I found Mom, Cookie, and Caroline at the Hearth when I returned to open for lunch. They were lined up at the window inside sharing nudges and giggling.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you went to hide the pickles.”
“I did,” Mom said. “It only took about fifteen minutes. When I came back, I saw a couple of beautiful women waiting at the door. I figured I might as well bring them inside to warm up.”
I smiled. “Well, that sounds like you.”
I followed Mom to the counter as Cookie and Caroline climbed atop the lollipop stools. Cookie’s feet dangled beneath a crushed velvet skirt, nowhere near the ground, while Caroline easily anchored one high heel boot against the floor. Her cream-colored leggings disappeared beneath an ice-blue angora tunic.
Mom went back to hostess mode, filling mugs with hot cocoa. She added a fourth cup for me.
I sipped and sighed. It was good to be home, despite everything that had gone wrong the last few days. My warm memories were especially thick and comforting this time of year. I turned to Cookie with a knowing smile. “Are you ready for the pickle hunt?”
She slid her eyes my way.
“I hope you caught a glimpse of where she hid them,” I teased. “Maybe if we cheat, we’ll have a fighting chance.”
Cookie made a soft raspberry noise. “I could’ve helped her hide the darn things and we still wouldn’t stand a chance.”
I laughed. She was probably right. The only person on Earth worse than me at finding the pickles was Cookie. Our joint efforts were borderline ridiculous. People had walked in front of us over the years and collected pickles we literally couldn’t see while looking at them.
“I’m not doing it,” she added. “My show’s on tonight, and I promised Theodore a pot pie. Besides, I’m whooped. I was worried when Reindeer Games closed for the day that it might hurt business, but I think we’re busier than ever. I can’t keep my shelves stocked. My feet are killing me.”
Mom smiled. “It’s true. We’ve more than made up for the lost day in ticket sales, but our bottom line is still lower than last year. I can’t understand it. People come for the food and games, but I guess they aren’t buying as many trees. We might have to rethink our business strategies before next season.”
“Is that the real reason you stopped buying disposable cups and food boats?”
Her pretty face worked into a rare frown. “I just want to see this place put a little money aside. I’m glad for the patrons, but I can’t help worrying about the reason they’re really here.”
I did too, since sales at the Hearth and Holiday Mouse weren’t enough to keep the farm afloat long term. We were a tree farm. We needed to sell trees. “What does Dad think?”
“He says everything is fine.” She stared through the front window. “The local news crew has been stationed at our gate for three days, and the six o’clock broadcast gets bolder every night.”
“What do they say?” I asked, suddenly feeling guilty for not following the media’s take on us more closely.
“They rehash the fact poor Mrs. Fenwick was found here after fighting with your father and another staff member.” Mom made a sad smile. “They say you called nine-one-one and have been seen with the sheriff several times since then.”
“Are they implying we have something to hide? Do they think I’m guilty?”
She patted my hand on the counter. “You know how reporters are. They look for ways to sensationalize everything because crazy sells.”
“Good to know local reporters aren’t above making an old lady’s death into a spectacle,” I grumped.
I glanced at the window where Mom and the others had been standing. “What were you guys looking at out there?”
“Ray Griggs is back,” Cookie said. “He’s taking pictures for the paper.”
I crept to the window and peeked out. “He says he’s trying to sell a positive article about the farm.”
“Well, that’s awfully nice of him,” Mom said. “I’m glad he’s here.”
“Yes,” Caroline agreed. “Plus, he’s fun to look at.”
Outside, Ray knelt beside a little girl making snow angels. He chatted happily with her for several seconds before shaking a woman’s hand at the girl’s side. He dusted snow from his jeans and marched to the next family with an outstretched hand.
“He’s cute,” Mom said.
I twisted at the waist to make a face at her. “I went to school with him.”
She hiked her eyebrows under neatly curled bangs. “I’m just saying the man’s handsome. There’s nothing wrong with a little polite observation.”
I stepped away from the glass and retook my seat. “He’s young.”
“So what?” Cookie asked.
Caroline made a puke face. “Younger men are only fun until it’s time to go home and you remember they live with three other guys in an apartment that smells like burnt food and dirty dishes.”
“Ew,” I said. “Ray has a house, and I doubt it’s anything like that. He said his mother lives with him now.”
Caroline turned back to the window. “That’s right. His father died,” she whispered. “I forgot.”
Mom rested her elbows on the counter. “Ray sounds like a nice young man. Maybe you should get to know him.”
Caroline’s smile widened.
“Maybe,” I admitted, “but seeing as how I was supposed to get married next week, I’m not really interested in Ray right now.”
Their faces went slack, and the room went quiet.
“Sorry,” Caroline whispered.
“It’s fine. I’m not upset, I’m just grouchy. I ran into Sheriff Gray at the covered bridge, and he peeved me off.”
“Sheriff Gray,” Cookie parroted. “Now he’s something. Ray’s a cutie, but that sheriff . . .” She trailed off with a wolf whistle.
“What do you mean?” I forced back the memory of his face too close to mine.
Caroline made a choking sound. “What do you mean? He’s a gorgeous, mysterious man in uniform. It’s too bad he doesn’t date,” she said, looking more than a little disappointed.
I scoffed. “He doesn’t date?” Hadn’t he told me that he’d like to settle down and have a family?
“Nope. Ask anyone. I think every single woman in town made a trip to his doorstep when he first moved here last summer. Some kept after him for months, but he wasn’t having any of it. Eventually they all gave up.”
“Really?”
“Yep. He never accepted a single invitation for dinner, lunch, coffee, anything.”
“Huh.” I pressed my mug against my lips and processed the strange information. Why tell me he wanted to settle down if he didn’t? The hamster wheel in my mind creaked into motion. Maybe he told me what he thought I wanted to hear. He knew I’d been recently engaged, and he probably thought he could influence me by being like me and pretending to want the same things that I did. My backbone straightened. Sheriff Gray thought he could manipulate me into doing as he said.
Caroline tapped her crimson nails against the counter. “Hey, I haven’t had a chance to thank you. Your mom told me you asked her about selling my cupcakes here.”
I stopped throwing mental eggs at the sheriff’s cruiser and focused on Caroline’s bright smile.
“It means a lot that you’d do that. You have no idea how much.”
I returned her smile. “Your cupcakes are delicious. You’re definitely going to be rich.”
She laughed. “I’d be happy just making enough to open a shop in town.”
“Well, you won’t have any problem with that.”
“Oh!” Cookie perked. “That reminds me—would you like some money, Caroline?”
Caroline choked on her hot chocolate. “What? Why?” she sputtered.
“I thought I could help with your new business.” Cookie’s wide eyes twinkled. “It’s a brilliant plan, really. You need money, and I’m loaded. Plus, I love your cupcakes, and you’d be doing me a favor. It’s getting harder to find new adventures around here, and I’ve never helped open a store before.”
Caroline slowly abandoned her imitation of a statue. Her head began to bob. “Okay. Um.” She rifled through her large leather bag and retrieved a hot-pink file folder. “I was planning to give this to the bank. It’s a business plan, my proposed budget, staff requests, inventory estimates, and a chart of projected sales over the first five years.”
Cookie blinked.
“This is everything you’ll need to decide whether or not I’m a solid investment. Take it home. Read it over, and I’ll meet you for coffee to answer any questions you have.”
Cookie dragged her gaze from Caroline to the folder. “I didn’t know there’d be homework.”
Mom barked a laugh.
Cookie pushed the folder back toward Caroline. “I already know it’s a solid investment—I’m investing in you.”
Tears sprung into Caroline’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I talked it over with Theodore last night. We think you’re great, and so are your cupcakes. He even eats the little polka-dotted liners. Oh!” She swung her gaze to me. “I almost forgot—I need more of your jewelry for my counter. People were asking for it this morning, but I’m still out.”
“You only had a few pieces yesterday,” I said. “How can anyone be asking for it?”
“The people who bought me out are wearing the stuff in town. When other people ask how to get some for themselves, they direct them to Holiday Mouse. Business folks call that ‘word of mouth.’” She formed air quotes around the term.
Mom tipped her head. “You always had a creative mind. Probably why you’re so interested in what led up to poor Mrs. Fenwick’s death. Your imagination gives you clever ideas. That’s what I told Evan when I saw him earlier.”
It took a minute for the name to register. “Sheriff Gray?” I whipped my face toward hers. “You saw him?”
“Yep. I was hiding pickles, and he was walking the tree line, looking into the noises you heard the other night.”
“What did he say?”
“Just that you were still pushing your own agenda and that you needed to stop. I told him I’d talk to you.”
“Did you mention that you encouraged me to keep asking questions?”
She made a droll face. “I told him I’d talk to you, and now I have.”
Caroline stilled her tapping fingers. “How often do you see the sheriff?”
“Every day, I guess.”
“What’s he like?”
“Honestly,” I said, choosing my words carefully in case she liked him more than I did, “he’s a little abrupt.”
“But handsome,” she said.
“Maybe, but I think he’s been manipulating me, and I don’t like it.”
“I’d let him manipulate me.” Caroline wiggled her perfect eyebrows. “But he doesn’t give any regular ladies the time of day.”
“I’m irregular?” I laughed. “That would explain so much about my life.”
Cookie wagged a finger. “You found a dead body. That put you in his path and not the other way around.”
“Oh.” I had no idea what that meant. “I ran into him today at the Pine Creek Bridge. I think Mrs. Fenwick was trying to raise money to restore it before she was killed. Have you guys heard anything new about it? Did someone buy it recently?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Caroline said, “but I’m an indoor cat. I don’t get a lot of local information beyond retail sales and community events.”
Cookie shook her head. “Theodore’s not much for sightseeing. He loves to climb, but he’s a real pain to transport. Pees in the car. So we mostly stay home.”
Mom choked on her cocoa. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she ran to the kitchen.
I pushed Cookie’s disturbing imagery out of my mind and pressed on. “It can’t be a coincidence that Mrs. Fenwick was killed while trying to clean up the town and restore the bridge. Right?”
Caroline’s blue eyes sharpened. “You think she was killed over something that had to do with the bridge?”
“It’s possible.” A swell of hope rose in my chest. Maybe I was finally on to something and we could put this mess to rest. Get justice for Mrs. Fenwick and put the shameless, speculating news crews in their places. “I need to prove I’m right about the reason she’s dead. With evidence, I should be able to figure out who had motive to do it.”
“What do you need to find out first?” Caroline asked.
I rubbed my chin. “I’m not sure. I guess I need to know who wouldn’t have wanted the bridge repaired and why.”
Mom returned, wiping a cloth over her sweater. “Pardon me for that awful exit,” she said. “I was listening though. Your father said the bridge is right beside Paula’s property line. Maybe she didn’t want a bunch of workers and equipment damaging her maple trees?”
I didn’t know why a repair crew for the bridge would disturb Paula’s trees, but anything was possible. It was worth taking another shot at Paula. “I’ll stop by the maple farm and see what she thought about the restoration,” I said. “Who else?”
Caroline shrugged. “Everyone was mad at Margaret this week.”
“I know,” I said, “but I think the bridge was really important to her, and she was in a pinch trying to secure the help she needed to save it. I almost can’t blame her for being so pushy, but I wish she’d have told people what she was up to. I’d like to think the locals here understand that kind of thing.” I slumped on my stool. If my theory was right, then I was wrong about at least one person. “Or maybe it had nothing to do with the bridge. Maybe someone was just tired of being pushed around and they overreacted.”
Cookie hopped to her feet and shrugged a heavy cape over her shoulders. “I don’t know what happened, but the whole thing’s got me exhausted.” She flipped the hood over her silver hair and gave me an apologetic frown. “I hate to disagree with you when you’re working so hard, but I doubt her death was a crime of passion.”
“Why?” I asked, hungry for any tidbit that could put me on the right path to naming the killer.
She lifted a palm between us in exasperation. “Well, for one thing, Margaret Fenwick’s gotten on people’s nerves for forty years, but no one’s ever killed her before.”
The woman had a point.