The Christmas Scoop

by Mimi Wells

  “There’s always Mrs. Pendleton.”

  Ivy shot him a look. “I’m not that desperate.” Her gaze slid over to the empty coffeemaker, and she groaned. “No coffee? Mind if I make some more?”

  “Be my guest.”

  She smiled wryly. “Isn’t that supposed to be your job, Mr. Innkeeper Man?”

  “I’m still an apprentice,” he returned.

  She shook her head. “What would your nana say?”

  As much as Rand enjoyed watching Ivy rummage through cabinets for a filter and more coffee, he had to wonder why she was there at all. He offered his help yesterday without expecting any response. That had been their pattern all through school. He’d offer, she’d ignore, preferring to do things herself. But every once in a while, she’d hit a wall and grudgingly accept assistance. This ought to be interesting.

  Ivy pulled a mug from the cabinet and set it on the counter by the coffeemaker. “Do you want some?”

  “Only if it’s better than what I just finished drinking,” Rand said, indicating the cup in the sink.

  “It will be.” She got a second clean mug and set it on the counter next to hers. “So,” she said, turning to face him. “Julian Wolf.”

  He felt like a kid keeping a secret about who took the cookies. “What about him?”

  “You said you’d help me. I’ve decided to take you up on the offer.”

  Rand leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. Could she hear the tattoo of his guilty heart? “Not sure that I’ll be useful, but go ahead. What do you need?”

  “I have to find him, and you are my best connection to doing that. Don’t you innkeeper types get together at town meetings or something?”

  “You watch too much Gilmore Girls.”

  “Blasphemer,” she said, but her tone was light.

  He reached past her for the coffeepot handle, tamping down the growl of interest that had started the minute she walked into the kitchen, and poured them both a cup. “Sorry, we don’t have fancy creamer like The Grind.” He pulled a small carton of half-and-half and a mostly empty bottle of chocolate syrup out of the refrigerator, then grabbed the cinnamon-sugar shaker off the top of the toaster oven where it had lived since he was a kid and set them down for her with a flourish. “Knock yourself out.”

  She settled for a spoonful of regular sugar and a dollop of the half-and-half, but nothing more.

  He peered at her over the rim of his mug as he took a sip, then groaned. “Now that’s coffee.”

  “Told you,” she replied pertly. “Now can we get back to business? Julian Wolf. He’s here. I know it.”

  Not anymore, he isn’t. “Even if he is, what makes you think he hasn’t sworn whoever’s hiding him to secrecy?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he has, which is why we have to be smarter than he is. Nobody with any sense is going to say, ‘Why, of course, here’s his signature on our register, and here’s where you can set up a camera to take butt shots when he gets out of the shower.’” She shot him a “duh” look that was straight out of a meme. “I’m sure he’s registered as Bruce Wayne or something ridiculous like that. For all I know, ‘Fitzwilliam Darcy’ is staying right upstairs. But since I know you’re too much of an Eagle Scout to just show me your guest register, you can help me find a car.”

  “A car.”

  “Yes, a car.” She had a tone in her voice, the one he remembered from study halls and lab reports all those years ago, the one that said she’d found the solution and would everyone else hurry up and get there already? “I told you I saw him in the Atlanta airport. Well, I also saw him get into a car.”

  “How are you so sure it was him?”

  “Because I followed him. But not close enough. All I got was SUV or wagon, gray, North Carolina plates. Who around here has a car like that?”

  Rand sent up a prayer of thanks he’d managed the great car switch already. If Ivy had spotted his Subaru through the glass panes of the kitchen door, the jig would have been up. No way he could withstand an Ivy Macpherson interrogation. He’d crumpled too many times in the past, and he was out of practice.

  “Hello, Earth to Rand,” she teased.

  He smiled at her. “Sorry. Got something on my mind. What now?”

  She let out an exasperated huff as she’d done so many times in the past. “Try to keep up. Gray car, SUV or wagon.”

  He pretended to ponder a moment. “Dogwood Mountain isn’t so small I keep the entire DMV in my head,” he said. “But there are a couple of Jeeps that color. Maybe a Volvo wagon or two? Tahoes, Explorers—you know, mountain cars.” He didn’t mention Subarus. She was smart. She knew what people drove up here.

  “You are zero help,” she said. “And you promised.”

  Rand set down his mug. Fantastic as her coffee had been, he’d hit his limit for the morning. Please, Lord, send me a tiny bit of Julian Wolf’s acting talent so I can pull this off. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go exploring and see what we find.” He lifted a hand and indicated she should lead the way.

  She narrowed her eyes at him but ended up picking up her coat and scarf and heading toward the lobby. He grabbed his puffy jacket and followed.

  They called out goodbyes to Jessica, ensconced behind the desk working at the computer, and headed outside. The skies had broken up from yesterday’s solid iron, patches of icy, clear blue peeking out between the wispy gray and white clouds. A pine-scented breeze blew down the street. They passed The Catamount, its dining room quiet and dark since it opened only for dinner and Sunday brunch, then headed up the street past city hall, nodding and waving at folks walking into the side door that led to Dogwood Mountain’s small post office.

  After a brief detour to check out a gray Lexus parked in the center slots—Florida tag—they returned to the sidewalk right where the colonnade of bare dogwood trees led from Main Street up to the bright red doors of the Creekside Church, their gnarled branches a tangle of dark lace against the building’s gray stone.

  Ivy let out a sigh. “I always love this view in the springtime. All those pink and white blossoms.”

  “Is that homesickness I hear?” He lifted his eyebrows.

  “Not really,” she replied, but there was something in her tone that told a different story.

  Interesting.

  “Don’t you miss Charlotte?” she continued.

  “Every once in a while. But what does Charlotte have that I can’t get right here?” He gestured to the eclectic shops and restaurants that peppered this block of Main Street.

  “Pro sports.” Ivy grinned at him. “Sushi. And people. Lots of glorious people without a word to say about you or how you’re living your life. Blessed, blessed anonymity.”

  As if to punctuate her thought, Althea Pendleton suddenly knocked on the window of Wishing Well, the boutique and gift shop she owned, and waved furiously at the two of them. Ivy groaned, and then they both started laughing.

  “That’s twice in two days,” Ivy muttered as they walked out of eyesight. “If she sees me around you a third time, she’ll call my mama and ask where her ‘Save the Date’ card is.”

  “Surely, it’s not that bad.”

  She shot him a black look. “You didn’t grow up a Macpherson girl. Althea correctly predicted Violet and Evan, so she’s been determined to complete the full set of us. If he’s male, he’s perfect. All he needs is a pulse and working lungs.”

  “Okay, you might have a point about the anonymity,” he averred after exchanging greetings with a series of residents. “But there’s something to be said for a place where folks ask after your family because they care about them, or start fixing your favorite breakfast when you hit the door of the café.”

  “Everybody already knows too much about my family, and Señor Perez at the bodega has an egg on a roll waiting for me every morning,” she countered. “Small towns are fine. Great, even. They’re just not for me anymore. Well, not this one, anyway.”

  Ivy fell silent. Rand used the pause to study her from
the corner of his eye. The chilly air had pinkened her cheeks, so she looked even more like a woodland princess than normal despite the determined set of her jaw. When they reached the corner, Ivy stopped, a speculative look in her eye. Across the street, the Brontosaurus and the Mountain Rest Hotel sat on their corners.

  “So what’s the plan?” he prompted.

  “Depends. How well do you know the folks at the Mountain Rest?”

  “Not that well.”

  She harrumphed. “Networking is a good thing, Rand. You should try it.” She gave him a look most often found on disappointed teachers. “You know, maybe I just need to handle this myself.”

  “Are you sure you had enough coffee?” he teased.

  “Nope.” She hunched her shoulders in her coat as another breeze swept past them, carrying a hint of woodsmoke and the light, citrusy scent he guessed must be Ivy’s perfume. It fit. Her sharp mind and her energy demanded something crisp, straightforward. Flowers didn’t suit her. “Speaking of that, would you mind a detour? The coffeemaker at the house died, and I figured I’d pick one up at the hardware store.”

  “Sure.” They crossed the street toward the pub. Unlike the Catamount, the Brontosaurus Pub opened at eleven every day, and already the place was filling up. The traffic in town was heavier than usual, with parents picking up last-minute gifts while their kids were in school on the last day before the holiday break, tourists stopping for lunch on their way to a ski slope or over to Asheville to tour the famous Biltmore Estate and its charming Antler Hill Village.

  They had to wait to cross again. Once they did, Ivy fell silent as they passed the paved lot behind the Mountain Rest, no doubt scoping out the few cars parked back there. No gray anything, Rand noticed, which Ivy confirmed with an audible hmmph and a slight increase in speed.

  “I’d forgotten that mountain blocks were different from city blocks,” she said, puffing a little as they began the uphill climb toward the corner where Hitchcock’s grocery, City Drug, and Dogwood Mountain Hardware sat in a cluster. “I walk all the time at home, but this is wearing me out.”

  “You’re on vacation,” Rand said. “No need to rush.”

  “Deadlines wait for no woman,” Ivy shot back. “Come help me buy this coffeemaker, and then you can feed me lunch.”

  Chapter Six

  By the time Ivy had found a decent coffeemaker, stood in line behind a gaggle of women admiring the young man in the checkout to pay for it, exchanged hellos and Christmas greetings with what seemed like half the town, and she and Rand had walked back down the hill to the Brontosaurus, she was starved. And a little unnerved.

  It had been years since she’d spent this much time with Rand Cooper. She was shocked to discover she enjoyed it. Unlike high school, when most of her interactions with Rand had something to do with homework or yet another interview for the school paper, today’s stroll around town had been more personal. And, she had to admit, pleasant.

  Ivy cast him a glance. There was no denying it—Rand had turned into a grade-A hunk of man in the last few years. The skinny, long-limbed kid who’d sat a row over from her in homeroom since junior high had filled out. She’d be willing to bet he sported a six-pack, the kind that came from hard work rather than hours in the gym, under his forest green sweater. His curly hair glinted with copper highlights in the patchy sunlight. He met her gaze, his bluish-green eyes dancing with good humor, and something hot jolted through her.

  She absolutely should not be thinking sexy thoughts about Rand Cooper. She should be concentrating on her story, not the way his eyes gleamed. And definitely not how nice his butt looked in his well-worn jeans. But she still couldn’t resist checking it out more closely when he preceded her to the door.

  A cheerful ding ding! from the rewired gas station signal bell sounded when they entered the warm, bustling pub. Filament lights glowed over the reclaimed wormy chestnut bar and along the row of brass taps. A geriatric Labrador retriever lay on the concrete floor by the bar, its thick tail thumping in time to the 1940s-style holiday music pumping from the speakers overhead.

  Rand ushered Ivy over to a table. “Saw you scanning the parking lot,” he commented as he draped his North Face jacket over the back of his chair.

  Ivy stacked the bag with the coffeemaker, her tote, and her coat on one of the spare chairs and reached for a menu. “Three SUVs, none gray, no joy,” she replied. Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those hangry people.”

  “Careful now. The major warning sign of hangry is getting super annoyed that someone notices,” she replied tartly.

  A shadow fell across Ivy’s menu and a voice drawled out, “Well, look what the cat dragged in. It’s the nerd herd.”

  Ivy grit her teeth and turned to find Kit Gallagher grinning down at her from his broad, freckled face. “Hey, Kit,” she said, voice as flat as the scarred tabletop.

  “Kit’s been working as the brewmaster here for a while now,” Rand explained.

  “Best job ever,” Kit affirmed, rubbing his belly, which had expanded since his days as the Dogwood Mountain Catamounts’ star linebacker. “Free samples all day long.”

  Ivy smoothed the scowl from her forehead. Kit didn’t mean her any real harm. He just couldn’t resist unleashing a nerd herd crack or a fruitcake joke every time he saw her. He was essentially a human deer fly—an annoyance that only stung someone if they didn’t prepare for it beforehand.

  She’d spent a decade in New York City. Dealing with the A-train going down during rush hour was way harder than putting up with Kit.

  “Raptor Red Ale, which is good, is our draft of the day, and this one I like a lot,” Kit said, pointing to the photocopied brew of the week sheet Rand held. “Dark, which I prefer, plenty of hops, good mouth feel, flavors of caramel, whiskey, and apples—hey, Ivy! It’s like fruitcake in a glass!”

  Right on cue. Ivy suppressed the urge to roll her eyes like a sullen teen while Kit yukked it up. He and his beefy squad of football bros had needled her about what seemed like everything—her early height, her farm girl boots, and of course, the Phruitcake foolishness. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d been called nutty or told nobody would like her because nobody liked fruitcake.

  But that was then. Today, she smiled blandly at Kit and ordered a Raptor Red.

  He bustled off to the bar, calling out their order in his booming voice as he walked. Ivy looked up and met Rand’s questioning gaze. To her surprise, her irritation ebbed. He’d been nothing but helpful on this trip so far.

  “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “Fine. Just marveling at this town’s unique ability to tick me off.”

  “This town or…” He jerked his head over his shoulder to where Kit’s laugh echoed from behind the bar.

  “Blasts from the past, family guilt, the usual holiday fun—” She broke off as Kit set their beers in front of them and wandered over to speak to another table. “All of it. That’s why I don’t live in Dogwood Mountain.”

  “Kit makes great beer,” Rand said, lifting his glass to her in salute. “One of the reasons I can’t stay away.”

  For years, Kit had dwelled near the bottom of Ivy’s list of People Too Annoying to Deal With, but when she took a sip of the Raptor Red, she had to adjust her opinion. Rand was right about the beer. It was excellent, not as bitter or hoppy as the IPAs all the hipsters in the office were drinking, and smoother. She noted a hint of something buttery and sweet, like a Heath bar had made its way into the cask. And it was a gorgeous color, nearly the same as Rand’s russet-tinged hair.

  Stop it, Ivy.

  “It’s good,” she admitted.

  She couldn’t look at Rand right now. Thank goodness the ponytailed server came over for their lunch order so Ivy could stop thinking unsettling things, like Rand’s knees just barely brushing hers underneath the tabletop or the sculpted, artistic strength of his hands. Or how his beer had left a thin edge of foam on his uppe
r lip she wanted to lick off.

  Whoa. She must be hungrier than she thought. She was getting a little cuckoo.

  Thankfully, yet another local stopped by the table and distracted her. Rand introduced her, she answered yes to the inevitable “You mean like the fruitcake?” question, and then the new arrival was off and running to Rand about something town-related.

  Ivy took the opportunity to fish in her bag for her phone. It had been ominously quiet that morning without the usual texts from Jada. A frisson of nerves played an arpeggio down her spine. She’d been sure finding Julian Wolf would be a breeze. She looked around the people crowding the room. Nobody in a worn army jacket. Nobody with Julian’s height or breadth of shoulder.

  Worry about that later. Hangry Ivy wouldn’t be able to find anyone.

  She’d barely started looking for Julian. She had pages of leads stuffed in her bag right now. She could do this. She had to do this or she might end up with Paris Temperley as her boss.

  The interrupter left when their food arrived. Ivy whistled at the number of layers in Rand’s club sandwich and bent to tackle her T-Rex Burger—too big for them to hold with those tiny arms, but perfect for her! She’d made a decent dent in it when Rand broke the silence.

  “What’s wrong?” He was staring at her.

  “Nothing.”

  He reached over and smoothed between her eyebrows. His touch was gentle, comforting. Her midsection fluttered. “You have that groove you get when you’re thinking too hard.”

  “Do I?” Ivy feigned nonchalance and ate a sweet potato fry. Down, girl.

  “Yep. Want to tell me about it?”

  Oh, the temptation to unburden herself. But aside from making sympathetic noises, what could he really do for her? “You already know. I have to find Julian Wolf.”