Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

“ O h my goodness.” My mother staggers on her feet for a moment as she eyes the poor man lying on the ground. “Bizzy, you killed Santa! And in your condition no less!” I hate to say it, but it’s a lump of coal for my poor grandkid from here on out once word gets back to the North Pole.

“What?” I squawk. “Why would you come to that conclusion? You, of all people, should know I’m not a killer.”

Georgie winks my way. “Or are you? After all, you’re loaded up with all sorts of runaway hormones now. Pregnant women can be full of surprises—especially the deadly kind. I’d tell Jasper to watch his back if I were you.”

“Oh, stop,” Mom snips her way. “I’m sorry, Bizzy. I should never have accused you. The words just flew right out of my mouth. But in my defense, you do have an awfully good track record of finding bodies.” And with no hope of that deadly hobby letting up anytime soon.

I make a face at her. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit, I did find him. But that’s about as far as my involvement goes.”

“So you say,” Georgie growls. “How could you go after Santa? You’re a bad elf, Bizzy Baker Wilder, and because of you, the entire town is going to get a lump of coal in their stocking.” She sniffs. “I was sort of hoping for a hunky side of beef with a six-pack in mine.”

“You would,” Mom snips.

“You wouldn’t ,” Georgie snips back. “But Bizzy would. If it’s one thing I miss from my days as a human incubator, it’s all the man candy I craved. And that was one craving I wasn’t about to deny myself.”

“And you haven’t denied yourself since,” Mom quips. “Bizzy, are you sure you’re all right? Maybe you should go inside and sit down. Stress isn’t good for you—or the baby.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I assure her, although the concern in her eyes makes me wish I was back in the warmth of the inn, enjoying one of those pecan melt-aways or two or twelve. I am getting hungry. Scratch that, I’m getting famished. Good to know that not even the Grim Reaper has the power to take down my appetite. Something tells me it’s going to be a long nine months—or eight as it were.

Georgie sighs. “I hate to say it, but maybe your mama is right. As much as I’d hate to see you retire from a career you’re so good at, maybe it’s time to let someone else take over the corpse-finding business.”

“Believe me,” I moan. “I’d gladly pass the deadly baton if I could.”

Mom glances over at the body once again and a horrific moan emits from her at the sight. How is it possible that I have a child who keeps finding corpses? Is she really my child? Maybe someone switched her at birth? Oh, never mind. It’s just my luck, my kid has turned into a corpse magnet. I think I’m going to be sick.

“Georgie, why don’t you take her inside?” I say, gently turning my mother around toward the ballroom. “Mom, I think you could use a seat and maybe some coffee.”

“She’s right, Preppy,” Georgie says, leading my mother back in the direction they came from. Preppy would be the nickname Georgie has gifted my mother, mostly because my mother is a die-hard preppy at heart, as evidenced by her staunch affection for an eighties-based wardrobe. “Now that the masses are distracted, we can nosh on all the cookies we want. You should join us, Bizzy. An all-you-can-eat cookie buffet is practically doctor’s orders for preggos like you.”

“Agree,” I tell her. “And you don’t have to ask me twice. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

“We could have eaten all the cookies we wanted earlier, too,” Mom points out to Georgie.

“Yeah,” her gray-headed bestie says. “But now we don’t have to pretend we would never eat more than two. I hereby challenge you to a cookie-eating contest. Winner buys the loser a cookie.”

“You mean loser buys the winner a cookie,” Mom counters. “And who in their right mind is going to want another cookie after inhaling all the cookies they can eat?”

“ Me , that’s who,” Georgie grouses as they disappear into the building, and in their wake, my sister, Macy, heads this way with Noel Brighton by her side.

I waste no time speeding over.

“Bizzy, what’s happening?” my sister hisses.

Macy is a year older than me and miles more mischievous—she would say fun . Georgie would probably agree. She wears her short blonde hair in a bob and has more than a naughty gleam in her pretty blue eyes. She’s a self-proclaimed maneater and it’s the trait she’s most proud of. “You didn’t kill another one, did you?” she asks in horror. “And please tell me you’re not playing detective in your condition.”

“Not again,” I mutter.“And before you ask, both the baby and I are fine.”

Although now that I think of it, Macy probably wasn’t going to ask.

“What’s this?” the redhead by her side muses as the nose of that reindeer on her sweater blinks on and off. “You’re not a killer, are you?” she asks with a laugh buried in her throat.

“Absolutely not,” I tell her.

Macy rolls her eyes at my denial. “Noel, this is my sister, Bizzy. Let’s just say she’s no stranger to the dead.”

Noel blinks back, startled by the claim—as any rational person would before offering a somewhat worried smile my way. “We actually met earlier this evening,” she says. No stranger to the dead? She shakes her head my way. Is that some sick inside joke? I wonder what that’s supposed to mean?

I don’t blame her for having her curiosity piqued, but I’m not in the mood to spill all the grisly details either.

I tip my head as I inspect the two of them. “How do you two know each other?”

Macy lifts a gloved finger. “Noel and I took classes together in community college way back when. What’s the deal out here? Who bit the big one this time?”

I make a face at my sister for a moment. “Noel, I’m sorry to break the news to you, but the man dressed as Santa seems to have had an unfortunate accident.”

And an even more unfortunate run-in with a killer.

“Nick?” Her eyes widen in the direction of the poor man.

I nod. “We should probably tell Virginia,” I suggest. “I’m sure she’ll want to address the rest of the company.”

Noel frowns my way.

Why does everyone assume Virginia is the only one at the helm down at Four C?

“Virginia left,” she says with a sigh. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to pay my respects.”

She takes off for the crowd forming around the bright caution tape being set out around the crime scene.

“Virginia left?” I say under my breath as I spot Ember and Chris Winter migrating toward the body as well.

Macy and I make our way over as a solemn hush falls over the courtyard.

There he is, an errant voice calls from the crowd.

It’s hard to tell if it’s coming from a man or a woman.

If anyone deserves to be lying in the snow with a knife in the chest, it’s Nick Bell, another voice chimes.

My adrenaline picks up as I scour the crowd for a flicker of suspicion on anyone’s face, but they’re all stone-cold and somber.

He’s dead and I’m not sorry, another says. In fact, nobody here should be sorry about it. He had to go. And thankfully, he’s gone and will never come back.

It’s over, someone muses. It’s all over now.

An icy breeze whistles by as I scan the crowd once again.

It’s not over by a long shot.

And I’ll make sure it’s not over until justice has been served—even if I have to serve it myself.

But not before I eat another cookie.