27
Pine Hills was covered in a white fluff that was over a foot deep. In most places, the roads were closed. Plows were working them, but it would take time.
I’d already shoveled my driveway, nearly killing myself in the process. Lance took care of his and Jules’s before going over to help Caitlin. We’d then shared hot chocolate, had a few laughs, and went back to each of our homes to lounge around in our pj’s. My muscles were sore, but I was feeling good.
The police arrived within ten minutes of Agnes’s attack on Dad. It would have been sooner if not for the snow. Lee never let Agnes go while they waited for the cops’ arrival, and then, without a word, they left with them. Detective Buchannan showed up a few minutes later, scowled about the place for a few minutes, and then sent Dad and me on our way.
Laura wasn’t thrilled when we got back, nor was Paul, who ended up leaving when his mom called him in to help sort through the mess. My dinner party was a dud, but that didn’t mean it turned out to be a bad night. A killer was apprehended, and everyone I cared about was safe. That was all that mattered.
I yawned as I stretched where I lounged on the couch. Misfit was passed out on the floor. His newest catnip toys were strewn around him, damp from constant licking. I had a mint tea rapidly cooling on the coffee table, but I didn’t have the energy to reach for it. The house was silent. I leaned my head back, content to just relax and let my snow-shoveling induced aching muscles recover.
My phone rang. I snatched it up before it could rouse the snoozing kitty.
“Hi, Dad. How are you feeling?”
“Sore.” He laughed. “How are you faring, Buttercup? Have you heard from Paul yet?”
“Not yet.” A deep, gnawing worry churned, but I wouldn’t let it get to me too much. He’d call once everything was sorted out, even if it took all of Christmas day. “How’s Laura.”
“She’s good. She’s threatened to wrap me in Bubble Wrap, but otherwise, she understands. A bad person was taken off the streets. What’s a little bruising compared to that?”
I shuddered, remembering that chisel coming down. If she hadn’t aimed for his chest, but his head . . .
“I just wanted to let you know that Laura and I won’t be stopping by until the weather improves. There’s more snow in the forecast.”
My heart sank. “Oh? But don’t you leave tomorrow?”
“Actually, no, we don’t. We’ve already cancelled our flight because of the snow. Besides, I haven’t had enough Krissy-time, and well, I plan on getting it.”
I grinned. “That’s great. What would you like to do? Now that the killer’s been caught, I don’t have anything to distract me.”
“Oh, I’ll think of something,” Dad said with a laugh. “I’ll call you later and let you know what we plan to do, all right, Buttercup? We can talk about it then.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be here.”
We clicked off. I tossed my phone onto the cushion next to me and was leaning back to catch a nap when the sound of crunching snow met my ears. Misfit’s too, because he popped up and scrambled from the room, ears pinned back in annoyance.
A peek out the window and then I was running for the door.
“Paul!” He was bundled up tight as he got out of his car. His police hat was replaced by a knit cap that looked so worn, I couldn’t imagine it kept him warm. “You came!”
“Of course, I did.” He crunched his way over to me, accepted my hug, and then let me usher him inside. “It’s Christmas.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” I said, indicating the snow. My freshly shoveled driveway was beginning to look white and indistinct again. “It’s pretty bad out there.”
“It is. But it’s not bad enough to stop me from seeing you.” He shed his coat, gloves, knit cap, and snow boots. The process took a good five minutes with a whole lot of grunts and muttered curses. When he was done, he heaved a relieved sigh, and then cursed. “Your gift! I left it in the car.”
“It can wait,” I said, stopping him before he could go through the process of putting everything back on. “Let’s just sit and talk for a bit, okay?”
He hesitated, and then nodded. “All right.”
Paul sat at the island counter while I put on some coffee. Tea was fine and all, but it couldn’t beat the comforts of a hot cup of coffee with a cookie inside.
“I should still be mad at you about last night,” he said as I dumped out my now-cold tea. “You should have waited for me.”
“I know. I really am sorry about that. You know how I get.”
He laughed. “Oh, yeah, I do. Chief called me as soon as you left the station. She warned me that you might get yourself into trouble.” It always amused me that he called his mom “Chief.”
“Hey! I don’t have a scratch on me.” Just a tiny bruise where I’d fallen when Dad had pushed me, but that was on my keister. Paul didn’t need to see that.
Yet.
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. Your dad, too. How’s he doing?”
“He’s good. It looks like he’s going to stay in town for a few extra days. With the murder, and Laura being sick for most of it, we didn’t get to spend much time together.”
“That’s good.” Paul nodded, and then thanked me when I poured him a cup of coffee and handed it over. “He still shouldn’t have taken that risk. Neither of you should have, father and daughter time or not.”
“But we got her,” I said. “I still can’t believe it was Agnes.”
Paul took a sip of coffee, set his mug aside. “She ranted and raged for quite a while at the station. She was still going by the time I got there, and didn’t wind down for an hour afterward.”
“Wow. She was pretty upset about Dad’s outfit.”
“Lee tried to take the blame for the murder. He said he should have done more, should have stepped in and stopped her. He was trying to protect Agnes this entire time. He suspected she was the one who’d killed Andrew, which was why he was so standoffish as of late. He thought he could bully people into looking the other way.”
As much as I might want to, I couldn’t fault him for that. Lee only wanted to keep his wife from harm. She might be a killer, might have been radicalized by Doris, but he still loved her.
“What about Jacob Callahan?” I asked.
“John apologized to him and sent him on his way last night. He seemed to understand, and since Becca offered to drive him home, he didn’t raise a fuss about being detained. I think he was glad it’s over more than anything.”
“That’s good.” I wondered if I’d be seeing him around Caitlin’s sometime soon. If so, I planned on checking in on him and apologizing for ever thinking he might have had something to do with the murder. “And Doris?” I asked. “From the sounds of it, it was her words that sent Agnes over the edge.”
Paul sighed. “She didn’t kill anyone, nor did she have anything to do with the threatening gifts, so there’s not much we can do.”
“She won’t get into trouble?”
“I’m afraid not.” Paul didn’t sound happy about it. “At least legal trouble. From what I’m hearing from John, Doris might have caused enough distress for the church that she’ll be asked to have her meetings somewhere else.”
It served her right. I get that she didn’t like how a lot of us celebrated the holidays, but that didn’t give her the right to hassle us for it. Words have power, and Doris had used a lot of hateful words. She should be punished. Maybe then she’d see the error of her ways and would stop hounding people who just wanted to live their lives how they saw fit, though I wasn’t holding my breath.
“Lena Allison is going to be doing some ride-alongs after the snow clears up,” Paul said, drawing me out of my thoughts.
“With you?”
He shook his head. “With Becca Garrison. Chief Dalton met with Lena and thinks she could have a future in the department. She thought having another woman show her the ropes might help her with her confidence.”
“That’s great!” Though a part of me was sad. We’d just gotten her back at Death by Coffee, and it appeared as if that return was going to be brief. “I hope it works out.”
“I’m sure it will.” A gleam came into Paul’s eye then. “You know, it’s pretty cold out there.”
“It is.”
“I was thinking . . .” He cleared his throat, stood. “I left your gift out in the car, but that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate.”
I slithered to my feet. “No, it doesn’t.”
“I thought maybe, if you were interested, I might go ahead and unwrap one of my Christmas gifts now.” He glanced back toward the tree and the pile of waiting gifts there, before turning back to me. “But not one of those.”
Heat flared through me, made my next words come out as a purr. “Only if I can unwrap one of my own.” My roving eyes told him exactly where I’d start.
“Of course.” He stepped into the living room. “Shall we begin?”
I didn’t bother speaking. Words had caused enough trouble as of late. Instead, under the flashing lights of the Christmas tree, I let my hands do all the talking.
Talk about a Merry Christmas.