Page 19 of Little Merry Murder

“Torn up.”

“The police think he killed her.”

She stopped, bent down, and tied her shoe.

Then she faced me.

“I know what they think, and I’ll tell you right now, they have it all wrong,” she said. “Owen’s the kindest, gentlest soul I’ve ever known. You better find out who did it, because it wasn’t him.”

Nadia pivoted and then took off toward her house, leaving me standing there, thinking about what she’d just said about Owen being a kind, gentle soul.

She may have wanted me to believe she saw the affair as a temporary one, but she sure didn’t sound like someone who wanted the affair to be over.

CHAPTER 12

I woke at a little after two in the morning, finding myself in a house I didn’t recognize. I sat up and looked around, my eyes coming to rest on a silver lamp on the nightstand. It was switched on. I was still wearing my 1930s vintage, floor-length, black negligee I’d put on right after the bath I’d taken, but I was in someone else’s house, which meant … I was in a dream.

Where was I, and whose house was I in?

A framed wedding photo hanging on the wall gave me my answer.

I was in Owen and Claire’s house.

I pushed the blanket to the side, stood, and entered the hallway, following the sound of music to the den. When I walked in, I noticed the source of the sound was coming from a record player. The tune playing was “Christmas Time Again My Friend,” by Mac Powell.

As I glanced around the room, I saw a bare Christmas tree, real pine. There were open boxes resting beside it, filled with various ornaments, tinsel, and ribbons, all waiting to adorn the tree. But no one had found the time to do it yet.

Sitting next to the tree was a woman surrounded by bottles of cologne. She picked up one of the bottles, held it to her nose, and breathed it in, humming along to the song.

I approached her, and she looked up.

“Hello, Claire,” I said.

“Hello.”

“I’m Georgiana, a private investigator.”

The song ended, and the record player went quiet. I offered to put another record on, and she said, “No thanks, I think I’ve heard enough Christmas music for one day.”

“Mind if I sit down?”

“You can if you like.”

I took a seat next to her and pointed at one of the bottles of cologne. “You bought a lot of these.”

“Yeah, I guess I did. Funny, I only remember buying one.”

“Is it for your husband?”

She stared at me for a time and then said, “Of course, who else?”

Now for a harder question. “Do you remember what happened the night you wrapped these presents?”

“Not all of it. This moment, here and now, has been playing over and over in a loop, except this is the first time you’ve been here. I’m dead. I know that much. I’m not surprised, you know. I thought it might happen.”

“Why?”

“I just did.”

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