Page 20 of Christmas Mittens Murder

Woody leaned back against the wall of the warehouse and exhaled, popping out another cigarette from his pack. “I was afraid if she knew, she might file for divorce and I could lose the beautiful house I broke my back building for the two of us when we got married. A cheating spouse isn’t exactly a good look in any kind of tough divorce negotiations. I was so worried Esther might slip at some point and give Helen the opportunity to take me to the cleaners.”

He lit the cigarette and took a long, thoughtful puff.

“That habit will kill you.”

Woody laughed derisively. “Which is probably why Helen never pestered me to quit.”

Hayley could not help but laugh, then her face got serious. “You know, you just admitted to a motive.”

Woody continued to suck on his cigarette. “What are you talking about? A motive for what?”

“Murdering Esther.”

“Hayley, are you crazy? Why would I want to murder Esther? We were dating. Sort of.”

“You just said you were living in fear that Esther might leak the affair to Helen and you couldn’t risk losing your precious Cape-style home.”

“No! I adored Esther! She made me laugh. We had a good thing going. I didn’t want it to end. You can’t imagine what went through my head when I saw her lying there in the cold—”

“Wait, when did you see the body?”

Woody nervously pursed his lips. “Huh?”

“The police kept everyone inside the church once I discovered the body. Forensics was all over the place. You never had an opportunity to see Esther’s corpse unless you saw it before I did!”

“I didn’t kill her, Hayley, I swear! I went outside for a smoke during the bazaar and nearly tripped over poor Esther. I was in shock. I saw that knitting needle sticking out of her chest, and my first thought was Helen. I figured she must have somehow found out about us and the two of them got into some kind of scuffle and Helen stabbed her.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I don’t know. I was terrified. What would happen to Helen? I mean, we may live our own lives now, but she’s still my wife. I couldn’t bear her going to prison. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wanted to do something to throw the cops off her scent.”

The truth suddenly dawned on Hayley. “So you went back inside the church, pilfered one of Betty Dyer’s Christmas mittens, and stuffed it in Esther’s mouth so the police would direct their attention toward Betty instead of Helen!”

“I’m not proud of it, but I’ve always despised that mouthy busybody Betty Dyer. I don’t care about what happens to her,” he growled. “After you discovered Esther’s body, I went to see Helen, and I saw how shaken and upset she was, which surprised me. She was truly broken up over losing Esther, so I just assumed it was all for naught, that she was still in the dark about the affair and my secret died with Esther. I had nothing to worry about.”

He blew smoke in Hayley’s direction. Annoyed, she waved it away with her hand.

He shrugged. “Sorry, smoking calms my nerves.”

“Well then, perhaps you better swing by the Big Apple and stock up on a few more cartons.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you may be off the hook for Esther’s murder, but you intentionally interfered with a crime scene, which means you’re about to be in a whole world of trouble.”

She almost enjoyed saying it.

Especially when he began coughing and choking on the smoke from his own cigarette.

Hayley spun around and marched back toward the car, determined more than ever to dig up whatever other secrets the people around Esther Willey were desperately trying to bury alongside her.

Chapter Ten

When Hayley blew through the door to the Island Times office, her previous place of employment before leaving to open Hayley’s Kitchen, her old boss, editor-in-chief Sal Moretti, was standing at the coffee station, slurping down a mug of coffee before spitting it out and bellowing to no one in particular, “If I wanted it cold, I would’ve added some ice cubes! How hard is it to make a pot of hot coffee?”

Hayley shut the door behind her, startling Sal and causing him to spill a few drops of coffee on the front of his shirt. She winced as he gave her the once-over.

“Well, well, well, look who has decided to come grace us with her shining presence! The highfalutin restaurateur!”

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