Here’s my chance. Something is definitely going on between her and Killion. The secret meetings, the knowing smiles, the mysterious “business” that keeps drawing them together. It alladds up to one inescapable conclusion—Killion Major Maddox might know to hide his thoughts from me, but Venetta Brandt doesn’t.
I’m about to get to the bottom of this the old-fashioned way—prying into someone else’s gray matter.
“I’m always on the guest list, honey.” She gives a cheeky wink. “Plus, Killion was kind enough to mention the event. We’ve been spending quite a bit of time together as of late.”
My stomach does a revolution. “Is that so?” I try to act as if I didn’t realize it, as if I wasn’t crestfallen at the thought, but I can’t seem to pull it off.
“Mm-hmm.” Her smile has all the warmth of a shark eyeing a wounded seal. “We make quite the team. He has such discerning taste.”
Not too discerning if he’s running around with you, I want to say but don’t.
Somewhere from the vicinity of my feet comes a low growl that I hope only I can hear.
I don’t like her,Cricket announces with her fur visibly bristling.She smells like deceit and cheap perfume.
Can I bite her?Rookie asks with a hopeful look on his adorable face.Just a little nip. Nothing that would require stitches. Maybe.
I shake my head his way, before manufacturing a smile for Venetta.
“I’m sure you two have had a lot to discuss,” I say, striving for a tone that doesn’t reveal how much I want to dump the nearest ice sculpture over her head—rear end first.
Venetta’s smile widens, revealing teeth so white they probably glow in the dark. “Oh, we’ve discussed many things.” She leans in, her perfume enveloping me like a toxic cloud. “In fact, I should find him. We have some business to take care of tonight.”
“Tonight?” My voice squeaks pathetically at the thought.
“That’s right.Toodles,” she sings with a wiggle of her fingers that looks like she’s casting a spell (possibly one designed to make me spontaneously combust) as she sashays through the crowd.
I watch her go with a cold certainty settling in my chest. Well, there’s that. They are definitely together, or at least doingsomethingtogether—tonight of all nights.
I scan the room, determined to find Killion so that I can do the only thing I can—break up with him first to save face. I’m halfway across the ballroom, moving with the single-minded determination of someone who’s both heartbroken and slightly buzzed from a single glass of champagne when I collide with a solid mass of expensive cologne and a finely tailored tuxedo.
“Oh sorry!” I exclaim, looking up to find Oliver Prescott steadying me with a concerned expression.
“Not to worry,” he says smoothly, his silver fox charm dialed to maximum. “In fact, I was about to track you down.”
“You were?”
He nods, glancing around as if checking that we won’t be overheard. “I just remembered why the Harvest Moon Maple Pumpkin Spice Cake sounded familiar to me last night. It wasn’t Meredith who was serving it. It was Autumn.”
My brain snaps to attention like a bloodhound catching a scent. “Autumn Harrington? From Sunrise & Cinnamon?”
“Exactly. Venetta mentioned something to me the day of the Pumpkin Palooza about someone swiping her prized recipe, and that’s why she was suing the pants off the woman.” His expression clouds slightly. “But we never got further into that topic because I tried to woo Vivian back instead, and we got to opening old wounds, and, well, she told me where I could put my apologies.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, trying to organize the information flooding my brain. “Are you saying Autumn stole the recipe from Vivian? And thatVivianwas going to sueAutumn? That’s contrary to everything I’ve heard so far.”
Oliver shrugs, the gesture elegant even in its casualness. “I’d take Vivian’s words with a grain of salt. I never knew what to believe out of her mouth. But she did seem passionate about it. Most people don’t get that worked up over a lie.”
He excuses himself to join a group of food critics by the bar, leaving me standing alone with a head full of conflicting theories.
Something about his story doesn’t add up. If Vivian claimed Autumn stole her recipe, but Autumn was thinking about Vivian stealing from her... someone is lying. And in my experience, liars often have something more significant to hide. Or maybe I just misinterpreted Autumn’s thoughts.
I pull out my phone and do a quick Google search on Autumn Harrington. What I find sends a chill up my spine—a piece of information so unexpected, so perfectly incriminating, that I almost drop my phone in shock.
I glance around the room, but I’m not scouring it for Killion anymore. I’m convinced I’ve found the killer.
And she’s currently serving canapés to the mayor less than ten feet away.
HATTIE
