Page 228 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Should I answer it?”

“Dear, there are three cars in the driveway,” Dottie says. “I expect they’ll know someone is home.”

She seems completely unfussed by the whole thing, as if she doesn’t realize it might be frowned upon to give unwitting people sedating tea. Still, she’s not wrong. Someone, or rather three someones, is obviously home. I exchange a look with Jace, who gives a tight nod.

Turning back to Dottie, I ask, “Dottie, can you please check on Aidan? Make sure he doesn’t come out here.”

“Of course, my dear. I’ll have him sleeping in no time.”

I flinch. “Do not, under any circumstances, give him that tea.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Oh no, I’d never do that. That tea is for people whose red energy is off the charts. Aidan’s energy is a lovely blue.”

I’m not totally comforted by that, but I’m running short on options at the moment.

Jace lifts a hand to my cheek. “If it’s someone looking for Glenn, let me talk to them.”

I start shaking my head before he finishes. “I’m the lawyer. And if he tries to pull something, I’myourlawyer.”

He gives a small smile, even as the knocking on the door turns into an annoyed pounding. “I think they call that a conflict of interest.”

“Probably,” I say. Then, because I have no idea what we’re walking into, I lean forward and kiss him. When I break away, I inhale deeply and walk to the door. Opening it to…

“Nicole?” I ask in shock. She’s wearing a blond wig, possibly the same one she had on at her wedding.

I haven’t heard a single word from her this past week—not even in response to my text asking for her home address so I could forward her present. Her silence didn’t faze me, honestly. Given the way she and Damien carried on after their wedding, I figured they’d be busy on their honeymoon.

“You should try answering your phone,” she says with plenty of attitude, as if she hasn’t been sitting on two unanswered texts from me.

“Have you been trying to call me?” I ask, baffled by her sudden appearance, piled on top of the whole Glenn snafu.

“For half an hour,” she says, lifting her phone out of her pocket, face forward. I’m not sure what she intended to show me—all I see is a very graphic photo of her and Damien making out—but I step aside when she barrels ahead. I glance around outside, seeing the outline of her car at the end of the long driveaway, and shut the door behind her.

Two steps in, she sees Glenn on the couch. “Oh shit, you already killed him?”

“What? No! No one’s killing anyone. He’s asleep. He…”

“He was upset,” Jace says, “and the officiant from your wedding gave him a sedative tea.”

It’s a perplexing statement, but Nicole shrugs it off as if he’d made a comment about the weather. “Good. I’m glad he’s not dead. It would have really fucked up my plans.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, suddenly overwhelmed by all of it. “Haven’t you and Damien been away on your honeymoon?”

“We spent it in Washington, D.C.,” she says with a sharp-toothed smile. “With several detours to Northern Virginia.”

It takes me a good five seconds to connect the dots. Her location. The wig. That smile.

“You’ve been following Glenn around?” I ask in shock.Thisis what she chose to do on her honeymoon? I honestly don’t knowwhether to be touched or weirded out. Then, because the former emotion wins out, I add, “Did you find anything?”

She reaches into the crossbody bag slung over her shoulder and pulls out a thick manila folder. Shoving it into my hands, she says, “Merry Christmas, Mary.”

Jace clears his throat. “Is it illegal? Whatever he was doing?”

“Prostitution is still illegal in forty-nine out of fifty states,” she says. “Better yet, it would beveryembarrassing for an uptight jackwad like him if the truth came out.”

I crinkle my face in disgust. “How long has he been doing it?”

It doesn’t matter anymore—my tests all came back clean—but for some reason, I still want to know. Maybe because I still grieve for the unhappy woman who thought she was stuck in that marriage, that life.

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