“Excuse me, Ms. Bellini?” I put on my best I’m-not-here-to-interrogate-you-about-murder smile.
Holly turns my way and a professional-looking mask slides effortlessly into place. “Yes? How can I help you? If you’re looking to join the candle class, all you have to do is find a seat at the table.”
“Actually, I just wanted to say hello. I think we met at the Jingle Bell Jubilee.” I extend my hand. “Effie Canelli. I was one of the elves.”
Her mouth rounds out as she squints to inspect me. “Ah, yes. The one wearing the very festive costume.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.” I laugh. “Although barely-there bodysuits with strategically placed peppermints would be more accurate.”
We share a quick laugh before she remembers she’s a professional with an image to maintain. Or a killer with a murder to get away with.
“Well, it’s nice to see you again,” she says. “Although I would have preferred under different circumstances. That evening didn’t exactly end as planned.”
“I’m sorry about your old friend,” I say, watching her for a reaction. And emphasis on theold, but I don’t say that part out loud.
Holly’s chest bucks as if someone had shot her, and it makes me glance down at my purse like a reflex in the event Buttercup, my handy-dandy Glock, didn’t just misfire.
“We actually weren’t close friends,” she says as her lips press tight.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed since you worked together on the Jubilee...” I trail off, attempting to look appropriately chagrined while mentally taking notes on the fact she’s frowning like mad.
Holly sighs and manages to soften slightly. “Nicholas and I worked together on several projects. He was one of the major sponsors. In fact, he sponsored this festival, too.” She gestures around at the crowd. “He had his fingers in every pie in this county.”
“What was he like to work with?” I ask innocently enough—as if I didn’t know where he wanted to put his face and why.
“He could be difficult,” she says, then seems to catch herself. “But effective. His company, Bianchi Enterprises, has been behind most of the major events in this area for decades. The Jubilee,thisfestival, the upcoming summer fair—all would be impossible without the Bianchi money.”
“Sounds like he had a lot of influence,” I observe. And a thing for boobs, but I leave that part out.
Okay, so he probably didn’t mean to deep-dive into my peppermints, but as it stands that’s what happened.
“Too much influence, according to some people.” Holly’s gaze drifts toward the candle-making table where Niki is enthusiastically raising her hand and bouncing in her seat.
Oh, good grief, what now?
The instructor nods her way and well, unwittingly unleashes the beast.
“Howhotdoes the wax need to be to use on a hot hunk?” Niki asks loudly enough for the entire state of Vermont to hear.
The class breaks into laughter, and even the instructor—whose cheeks now glow like Rudolph’s nose—manages to crack a smile. “Well”—she says with a hesitant wink— “if I had a couple of hot hunks on hand, I could demonstrate.”
Niki gives a sharp whistle and, as if on cue, Aunt Cat and Carlotta run into the tent with not two butthreeyoung bucks dressed as hot Santas.
In no time at all, their red coats come off and tables are cleared with the frantic urgency of aGrey’s Anatomyseason finale. The hunky Santas lie on their backs while the instructor kneels beside one, demonstrating the proper temperature and technique for dripping wax in festive patterns across a muscular chest.
“Good gravy,” I mutter. “Is this a candle class or an audition forNorth Pole After Dark?” A show I’ve already starred in, mind you.
Holly clears her throat and draws my attention back to her. “You were asking about Nicholas? If you’re wondering whether he had enemies—” She pauses, glancing around before continuing more quietly. “Well, that’s all he had.”
I remember Nicholas’s cutting remark to Holly at the Jubilee. “Still trying to run this town into the ground with your overpriced events, Bellini? I remember when this festival was actually affordable for families.”
“Did you and Nicholas have a disagreement before the Jubilee?” I ask, hoping she’ll highlight why he was so nasty to her—and if she was one of those aforementioned enemies.
“Oh, we had our creative differences,” she says carefully as if she were already treading on thin ice. “About the direction of the event, too.”
“So, you mean that creative differences were what led to him threatening to pull his sponsorship?” I push a little harder, like trying to put Cinderella’s glass slipper on one of her uglystepsisters. But hey, if the ugly fits. If these festivals lost their biggest corporate sponsor, I’m guessing Holly here would be out of a job. And a lack of funds would most certainly create a need to kill. It did for me.
Holly’s eyes narrow. “You seem very interested in my relationship with Nicholas. Tell me, are you investigating his death?”
