Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

“ M ayor Woods,” I say, forcing a tight smile to my face because heaven knows I’m not scrambling anywhere at the moment.

Mayor Mackenzie Woods is exactly the same age as Emmie and me—we’re all in our late twenties.

And fun fact? The three of us used to be inseparable growing up. But things took a turn after Mackenzie tried her best to drown me in a barrel filled with water back when we were in junior high.

Four things came from that almost tragic experience: my irrational fear of large bodies of water, my phobia of confined spaces, my complete distrust of Mackenzie Woods—oh, sure, she had her excuses, but that whole my hand slipped thing has never held water with me.

And the fourth thing that came from the event was my sudden ability to pry into other people’s gray matter. I’m not exactly sure why I have this supernatural quirk, and at this point I’m content not knowing. Although I can surmise something went terribly wrong that day, starting from the moment I said hello to Mackenzie.

“What can I help you with?” I ask, sliding the cookie tin her way. She also happens to be my sister-in-law and the mother of my favorite and only nephew, whom she named after herself, little Mack.

However, Mackenzie, as in the female version before me, is a stunner with her long chestnut-colored hair, high-cut cheekbones, and dark eyes that emulate the dark intent in her heart. She also has a no-nonsense dress code, as evidenced by the cranberry power suit she’s donned.

I’m not all that surprised that my brother Hux was drawn to her. But I am a little shocked they’ve made it work for so long. They couldn’t be more different if they tried. I know opposites attract, I’m just hoping they don’t implode, for little Mack’s sake.

“I heard there was another murder here last night.” She takes a moment to glower my way. “The Cider Cove town Christmas party will be held here on Christmas Eve and it had better be corpse-free, Bizzy. I mean it. You’ve hit your quota on bodies this year. We have six different news stations begging to cover the event, so don’t you dare drag the Grim Reaper into this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, teasing. Although to her credit, this isn’t my first rodeo when it comes to stumbling upon bodies. I can’t help it. I’m a bit of a magnet when it comes to corpses. “I’ll let the Grim Reaper know he can have the night off to be with his family.”

Her eyes widen as Emmie tries her best to stifle a laugh.

What is wrong with this girl? Mackenzie scoffs. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the homicide detective she’s snagged has given her a license to kill. I always knew Bizzy was one gift short of wrapping paper, but I’m starting to see it’s official.

She snaps up a peppermint pinwheel and takes a bite in haste while shooting me with her ire.

“Look at the two of you.” She takes a moment to shake her head at the both of us as if she just got a whiff of something scandalous. “Glowing like a couple of Christmas lights. Congratulations to you both again—for getting knocked up in tandem. Aren’t you just the bestiest besties that have ever did bestie .” She sticks a finger down her throat and pretends to gag. “How perfectly adorable. What’s next? Are we planning matching nurseries?”

“Maybe,” Emmie says with an air of defiance in her voice. “I mean—” She gags on the river of words trying to work their way out of her throat for a proper comeback.

“Save it,” Mackenzie snips. “Pregnancy brain is a real thing. You two better enjoy that glow while it lasts because soon enough, it’s swollen feet, sleepless nights, and cravings for things that should never be put into the same sandwich.”

“Like pickles and peanut butter?” Emmie bats her lashes while she says it and I try my best to stifle a laugh—and my appetite.

Mackenzie lifts her chin. “I hope your hubbies are ready for midnight runs for pickles and peanut butter. And let’s not forget the joy of outgrowing all your clothes before you can even blink. Goodbye, waistline. Hello, tent dresses.”

Emmie ticks her head to the side. “Sounds like someone is still bitter about the nine months of hard time they had to do.”

“Oh, honey”—Mackenzie’s voice dips into its lower register—“bitter doesn’t even begin to cover it. Try furious.” She balls her fists and lands them over the countertop in a show of mock force. “Hux was out buying me tubs of cookie dough like it was the cure for everything. The sleepless nights, the back pain—and don’t even get me started on the hormone-induced crying fits. One minute you’re happy, the next you’re sobbing over a laundry detergent commercial. It’s a delightful rollercoaster that I never want to take a ride on again.” She crosses her arms as a wicked smile plays on her lips. “You’re going to love it.” She snaps up another cookie before giving us both a little wave and dashing right back into the portal to hell where she came from.

Okay, fine, she saunters back out into the snowy afternoon like the ice queen she is.

“Hux is so lucky,” Emmie flatlines, but we’re too stunned to laugh. Or cry.

The doors whoosh open once again and I’m grateful to whomever it might be. I don’t care if it’s the Grim Reaper himself, I’ll be greeting him with a smile.

I turn that way only to see it’s not the Grim Reaper—but it might be close.