I woke to an empty house the next morning. According to the note on their kitchen table, my parents had already left for work on the farm and breakfast awaited me at the Hearth. I showered and dressed in worn jeans and a soft cowl-neck sweater that might’ve been on upside down for all I knew. I needed a caffeine IV to snap me out of my fog. I hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep since finding Mrs. Fenwick in the sleigh, and I’d found it even harder to close my eyes since the invisible man chased me home. I’d already exhausted Mom’s entire stash of old glass bottles and milk jugs, converting them into candy-themed jewelry as an alternative to staring at the ceiling. I hadn’t left Dad’s basement workshop the last couple nights until dawn.
I dropped the cats off at the guesthouse where I could check on them more easily during the day, then hurried to the Hearth. It was long after nine, and the breakfast crowd had thinned to loitering coffee sippers.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” Mom said when she saw me. “You look miserable. Get over here and let me feed you. What’ll it be? Breakfast? Brunch?”
Dad smiled behind a steaming mug.
“Coffee.” I patted the counter with my eyes closed. “Must have coffee.”
She poured a mug full and set it in front of me.
I sipped from my glorious cup of wake-me-up. “Ah. It’s as if I can feel my brain cells awakening.”
“Good. What can I feed you?”
“Apple crisp?” I couldn’t help myself. It’d been on my mind since I’d turned it down the day before.
“You’ve got it. What’s on your agenda today?” she asked. Her soft brown eyes locked on me.
I curved my palms around the broad, bowl-shaped cup. “I don’t know. Maybe if I had some apple crisp . . .”
She laughed. A moment later, a pastry appeared, and the sweet scent of apples and cinnamon danced around my head. “Talk.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to get into today. Do you need me here?”
She waved as the last table of customers wandered out the door. “Thank you! Come back tomorrow. I’m making crepes!”
The door sucked shut behind them, leaving my little family in silence.
Mom tilted her head like a puppy. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” I chewed more slowly, trying to figure out her question. “Why?”
“One week till Christmas Eve,” she said.
Dad folded his hands on the counter. “It’s not every day a person breaks an engagement; this week isn’t exactly going the way you’d imagined.”
“It’s fine.” I stuffed another hunk of baked apples into my mouth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You have to,” Mom said. “Talking is what will help you get through it.”
“Being here with you will get me through it.” I sipped my coffee and searched for a way to change the subject. “What do you guys know about the covered bridge in Pine Creek?”
“It’s pretty,” Mom said. “You had your senior pictures taken there.”
Dad groaned. “Those photos cost a fortune. Do you know I found a box of them in the attic? What’d we buy them for?”
“Tradition,” Mom said.
I lifted a finger in the air. “Have you been to the bridge lately? Is it in bad condition? Has it been damaged or is it in need of repair?”
“I haven’t been there in years,” Mom said, “and I haven’t heard anything about its condition. Have you, Bud?”
Dad shook his head. “I don’t get out that way much. You could talk to Paula. I believe Pine Creek runs along the far east end of her maple trees.”
I swiveled to face him. “You’re kidding.” Well, that was interesting in a mildly disturbing way. Paula and Mrs. Fenwick fought about everything else, why not about the bridge that lined her farm? I needed to get out there and take a look at the situation. I worked on my coffee a bit longer. Another question came to mind. “How well do you know Mr. Fleece?” I asked. “He seems to be great with the reindeer, but he has a bit of a temper.”
Dad blanched. “Has someone complained?”
“No.” I waved a hand between us. “Nothing like that. It’s just that when I asked him about his fight with Mrs. Fenwick on the night she died, he got pretty angry just retelling the story.”
Dad’s brow furrowed. “Did he yell at you?”
“No. Not at me. About her.” Though it had certainly felt as if he was yelling at me.
The muscles in his shoulders relaxed by a fraction. “Holly, what are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I stretched my eyes wide. “What? We’re talking. I’m a naturally curious person.”
“You are, and your mother and I love that about you, but with things the way they are now, it seems your natural curiosity is taking a dangerous path. There’s a killer in Mistletoe,” he said as if I could’ve forgotten. “If this is about Margaret Fenwick, Sheriff Gray told you to stop poking into that. I’ve told you to stop that. For goodness’ sake, you were chased home the other night!”
“Yeah, by the wind,” I muttered. “I’m only wondering if you’ve ever seen Mr. Fleece angry. It’s a little scary.”
Dad’s cheeks reddened. “You’re still pushing. Why?” He turned to my mom. “Did you know she was still doing this?”
Mom jerked her shoulders up and shook her head.
“You’re both terrible liars.” He climbed off the stool and poured his coffee into a disposable cup. “I’m supposed to be the head of this household. You’re supposed to take my advice.”
Mom and I gawked, then burst into laughter.
“I’m leaving.” He marched toward the door. “You’re both lucky to have such a tough guy to protect you.”
“We are,” we agreed with matching smiles.
He rolled his eyes. “If I stay and listen to your anarchy, I’ll get another ulcer. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Okay,” I called. “We love you.”
Mom turned expectant eyes on me. “What’d you find out yesterday?”
The door opened again and Dad poked his head back inside. “Do you want Holly to go do that thing we talked about earlier? I’ve got some time now. I can keep an eye out for peekers.”
“What thing?” I asked.
Mom stripped her apron off and rounded the counter. “No, I want to do it.”
“Do what?” I asked again.
Mom threaded her arms into a white ski coat and stuffed a matching knit cap over her head. “You and I will talk later. I’ve got one more round of pickles to hide.” She grabbed a giant jar from the floor beside the door and smiled. “Since you don’t have any plans, will you lock up when you leave, then come back to prepare for lunch? I’ve got kitchen help coming last minute, but the seating area will need to be tidied and prepped.”
“Sure.” I’d nearly forgotten about Hide the Pickle. It was something Mom’s family had done when she was young. Of course, back then they only had one Christmas tree in the living room, not hundreds of trees on multiple acres. Mom hid big ballpark pickles in the trees, and shoppers collected them for prizes. It was a hit every year.
I checked the cuckoo clock on the wall. I had to get moving. My fibbing record had reached an all-time high this week. I did have plans—I wanted to get a fresh look at the Pine Creek Bridge, and now I needed to be back in an hour.
* * *
The drive to Pine Creek was as beautiful and peaceful as ever. The curving mountain stream was nestled in a winding gorge, always on the move, racing away to somewhere new. I’d been like that stream the last time I’d visited the bridge.
I parked at the gravel lookout and walked the short path to the bridge. Cars didn’t travel the structure anymore, but hikers and mountain bikers still crossed the bumpy wooden slats with enthusiasm.
I kicked stones through tire tracks as I faced the old wooden planks, immediately lost in a fog of nostalgia so thick, I could smell my prom date’s Drakkar Noir.
I took my time, recalling Margaret’s family photos and thinking about the fact that all the Fenwicks in those pictures were gone now. They’d spent decades making memories where I stood, but for them, there would be no more. I paused to watch a couple lean over the railing and admire the clear water below. I’d sat where they stood, many times, feet dangling over the stream, watching leaves and sticks crash into protruding rocks and then swim away. I’d watched the stars from there. Kissed boyfriends. Laughed with best friends. Cried over heartbreaks. The bridge was a piece of my history too, though I’d never given it much thought before. It was just another stop in the town I loved.
The bridge had been built as part of the main passage into town. Over the years, more direct roads were forged, leaving Pine Creek on a route used mostly as a scenic byway for tourists. From the looks of it, hikers still used the gravel off-road parking as a trailhead. A dozen “No Trespassing” signs lined the trees in a row that climbed straight up the hill beside the bridge. It took me a minute to get my bearings, but I was nearly certain that land was east, and according to Dad, it belonged to Paula and her maple tree farm.
A fresh set of footfalls pulled me back to the moment.
I hurried out of the way, stopping when my tummy met the waist-high wooden railing. “Excuse me.” I smiled over my shoulder. Then I recognized the newcomer.
Sheriff Gray stared back, half-shocked and half-angry. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
I turned casually against the railing. “Hello. Beautiful day today.” The words lifted from my mouth in a puff of frozen fractals.
“Should I even ask what you’re doing here? And do not tell me you’re here to feed the cat.” Cold winds fluttered the dark hair on his forehead and over his ears.
I stretched a smile over my lying face. “No. I’m just taking some time to enjoy the view.”
His expression went cocky, and his pale-green eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I meant the view of the stream.” My cheeks burned. “Not that you aren’t a nice view.” I pressed my lips together.
He stared past me into the woods. “You make it hard to stay mad at you.”
“You were mad at me?”
“I told you to stop snooping.”
“I’m not.”
He ambled to my side. “You are, but I was looking for you, so I’m glad you’re here.”
Yesterday’s phone call rushed back to mind. “She narc’d on me, didn’t she?”
“Who?”
I bit my tongue. Maybe he didn’t know about Margaret’s arrangement with the Historical Preservation Society. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut.
He scrutinized my face. “I don’t know who you mean, but I will.”
I struggled to lower my eyebrows from my hairline. “You said you were looking for me?”
“Yeah. I checked out the woods near your house. You said you thought you were followed, but your dad didn’t see anyone.”
My spine went rigid, and ice slid into my boots. “Yeah?”
“I found partial prints, broken branches, and the leg from a frozen gingerbread man just inside the trees.”
My jaw dropped. “I was right.”
“Afraid so.”
Well, at least I wasn’t crazy. “Did you say you found part of a gingerbread man? Like the ones we sell at the Hearth?”
He nodded.
I pressed a steadying hand to my middle. Someone had bought my mom’s cookies, then stalked her only child? What kind of lunatic was this? “Anything else?”
“I made a few passes along the trail. It was loud. I can see how you’d think the person was closer than they really were.”
“So?” I asked. “Are you saying I overreacted or that I had reason to worry?”
He shifted his weight, studying my face. “I think someone was trying to scare you, make you think twice before pressing your investigation any further. And on that note”—he leveled me with his detective stare—“why are you really here?”
“I noticed a logo on the papers in Mrs. Fenwick’s office, so I looked it up last night and found a national organization that funds repair projects for things like this.” I tried to look casual, despite the erratic pounding of my heart. “I called and learned that Mrs. Fenwick was trying to secure a grant to restore the bridge, but to get the money, she had to whip the town into historically accurate shape before the review team got here. That’s why she was so nutty those last few days. This was really important to her.”
Sheriff Gray stepped deep into my personal space. Warmth radiated off him, confusing my addled mind. The same sweet scents of gingerbread and cologne I’d recognized in his cruiser the night we met lifted from his jacket.
I had to crane my head back to see his face.
A hot mix of anger and something else flared in his eyes. “Do I have your attention?”
I nodded like a dashboard bobblehead.
His voice was soft and smooth, as if we were sharing a secret. “What you’re doing is dangerous, and I don’t want you to get hurt.” Sincerity swam in his eyes. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need your help, and I can’t solve this case if I’m constantly worried about what you’re up to. Do you understand?”
More head bobbing.
“Final warning.” He lowered his mouth to my ear. “Leave my murder investigation alone. Go home. Stay safe. I’ve got this. Understand?” He pulled back an inch, bringing his face too close to mine. His breath washed over my lips.
A myriad of impulses curled my fingers inside the sleeves of my coat. “Mm-hmm.”
“Good.” He straightened with a devilish smile and stepped away.
Fire scorched my cheeks. I blinked the haze from my eyes and marched woodenly to my truck, determined not to run or look back, but as I pulled away, the sheriff was still smiling.