or his wife. Henry and Richard Fairfax. Vicente...”

We started walking again, slower now.

“Hawkins will handle it,” Dominic said firmly. “And we—” he caught my hand, threading our fingers together, “—are going to stay out of it. It’s time to focus on us. On our future.”

“On buying furniture,” I said, managing a smile.

“On buying furniture,” he agreed, squeezing my hand. “Starting with a bed.”

The furniture store was warm after the outside chill, smelling of wood polish and new fabric. Christmas garlands decorated thedisplays, and more holiday music played softly—Nat King Cole this time.

“Can I help you find anything?” A saleswoman approached, her smile bright and professional.

“Bedroom furniture,” Dominic said. “We’re furnishing a new apartment.”

“Wonderful! Our bedroom collections are in the back. King size? Queen?”

“King,” Dominic said, at the same moment I said, “We should probably look at both.”

The saleswoman’s smile widened knowingly. “I’ll show you both.”

We spent twenty minutes testing mattresses—Dominic methodically checking firmness and support while I flopped dramatically onto each one to check for “comfort.” He rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide his smile.

“This one’s nice,” I said as I stretched out across one mattress, my arms and legs splaying like a snow angel.