Ho Ho Homicidal Maniac (Murder and Mistletoe #2)

Chapter 2

Nico

“Welcome in December, you know what time it is...” says my favorite true-crime podcaster, Cryptic Boy Wonder, and since I know exactly what’s coming, I finish the sentence with him.

“It’s time for the Christmas Killer!”

I hang a big red bauble on the Christmas tree to replace the one a customer broke earlier today. I don’t mind. It happens. People rush around when December starts, eager to get decorations and gifts from my shop. If anything, I’m surprised this Tuesday evening is so slow and I might get to close on time for once.

It’s for the better, because I do need to work out what to do with my prisoner downstairs.

For now though, I will indulge in the soft, warm voice of the podcaster who is very excited to talk about me . Is it a little self-involved to listen about crimes I know better than he ever could? Yes, but it’s my little indulgence when I’m alone in my Christmas kingdom. And aren’t the holidays all about being gay ?

“But you know what I always say: There’s no sugarcoating murder!” Cryptic Boy Wonder’s soft voice says into my ear. “This festive season, I will chronologically discuss each murder, since the early twentieth century to the present. I’ve invited special guests, who have their own theories as to when the original killer might have been first replaced by a copycat, but to me it’s clear that the frequency of murders changed within the past decade, going from them occurring every now and then in December to a pattern of at least one victim every year.”

I step back to admire the tree, which is a focal point of the store. Thanks to the tall ceiling, it can dwarf every other decoration, reaching all the way to the second floor, and I love it that way. I’m a traditionalist at heart. Maybe it’s because I was brought up by my granddad, or because whimsy gives my heart the warm fuzzies, but even my more avant-garde craft projects have a touch of nostalgia.

I inherited my shop from my grandfather (along with the Christmas Killer persona, but that’s another story). I sense his spirit with me in the warm, twinkling lights, the glass counter he made himself, the words we both carved in the wooden wall behind the counter. The original fireplace had to be replaced with a fake one that is a projection for safety reasons, but I installed a heater inside so that the interior is as toasty as a marshmallow between two crackers.

My shop is an all-year-round Christmas paradise. Sometimes, I sit in the armchair by the bookshelves after closing time, drinking spiced hot chocolate and knitting by the fireplace, because the store feels like home. Perhaps even more so than my small apartment upstairs.

I’m about to lock the doors for the night when a girl of around ten runs in ahead of her mother. I bow toward her, matching my movements to the jolly music streaming from speakers hidden in wreaths of artificial holly. I pause my podcast just as Cryptic Boy Wonder rasps the phrase “Bloody murder” straight into my ear.

Rawr .

“Merry Christmas! Are you out helping your mom with shopping?” I ask the girl, who grins at me so sweetly I wish I could pinch her frost-flushed cheeks. Her red hat and coat are covered with fresh snow as she crosses the threshold, but it starts melting in the warm shop. Maybe someday, I can pass the mantle of the Christmas Killer to a kid of my own. For now though, my role is to brighten the faces of all children and adults alike, so I offer her a small candy-cane.

“Good evening, Nico,” Mrs. Pratchett says before reminding her daughter to say thank you. “Sorry, I meant to come in earlier, but you know how it is in December.”

I offer her a friendly smile. “Don’t worry, the store’s still open. What are you looking for?”

“Oh, I’ll be back before Christmas, but I wanted some of that gingerbread loaf. It’s Roger’s favorite.”

I smile at her and rush to the counter. “Good thing I kept one just in case.” In all honesty, I was intending to eat it myself for dinner, but I’m getting more delivered tomorrow, and I know she’ll appreciate it. If I had a husband, I’d also treat him to the finest artisan baked goods.

“Is that Rudolf?” the daughter asks, pointing to my sweater .

I’m very tall, so I squat to meet her eyes. “I’m not sure, but maybe if you boop his nose, we’ll find out.” I glance at the mother to make sure it’s okay, and she grins at me.

When the girl pushes the pompom my sweater has in place of the reindeer's nose, the tiny mechanism built in there plays the melody of ‘Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer’, and both my customers laugh.

“Nico! That’s the most ridiculous sweater I’ve seen you wear yet,” Mrs. Pratchett says as I move on to wrapping her loaf in decorative paper. That extra touch of Christmas magic is what keeps my little shop afloat all year round.

That and the Christmas Killer merch.

“And December is just getting started.” I wink at her.

“Will you be spending the holidays with someone special this year?” she asks, and yes, it’s nosey, but everyone in Blue Grove is a little bit nosey. That’s the small-town charm. It does make my side gig tricky at times, but I’ve got enough experience to manage.

I shake my head with a smile. “This is the busiest time of the year, I hardly have the time for that.” Even though I might be stuck with an unexpected guest for much longer than either of us anticipated. Should I bring him a candy cane to sweeten his new reality?

She sighs as she pays for the gingerbread loaf. “You’re so handsome, Nico, it’s a shame.”

The girl stands on her toes to see me over the counter, her expression serious. “Maybe you should wear an elegant shirt, like my daddy.”

Mrs. Pratchett shushes her. “That’s enough, Caroline, we took too much of Nico’s time already.”

I’m blushing at the compliment. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not wishing you a Merry Christmas just yet, because we will be back before the twenty-fifth!” she says on her way out of the door, and the bells above it jingle when they leave.

I wave at them and lock my store before facing the warm interior full of colorful treats and decorations arranged on wooden shelves. My gaze is drawn to my little Pride at Christmas corner, where a set of hot guy-themed baubles hangs from a rainbow tree. One of them is a Santa’s elf, and I can’t help but think back to my reluctant guest, who’s wearing the exact same outfit as the boy depicted on the trinket—tight green shorts, a shirt that reveals his chest, and candy cane stripe stockings. Could this be a sign that I might just have someone to kiss under the mistletoe this year?

We’ll have to find out, but at least it’s clear we both love Christmas.

I switch off the lights and head to my apartment first, to prepare enough hot chocolate to fill a large thermos. I then make a sandwich with turkey and all the trimmings and put both into a basket along with some other treats. My guest must be starving after a whole day on his own. The poor thing had a terrible night, and while I can’t let him go, since he saw my face, we did get off on the wrong foot. I’m not his enemy, even though it might seem like that to him right now.

And a part of me wants to earn his smile, despite the unfortunate way we met. What can I say? He’s exactly my type with that boyish face dusted with more freckles than there are stars in the sky, and the lean body of a runner. His dark locks are cut into short layers, giving him a youthful appearance, and while I was tempted to touch his pouty lips and lean closer to smell his minty cologne, I didn’t touch him in any way that wasn’t strictly necessary in order to move him from Tooley’s murder basement. I’ve been the perfect gentleman.

I might be a serial killer, but I have standards.

On the topic of standards, I am frustrated by what he must have woken up to by now, as it’s in no way the kind of space I would like him to experience. I grab a fresh blanket on the way down to Santa’s little secret, as my granddad liked to call it. The sprawling hidden lair under the regular basement of the shop is where the real Christmas magic happens.

I stop in my tracks in the stock room and leave everything I’ve been carrying to go back and change. While I might enjoy Blake’s sexy elf costume, I want to make the best impression possible after last night’s fiasco, so a dark burgundy shirt it is.

As I open the secret passage behind the old wardrobe at the back of the stockroom, I remember how he looked yesterday when he pointed that gun at me. Terrified, yes, but also determined, beautifully flushed. I bet that deep down, he realized I was his savior and appreciated my presence. He was just too frightened to understand the situation.

I descend the stairs with my heart beating faster.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve had a date.