The women cackle, but my mind drifts as they continue with their gossip. I can’t believe that my hit is Lorenzo “Enzo” Bianchi.
Uncle Jimmy wants me to take out an octogenarian who’s engaged to my boyfriend’s sister. Talk about awkward family dinners in my future—assuming I have a future after Cooper discovers I whacked his potential brother-in-law. But let’s be fair, he doesn’t have all that many years left to begin with.
Kidding. Sort of.
And speaking of families and awkward family dinners… Just a couple of weeks ago, my own Nona Jo made some oddball toast to Cooper and me regarding our blossoming relationship and the fact she expects some Italian heirs in the very near future. And once that dicey diatribe was over, she said, ”I’ve got another surprise for the two of you at the Velvet Fox Hotel down in Leeds. I’m not telling you what day or what time. Just know I’m cooking up something so big, it might take months to prepare. One thing is for sure, it’s going to go off without a hitch. I’ll give you the heads-up twenty-four hours before the big day. Be there or be dead.”
I’m not sure what that tiny Italian tornado has brewing, but it’s definitely not her espresso. However, if I did have a cup of her espresso handy, I bet I could solve the mystery. Everyone knows you can see your future in the muck left over at the bottom of some good Italian coffee.
The bell chimes again, and this time a small crowd wanders in, shaking off snow and stamping their boots. Among them is a quasi-familiar-looking woman that I’m pretty sure I recognize from last night.
Stella Martinelli walks in looking every bit the warm grandmother type with her silver-streaked dark hair and a festive sweater featuring a Christmas tree with actual 3D ornaments dangling from the knit branches. She makes her way to the counter, her deceptively sweet demeanor firmly in place.
“Good morning, dear,” she says to me. “Could I get a box of mixed donuts? I’m bringing them to the Jolly Holly Tree Lot this morning.” Her eyes twinkle with grandmotherly charm that feels like Christmas personified. If someone told me she was the real deal Mrs. Claus, I’d believe them.
“Coming right up,” I say, selecting an assortment from the case. “Rough night last night, huh? Do you know what happened to poor Nicholas?”
Stella’s smile falters for a microsecond before reappearing. “Oh, that poor man. I guess it must have been a natural demise. At that age, anything can happen.”
Carlotta nods from her perch at the counter. “Having that many sugared-up kids in your midst could do just about anyone in. It’s a shocker more folks didn’t drop dead last night, what with all the little yippers running free.”
Lottie rolls her eyes. “Please, ignore her.” She slides another box of donuts across the counter to Stella. “Two baker’s dozen,” she says. “And since it’s for the Jolly Holly Tree Lot, it’s on the house.”
Stella thanks her profusely, clutching the box as if it was filled with gold rather than a bunch of fried dough.
Lottie leans toward the woman. “Did you happen to sense anything unusual with Nicholas last night?”
Stella exhales a sigh. “I wouldn’t know. But Holly Bellini might have an idea. She was pretty close to the man.”
I offer a covert nod to my sassy boss. She really is the expert when it comes to connecting the dots in a homicide case.
Niki tips an ear toward the woman, about as subtle as a reindeer with a spotlight. “Where, pray tell, could a certain someone find Holly Bellini? You know, if they wanted to question her about a certain dead Santa.”
I shoot her a look. Smooth,realsmooth, sis.
Stella collects her box of treats and her brow furrows as she considers the question. “Oh, Idoknow where you can find Holly. She’s an event planner, and she mentioned that she was also overseeing some Christmas festival out in Fallbrook. She said something about having to be on her feet all day.” She secures the donut boxes to her chest, wishes us all a merry Christmas, and shuffles out into the snow like a holiday-themed secret agent with a bakery payload.
The moment the door closes, Niki spins toward me and her eyes are bright with the kind of excitement usually reserved for clearance sales or free dessert.
“A Christmas festival in Fallbrook?” she practically gags on the words. “We have to go! There might be an entire herd of hot Santas just waiting to be discovered!” She fans herself at the thought. “After all, now that one Santa is out of commission, we need to make sure the Christmas spirit stays alive.”
“Honey, I’ll drink to that.” Carlotta raises her peppermint mocha. “Nothing says Merry Christmas like a man with a beard and a big bag full of goodies.”
“And we’re not talking about toys,” Aunt Cat adds with a wink that makes me wish brain bleach was a real thing.
Lottie shrugs. “Go on and get out of here, Effie. I think you have some Christmas shopping to catch up on.” She winks my way.
She’s not wrong. The big day is less than a week away, and I’ve been too busy dodging bullet points on Uncle Jimmy’s hit list to actually tackle mygiftlist.
“Fine,” I concede, untying my apron. “But this is strictly a reconnaissance mission. We’re looking for Holly Bellini, not auditioning replacements for last night’s expired Santa.”
“Of course.” Niki nods solemnly before breaking into a grin. “But if we happen to find ourselves surrounded by men in red suits, well... I think we’ll just call it a Christmas miracle.”
I grab my coat and can’t help but wonder what twisted holiday movie I’ve found myself starring in. ’Tis the season to be jolly—unless you’re Santa Claus. Then ’tis the season to end up face-first in my peppermint pinwheels before taking your last candy cane ride to the great North Pole in the sky.
And now I’m supposed to help Lorenzo “Enzo” Bianchi book the same one-way sleigh ride.Ho, ho, homicide, indeed.
I button up my coat, mentally calculating how many suspects I’ll need to cross off my list before I can unwrap the truth about Nicholas’s death. Because one thing is becoming crystal clear—someone decided to give Santa an early retirement, and it wasn’t me.
