Page 41 of Pumpkin Spice at a Deadly Price
We all share a laugh at that one.
Over Autumn’s shoulder, I spot a familiar figure entering the ballroom, and my heart attempts a daring escape from my ribcage that would impress even Houdini.
Killion looks devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, the formal wear emphasizing his broad shoulders and the lean strength of his frame. His dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he ran his fingers through it in that nervous habit that I find unreasonably attractive.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say to the group, already moving toward him like a compass finding north. And face it, Killion issomy north.
Cricket and Rookie materialize at my heels and follow along with the loyalty of Secret Service agents—if Secret Service agents were primarily motivated by dropped hors d’oeuvres. And let’s be honest, I bet some of them could be swayed by an hors d’oeuvres or two.
Killion’s eyes find mine across the room and his smile makes my knees temporarily forget their job description. For a moment, I almost forget the suspicion that’s been gnawing at me since I saw him with Venetta. Almost.
Killion and I close the gap between us in three seconds flat.
“You look beautiful,” he says, the sincerity in his voice threatening to melt my carefully constructed wall of doubt.
“You clean up pretty well yourself, Detective,” I manage, willing my voice to remain steady. “Although I’m not sure the criminals of Eagle County would be properly intimidated if they saw you now.”
“I don’t know.” He grins. “This bow tie feels like it could double as a weapon of mass destruction in a pinch. That or a torture device.”
We share a laugh, and for a brief moment, it feels like us again. Like the easy rhythm we had before Venetta and secrets and mysterious boxes popped up on the scene. But mostly, this is Venetta’s fault. Although if Killion is running around with her, he’s equally to blame, if not more.
And why does he have to run around with her, anyway? Why can’t he control himself?
Sure, she’s beautiful, but she’s not me.
On second thought, maybe that’s the point.
And what’s wrong withme?
Maybe I’m too busy here at the club, or maybe I’m too busy at the murder club. Or maybe he sees me for the bad luck charm I really am. Or maybe he simply doesn’t care for me prying into his gray matter. I could understand that. My little gift, or curse as it were, is asking a lot from a partner.
His expression turns serious. “Hattie, there’s something important I think we should discuss. I have something I need to tell you, something that can change things between us.”
My heart plummets faster than the temperature in Maine in January. This is it. The breakup speech. On Thanksgiving Eve. At a charity gala that I organized. In front of ice-carved champagne-defecating turkeys.
Oh geez. This isn’t at all how I envisioned this.
Wait a minute… maybe I’ve somehow accidentallymanifestedthis.
Before I can prepare myself for the blow, his phone bleats from his pocket. He grimaces, checks the screen, and sighs.
“It’s the precinct. I have to take this.” The regret in his eyes looks genuine, but at this point, I don’t know what to believe.“Promise me you won’t do anything tonight regarding the case. We’ll talk later.”
“I promise,” I say automatically, the lie slipping out with surprising ease.
He squeezes my hand, then strides away, already answering his phone in that clipped, professional tone he uses for work.
I watch him go, a hollow feeling expanding in my chest. Across the room, near the magnificent ice turkey sculpture that’s slowly dripping champagne from its rear end, I spot Meredith Thorne standing alone, examining the frozen creation with a pensive expression.
My promise to Killion echoes in my mind, but it’s quickly drowned out by the memory of his words—“something that can change things between us.”
He’s probably off talking to Venetta right now, reassuring her he’s going to break up with his girlfriend on the night before Thanksgiving, of all days. What a cad he’s turned out to be.
Well, if he can break a promise to me, then I can break a promise to him.
Decision made. I straighten my spine and adjust the bodice of my ruby gown before striding purposefully in Meredith Thorne’s direction.
After all, a turkey isn’t the only thing getting roasted this Thanksgiving.
