Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(101)

“Shouldn’t he at least appreciate Plume? Plume never did anything to hurt him. Plume wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

“Are you sure?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Holly picked a chilli thrip from her ear.

“Maybe Plume was too Plume. Maybe Plume plumed too much.” Mary-Margaret’s voice was barely audible. It dropped to almost a whisper. “But Plume shouldn’t have to die for being Plume, should she? Since when does being perfect warrant death? Why would someone want to kill perfection?”

“I don’t know,” Holly assured her. “Plume was just doing what plumes do. They plume.” What in the hell-o kitty are we talking about?

And then Holly saw him: Jack. Car blinker signaling a right turn into the bakery parking lot. He waved as he pulled into a parking space about fifty feet away.

“Mary-Margaret.” Holly spoke quickly, grabbing her by the arms to peer into her eyes as Holly asked her next question. “Do you know anything about this? Are you behind any of this?”

“What?” Mary-Margaret’s voice was high pitched, a bit squeaky. She sounded utterly confused and a bit surprised by what Holly was asking.

So Holly clarified. “My husband has been investigating your husband.”

“What? Why?”

“Your husband used my husband’s law firm to set up an offshore shell company.”

“What?”

“Your husband is laundering money through an offshore shell company. He’s committing insurance fraud.”

“What?”

Jack turned his engine off, closed his driver’s side door, and paused a moment to check his phone.

Holly needed to make a decision. Fast. “Mary-Margaret. Did you know about the chilli thrip shipment?”

“No,” she whimpered. “At least, I don’t think so . . .”

“What? What does that mean? Did you know or didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what I know,” Mary-Margaret whined, her exasperation with the matter made quite clear. “I thought I overheard something about a block of ABBA memorabilia, but he never tells me anything. And the chilli thrips? I suspected there was something shady going on, but whenever I asked, he always had the perfect excuse. He’s on the board of directors for the Topiary Park. I figured that’s how he knew about them. But—”

“But what?”

Mary-Margaret assumed a defensive posture, folding both arms across her chest—presumably in an attempt to put a barrier between herself and what she was about to say. She confessed in a hushed whisper, “I knew the pace of our spending outpaced his income, but I also knew I needed an addition built on the house for a mudroom.” Her eyes, doe-like and submissive, blinked at Holly. “So when I asked if we had the money to build the addition, he said yes, of course, he’d take care of it. And when I asked how, he said don’t worry about it. So I reached out to our architect and had the plans drawn up. But Holly,” Mary-Margaret added, an earnest look on her face, “I love Plume. I do. I would never want something like this to happen to her.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Holly, hands signaling a time-out. “You weren’t a part of any of this, but you knew something weird was going on, but you didn’t ask questions—because you wanted a mudroom?”

“Oh, no, no, no. That’s not it at all. I didn’t want a mudroom. I needed a mudroom.”

Holly, stunned. Jack, fast approaching.

“Well, it’s not my fault,” Mary-Margaret whined. “The homes on Hopscotch Hill are old. They didn’t build mudrooms back then, and I needed more room for backpacks. I needed built-ins—like the kind you see in the Pottery Barn catalog. I needed cubbies and brushed nickel hooks for hanging a stylish rain jacket when it rains. You’ve seen their catalog. Where will I put my boots if I don’t have a copper boot tray to hold them? It’s not my fault,” she said again. “I’m a mom. All moms need a stylish mudroom.” She reached out to touch Holly’s arm—to connect with her, to see each other, eye to eye. Woman to woman. Mom to mom. “You understand, don’t you?”

Jack was twenty feet away. He’d be here any second. He’d see what was left of the chilli thrips in the trunk. He’d see the invoice. He’d know it was My Love—and Mary-Margaret’s homelife would be ruined. What should I do? What should I do?

When Mary-Margaret placed her hand across her left breast, when she started pointing over and over at her left breast, Holly worried Mary-Margaret knew she’d used her left breast to hide a camera these past few days. That Holly had tried to exploit her so she could launch a career in film at the Wilhelm Klaus Film Festival. But instead, Mary-Margaret hung her head and whispered, hand still patting her left breast. “My Love. My Love! Had I known—maybe I could have stopped him. Oh, Holly. I feel so betrayed.” She spoke softly. “Me, Mary-Margaret St. James, I used to feel hip, hip! Now I feel drip, drip. It’s true,” she said with a sniffle. “I’ve lost the ‘hooray’ in my heart.” And with that, a single tear from the Pink Witch fell.

Holly slammed the trunk, snatched the invoice from Mary-Margaret’s hand, and shoved it into her back pocket. “I’ll protect you. But don’t say a word, you hear?”