“It’s certainly been illuminating,” I agree, thinking of all the pictures I just perused. “I’ve been learning all sorts of interesting things about Honey Hollow’s past.”
Her smile remains frozen in place. “History is so fascinating, isn’t it? Although I prefer to look forward, not back.”
I absently roll my shoulder and force myself to wince. “Speaking of looking back, I’ve been having this annoying shoulder pain lately. It feels like someone is jabbing candy canes right underneath my shoulder blade.”
“Ooh.” Stella’s expression shifts to professional concern, her professional persona sliding into place seamlessly. “Does it feel stiff in the morning? Do you have a limited range of motion?”
“Exactly.” I nod. “Like my arm is stuck in a chimney.”
“You’ll need a good muscle relaxer for that,” she says with authority. “I had both shoulders freeze on me—one year on the left, another year on the right. It took six months to freeze and six to get back to normal for each if you can believe it. Come to find out, frozen shoulder is a symptom of menopause. And you look as if that’s the stage of life you’re about to enter into.”
Why, that little witch!
I’m about to tell her what’s what and who’s going to prison, but I think better of it and blink a smile instead.
“I still get a stiff shoulder once in a while,” she adds, demonstrating a stretch that looks more like a bizarre yoga move.
“That sounds like something a medical professional would say—like maybe anurse,” I suggest casually, watching her reaction.
Pride blooms across her face like a poinsettia. “Why, I am one. Or at least I used to be.”
“That’s right, you mentioned you were a retired nurse,” I lie, knowing full well she never shared this detail. Although she did mention the telemetry unit. How in the world did I let that little detail slip?
I’m really losing my touch in my old age.
She gives a proud nod. “Forty-two years devoted to healing and helping others. Most of it at Honey Hollow General Hospital. In fact, I come from such a long line of medicalprofessionals, there’s a hospital satellite location that bears my family name. There’s nothing more rewarding than a life spent in service.”
“But you didn’t help Nicholas, did you? Or Enzo, for that matter.” I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “You knew Nick on an intimate level.”
“No, I—” she tries to deny but falters under my steady gaze.
Loretta’s revelation slams into place in my mind like the last piece of a murderous jigsaw puzzle. “You killed him,” I breathe. “You killed them both! You were Nicholas’s lover for decades. He promised you part of his fortune, then changed his will to leave everything to Enzo instead.”
Stella’s grandmotherly facade cracks, revealing something hard and bitter beneath. Okay, so some grandmothers are hard and bitter, but that’s not the point.
She shakes her head my way. “Nicholas was going to expose our past financial... arrangements. Transactions that would have ruined my reputation, destroyed the respect I’ve built in this community.”
“So you poisoned his eggnog with pentobarbital,” I continue. “Then when Enzo inherited everything that should have been yours, you did the same to him. The night he died, he was at the tree lot taking pictures with Loretta, and I bet that’s where you slipped him the lethal mickey. How were you getting your hands on that drug?”
Stella lifts her chin as if she was struck. “You’re right, Effie. I did it. And I did the world a favor. Nicholas Bianchi was nothing but a lying, manipulative parasite, and the world is better without him and his greedy brother in it. And as for the drugs, let’s just say the black market has been alive and well for years—unlike the Bianchi brothers.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve killed before?”
Her eyes narrow and any pretense of warmth vanishes completely. “Nicholas and I helped certain patients end their suffering over the years. We provided services for those who wanted a dignified exit—for a fee, of course. He handled the finances; I administered the drugs. Then suddenly he grows a conscience? Threatens to confess everything, and drag my name through the mud while he walks away clean with his ‘charitable donations’ reputation intact?”
She scoffs, and it sounds as cold as the December night outside. “And Enzo? He was worse. Already planning to auction off the hospital satellite site that bears my family name to build luxury condos? Forty-two years of service to this community, and my legacy was going to be bulldozed to make room for overpriced housing. So yes, I eliminated the problem. Twice.”
Her expression shifts, calculation replacing confession. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe the North Pole is calling my name.”
Before I can react, Stella bolts like a reindeer on Red Bull, shoving past a server carrying a tray of eggnog (ironic, much?) and sending glasses flying in a festive explosion of dairy and nutmeg. And I bet not a drop of that is lactose-free.
“Stop! Christmas killer on the loose,” I shout, depositing Watson on the floor before taking off after her.
Stella moves with surprising speed for a woman her age, dodging partygoers with the agility of someone who’s spent decades navigating hospital hallways. I chase after her with my heels skidding on the polished floor as I narrowly avoid colliding with a couple doing an enthusiastic fox trot to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.”
“Sorry! Murder emergency,” I call over my shoulder as I clip the edge of the silent auction table for the “Twelve Days of Christmas” themed spa package, sending miniature golden geese flying. They skitter across the floor like feathered hockey pucks, taking down an unsuspecting Everett who tumblesinto Noah, creating a domino effect of justice system officials sprawled beneath the mistletoe.
Stella cuts through the dance floor, using elderly couples as human shields. I follow, dodging between a pair of octogenarians attempting a tango and leaping over a fallen poinsettia like an Olympic hurdler.
