I waved good-bye to Ray, who was still on the phone, and climbed into my truck. He knew where to find me if he wanted to talk, and I was looking forward to seeing if the sheriff had kept his promise to reopen Reindeer Games.
The drive passed quickly as I mulled over the things I’d learned today. How the sheriff had liked Margaret, for example, but her colleague didn’t have enough respect to call her family before the dumpster company, and how Mr. Nettle didn’t like Caleb France either.
Traffic on the county road slowed as Reindeer Games came into view, then crawled to a halt outside the open gates where one of the seasonal helpers directed vehicles into a large grassy parking area. People in every shape and size of brightly colored winter wear traded green cash for a red handstamp. A banner announcing the Twelve Days of Reindeer Games billowed above them, and my heart swelled with thankfulness. The sheriff had kept his word.
I took the back way into the farm and left the truck where I’d found it.
The Holiday Mouse Christmas Craft Shop was surrounded with shoppers on benches, admiring their new purchases and sipping concessions carried away from the Hearth. I ducked inside to check on Cookie.
The former one-room log cabin was small but inviting, overstuffed with the typical waist-high aisles and cluttered shelves of a country craft store. There were plenty of spinning racks, and all four walls were covered in cutesy signs and paintings. Everything was winter themed, and the whole place smelled of Christmas. As a kid, I’d imagined the shop was made from giant cinnamon sticks instead of logs.
Cookie stood at the register in a red velvet dress with black buttons and a matching cape tied at her neck. Her black leggings and boots were equally adorable, but the thing that pulled it together was her natural crown of silver hair.
I wrapped her in a hug between sales. “You look like Mrs. Claus.”
“Thank you.” She welcomed the next guest and tapped the buttons on her machine with a shiver. “Every time that door opens, I get a blast of ice right up my skirt.”
The customer giggled and slid her items onto the counter.
Cookie pulled her cape over her shoulders with another exaggerated wiggle. She rang up two boxes of hand-painted mistletoe bulbs and scooted them in my direction. “I always wanted to be a Rockette. They wear capes like mine sometimes. Lucky for me, I was too short to audition. I’d have frozen to death in New York City wearing a bodysuit and a cape.”
I opened a handled shopping bag and slid the merchandise inside, then tucked a few plumes of colored tissue paper on top. “What do you mean you were too short?”
She cocked a hip and planted one palm on it. “I’m five foot two on my tiptoes. Those ladies kick higher than me. Of course, it would’ve been nice to know that before I drove across the country from Vegas only to be turned away. The sign on the door said you had to be five foot six! Can you believe that?”
“You’ve had such an interesting life,” I said, passing the package to our customer when Cookie gave her the receipt.
“That’s true,” she said. “My mama taught me life was for living, so I had at it.”
I scanned the happy crowd. “Looks like we won’t have any trouble making up for lost sales yesterday.”
“Darn tootin’.” Cookie greeted the next guest with a hearty smile.
I kissed her cheek and slipped out from behind the counter. “I’ll see you soon. I just stopped in to see how you were doing.”
“That’s all the help I get? One bag?”
“Sorry.” I sidestepped a pair of men toting giant purses as they trailed a pair of women holding piles of holiday-print aprons, clearly lost in the clutches of indecision. “I’m going to see if Mom needs anything. If she’s covered, I’ll be back.”
I held the door for an ambitious woman pushing a double stroller and towing a toddler. “Merry Christmas,” I told them as they passed.
Inside the Hearth, Mom was spinning in circles, filling cups and plates, then lining them up on the counter.
I stripped off my coat and grabbed a tray. “Which way?” I asked.
Mom’s eyes widened. “Oh, thank goodness! Table eight.”
I shuttled the tray to table eight, careful not to slip in puddles of melted snow or trip over the hastily scattered “Caution: Wet Floor” signs.
A few more trips and we were caught up. I mopped up the snow and cleared tables for incoming patrons as I had a thousand times before. The process felt marvelous and freeing. It helped that the tourists were patient and kind. There was plenty to look at inside a life-sized gingerbread house.
“How are you doing?” I asked Mom at my first opportunity.
She dragged the back of her hand across her brow. “It’s wonderful that the people came. I was worried.” She fished a pile of cookies from a jar with red tongs.
“I know. Me too.”
* * *
At three o’clock, the farm had gone still. Everyone seemed to have crammed into the Hearth to watch the first Reindeer Game of the year, Bling That Gingerbread. We’d filled every seat and added a dozen folding chairs in the aisles. Those who couldn’t fit inside stood in the doorway or watched through the windows. With any luck, the fire marshal wouldn’t stop by before the game ended.
Mom fluffed her hair and turned on the microphone. Every contestant had the same supplies and a total of three minutes to decorate their gingerbread house. When time was up, the homes would be put on display, and voting would be open for thirty minutes afterward.
Cookie and I sat at the chocolate bar table with a pair of women from Poughkeepsie.
“This is going to be wonderful,” the brunette said. “I can’t believe we’re cutting loose like this, Donna.”
Donna munched a gumdrop and nodded. “I haven’t eaten this much sugar since the Reagan administration. I’m getting fat this week, Birdie, and I don’t even care. You know it. It’s true.” She sampled a pinch of mini–chocolate chips from Birdie’s tray.
Birdie gave her friend a stern face that didn’t last. “If we don’t start soon, we might not have any more decorations.” She stole a string of licorice off Donna’s tray and broke into crazy laughter.
“Stop it.” Donna slapped Birdie’s fingers away.
“We’re gonna win,” Cookie whispered.
The women stopped laughing. Birdie stuck her finger into Cookie’s cup of icing.
I burst into laughter.
Mom gave our table a warning look. “Ribbons and cocoas will be awarded to the person who uses the most supplies and to the top three most appealing results. Also, I’d like to add that we at Reindeer Games are extremely sorry for the unexpected closure yesterday. We hope we didn’t cause anyone too much trouble, and in the spirit of the Reindeer Games, we’re having today’s scheduled game immediately following this one. Build a Big Frosty will begin in the field outside this building as soon as the winners are announced here. The Build a Big Frosty competition is exactly what it sounds like—create your own snowman. You can begin anytime following this game, and you’ll have until dusk to complete your work. We’ll give a ten-minute warning at ten till five and begin measuring the snowmen promptly at five. Tallest frosty wins a warm pecan pie, your picture in the paper, and bragging rights for a year.”
A round of applause went up with a few whistles and random hoots.
“I’ve never had my picture in the paper,” Donna said.
“Everyone ready?” Mom’s voice quieted the excited crowd. “Please put on your blindfolds.” She lifted a stopwatch into the air. “Your three minutes start now!” She switched off her mic, and holiday music danced through the room.
I did my best to concentrate while the women across from me cackled, and Cookie said a few unladylike things to her uncooperative gumdrops, which apparently didn’t want to stick to the blessed shanty roof. Distractions aside, I didn’t like the blindfold this year. What had previously added a welcomed level of complexity and challenge only made me anxious this time around.
I pulled the cloth away from my eyes and used it to blot the sheen of sweat on my neck and forehead.
“Time’s up!” Mom called. “Blindfolds off. Please bring your houses to the front. We’ll line them up for judging. Don’t forget to grab a pen and cast your vote.”
My gingerbread house was smeared in white icing and little more. I stuck a gumdrop into my mouth and settled my breathing before carrying my masterpiece to the front. The other houses were hilarious, clever, and magnificent, but there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room to laugh. My chest felt constricted, and my mouth was dry.
When the room cleared, Mom walked the line of gingerbread homes, judging the entries. She scratched a pencil against her head. “This one used all the trimmings, but I don’t see any on the house.”
I tried to laugh but choked on the effort.
Sheriff Gray arrived with a warm smile. He pulled out Donna’s vacated chair and had a seat. “I like your style,” he said, indicating my undressed house. “Simple. Realistic.”
My trembling lips quirked at the dumb joke. “Shut up. I didn’t finish.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone put enormous candies on their roof. Yours should win for most authentic.”
“That’s not a category.” I stood on unsteady feet. “Can we talk outside? I’m not feeling well.”
He extended his hand, indicating I should lead the way. “Panic attack?” he asked when we were free of the crowd.
“Something like that.” I panted, still unable to manage a full breath.
Cold winter air snapped my heated skin into gooseflesh. I inhaled as deeply as possible, which wasn’t very, and exhaled to a mental count of ten. Soon, I was dizzy. I leaned forward and braced my palms against my knees.
“Holly?” Sheriff Gray’s face appeared next to mine. He’d dropped into a squat at my side. “Do you want to sit down?”
I nodded, slowly bringing myself upright. “Would you mind walking me home first? I don’t want to start any rumors by collapsing the same day our gates reopen.”
He looped his arm with mine and let me lean against him. “Of course.”
I flattened a cold palm to my hot cheek. “Sorry. I’m usually more together than this.”
“How was your time in town?”
“Okay.” My muddled thoughts grew clearer with each fresh breath. “Did you go to the Hearth to judge the gingerbread blinging? I shouldn’t have pulled you away without asking.” I let my head drop forward. “I’m making a terrible impression.”
He eased his hand over mine on his arm. “Actually, I was looking for you. I thought I’d see how you’re doing and offer to make another sweep through your home and check the perimeter.” He led me to the nearest bench and motioned for me to sit.
He didn’t have to ask twice. I fell onto the icy seat, wondering what was wrong with me. Was he right? Was this a panic attack? My chest clenched at his interest in making another sweep through my home. “Has something else happened?”
“No,” he assured. “It’s like I told you this morning, I worry. It’s my job.”
I liked that he worried about me. I wasn’t sure why his “It’s my job” line seemed to ruin it. I concentrated on the slow spill of shoppers from Holiday Mouse and the collection of contestants at the Hearth. “I don’t know what got into me back there. I think the blindfold freaked me out. Which makes no sense. I used to love that part. It made the outcomes sillier.”
He took a seat beside me. “Have you considered that the trauma is getting to you? You’ve been through a lot in a very short amount of time.”
“I haven’t,” I argued. “Not really. Nothing’s happened to me. Mrs. Fenwick, yes, but not me. I only found her because I heard someone calling for help. Same thing with the stakes on my porch. I was on my way out, and there they were.”
Sheriff Gray’s eyes softened. “Finding trouble is just as upsetting as having experienced it. Don’t discount that. And I hate to bring it up, but calling off a wedding this close to the date has to be slightly earth shattering too.”
I shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, when you do, you could talk to me, if you wanted.”
We sat in companionable silence for a long while, watching families come and go.
When I felt more like myself, I twisted on the bench for a look at him. “You’ve known me two days. You’ve only lived here six months. It’s been nonstop drama this week, and I swear it wasn’t always like this here. I wasn’t always like this.” I waved a hand in front of my face. “I used to be fun.” I plucked gloves from my pockets and covered my hands.
“Weren’t we all?”
“Have you spoken with Paula yet? Or Mr. Fleece?” Their residual anger weighed on me. Weren’t those feelings supposed to subside when the object of your wrath is brutally murdered?
“I have.”
I stretched my eyes wide for effect. “And?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got this covered. You need to let me handle it. Maybe get some sleep. It might help take the edge off.”
If only I could sleep. I slouched against the seatback. “Have you ever been in love?” I asked. “Engaged?” He wasn’t married, so if he’d been in love before, maybe he knew what I was going through.
He gave me a sidelong glance. “Love, yes. Engaged, no.”
“Oh, sorry. I think.” I cringed. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
He broke into an easy smile but kept his eyes on the scene before us. “Back in Boston, I was married to the job. Everything else came second.”
“Your girlfriend didn’t like that, I suppose.”
“No one likes coming second to morgue visits and murderers.”
“Go figure,” I joked. “Is that why you came to Mistletoe? Settle down. Marry a human.”
His smile grew, and the color in his cheeks deepened. “I was hoping to have a chance at normal. Maybe experience what it’s like to live a few consecutive days without a catastrophe. And I wouldn’t mind raising a family.”
“Yeah? How big?”
“At least four or five strapping young boys like me.”
“Oh.” I laughed. “Well, good luck with that.”
He nodded along. “I’m kidding. I haven’t thought beyond settling down somewhere calm and safe. Mistletoe seemed like a great place to do all that, so I applied, and here I am.” He stopped moving and extended an arm toward the field. “Look at that.”
The flawless carpet of snow was polka-dotted in every color of ski coat and knit hat, worn by people of every age, tossing snowballs and rolling snow boulders to support their Big Frosty. The gingerbread winners must’ve been announced.
Donna and Birdie waved from beside a mound of snow. “Yoo-hoo!” Donna called. “Yoo-hoo!” She dusted her gloves together and made a beeline in our direction. “I’m Donna. Remember me?”
“Of course.” I pointed to Sheriff Gray. “This is our town sheriff.”
She leaned back as if in awe. “Nice catch, honey. Every woman wants a man in uniform.”
“We’re not—” I began, only to be cut off by Donna reaching for my ear.
“I wanted to ask you about your earrings while we were talking, but then I got the giggles. Where did you find them? They’re fabulous.”
My hands jumped to the faux lollipops on instinct. “I made them. They aren’t for sale anywhere.”
She jutted her bottom lip out. “That’s a crying shame.” She turned to Birdie, still hard at work on their Frosty. “She made the earrings. She says they aren’t for sale.”
Birdie stopped working. “Crying shame.”
“That’s what I said.” Donna turned back to me, deflated. “Well, I won’t keep you lovebirds. That snowman won’t build itself.”
Sheriff Gray and I turned for the guesthouse in silence. When he began to murmur the lyrics to “Frosty the Snowman,” I joined in. Sadly, neither of us knew all the words, and soon I couldn’t sing through the laughter.
I leaned against his arm and caught my breath. “Now you’re just repeating thumpity-thump-thump.”
“That’s how it goes.”
I wiped tears off my cheeks and got myself together. “You might not know the words, but your voice is fantastic.”
He turned his face away.
I released him, sensing a bigger story. “Please tell me you had a band in college.”
He pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “I just like to sing.”
I climbed my steps, trying not to dwell on how much I didn’t know about the sheriff or how our weird, impromptu friendship would work after we’d solved the case. I unlocked the front door and stepped aside to let him in.
He made the sweep as promised but didn’t stick around afterward.
After about twenty minutes, I followed his example and went to help my parents measure two dozen snowmen now that I’d calmed down.
I returned home hours later covered in snow. I kicked my boots off at the door and dropped my wet coat onto a coatrack by the fire.
Cindy Lou Who gave me a death glare from behind her toppled bowls.
“I know, I know,” I said, rubbing her soft head. “I’m late delivering your dinner. I forgot how much fun it is here.” I righted and refilled the bowls. “There you go.”
She walked away.
I shook water droplets from my bangs and took my earrings off for the night. I’d left for college with the dream of being a painter. I’d learned freshman year that the best painting I did was on my nails, and it wasn’t even that great. Until a few days ago, I’d worked in an art gallery in Portland selling other artists’ creations. I’d never considered selling my own things.
I cracked open the box with Caroline’s cupcake and inhaled the heavenly scent.
Maybe it wasn’t too late for me. So what if I was a terrible painter? Art came in all sorts of forms. I peeled back the liner and sank my teeth into the moistest, fluffiest cake and icing ever made. “Oh, my sweet Christmas.” I licked my lips and moaned. Like this cupcake. This is a masterpiece. I took another bite. And another. “It’s like eating happiness,” I told Cindy, who’d come to see what all the fuss was about.
I dropped the empty paper in the trash and sprang to my feet with renewed zeal and a fresh sugar buzz. “If Caroline West can open a cupcake shop one day, why can’t I sell my jewelry? I don’t even have to open a shop, Cindy. I can ask Cookie to put a few pieces on her counter and see what happens.”
Cindy flopped onto her side and swung her tail lazily over the floor.
I grabbed a dry coat and boots. “I have plenty of sample inventory. All I need is a sign and a display.” I grabbed my keys and stuffed them in my pocket. “I’ll be right back, Cindy. We’ll make popcorn and watch Miracle on 34th Street while we make plans for a new adventure. What do you say? It’s me and you, kitty.”
I counted to ten before daring a look out the window. No new threat deliveries. No footprints other than my own. Just another beautiful winter night like the dozens before it. I slid into the cold and locked the door behind me.
In some ways, I was probably safer outside than in. Inside was where I’d been when a killer had walked right up to my door and left a giant message. Inside was where bad people could do whatever they wanted to me in perfect privacy. The entire world was outside. There was nowhere to hide out here.
I zigzagged through untouched snow for fun, leaving patterns and spirals behind me. Sounds of distant laughter rose with the glow of a bonfire near the stables. Mr. Fleece and some workers must not have been ready to call it a night. Normally, I’d have gone to say hello, but I was on a mission to re-create myself as Holly the Artist.
The lock at Holiday Mouse tumbled easily. I let myself in to gather everything I needed for a proper Christmas jewelry display. Enthusiasm ripped through me. If none of the pieces sold, so what? I had nothing to lose and a box full of jewelry to keep for myself. But what if they sell?
I filled a shopping bag with the things on my mental list and slid back into the night. A cloud had covered the moon and obscured the stars, but the tiny orange glow of the fire in the distance remained. Happy voices rumbled and chuckled from the stables to my ears.
I started back toward the guesthouse at a brisk enough pace to keep me warm and a slow enough pace to enjoy the night.
An owl circled overhead, catching my attention. It swooped toward the land and rose again moments later with something in its claws.
My heart rate climbed, and a brick lodged in my throat. That poor mouse was out living its life, and bam! I checked over my shoulder. The bonfire was no longer in sight, and the voices had gone silent. My parents’ home stood at the crest of a small hill in the opposite direction. Maybe Sheriff Gray was right. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay there for a night or two.
The crack of a twig stopped me cold in my tracks.
Shadows stretched through the rows of trees at my side. I suddenly identified with the mouse, alone in a field at night, making plans that would never come true because an unseen predator circled nearby.
I squinted into the darkness. “Hello?”
Another crack sounded. This time closer, just inside the tree line and less than ten feet away.
It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. I clutched the sack of borrowed items against my chest and ran away from the woods. Away from the guesthouse. Away from whatever was out there. My panicked mind raced with horrible images of an angry killer on my heels.
“Help!” I shrieked, closing in on my parents’ old farmhouse on the next rolling hill.
The cracking and snapping of fallen twigs and branches broke free of the forest, coming in heavy, thunderous footfalls behind me. Adrenaline burned through my veins, hammering my heart and bringing tears to my eyes.
A scream built in my throat and lurched free.
A blinding light exploded in my world, and I batted my eyes to see.
“Holly?” Dad’s voice boomed from the porch of their home.
“Dad!” I ran faster than I ever had, crying loudly and praying that whoever was after me wouldn’t hurt my parents too. I crashed into his strong chest and pushed him back. “Inside. We have to go inside. Someone’s out here.”
Dad kissed my head and directed me toward the front steps. “Go see your mother.”
“No!” I clung to him. “Please come inside.”
He twirled the baseball bat he kept at the door in one mammoth hand. “I’ve been patrolling for longer than you’ve been alive. If there’s anyone out here, I’ll find him. Go inside and lock the door.”
“If?” Hadn’t the killer caught up with me yet? I squinted against the motion light that I’d triggered over the yard. “I heard him.”
“Who?”
I scanned the silent, motionless landscape. “I don’t know. There was a mouse.”
“A mouse?”
The front door opened, and Mom shuffled down the steps. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you out of the cold.”
I stumbled behind her, poorly navigating the steps and nearly colliding with the door she held open. “Dad,” I called, “be careful.”
Careful of what, I wasn’t sure. From my new position inside the living room, peering out the front window, there was no one in the world except my dad.