The Christmas Scoop

by Mimi Wells

  Her breath puffed out in clouds as she crossed the backyard. Laurel trudged up the gravel walkway from the kitchen shed with a stack of the apology boxes Ivy had packed in her arms, Bark Ruffalo tagging at her heels.

  “Finally,” she teased. “How do you ever make it to work on time?”

  “I’m on vacation,” Ivy shot back, taking the boxes from her.

  Laurel grinned, all teeth and mischief, and turned back to the shed.

  Ivy settled the smaller boxes alongside the ones with the cakes and looked up to find her father with more.

  “Don’t stack more than three high on these,” he told her as he handed them over.

  “I remember.”

  After several more trips to the shed, each one supervised by Bark Ruffalo, the Explorer brimmed with cakes.

  “I think that’s all,” her mother proclaimed, frowning one last time at her marked-up shipping list and counting the boxes stacked in the truck to confirm. “Twenty-seven cakes and fifteen apology boxes.”

  Ivy pulled down the tailgate and latched it. “Want us to drive those to Hemlock for you?”

  Her father shook his head. “Nope. Your lovely mother would like a break, so we’re going to disappear for a while. You and Laurel are in charge.”

  “You know what that means,” Laurel said, leaning toward Ivy. They waved as their parents cranked the car and started off.

  “What?”

  Laurel waited for the Explorer to disappear around the corner of the house before she explained. “We’re in charge of setup for the Phestival.”

  Ivy groaned. “Oh, come on.”

  “It’s your favorite thing in the world!” Laurel teased.

  “You’re killing me, Smalls,” Ivy quoted. The Sandlot was a family favorite.

  Laurel laughed. “Come on, Bark Ruffalo. Let’s remind city girl here what it’s like to do some real work.”

  The sisters walked into the kitchen shed, which practically echoed now that the bulk of the cakes were gone. The ones that remained would be sliced and served at tomorrow’s Phruitcake Phestival.

  Laurel woke up the laptop on the desk in the corner and searched the drive for the master festival setup list. The printer hummed. Ivy noticed that for once, Bark Ruffalo was not sitting at her sister’s feet.

  “Where’s your shadow?”

  Laurel pointed to the door. “Just outside. He knows he’s not allowed in this kitchen.”

  “Smart dog.”

  “That he is.”

  “Smarter than most men I know,” Ivy said, taking one of the lists and scanning it.

  “Rand Cooper.”

  Ivy stopped reading and met Laurel’s teasing gaze. “Excuse me?”

  “Except maybe Rand Cooper,” Laurel repeated breezily. “Oh, and Dr. Solomon. But he’s taken.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Am I?” Laurel smiled, a wicked grin that sat too easily on her expressive face for comfort. “I just wish you’d quit fighting the inevitable so hard.” Laurel picked up a pen and made a few notes.

  “You do know I live in New York,” Ivy countered.

  Laurel didn’t respond, so Ivy finished reading her list. Most of the tasks were easy but time-consuming. This would take the rest of the morning and a chunk of the afternoon. No way she’d be able to run down all those addresses alone. Anxiety over her story and what she’d have to do to get it cranked up a notch.

  “What is it?” Laurel had stopped reading and was staring.

  She let out a heavy sigh. Julian Wolf, she reminded herself. Julian Wolf and her story were the source of this weird bubbling sensation under her skin. Not Rand Cooper. He was means to an end. That was it. “Nothing. What do we need to do first?”

  Laurel glared in a way that looked too much like their mother. Ivy couldn’t suppress a loud bark of laughter.

  “Fine,” Laurel said. “I’ll make you a deal. Go do the thing that’s bothering you. I’ll handle this for now.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. But it’ll cost you. You have to confess everything by dinnertime. Everything. And tonight, you’ll go with me to a thing.”

  “What kind of thing?” Ivy’s voice was wary.

  Laurel shooed her out the door. Bark Ruffalo leaped up and began dancing at their feet. “Just go. Oh—and say hi to Rand for me.”

  “Bite me.”

  Laurel’s laugh followed her back inside the house.

  *

  Rand was halfway to the post office when he got the odd feeling he was being watched. He frowned and looked back over his shoulder. Creeping down the street behind him was a familiar red VW Jetta. He stopped and waited for Ivy to pull up alongside him.

  She rolled down the window. Her brown hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, and her eyes gleamed with a focused look he remembered well. “You busy?”

  “Nope,” he told her, shoving his ever-growing list of tasks aside.

  “Then hop in. We’re going exploring.”

  He waited for her to scoop up the papers littering the passenger seat and heave her ever-present black tote into the back seat then got in. The driver behind them gave a long, irritated honk. Ivy handed the papers to him and put the car into gear, waggling her fingers cheerfully toward the back window.

  “Not everyone around here is on vacation, you know,” he said.

  “I asked,” she shot back. “Put on your seatbelt.” She signaled and slowed to turn left at the Brontosaurus.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “Everywhere, apparently.” She tapped on the papers. “Those are maps of every rental property handled by the brokers here in town. You’re the spatial relationships guy. Your job is to design the quickest route for us to check them all for signs of life.”

  Rand shuffled through the multi-page stack. “That’s a tall order.”

  “You’re a professional. I’m willing to pay for your services. You okay with Pete’s Rib Cage? I haven’t had decent barbecue in months.”

  Rand grinned to himself. Take-charge Ivy was running the show today. “Fine by me.” He slid the map with Cooper’s Notch out from the stack. Neither his grandparents’ nor his house was marked, but a few down the road had been circled in neon pink highlighter. The same two-lane road Katy and Julian would be using if they decided to leave the house.

  He pulled out his phone, heart thumping, and texted Katy. You guys at the house?

  The reply took a moment. Not right now. Julian wanted to go exploring. We’re headed to one of the waterfalls for pictures. Need us to go back?

  He glanced over at Ivy, who was singing under her breath to the one-hit wonder playing on the car stereo. No. Just making sure. Have fun. He texted Jessica to let her know he’d be out for the afternoon then leaned over and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He breathed in Ivy’s citrusy tartness and settled back into his seat with a small smile.

  “You know, if it’s not okay to steal you, I can take you back,” Ivy said. “I may be out of touch, but I do have GPS. I’m not helpless.”

  “Nobody in their right mind would ever call you helpless,” he replied. He pointed out the front window. “Turn here.”

  She slid him a glance and did as instructed.

  Rand pasted a bland look on his face as he guided her through the twisting lanes down the mountain from Cooper’s Notch, checking off four of the houses on Ivy’s list as they did. On the last one, a newer log cabin built within eyeshot of the private road that led upward to the Coopers’ own houses, she braked to a halt. His heartbeat accelerated.

  “Sure nobody’s at your folks’ house?” she teased.

  “Nobody but Hank Baggett and his crew,” he returned evenly. “They’re installing new floors.” If she insisted on going up, she’d notice the new house and start asking questions.

  A few agonizing moments ticked by before Ivy maneuvered the car into a textbook three-point turn and headed back toward the main road.

  They proceeded down the wind
ing highway, marking off houses with drawn shades and cabins with pickup trucks in the driveway, their progress slow thanks to cautious people taking their sweet time and tourists gawking at the view, beautiful and stark in the clear winter air. Rand crumpled another printout and tossed it into the foot well just as Ivy’s stomach growled loud enough for them both to hear.

  “Wow,” she said, chuckling. “Guess it’s time to feed us.” She turned without a direction from Rand and headed south to the ramshackle building that housed Pete’s Rib Cage.

  The packed dirt parking lot teemed with cars. The wraparound porch, its supports painted a flat gray to suggest a cage, bustled with people fetching plates from the utilitarian counter. A few brave souls even sat at the outdoor picnic tables. Ivy and Rand stepped out of the car. The addictive, rich blend of woodsmoke and roasting pork permeated the air.

  Ivy groaned aloud. “Lord, I miss that smell.”

  “I thought you could get everything in New York.”

  “You can. They just frown at open pits in Manhattan.” She opened the door and ushered him inside. “After you.”

  Rand gave an uncomfortable shrug, unused to being the second person through a doorway after all the courtesies Nana had drilled into him from childhood. After placing their order at the counter, Ivy led him over to the one empty table tucked in the corner.

  “Do you mind?” he asked, indicating he’d like the seat facing the door.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “You men. By all means, watch the door so you can protect us both from the Vikings.”

  They settled into their seats, and Ivy pulled out the remaining maps and slid them across the table to Rand. He held out his hand for a pen. She fished one out of her tote and handed it to him.

  “Do you carry one of everything in that bag?” he asked as he shuffled the pages into an order that made sense.

  “Almost.” She tapped the papers. “Work your magic, local boy.”

  “Pushy, pushy.” But he grinned as he did what he was told, stealing glances at Ivy as she rearranged the different sauces in the aluminum pan on the table. He marked through several choices, muttering comments about residents he knew were out of town or who had closed up for the winter, then handed the stack over.

  “I’m impressed,” she said, one eyebrow raised. She returned her attention to the papers.

  Rand took a sip of his iced tea and nearly choked. Turning into the parking lot was the unmistakable front grille of his gray Subaru. His insides froze. Julian was at the wheel, his famous face shrouded by an old gimme cap of Rand’s. Katy sat, head down, in the passenger seat. He yanked his phone out of his pocket as the car passed by the porch and disappeared behind the building.

  Ivy looked up. “Something wrong?”

  Rand forced himself to speak calmly as he looked at his phone. “Jessica,” he lied smoothly while he frantically texted to Katy, I CAN SEE YOU. DON’T COME INSIDE!

  The reply dots took far too long to appear for his comfort, but they finally did. What should we do, then?

  Head out the back driveway and turn left. There’s a great diner about a mile down the road.

  Julian’s pouting. He wanted ’cue!

  The call bell on the counter dinged, and a woman’s voice shouted out, “Sixty-eight!”

  Ivy put down her papers. “Food’s ready.”

  “I’ll get it,” Rand said. All he needed was for her to spy the car. He scraped his chair back and headed to the counter, texting his final warning as he walked. Tell Mr. Hollywood he’ll just have to wait. He hit send. He looked over at Ivy, back to jotting notes. Rand scooped up their plates and returned to set them down.

  Ivy set the papers aside then picked up a rib and held it between two fingers like a conductor’s baton. “Problems?”

  “Nothing major. Jessica handled it.”

  She nodded and started to eat. Rand was halfway through his pulled pork sandwich when he noticed Ivy had paused between bites of smoky baked beans and was watching him. “What?”

  She cocked her head, a quizzical crease appearing on her forehead. “Why do I get the feeling you’re keeping something from me?”

  His skin prickled. “What makes you say that?”

  “I drove back by the inn the other night and saw someone through one of the top floor dormer windows. One of the rooms in the closed-off wing. Want to tell me about it?”

  When had Ivy been back there? Stay calm, Cooper. “Nothing to tell. It was probably Hank. He’s doing some work for me up there.”

  She gave a small harrumph. “Keeping Hank mighty busy, aren’t you? What with the floors at your folks’ house and all.”

  “Hank’s the best in town,” Rand said, thankful that statement, at least, was the absolute truth.

  She didn’t look convinced. “You’re certain Julian Wolf isn’t staying upstairs at the Cooper House?”

  He picked up his slab of cornbread and crumbled some over his side of collard greens, then gave the mix a few liberal shakes of pepper vinegar. “I’m certain of one thing—I can’t tell you. But to put it in kid’s terms, you’re getting colder.”

  Ivy let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Don’t help me. And enjoy those collards, buddy. This is the only lunch you’re getting out of me this year.” She bent her attention to her ribs, acting for all the world like that was her last word on the subject.

  Rand watched her as she ate, her nonchalant air as fake as his explanation. Hank had been upstairs. But he’d been across the hall in the Azalea suite, which faced the street, not the inn’s parking lot. She’d probably seen him upstairs, and it was only a matter of time before she put two and two together and hit the gossip jackpot.

  Being thwarted only ever made Ivy more determined. Best to keep her distracted and busy and pray she didn’t figure things out before Julian and Katy were safely on a plane back to California. Selfishly, he was glad. Sitting one seat over from Ivy Macpherson, sneaking looks at her smooth skin and breathing in her fresh, citrusy scent, was way more interesting than any inn business he probably ought to be tending to.

  And more dangerous. If she ever figured out how he’d been deceiving her, he could kiss any kind of relationship, much less a friendship, with Ivy Macpherson goodbye forever.

  He squared his shoulders. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Eat up,” he told her, pointing at her still-brimming plate. “Lots more houses to check out. Let’s face it; Julian Wolf isn’t going to find himself.”

  Chapter Nine

  After Ivy dropped Rand off at the Cooper House and drove away later that day, she realized she missed being cocooned in the car with him. Something about his solid frame leaned back in the seat next to her felt right. She’d caught him looking over at her a few times, his earnest blue-green gaze the opposite of nearly every man she’d met in New York lately, and that felt right, too.

  But then he’d hopped out of the car and headed inside the inn without a backward glance, like their previous six hours of plotting and strategizing hadn’t even happened. That didn’t set right with her. At. All. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more, not finding Julian after all that work or realizing that she cared what Rand might be thinking about her. It made her cranky.

  Now the stars were out and here she was, back in a car but with Laurel this time. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Ivy groused.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Julian Wolf, but we all have our issues.” Laurel hummed as they headed down the road toward town.

  Issues is right, Ivy thought darkly.

  “It’ll be fun,” Laurel assured her. “New York doesn’t have the market cornered on things to do.”

  “It does as far as this is concerned,” Ivy grumbled, propping her elbow against the door of Laurel’s old Chevy two-door. “New York is glamorous. Interesting. It has hole-in-the-wall clubs, amazing food from all over the world, and culture.”

  “Handcrafts are a mark of culture. Plus, they’re a thing these days. Don’t you ever go
on Etsy?”

  “To buy things, yes. To make and sell them? Nope.”

  “It won’t kill you,” Laurel said pertly. “And you did promise.” She pulled the car up at a red light.

  Ivy glared out the windshield at the Cooper House Inn looming at the top of the hill. She wished she hadn’t confessed everything to Laurel earlier—her story, bumping into Rand, his promise to help her investigate.

  Laurel’s response was both predictable and over the top. Rand, so helpful. Rand, how kind. Rand, Rand, Rand.

  Barf.

  She was overreacting, but honestly, the idea of Rand Cooper was working her nerves. She wasn’t ready to admit the familiar thorn in her side was becoming more like an unsettling itch under her skin. She could deal with Rand as a rival. Rand as something else was, well, something else.

  “Earth to Ivy,” Laurel teased as she swung her little car in a U-turn and parked. “We’re here.”

  Ivy sighed. She got out of the car but avoided looking over at the Cooper House. All she needed now was for Laurel to start up again.

  The windows of Stitch and Thyme glowed in the early evening dimness, casting yellow oblongs of light on the sidewalk. The shop was an interesting blend, with gourmet cookware, kitchen staples, and quirky food-related gifts on one side, brimming bins and shelves of yarn, fabric, and needlework supplies on the other. It was a perfect reflection of the shop’s owners, BeBe Vogel and Daphne Broussard.

  “Laurel,” BeBe cooed, coming around the antique buffet they used as a checkout to give her an expansive hug. She looked over Laurel’s shoulder and caught Ivy’s eye as she hovered in the entranceway. “Ivy! Honey, get over here and let me take a selfie. Daph won’t believe this without photographic proof.”

  Ivy submitted to a rib-crushing hug and smiled dutifully for the selfie. “As much as I adore you, BeBe, I’m only doing this because otherwise, I’d be in for a two-hour parental grilling about why no man or no grandbabies or more prep for tomorrow’s craziness.”

  BeBe patted her on the arm. “Then you’re right where you belong.” She frowned over Ivy’s shoulder and squeezed her arm. “Excuse me a minute.” She bustled off, calling out into the depths of the shop, “Ginny Baggett, if you mix up my silk yarns again, I won’t be held responsible for what happens to you.”