Death By Chocolate 6 (Mystery and Women Sleuths) (Josiah Reynolds Mysteries) by Abigail Keam

a bullet hole in my head but she took me to a hospital instead and even left money to pay for the bill.” Neff held out the money. “I walked out, bandaged myself and then came here.”
    Neff stepped closer while fingering the gun in his coat pocket . . . just in case O’nan tried something funny. “I’m done.”
    “We had a deal.”
    “Look, you stupid bastard, I don’t want to do anything that hurts Josiah. I must have been out of my head with jealousy but I’m thinking straight now.” Neff flung the car keys at O’nan.
    “You can’t walk out on me.”
    “Asa Reynolds has tapes of us talking at Al’s Bar. I’m not going to prison for you, buddy-boy,” sneered Neff. “You want Josiah Reynolds, then get her yourself.”
    Neff started to walk away, but stopped and turned. “I’ll give you a piece of advice since you’re so thick-skulled. If you want to get Josiah Reynolds, you’ll have to take out Asa Reynolds first. Otherwise that daughter of hers will hunt you down until the end of her days.” Neff laughed. “But the point is moot ’cause you couldn’t take down a rabbit let alone those two broads. They’re too tough.”
    Neff tugged at his coat collar against the cold wind. “Yep. I’d say those two are damned near invincible.”
    Laughing, Neff walked into the dark, leaving O’nan standing seething under a streetlight.

33
    I was wrapping Christmas presents when Matt dragged the artificial tree out from its cupboard and began putting it together.
    “With all the pine trees on this farm, we have this hideous aluminum job instead of a real Christmas tree.”
    “That tree is from the ’50s and was my mother’s,” I reminded Matt.
    He began assembling the motorized wheel that flashed four different colors onto the tree. “This thing belongs in a museum.”
    “And what a treat it is that we have it to ourselves.”
    Asa strode into the room. “That ugly thing again? Why can’t we have a real Christmas tree instead of that ratty old thing?”
    “I beg your pardon, little missy. My mother’s tree is in mint condition. Matt, if you want a pine tree in your house, cut down anything on the farm you want. I’ve got plenty of ornaments you can use.”
    “Nah. Don’t have the room. Besides, I like to complain about this tree. It’s become a holiday tradition.”
    Franklin walked in from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn. “I think it looks scrumptious. It’s so mid-century. It’s perfect for the Butterfly.” He looked anxiously at the wrapped presents. “Are any of those for me? I hope. I hope. I hope. I hope.”
    I pushed one with my toe. “That one might have your name on it.”
    Franklin rushed to pick it up but Asa beat him to it.
    She gave it a quick rattle.
    “Stop it!” cried Franklin as he grabbed the package away from her. “You might break something.”
    Asa gave a short laugh. “I already know what it is and it’s not breakable.”
    “Oh,” pouted Franklin. “I was hoping it was a crystal bowl to match the vase I snatched from your mother. She knows how much I love that pattern. Waterford, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, it is and I want that vase back, Franklin,” I complained as I fastened a bow to a superbly wrapped gift. The Japanese have nothing on me when it comes to beautifully wrapped gifts.
    Franklin made a face. “We shall see.”
    “I’m done with my Christmas shopping. That was the last gift to wrap.” I wiggled a little fanny jig in my chair.
    “I haven’t even started,” moaned Asa.
    “You don’t need to get me anything, dear,” I remarked.
    “She says that every year and one year I actually believed her. I didn’t get her a present,” divulged Asa, grabbing a fist full of popcorn.
    “Let me guess,” drawled Matt. “She had a fit.”
    “Oh, you would have thought the Rapture had come and she’d missed it,” laughed Asa. “I have never felt so guilty in my life. I’m still not over the trauma.”
    “I don’t see how you could not get your