“Then I guess Miss Scrooge will also need to be Miss Sleuth,” Liv remarked, scrutinizing two more fashion photos before handing them back.
“I’m already on it. I’m tracking down the return address on the invitation I received.”
“Good.”
Charley didn’t know if Liv was talking to her, or her assistant. She watched the FaceTime camera jerk around again before Liv’s face filled the screen.
“I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got to go,” Liv said, focusing on something off camera.
Only then did Charley remember their weekly marketing meeting. How could I forget? “Call me when you catch your breath.”
Liv let out an ironic laugh. “And when will that be exactly?”
“Bye, Liv.” Charley disconnected the call and sat there for a minute. Watching Liv work while she was trying to carry on a conversation with her left Charley with an unsettled feeling. She suddenly didn’t miss being in that environment. She never realized the stress of it until she saw it on camera. At the same time, she’d never be able to live in a town like St. Nicholas that was so darn cheery—not unless she were in love, and that was never going to happen.
The sun broke through the morning clouds, bathing Charley in light. She found herself unzipping her coat as she studied the map again. She rose and walked to the next corner where she found Noel Lane instead of Kringle Lane.
“Huh?” Thinking she had the map upside down, she went in the opposite direction only to find Reindeer Road. Completely confused, she knew she needed to ask for directions.
Charley stepped inside a nearby coffeehouse and was instantly immersed in its warm atmosphere of overstuffed chairs, nooks filled with cute coffee items, and a light instrumental rendition of “The First Noel” playing overhead. She drew in a deep breath, relishing the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. She had to try one of their coffees. She got in line and checked out the hot drink menu written on a chalkboard above her.
An efficient barista in her late thirties kept moving the orders along nicely, so it wasn’t long before Charley heard, “Hi, there. How can I help you?”
Getting on board with the small-town friendliness, Charley promptly glanced at her name tag. “Morning, Piper. I’d like to try your gingerbread latte. Regular, please.”
“Sure thing.” Piper got to work behind the counter while Charley took out her map.
“Can I ask you where Kringle Lane is?” She unfolded the map on top of the counter. “I can’t seem to find it.”
Piper tilted her head to get a better view. “That’s because it’s not a street but a location.”
Charley gave her a puzzled look.
“You’re looking for 1 Kringle Lane, correct?”
“Yes.”
Piper handed over Charley’s latte. “There’s a red mailbox on the north end of the town square. That’s 1 Kringle Lane.”
“A mailbox?” It dawned on her. “Of course. Kris Kringle.” Charley laughed. “That’s Santa’s mailbox?”
“As long as I can remember, and I’ve lived here for fifteen years.”
“Do you believe in the Scrooge Legend?”
“Absolutely.” The barista wiped down the counter. “You won’t find anyone around here who doesn’t.” Piper sounded like her driver, Fred.
Charley took out her wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s on me,” she said. “I’m assuming you’re a guest of our town?”
Charley gave her a curious look. “How did you know?”
“No one asks about the address unless they’ve received a Scrooge letter. I did the exact same thing.”
Her mouth fell open. “You were a Scrooge?”
Piper chuckled at her reaction. “A lot of us were.”
There were previous Scrooges in town that she could interview? “What do you mean by a lot?”
“I don’t know.” Piper shrugged. “If I were to guess, probably a quarter of the town.”
“That many?” Just what kind of weird cult is operating in St. Nicholas, Colorado? “How does it work?”
“Hmm.” Piper chewed on her lower lip. “In short, my life was a mess, then I came here, everyone was so welcoming, and suddenly I started seeing things differently. Before I knew it, everything turned around for me.”
Yep, it’s a cult all right. “Just like that?”
“Yeah. Just like that.”
Charley couldn’t miss the sincerity in Piper’s voice, which only meant one thing—she was still brainwashed. Charley wanted to arrange a sit-down interview with her but a line of customers was growing behind her. “Thank you for your time and for the latte,” she said, stuffing a five in the tip jar.
“My pleasure. Enjoy your stay in St. Nicholas.”
Charley exited the coffeehouse and immediately crossed the street to the town square. This was crazy. A quarter of the residents were former Scrooges? She’d easily be able to find more than one person who could tell her the ugly truth behind the so-called legend.
Charley followed the meandering path, passing the Christmas tree in the center of the town square and continuing to the north end where the mailbox was supposed to be located. When she came around an old-fashioned lamppost and a cluster of large pine trees, she saw it, standing alone, right in front of her. Where’s the spotlight snapping on and the chorus of singing angels?
The mailbox was indeed red. Bright red. Santa red. The shape and height appeared similar to a typical USPS mailbox, but it had a flat top, ornate gilded legs, and a large flag shaped like a candy cane attached to the right side. On the front of the mailbox, and in bright gold letters, it read 1 KRINGLE LANE.
“It exists.” Charley grabbed her phone. “It really exists.” She snapped a bunch of pictures, then backed up and took some more.
She stared at the mailbox, willing it to spill all of its secrets. She wasn’t sure what she expected. Would it light up and suddenly spit out letters to potential Scrooges? How exactly did the whole thing work? Who was generating the letters to get so many people to come to St. Nicholas? Was the town hurting for money? It didn’t appear that way, yet the townspeople seemed deliriously happy. Were they putting on a show for her? If so, what was their end game?
She thought about what Piper said. Everything changed...just like that.
“Just like that?” Nothing changed just like that. “Bah, humbug,” Charley spat, turning on her heel. She’d locate the post office and find out exactly who owned the mailbox.
Charley was maybe fifty feet down the path when she heard metallic hinges squeaking with a low hollowed groan. It was a similar sound she heard every time she dropped a letter into the mailbox outside her apartment building back home. She whipped around, expecting to see someone dropping off mail, but no one was near the mailbox.
“Okay, that was a little weird.” She walked back over and inspected it. She pulled on the handle, but it wouldn’t open. She yanked harder, thinking the door was hung up on something inside, but it actually didn’t feel stuck. It felt locked. She fixed her eyes on the enigma. There had to be a logical explanation for why it wouldn’t open.
She spied a park bench a few feet away, walked over to it, and sat down, waiting for someone to use it. Charley closed her coat up over her ears and took a small taste of the gingerbread latte. In an instant, memories of her childhood filled her head.
Every December her father would kick off the Christmas season by bringing home a box of the most amazing gingerbread cookies she ever tasted. They weren’t the usual thick, hearty gingerbread cookies—these were thin and delicate with a smooth, rich flavor of ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg. She and her dad would enjoy two each, every night after supper, until they were gone. While they dipped their cookies in a glass of milk, they’d talk about her dreams and future aspirations, and Charley realized how blessed she was to have a father
like him.
She’d been nine when her dad brought home the first batch of cookies, and it became a tradition that lasted for ten years. Now he lived in London where his work and new wife had taken him. She missed those moments with him as much as she missed her mother, who had passed away five days after Charley’s twenty-second birthday.
Charley was suddenly startled out of her thoughts by a studious-looking twenty-something guy walking up to the mailbox. He pulled open the Velcro flap on the front pocket of his computer bag and retrieved a blank piece of paper and pen. He wrote something down on the paper, contemplated it for a moment before folding it in half. He then opened the mailbox door with ease. The hinges squeaked with a low groan, and she was certain that exact sound was what she had heard a few minutes earlier. The guy dropped in the piece of paper, flipped up the striped candy-cane flag, and walked away.
“Excuse me?” She jumped to her feet, hurrying after him.
The guy turned around, tossing his sandy brown hair out of his eyes. “Yes?”
“Um...sorry to be nosy, but did you throw a piece of paper into that mailbox?”
“I did,” he answered cautiously, as if he were waiting for Charley to tell him the reason for her inquiry.
“But it’s a mailbox. Don’t you need an envelope and a stamp?”
An amused smile tugged at his lips. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No.”
“That’s Santa’s mailbox for Scrooge requests. No postage needed.” He turned to go.
“Scrooge requests?” she asked breathlessly, not wanting him to leave.
“Yes.” He faced her. “The famous Scrooge Legend?”
She gave him a blank stare, pretending not to know about the legend because she wanted to hear his interpretation of it.
“Tell me you at least know of the legend,” he implored.
“I heard something about it but not any of the details.”
The guy readjusted his shoulder strap, walking back to her. “Every week, Santa invites a real Scrooge, or Scrooges, to stay in St. Nicholas. During that time—”
She held up her hand. “What do you mean by a real Scrooge?”
“Generally, it’s anyone who hates Christmas or is stingy.”
That’s clearly not me.
“Scrooges are also defined as people who ruin things for everyone else because they’re unhappy.”
Okay, maybe that’s me, a little. “That describes a lot of people I know,” she said with a chuckle. She thought it was funny; however, he barely cracked a smile, and Charley imagined him wondering what kind of horrible people she had as friends. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat, then got the conversation back on track. “Um...so, Santa brings Scrooges here. And then what?”
“The Scrooges are filled with the true meaning of Christmas, which changes their lives for the better. And on a grander scale, their new outlook on life changes the world for the better.”
She nodded, considering his words. I could use a little of that. “So, the mailbox is like a suggestion box?”
“That’s a good way of putting it, yes. Anyone can suggest someone, but only Santa knows who’s really a Scrooge.”
Santa. Ha! Right. “It’s a noble idea. If only it were true...”
“Who’s to say it isn’t?”
“Me. I’m apparently a Scrooge, and I don’t feel any different.”
He cocked his head. “When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday.”
The guy laughed. “You’re at the very beginning. Find me in a week and try telling me you’re not changed.” He started to walk away.
“I’m at the beginning of what?” she asked quickly.
“Your adventure.”
“You wholeheartedly believe in this, don’t you?”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t have suggested my ex-girlfriend if I didn’t.”
An ex-girlfriend who’s a Scrooge, and he wants her to be happy? Now that is a noble gesture.
“See ya around, Miss Scrooge,” he said over his shoulder.
“I wish people would stop calling me that,” she muttered under her breath as she walked back over to the mailbox. She wrapped her hand around the handle and pulled, expecting to hear the metallic hinges sing. But they didn’t. The door wouldn’t open for her. “What the heck?” She yanked on it with all her might and the darn thing remained shut. It didn’t make any sense. She’d just witnessed a guy dropping in—
She dug around in her handbag for a pen, then threw her bag back over her shoulder. “A Scrooge, a Scrooge. Who is a Scrooge?” She was joking when she told the guy she knew a lot of Scrooges. Truth was, she was the only one. Think. There were a couple of old bosses and a landlady who could be considered Scrooges, but none of those people were in her life now, and she definitely didn’t want them to be again. The guy wanted to help his ex. Hers were jerks. Think, think—she gasped.
Jack. He could be considered a Scrooge. She furiously scribbled his name on her coffee sleeve. “All right, Santa. You think I have a problem with Christmas? Wait until you get a load of this guy.” She tried the handle again, and with the sound of squeaking hinges, she tossed the coffee sleeve into the mailbox with sheer abandon.
“Let’s see if you can find my high school sweetheart. Facebook couldn’t, so I’m fairly certain you won’t be able to, either.” Charley raised her chin proudly, as if she had just bested a world champion chess player. “Oh, what was that, Santa?” She put a hand to her ear. “Is that a challenge, you ask?” She smiled with total satisfaction. “You bet it is.”
A couple came out of nowhere, walking along the path. She knew they’d seen her talking to the mailbox because they wouldn’t stop gawking at her.
Charley awkwardly waved at them before she turned and hurried away. “I knew something was wrong with this town. It’s already got me talking to inanimate objects.”
Chapter Eight
Unable to come up with a logical explanation as to why the mailbox only accepted Scrooge suggestions, Charley needed to talk to someone at the post office, but on her way over there, she decided to interview some of the locals about the Scrooge Legend instead. Each story sounded more spectacular and, dare she say, more farfetched than the last.
One woman discovered she had a twin sister who miraculously showed up in St. Nicholas the same time she did. Another woman literally ran into a man she met in France who she knew was her soulmate. They were now happily married with children. A true Scrooge of a man tried to actually buy the town, just so he could stop their year-round Christmas celebration. He was now the current mayor, and he approved of all things Christmas. As much as Charley wanted to believe these stories, too many stars would need to align for any of it to have actually happened.
She checked the time. The interviews had taken longer than expected, so she’d have to skip the post office for now and get back to the inn. Mary was serving afternoon snacks for the guests at three, and she didn’t want to miss it. The relaxed atmosphere would make it easier for her to interrogate guests without their knowledge.
When she opened the inn’s front door and entered the foyer, she was happy to see several couples hanging out in the living room.
“Charley!” Mary came out of the kitchen with two trays of appetizers. “Come meet our other guests.”
She followed her host into the living room where Mary set down the trays to make the introductions.
“Charley, I’d like you to meet Rebecca and Tom Byrnes. They’ve been coming to St. Nicholas for the past eight years. Selena and Dominic are here for their third year, and this is Kim and Matt Foster, who are celebrating their anniversary with us.”
“Congratulations,” Charley said to Kim and Matt before greeting the whole group. “It’s very nice to meet all of you. This is my first time here.”
“Hot cider?” Mary offe
red, holding a heavy tray of filled mugs as the group eagerly helped themselves.
“Oh, and here’s our latest guest.” Mary gestured to a man descending the stairs. “His name is Jack Brody.”
Charley gasped, whipping around, and when she saw him, she was frozen from shock. Her heart was drumming so loudly, she couldn’t hear anything else. She couldn’t fathom how she was actually staring at Jack Brody, the Jack Brody—the one who stole her heart and locked it away. The Jack Brody she swore she’d get over but never did. The Jack Brody who was no longer a cute, lanky, sixteen-year-old with boyish charm, but a gorgeous thirty-year-old man who was approaching her that very moment.
Her eyes drank him in. His thick black hair was cut short which only accentuated his high cheekbones and rugged square jaw. His toned, muscular body nicely filled out his button-down shirt and dark denim jeans, and the way he carried himself down the stairs told Charley he was confident and in control of any situation.
Jack’s gaze locked on to her with instant recognition, and she swore time stood still.
“Do you know Jack?” Mary asked.
“Yes,” Charley heard herself say breathlessly, but she wasn’t sure if she had answered Mary or some unspoken question Jack was asking her from afar.
“Well, isn’t that nice?”
“How is he here?” Her mouth barely worked as she grappled at the plausibility of a mailbox bringing a person to town. “I put his name in the box only a few hours ago.”
“What was that?” Mary turned an ear toward Charley. “Did you say something?”
Charley couldn’t tear her eyes away. She unexpectedly gasped for air, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.
“Are you all right, dear?” Mary asked with concern.
No, she was not. She had spent years fortifying thick, impenetrable walls that she put up against Jack Brody, and in an instant, they had crumbled to dust. All of those explosive, damning words she swore she’d throw at him one day had suddenly left her brain. She had a whole speech prepared, an abridged version of it, and even a four-word sentence—depending on the time she would have to deliver it. But the second she laid eyes on him, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember one negative thing to say.
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