I woke early the next morning, mind swimming with unanswered questions, not the least of which was what to get my husband for our first anniversary. Shopping was the only answer, so I bundled up for a trip into town. With a little luck I’d beat the crowd and have a colossal epiphany or two along the way.
My parents and the Reindeer Games crew were already hard at work as I hurried to my truck. Sidewalks had been cleared and salted outside the inn. Smoke drifted from the chimney at the Hearth, signaling that Mom was preparing for her day, baking for the staff and inn guests. Sounds of machinery in the distance suggested Dad was responsible for my cleared sidewalks and still busily pushing snow from farm roads and pathways, making travel easier for cars and foot traffic when the farm reopened.
The air was crisp and clean outside, the world tucked neatly beneath a blanket of snow. Inside the big red pickup, my breath puffed in little white clouds.
While my heaters warmed the cab, I ran through a mental list of things to accomplish. I only had a couple of hours to spend downtown. Mom needed me back at the farm before lunch to help execute a few reindeer games and announce winners. With the farm reopened, and only six days until Christmas, we were expecting massive crowds, and I needed to take jewelry to Liesel.
I shifted into drive and motored toward the gates, then onto the sparsely occupied main roads. My thoughts wandered to the red cell phone and whoever had planted it so they could threaten me. I wondered if Evan had learned anything from the tech team he’d left the device with, and if he had, would he tell me?
A flicker of lights drew my attention to the rearview mirror and the fast-approaching cruiser. I immediately checked my speed, but I wasn’t breaking any law. My muscles tensed and my grip tightened on the wheel. Could the killer somehow acquire a cruiser?
I shook away the silly notion and slowed my pace, then drifted to the edge of the road, allowing the other vehicle to pass. Not everything is about you, Holly. I snorted a soft laugh for assuming every emergency had something to do with me.
The cruiser followed me onto the shoulder, slowing as I slowed, then parking behind me when I stopped.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Evan, fully prepared to stomp the gas if he gave the word.
The door on the other vehicle opened, and a tall, broad man in uniform emerged.
My call connected.
“Hey, love,” Evan said, now visible in my side-view mirror and striding toward my window.
“Oh, thank my stars.” I disconnected and set the phone back onto the seat beside me. “Evan!” I opened the door and climbed out, tossing my arms around him and clinging as if my life depended on it. Clearly, I was more shaken by the week’s events than I’d realized. On closer inspection, the cruiser was obviously Evan’s. I’d let the fear I so determinedly ignored get the best of me. More than a few memories from the last four holiday seasons had become my ghosts of Christmas past.
“Well, good morning to you too,” Evan said, chuckling as he arched his back, lifting me briefly off my feet. “I was on my way to the farm to catch you. I waved when we passed, but you didn’t notice, so I pulled a U-turn and tried the flashers.” He kissed my head and set my boots back on the ground. He gave me a careful look. “Are you okay? Has something else happened?”
“I’m great,” I said. “Just surprised to be pulled over before breakfast.”
His brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you have breakfast?”
I sighed and deflated against him. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“Uh-huh.” Evan gripped my shoulders and pushed me back for another long examination. “Like?”
“Our anniversary,” I said. And other things, I added silently.
His concern turned to care as he held me against him once more. “I promise that no matter what is going on with this murder investigation, on Christmas Eve I’ll be with you. Arrangements are already in place. I’ve made it abundantly clear to everyone at the station that my wife and our anniversary take precedence.”
Emotion pricked my eyes. I really had the best possible husband.
And I couldn’t even find him a gift.
“Did you just groan?” he asked. “I thought you’d like knowing I won’t let this interfere with our anniversary.”
“I do,” I said quickly. “I love it, and I love you. You’re completely wonderful, and I still don’t know what to get you.”
He grinned, and I lifted a mitten, pointer finger extended inside the knitted wool.
An unexpected laugh broke on my lips, and I lowered my hand. “I’ve missed you.”
“So catch me up,” he said. “What have I missed?”
I considered the question a moment, then gasped. My cheeks heated despite the biting wind.
Evan tented his brows. “Is that a blush? You’ve got my attention for sure now. Do share.”
I let my eyelids fall shut a moment as I steeled myself for the story. “I thought I heard an intruder at the inn, so I went upstairs to check it out—” I opened my eyes, lips parted in an embarrassed smile.
Evan scowled. “Why would you do that? Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I wasn’t sure which of my guests were there, and I didn’t want to alert the authorities if nothing was actually wrong. Anyway—”
“You said you thought there was an intruder,” Evan interrupted. He crossed his arms over his chest and put a few inches of space between us. “This is the kind of behavior we talked about.”
I bristled and matched his stance. Maybe I wouldn’t tell him my story after all.
“You could’ve asked your dad to check it out,” he continued. “What if the killer was up there waiting, drawing you to him?”
“I could’ve called 911,” I said. “Why didn’t I do that? I could’ve brought the calvary to save me from an inn guest who dropped their shampoo bottle in the shower. Instead, I climbed the steps to see what was going on and found zero need for emergency services.”
Evan looked at me but said nothing.
I waited.
“Go on,” he said begrudgingly.
“You’re ruining a good story,” I told him. “I was excited to tell it, and now I’m not.”
Evan’s expression went flat. “Is this related to my investigation in any way?”
“No.”
“Holly,” he warned.
“I caught Mrs. Snow and Mr. Moore together,” I said. I rolled my eyes so he’d know I was still annoyed, even if I was talking.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I broke into her room, prepared to defend her after hearing some soft thuds and a muffled squeal, but I tripped on a pile of their shoes and nearly gave the three of us simultaneous heart attacks.”
Evan’s brows furrowed. “Their shoes?”
I nodded slowly, and recognition slowly registered in his eyes.
Then he burst into laughter.
“Evan,” I scolded. “It’s not f—” Before I could finish the sentence, I joined him in raucous giggles. “Stop.” I pushed his chest. “It was awful.”
“I have no doubt,” he agreed, finally straightening himself.
“I was feeling bad for Mr. Moore before that. I’d planned to ask Cookie to help him find friends, but clearly he has at least one.”
Evan dragged a heavy hand over his face. “Jeez. Now I have to ask him about this. How on earth am I supposed to do that?” He looked at the bright morning sky. “I’ll have to address it with Mrs. Snow too.”
I doubled over in fresh laughter.
“Hey,” he said. “This is your fault.”
I gasped for air as tears rolled from my eyes.
“Go on, keep laughing,” Evan said. His green eyes danced with delight. “What made you think Moore was lonely? He’s been a part of this town his whole life. Everyone knows him and vice versa.”
I sobered, recalling my reasoning. “I stopped by his place to check on him. He didn’t answer the door, but there was a blue SUV parked outside.” I wasn’t sure why I’d mentioned the SUV, but once I’d said it, the image stuck in my head. Who had been there? Why was Moore in the bath while he had company? Did I want to know?
More importantly, why hadn’t I taken a picture of the vehicle or plate. I nearly groaned again at the thought.
“You assumed Moore was lonely because he had company when you stopped by his place,” Evan said. “Am I missing something?”
I nodded, my mind still wandering over that day. “His living room was covered in old photo albums and letters. They were open on his desk and spread across the floor. I thought it meant he was missing the people who weren’t in his life anymore.” A sudden, belatedly obvious realization hit like an iceberg. “He was missing her,” I said. Ugh. Of course, he was. “Seeing her had to be hard after all these years. Then to see her with her son, then to see her grieving her son, and he couldn’t do anything to comfort her. He must’ve felt so miserable and helpless.”
“Are you talking about Violet Snow?”
“Yes. He said he loved her while he was doped up after the hospital, and then I found them together at the inn. It would make sense that at least some of the photos and letters I’d seen were from her.”
Evan looked in the direction of the tree farm. “Right.”
“What did he say when you talked to him?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Evan returned his eyes to mine. “He leaned into his bumbling old man facade and told me about all the stuffed squirrels and chipmunks dressed as locals and law enforcement in his living room.”
I pressed my lips into a line to squelch another fit of laughter. “The taxidermy was another reason I thought he might need friends.”
Evan grunted. “I’ve got no argument with that logic. And I keep saying this, but you need to leave my murder investigation alone. I’ve got a solid lead and plenty of help. I want you to enjoy your holiday and clear your evening plans for our anniversary.”
I smiled despite myself. “A lead, huh? Do you have a suspect who isn’t Mr. Moore?”
“Maybe.”
“And you’re building a case right now?”
“Yes, so stop poking the bear,” he said. “If I can limit the threats made against you to a broken cookie and one angry phone call, I’ll call this a holiday miracle,” he said. “Frankly, it’s all I want for Christmas. Please let this be my gift.” He reached around me and opened my truck’s door. “For now, you should get out of the cold and run your errands before the crowds converge.”
“One more question.” I smiled, and Evan frowned. “Have you learned anything about the phone I found?”
He shook his head. “No. Tech services says it’s a pay-as-you-go device purchased online with a prepaid Visa. If the buyer used a personal credit card to load up the Visa, we’ll have a name, but—”
“If they went to that much trouble, they probably also paid cash for the card,” I said, picking up his thought.
“Yes, but all those cards have serial numbers, so tech will figure out which store sold the card. From there, they can contact the store and get a time the receipt was printed.” He grinned.
And I took over again. “Then the store can use cameras to see who made the purchase.” I rose onto my tiptoes and kissed him, then climbed behind the wheel. “Law enforcement is so interesting.”
He whistled and tipped his head in the direction of a box on my passenger seat. I’d used the safety harness to keep it from sliding around as I drove. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“I have.” I’d completed and packaged all my outstanding jewelry orders over coffee at daybreak. I’d been lucky to have a box large enough to carry them all.
Evan motioned for me to buckle up before he closed my door.
I powered down the window. “I love you.”
He planted another kiss on my lips. “Be safe, Gray. I love you too.”
I drove away, seeing him in my rearview mirror, hands on hips, shaking his head as he watched me go.
My usual spot in the alley behind a dumpster was available again, so I angled my truck into the hidey hole and counted my blessings. I looked both ways before climbing out and shouldering the quilted tote bag I’d filled with a curated collection of my jewelry. I beetled to the closest end of the alley, where shoppers had begun to appear, and beeped the doors locked with my fob as I rounded the corner.
Making my way to the gallery was easy with the sidewalks so clear. The square was mostly empty this early in the day, and the gallery was on the next block. The same route would be nearly impassable when I went home, filled with last-minute shoppers and tourists enjoying our adorable town.
I paused to take in the five-story structure lined in twinkle lights and pine greenery. Electric candles flickered in every window, and a series of crimson flags billowed on brass poles near the roof. It truly was a gorgeous building. I couldn’t imagine it as it had been originally, filled with kilns and workers. A national paint and wallpaper company had thrived here for decades, transporting goods around the country via the local railroad.
I adjusted the tote bag on my shoulder, then slipped inside.
The lights were bright, gleaming reflectively against the high-polished floor. Creative displays were scattered throughout the space, showcasing the town’s many artistic talents and beautiful creations, including a few of my own.
“Good morning,” I called, tugging off my mittens and putting them into my pockets.
“Holly?” Liesel popped into view from behind the register. Her brown eyes were wide, her thin brows arched high. “I was just counting bags.” She stood with a bewildered grin. “Every November I’m sure I’ve ordered far too many for the season, then the week before Christmas I’m sure I’ll run out! I imagine sending shoppers home with items in their pockets, because I can’t get more holiday bags here fast enough.”
I laughed. “Well, here are a few more things to put in those bags—or pockets,” I teased. I slid the tote from my shoulder and set it on the counter, then unpacked the boxes of earrings, necklaces, rings, and charms. “What do you think?”
Liesel cupped both hands over her ruby-red lips and leaned in for a closer look. “I love these!”
“Thank you.”
“You’re so incredibly talented. I’m not sure why you still let me sell these here. I know exactly how popular your online shop has become. I might’ve bought a thing or two for myself in the offseason. Regardless, I’m grateful for the chance to showcase your work.” She gathered a stack of boxes and headed for the far wall of shelves. Long dark hair swung against her back as she moved.
I followed close on her heels.
“Liesel,” I asked carefully. “I’m sure you heard about what happened at the farm. Did you know the man who died? Ever hear his name or see him around?”
She stilled, then turned back to me, boxes still in hand. “No, but—”
I waited, sensing there was something of interest to me still on her tongue. When I thought she’d changed her mind about whatever she’d planned to say, she performed a long sigh.
“I shouldn’t be saying anything,” she said. “I don’t want to get involved in this thing. And you shouldn’t be asking about him. You know what happens when you start down these paths.”
I bristled. “I’m only asking,” I said as breezily as possible, “because it was a shock to my family and me, and I’m trying to process. How could a man who’d only spent one night in this town be killed before dawn? It doesn’t make sense. Someone had to know him and be upset about something. It makes me wonder if he’d been here before, maybe meeting with other businessmen or checking out the town.” He might’ve even had online meetings, video conferences, or any other sort of interactions, I realized as I spoke. Whoever killed Mr. Snow didn’t necessarily have to meet him in person before that awful night. And that was devastating to my investigation, because anyone with the internet and an interest in Snow’s plans to turn our historic downtown into a cash cow of micro rentals could join my suspect list. And anyone who was staunchly against it as well.
“Oof.” The sound left my lips in a rush of air.
Liesel looked at the front door, her gaze wandering across the shop window and the increasing number of passersby. “Okay.” She rubbed her hand against one eyebrow, then tipped her head toward the register. “Let’s talk.”
I trailed her back to the countertop and folded my hands in an attempt to look less frantic than I felt.
She put my jewelry back on the counter. “Snow stopped by once or twice last summer.”
I gasped, and Liesel’s eyes widened.
“Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Please, go on.”
“The first time he came to the gallery, he was with Orrville Lincoln and Mr. Weible,” Liesel said. “Weible and Lincoln have been friends for years. They were telling Mr. Snow all about the building’s structure and history. Mr. Lincoln loves those details. He works for the Historical Society, and Weible has worked on half the historical structures in town, plus he lives here, so they really geek out about this stuff, you know?”
I nodded. The vast majority of folks in Mistletoe lived here because they loved the historical aspects and town-wide fervor to protect the past. The older I got, the more I connected with those feelings and goals.
The new information caused another set of questions, however.
Had Elijah lied to his mother about never being in Mistletoe before their arrival this week? Or had they both lied to me for some reason I couldn’t yet understand?
A bout of laughter pulled my gaze to the shop window, where a group in Victorian attire bustled past. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, but I’d met plenty of people over the years who felt differently.
Liesel watched me expectantly. “Anything else?”
So much else, I thought. “Did Mr. Snow seem interested in the information about the building’s historical significance?” I asked.
Liesel barked an ugly laugh. “Not even a little. He was focused on how many individual shops, condos, or tourist rentals this building could support and how much it’d cost him to create the new spaces. He even tried pitching the concept of a family pizza and games center like Chuck E. Cheese or Dave & Buster’s, except Christmas themed. I could practically see the other men’s eyes gloss over. He had a clipboard with a list of all the shops in town and was trying to think of what was missing and how to capitalize. Everything was about the money to him,” she said. “And time, but then he pointed out that time is also money, so—”
I wrinkled my nose. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “And that guy was a liar. He probably didn’t deserve what happened to him, but I wasn’t exactly shocked when news of his demise made it to the gallery.”
I clenched my teeth to stop myself from gasping again.
“Sorry.” Liesel appeared remorseful when her eyes met mine. “That was really mean,” she said. “I get carried away. I love this town, and I think life is about more than money. The way he walked around, nose in the air, scowling at everything because it wasn’t shiny and new … well … it peeved me off.”
I forced a small smile at the self-deprecation in her tone and the softening of her features. “I get it,” I said. “Trust me, when it comes to defending this place, I’m the queen of carried away.”
“It’s strange that he’s dead,” she said. “He was the kind of guy you’d expect to grow old yelling at kids to get away from his sports car. A modern-day Ebenezer Scrooge.”
He’d seemed uptight when we met, but I hadn’t known him long enough to agree or disagree with her conclusion, and something she’d said earlier circled back to mind. “Did you say Elijah was a liar?” I asked. I was sure she’d said it, but she hadn’t explained the reasoning behind the accusation.
Liesel’s expression pinched and her lips flattened. “Maybe it doesn’t matter in the big scheme of things, but he said he was buying us out, and that wasn’t true. It turned out to be Hamish Hunter, that billionaire on the hill, who was actually buying. That guy probably spends less than a week in Mistletoe all year long. I did some research on him, and I think he only keeps his offices here because of a big tax break he negotiated before I was born, when the town wasn’t as well known and heavily visited. The mayor gave folks like him major financial incentives to set up their companies in town. The initiative was supposed to bring commerce to the area, and most of the new businesses did, but not Hunter’s. He went remote from the start. Even before the internet, he hired workers around the country and used teleconferences for communication. He’s never set up a proper, populated office as the deal intended. Nothing in the paperwork specified otherwise, probably because remote work wasn’t common then. The joke was on the old mayor, I guess.”
“And the town,” I said. I could only imagine the amount of tax breaks a company making billions might receive. What did a billion dollars even look like? The concept was too foreign to be real. Somewhere beyond a million, my mind equated everything to Monopoly money, or something equally abstract.
Liesel’s cheeks appeared redder than they had a moment before. Her jaw tightened as she peered through the window, apparently lost in thought. “I just wish an art gallery fit their new vision for the space.”
My eyes widened in shock. “The gallery is closing?”
“It was,” she said. “I don’t know about now. Mr. Snow seemed to be the idea man, and Mr. Hunter was the money. I’m thinking of contacting all the artists who show their work here. Maybe if I can prove the gallery is an asset and major attraction to the community, it can stay. It doesn’t make as much money as other stores, but art is important. It’s part of who we are in this town. Without the gallery, I’ll be heartbroken and out of a job.”
The little bells over her shop door jingled, and a group of women moved inside, dusting snow from their hats and shoulders.
Liesel leaned in my direction and gave me another apologetic look. “I am sorry about what I said earlier,” she whispered. “It wasn’t kind, and I didn’t mean it. I just get all riled up over what went on, and honestly, Snow had the personality of a rock. An incredibly pretentious rock,” she amended. “Anyway, I’d better go.” She shot the women a welcoming smile, then her eyes locked back on mine. “For what it’s worth, you should know I’m well aware of what you’re up to. The whole town knows what happens when someone dies the way Snow did. I think you’d be wise to let this one go before you get hurt.”
I leaned back, the flash of heat in her eyes raising my internal temperature several degrees.
“I’ll see you later,” she said, then glided toward the shoppers without a backward glance.