In the Winter Woods

by Isabelle Adler

  “You believe Davis is guilty?”

  “Either that, or he has the worst luck.” He craned his neck to look at something behind me. “Excuse me, there’s someone I must talk to.”

  “Will, could you take a picture of me with Mr. Kensington— Wait, where’s Will off to?” Hartwell said, turning to me after he finished chatting to Janice.

  “No idea,” I said.

  Undaunted, Hartwell whipped out his own cell phone. “So how about that picture, Mr. Kensington?”

  “Uh,” I said, but he’d already bumped into my shoulder and snapped a selfie of us together. I blinked, hoping I didn’t come out looking like a frightened ghost.

  “Very nice, very nice,” Hartwell said and clapped me on the back. “Enjoy the rest of your evening!”

  I said something appropriately pleasant, but he was already hopping away, no doubt looking for more photo ops.

  “Here he comes,” Janice whispered loudly in my ear and nudged me with her elbow.

  I turned in the direction she was looking. Sure enough, there was Curtis, wearing a white sweater and a sheepskin jacket instead of his usual uniform, striding through the milling mass of merrymakers.

  I’d often used the expression “his heart fluttered in his chest,” but this was the first time I actually experienced what it felt like. Everything around me—the music, the chatter, the laughter, the lights—seemed to fade away as I watched him approach. Despite the casual attire, he looked as handsome as every prince in a Hallmark Christmas movie, his hair gleaming like burnished gold and his eyes as blue as Vermont sky after the rain.

  “Hey, Declan,” he said, coming up to meet me. I hope he couldn’t tell just how fast my heart was thumping as we shook hands. “Mrs. Bentley.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you boys alone.” Janice nudged me again, discreetly, in Curtis’s direction and melted into the crowd.

  For a few seconds we stood there, gazing at each other.

  “I’m glad you came,” Curtis said finally. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” I said.

  Although I didn’t specify the reason, his lips pulled up in a tentative smile, and I grinned back at him before I could think the better of it.

  By some sort of unspoken agreement, we started off together toward the edge of the green, on a circular path that offered a bit more privacy, even though the strings of lights drawn across it between the trees still offered plenty of illumination. Here, in the darker corners of the park, away from the noise, it was almost like stepping into a fairy tale; a myriad of colorful fireflies hid amid the branches and hung suspended in the open air above our heads as we walked.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier,” Curtis said. “It’s been a hectic twenty-four hours.”

  His hands were shoved inside the pockets of his jacket, and I was still holding my cider. Ostensibly, we were keeping a polite distance, but once in a while our shoulders would brush, with neither of us commenting or pulling away.

  “I can imagine,” I said. “How’s Logan?”

  “He’s being detained for the time being, while the state police are checking his version of the events.”

  “You didn’t sound surprised that Logan turned out to be Frank’s son,” I said, recalling my frantic phone call. “How did you know?”

  “After we found those old letters and photos in Porter’s cottage, I ran a background check on Lucy Henshaw. She settled down in Philadelphia with her only son, and never married. She worked as back-office administrator for a concrete firm right until she died a few years ago. Logan had changed his last name before coming here, but he’d had some minor scuffles with the law when he was in high school, and Philly PD forwarded me his records. I was trying to see if Frank Porter had a file on him when you called me from your cabin.” Curtis shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t invited him over. You could have been in real danger.”

  “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t planning on it playing out the way it did. Do you believe he’s guilty?”

  There was a moment of silence as Curtis contemplated my question, and I got the feeling I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally. “His story is tenuous at best, and Porter’s estate is worth well over a million dollars. That’s a powerful motive.”

  “But you don’t think he did it.”

  “He didn’t do it,” a woman’s voice said.

  Someone stepped from the shadows onto the path before us, and Curtis moved to block them, shielding me with his body.

  I didn’t know if that was his training kicking in, or some unconscious urge to protect me specifically, but my heart swelled with gratitude (or perhaps more than mere gratitude) before I had the chance to register the newcomer.

  “Hailey,” I said in surprise, peeking behind Curtis’s shoulder.

  “He didn’t do it,” Hailey repeated.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. Strands of blond hair hung limply from under a hand-knitted hat in the same unflattering style as Logan’s. Her eyes were red and puffy with recent crying, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the thought I was an inadvertent cause of her misery.

  “Mrs. Davis—” Curtis began gently.

  “No. Please listen to me. I didn’t want to talk to you at the festival, with all these people whispering behind my back, so I followed you here to tell you. Logan is innocent. This whole business with him being related to Porter had nothing to do with the murder.”

  “You knew about this, right?” I asked, mostly to encourage her to continue.

  She nodded. “Logan told me everything before we became engaged.” Her eyes glistened, but she hastily blinked away the tears. “We decided to keep it a secret. The way Porter treated Logan, he didn’t deserve him as a son anyway.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything after Porter died?”

  “Because we knew how it would look.” Hailey sniffed and hugged herself tighter. “Especially with him going to the cottage that day and finding him dead. We figured no one would find out, but Logan is such a terrible liar. I knew he’d slip up somehow.” She glared at me, and I shrank back, recalling how I had goaded Logan into divulging damning information. “But he didn’t do it. I swear. I know who the real murderer is.”

  That certainly got my attention, and by the subtle way Curtis’s stance changed, it got him on alert as well.

  “Who?”

  “Mayor Hartwell.”

  “Hartwell?” Curtis repeated. “What makes you say that, Mrs. Davis?”

  Hailey glanced to the side and leaned forward a little, lowering her voice so we both were forced to lean in as well to hear her.

  “My cousin Mary works as a clerk in town hall. She told me on Tuesday morning Frank Porter came storming into the mayor’s office, practically accusing George Hartwell of embezzlement.”

  I vaguely remembered hearing Frank shouting at the mayor and him coming into Curtis’s office to complain about it, but I’d been too distracted by my own troubles at the time to pay much attention to it.

  “Do you know what it was about?” Curtis asked.

  Hailey shook her head. “No. Porter was there the day before, too, talking to Will Atwood, the city manager. He must have told him he was going to see the mayor. You should check whatever city budget paperwork Porter was looking at at the time. He makes an accusation like that and ends up dead on the same day?” She shook her head. “No way that’s a coincidence. That’s who you should be arresting, not my husband.”

  “Mrs. Davis,” Curtis said, firmly but not unkindly. “The investigation is far from over, and we’re checking all possible leads. My goal is to find the culprit, not to close the case as soon as it’s convenient.”

  “Yeah, well, meanwhile Logan is in jail,” she said and angrily brushed away tears.

  “Maybe, but he hasn’t been charged with anything yet. The state police are holding him for the time being
so they can verify his story. Look,” Curtis said, in the same soft tone he’d used to calm Logan yesterday, “I realize how difficult this is for you, but you must stay strong and clearheaded for Mr. Davis’s sake. Make sure he retains legal counsel and that he has everything he needs. I promise you I won’t leave any stone unturned until I find out the truth.”

  For a long moment, Hailey seemed to search his eyes. Finally, she nodded.

  “Make sure you do,” she said, and then turned around and strode off down the lane.

  “I just hope the truth won’t break her,” Curtis said so softly I barely heard him. There was a kind of sadness mixed with resignation in his gaze as he watched Hailey’s petite silhouette melt into the darkness ahead.

  “Do you think she might be right about Hartwell?” I asked. “I mean, when she puts it like that, it does raise suspicion. And when I talked with him yesterday morning, he seemed extra jumpy, like he was trying very hard to hide something.”

  “I will look into it, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Porter had a tendency to accuse people of foul play over what he perceived to be discrepancies in the budget. Hell, he even accused me of playing fast and loose with the outreach program fundraiser proceeds last year.”

  “Commissioner Monroe, I’m shocked! Were you pilfering from the donation box?”

  Curtis laughed. “No, but I certainly learned my lesson about paying closer attention to keeping my figures straight on official documents. Still, I can’t be mad at Porter for being diligent. He was right to reprimand a town official for a blunder, even if he did so contentiously. And I will have a chat with Mayor Hartwell about whatever he’d found. I still haven’t gotten the chance to sift through all the materials in Porter’s office, so there might be some clues there.”

  For a while, we continued in silence, walking around the green. Occasionally bursts of animated chatter and snatches of music washed over us, like waves lapping gently on the shore.

  “So what do you think of Maplewood so far?” Curtis asked. He wasn’t looking directly at me, but I sensed his regard, almost physical in its solidity.

  “You mean, grisly murders and acts of targeted harassment notwithstanding?” I clarified, only half joking.

  “Yes,” he said, matching my light tone. “Aside from that.”

  “Let’s face it, it’s not New York, for better or for worse. But it’s nicer than I expected it to be.” I shook my head ruefully.

  “Has it changed much from when you were here last?”

  “Not that I recall. It’s been a long time, and to tell the truth, I didn’t like coming here when I was a child. Figured I could read a book just as well at home. My Dad and Jenny, though, they loved all the outdoor activities. My Dad even used to call it his patch of littoral heaven.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your parents,” Curtis said. “I can see you miss them very much.”

  “Yeah.” I bit my lip against the sudden sting in my eyes. “I do.”

  “Was that a part of the reason you came here?”

  “Maybe subconsciously. When I decided to come up to the cabin, all I wanted was to hide from the world and feel sorry for myself, but somehow, this town wouldn’t let me. It’s…growing on me.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Someone in particular.”

  Curtis stopped and turned to me, and I stopped to face him too. I was feeling a bit silly, standing there on a gravel path in the shadow of an old elm tree. The diffused yellow glow of the streetlamps gilded Curtis’s features, and the tiny firefly-like lights that glinted in the branches above crowned his head like that of a faerie prince.

  Somewhere in the distance, a group of carolers was singing, their voices rising high and clear above the rustling of the leaves around us. Despite the a cappella promises of good tidings and the cider I’d finished earlier, my mouth was dry.

  He reached for me, and I reached back. Our fingers touched and entwined, and a moment later his lips pressed against mine, gently and tentatively.

  The scent I’d learned already to associate with him—the fresh, woodsy smell of snow on pine needles with a hint of male underneath—made my head spin with exhilaration. Foregoing caution, I deepened the kiss, threading my fingers through the short hair at the back of his head.

  I wouldn’t lie and say it was the most passionate kiss of my life. It was something else entirely—solid, warm, affectionate. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly what I thought I wanted, but it was everything I needed.

  I couldn’t say how long the kiss lasted. By the time we pulled apart, we were both breathing heavily, and I was secretly pleased to note Curtis was just as flushed and bright-eyed as I must have been.

  I let my hand slip from his hair to his shoulder and brushed off the thin layer of snow that had gathered there in those short moments.

  “That was…” I swallowed, suddenly losing my nerve under his blue-eyed gaze.

  “Yeah. It was.”

  Curtis put his hand over mine. The pulse under his skin beat fast and steady.

  “I kinda wish we could do more than this,” I said with a raw kind of honesty that surprised me. “I wish you could come over to my place tonight. We could grab some takeout, open a bottle of wine, compare notes on potential suspects and whatever. You know, as people do on a Friday night.”

  Curtis chuckled. His hand tightened on mine for a split second before letting go.

  “I wish so too. We can’t yet, but I promise we will. I can think of nothing more I’d rather do than talk murder with you—provided it’s all hypothetical.”

  “Scout’s honor?” I teased, unable to hide my relief.

  “Were you even a Boy Scout?”

  “What do you think?”

  Curtis grinned at me, and despite all my intentions to be on my best behavior, it was all I could do not to kiss him again right there under the tree canopies strewn with twinkling lights.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Curtis said he had to be in St. Albans first thing in the morning to check up on Logan, so we made an early night of it, and I returned to my car.

  I’m not ashamed to admit I was whistling. I’d be the first to call myself cynical, bitter, and disillusioned, but this thing between Curtis and me, whatever it was, was slowly tearing down at the walls I’d built around my heart to protect myself from disappointment. Perhaps I should have been more apprehensive at the prospect of putting myself out there, especially considering we hadn’t actually been on a date yet. It had been just one kiss. We hadn’t even talked about our relationship in more than a few vague hints, but I knew I wasn’t imagining the mutual attraction and yearning that simmered beneath the surface, under the guise of polite interest. I could still taste it on my lips.

  The more I got to know Curtis and witness how he carried himself, whether in private or in a professional capacity, the more I wanted to find out about him, even if it meant I had to wait. I wanted to be privy to his hopes and dreams, to what made him tick.

  And, God help me, I wanted to show him more of myself in a way I thought I never could again. I’ve been alone and lonely for so long that the thought of opening up to someone, especially someone so perceptive as Curtis seemed to be, was terrifying. And yet, despite the anxiety, I knew I had to take that risk.

  Like a moth drawn to a flame, I had to take a leap of faith to the source of light that presented itself in my path. I would either find comforting warmth or be burned to a crisp, but I still wanted to see where the light took me.

  All the way to my cabin, I tried to focus on that affirmative image, and deflect all the doubts that the more world-weary part of my brain was so quick to present. Like the fact that I was still implicated in a murder Curtis was investigating, and the possibility that our relationship might damage his career prospects and public image. Maplewood had proven to be far more progressive than what I’d expected from such a remote small town, but sometimes the undercurrents of prejudice were too deep to be detected at first glance.
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  And even if we did finally have our first date, and that initial spark of attraction flared into a flame, would there be any point in keeping it going? I couldn’t live my whole life in a cabin in the woods. Yes, Maplewood was nice in its own charming and gruesome way, but I wasn’t planning on staying here. It was just a temporary retreat, a place to lick my wounds, plan my comeback, and then go back to the grind of the big-city publishing industry. I wasn’t really cut out for country life—or for any sort of romantic relationship that would tie me to it.

  Was I?

  As my mood on the ride up Pine Grove Lane gradually deflated from elated to pensive, snow began to fall again, blurring visibility. I turned on the high beams just as I made the turn into the driveway, and that was when I knew something was wrong.

  It wasn’t anything glaring, really, but since I’d neglected to shovel the snow that kept piling around the cabin, I immediately noticed some of it had been disturbed, as if someone had been making a path through it toward the back patio that overlooked the lake.

  I considered the possibility of a woodland creature trying to raid my trashcans for food, but it looked like something much larger than a fox or a raccoon had slunk through the drifts that surrounded the house.

  My heart pounding, I got out of the car, leaving the engine running in case I needed to make a quick escape. The high beams illuminated the front porch, but everything else was shrouded in thick darkness. Very slowly and very carefully, I walked toward the deck, holding my car keys between my fingers like a makeshift weapon.

  “Is anybody there?” I called, hating how feeble and trembling my voice sounded. I swallowed and tried again: “I’m calling the police!”

  Nothing moved in the shadows, but I grew more and more uneasy as I surveyed the snow in front of me. Most of it was fresh, but now, looking closely, I could distinguish footprints. I was hardly an expert tracker, but they appeared to have been left by hiking boots, or something very similar.