22. Hattie

HATTIE

N eelie—aka Cornelia Holiday, to be precise, my younger sister—stands before me right here in Moon's Chocolate Delights, with her blonde locks slightly askew from the wind, but nevertheless her makeup is impeccable.

I glance down at the rest of her to see she's squeezed herself into a fitted blue dress that may as well be a giant tube sock, the way she's poured herself into it. But seeing that Neelie doesn't own much other than tight-fitting dresses, the smaller, the tighter, the better, it's par for the rainy day course.

Neelie is a knockout through and through, but I'll admit, with that dress on, she's a scorching hot siren.

Cricket yelps as she jumps from my tote bag and straight into Neelie's long, svelte arms.

"How's my little baby waby ?" Neelie coos as she dusts my kitten with kisses—and leaves a trail of red-hot lip prints in her wake, too. That's going to be murder trying to get out of Cricket's fur.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite Holiday sister," I say a touch too loud, and for some reason, it comes out sounding more like a threat than a compliment.

Neelie takes a moment to frown at me. "We both know that's not true."

I sigh her way just as one of the employees barks at me to stop blocking the doorway and I do just that.

"Neelie, I'm glad we bumped into one another. I've been meaning to talk some sense into you."

"If this is about trying to get me to come to one of your book club meetings, you can forget it." She says book club in air quotes before drifting over to an employee and snatching four bonbons off her tray.

The employee snarls at the two of us.

"No, it's not about that," I say to my sister as I snap up a chocolate-covered bear claw and thank the rather ornery woman for it. You'd think working in a veritable chocolate factory would actually make you happy. Some people.

Neelie and I step to the side as a crowd presses in.

"Winnie told me something about you and Stanton getting serious. And that she's also seen him around town with other women." My voice hikes a notch with sheer anger for my poor sister.

She arches an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "And?"

"And?" My voice hikes another notch, this time with sheer frustration at the infuriating creature in front of me and I don't mean Cricket.

Sounds like Auntie Neelie needs to drop Stanton Troublefield like an old sock, Cricket muses.

"That's right," I hiss. "You need to drop Stanton Troublefield like an old sock—a big, ugly, sweat sock," I practically shout and three different women turn momentarily in our direction. But that doesn't last long. It's hard to distract from all the chocolate at hand.

"A sweat sock, Hattie, really?" Neelie rolls her eyes before popping another confection into her mouth.

"Yes, a sweat sock—one that's been wadded up and forgotten in some dingy high school boys' locker room. Or in Stanton's case, the geezers' locker room at the old folks home," I add, folding my arms. "That's where he belongs, not in bed with my far too young, far too—" I struggle a moment to find another adjective to fill in the blank. Neelie's brow hikes a notch as if she, too, were curious as to what I'd come up with. " Gorgeous , sister."

She gives a nod of approval. "Hattie, Stanton's not that bad. He's—distinguished." She cringes as if even she doesn't believe it.

"Yes, he's a distinguished cheater ," I say, bringing my voice down a notch.

"Neelie, the man is a walking AARP membership card. He's old enough to have babysat Methuselah."

She wrinkles her nose my way. "Is that the bratty kid down the street from Mom?"

"No, it's the oldest living person on Biblical record," I say, pulling her close and Cricket by proxy. "But I'm betting good ol' Metthie never cheated on his wife."

"Well, that's where you're all mixed up," she says, trying to move past me, but I don't give a candy-loving inch. "We're not married. Not yet anyway. Not that I'm not already fulfilling all the roles of a wife."

Don't let her go on, Cricket yelps. Stop her before she gets to the dirty details.

I'm not so hot on hearing all the dirty deets myself.

"You know"—Neelie bites down on a nefarious smile—"cooking, cleaning, shopping."

"You are not cooking and cleaning for him." Nobody in their right mind would believe that.

"Okay, so I'm not, but I needed it for the cadence. Look, I know you think Stanton is ancient, but he's got his charms. And you know, his ex, Trixie, is coming back to town soon. And Stanton wants me to make her good and jealous."

I raise an eyebrow. "Trixie, the ex-wife he supposedly drove onto a permanent vacation on a cruise ship? That Trixie? You think you're going to make her jealous?"

Neelie nods with a wicked gleam in her eye. "You know that's where I shine. Making ex-wives envious of me is practically my superpower."

I groan, "Neelie, your superpower should be seeing through nonsense and finding a decent guy. Stanton is not it. He's using you as a pawn in his twisted game of geriatric chess."

She waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, please. If he wants to parade me around to make Trixie green with envy, who am I to refuse? Besides, he promised to take me shopping somewhere very exclusive one day."

"Shopping?" I scoff. "At what, the local pharmacy for a pair of orthopedic shoes? Neelie, this is not a healthy relationship. You deserve better than being someone's arm candy to settle a decades-old score."

Neelie shrugs, clearly unimpressed by my argument. "Hattie, I appreciate your concern, but I know what I'm doing. Stanton may be a bit older, but he's generous and fun. And honestly, I like the attention."

"Attention from a man who has one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel," I mutter, shaking my head.

Neelie belts out a laugh. "You're such a drama queen. Look, I'm a big girl. I can handle Stanton and whatever comes with him." Especially those credit cards of his.

I frown her way.

"Just promise me you won't do anything too crazy," I say, giving her a pleading look. "Like moving in with him or getting matching tracksuits."

She grins. "No promises, but I'll keep your concerns in mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a shopping date to prepare for. Stanton wants to show me off as soon as she comes to town. In fact, he's given me carte blanche to his credit card to make the magic happen. Which reminds me, I've got to hit the mall in preparation for all that magic." She glances at her watch. Ooh, and I've got a hot date in less than three hours. She glances up at me. I don't dare tell Hattie that I've got me a little side piece, too. I'm well aware of Stanton's need for speed when it comes to devouring all the women he can get his hands on. But what Stanton and Hattie don't know won't hurt them. She winks my way. "I'll be back later. Don't worry about me, big sis," she says, landing Cricket back in my tote bag. "I may not look like much, but I can certainly take care of myself."

Neelie saunters off, and I can't help but sigh. Trying to talk sense into my sister is like trying to teach a cat to fetch—entertaining, but ultimately futile.

Cricket gives a soft mewl, She's hopeless, Hattie. Hopelessly happy in her own twisted way.

"I can't deny that."

I glance back at Peggy and Clarabelle, who are still debating the finer points of chocolate and men, when I spot the exact blonde manager I came to speak with heading this way.

Here's hoping that dealing with a murder suspect is a lot less stressful than dealing with my own family.

Something tells me that even a serial killer might be easier to reason with than Neelie.