A Christmas to Dismember Addison Moore (feel good books TXT) 📖

I do the only thing I can. I drop trou and do the world’s fastest quick change into a red skimpy Mrs. Claus outfit of my own.

An army of women in red and green attack me at once, pulling my hair back, painting my lips. One of them even adheres a Santa hat with a bell to my scalp. And judging by the way she dug those hairpins in, there’s no hope of this bad boy ever coming off. I hope Jasper likes the color red because things are going to be festive for quite some time.

A whistle blows, and the girls all fall into single file before trotting out onto stage.

Arthur’s brother claps his hands as he does his best to herd the stray girls around the four corners of the room.

“Let’s go. Let’s go!” he shouts. “Break a leg! All of you.”

I cringe just hearing him say it, and watch as he heads off to the side of the stage with them.

A raucous applause breaks out in the distance, and I’m guessing it’s showtime.

A woman in red and green comes up clapping my way.

“Get, get,” she shouts while pointing to the stage.

“I can’t go out there.” Think—quick! “I don’t have shoes.”

“Good grief.” The stalky brunette looks genuinely panicked. “What size?”

“Seven and a half,” I say as she zips off, and I do the same. Only I’m not headed for the stage. I’m headed straight for my number one suspect. The exact man who was missing right after the murder. And I’m going to find out exactly where he went and why. But I think I already know the answer to both of those questions.

I glance down at his hands and huff at the sight of them. I’m betting an axe would fit in them nicely. And speaking of fit, he looks as if he can bench-press both Quinn Bennet and me. I say he’s plenty strong enough to have wielded those fatal blows.

He glances up from his phone and does a double take my way.

“Can I help you?’ He offers an affable smile, and a part of me can’t help but like him.

Figures. He’s one of those charming killers, the kind that’s extra nice to you just before he brings down the fatal blow.

“I’m just waiting for my shoes,” I say as I inch my way toward him. “Hey, don’t I know you?” Asking that question has landed me some of the most noteworthy of suspects in my sleuthing career.

His brows hike a notch. “I’m not sure. But you’ve probably seen me around. I don’t know how many of these shows I’ve been to, I’ve lost count. My brother and I are pretty close. I like to support him in all of his endeavors.” Especially the ones that involve almost nude beautiful women.

I make a face at him. “That’s awfully nice.” Somewhat. I couldn’t get my sister to come along to see the show, let alone hang out backstage for two hours bored out of her mind while she waited for it to end. Score one for Arthur in the supportive sibling department. “But I think I do recognize you. Weren’t you at the Country Cottage Inn the other night? At the Christmas showcase thrown by Quinn Bennet?”

His eyes enlarge for a moment when I say Quinn’s name. It was a visceral reaction, that’s for sure, but then I supposed just about anyone could have had it.

“Arthur Silver.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it.

“Bizzy Baker.” I decide to omit my brand new last name in the event it sparks to mind the lead detective that’s after him. “I run the inn.”

“Ah.” His brows hike with amusement. “So you’re the manager there. I’m Quinn’s accountant. Or I suppose I should say, I was his accountant.” He winces. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that. It’s as if it isn’t real. Quinn spent most of his time in England, and to be honest, I’m used to not having him around.”

A sigh expels from me. “Same here. I feel as if I didn’t even get a moment with him that night. Before I knew it, he was gone.”

“It’s terrible. What a horrific way to go. I hope they catch the beast who did this to him.”

“Oh, they will.” I lean my ear his way in hopes to pick up on some errant thought floating through his mind, but so far there’s zippo. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a part of the Silver Collective where I send all of my monthly expenses and invoices, would you?”

He belts out a warm laugh. “And don’t forget your payroll, too.”

“Oh wow”—a genuine smile comes to my face—“and here I thought you were a bunch of robots over there. That’s amazing. What a small world. So did you take care of all of Quinn’s holdings?”

“Not all. Just the inn and a few smaller properties he needed managed. That’s the nice thing about the inn. You were there to manage it for me. Quinn asked me to do it initially, and I did for about three months before I cried uncle. It looks easy enough, but once you get into the day-to-day drudgery, we’re talking hard labor. So I gave him the heads-up and he hired someone right out the gate—eye candy he called her. He said she’d be good to drive in traffic with the twenty to sixty age demographic.”

“That’s quite a spread,” I say, completely unamused.

He waves it off. “That was about six years ago. When did you start up there?”

“About six years ago.”

We share another warm laugh, and I’m actually enjoying being in his company. If he asked me to hand him a nearby axe, I’d probably do it.

I lean in a notch. “So did you get a chance to speak with him that night?” I’ll admit, it feels as if Arthur has suddenly morphed into an old friend. In a way he’s more than an acquaintance—we shared the same boss.

Arthur closes his eyes a moment too long.