“Okay, gross.” I grimaced. “Does that happen a lot?”
“No, thankfully. It’s very old school and it’s been discouraged for years, but sometimes, when a tinker can’t get something to work, they resort to that level of magic.”
“Wow.” Then I thought about what he’d said. “Wait. Back up. You’ve had the tinkers open portals using the retired snow globes?”
“Yes. They’ve broken four of them so far and successfully opened portals each time. Fortunately, the portals have only been to other parts of the NP, but creating a portal seems a natural occurrence because of the magic within them.”
That was interesting. “So what does that mean that they haven’t been able to close one?”
“We think it means that only Eustace, or someone from Eustace’s family, has the right magic to close the portal. Someone with his blood in their veins.”
“And that’s bad news because?”
“Because Eustace passed away eight months ago. And from everything that our records indicate, he was the last of the Brightlys.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. And Birdie looked like she was about to cry. “There has to be another way to close the portal.”
My dad’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “We’re working on it. I promise.”
“I know you are.”
“I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I hung up. And just sat there, staring through the windshield, a little numb and a lot unsure what to do next. “You heard all that, right, Birdie?”
“I did, Princess.” She smiled at me. It was a very mothering smile. “You okay? You don’t look okay.”
“I’m…I don’t know how I am. I feel lost. It’s not often my dad doesn’t have an answer, you know?” I blew out a breath. “And I can’t help but feel responsible for all of this.”
She reached back and patted my knee. “You know what I do when I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders?”
She was being sweet and trying to comfort me, but I’m not sure Birdie had ever felt the weight of a thing like this. Even so, I gave her my full attention because I had no doubt she had some wisdom to share. And I needed some wisdom desperately. “What’s that?”
“I do what I can do,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I lean on my friends.”
I looked at her. “I’m not sure I know what you mean about the doing what I can do part.”
“What are you good at?”
Right now, it didn’t feel like anything. “I don’t know.”
She clucked her tongue at me. “Come on, now. You’re very good at managing. People especially. And you have a lot of friends. One who’s sitting in this car with you right now.”
“What are you saying?”
With a slightly wicked grin, Birdie leaned in. “Let’s go dig up every bit of dirt on Myra Grimshaw we can. Her birth date, her school records, her favorite brand of ice cream. Everything and anything.”
“You want to go to the station?”
She gave me a look. “I was thinking something a little closer to home.”
“Your house?”
“Closer to a different home.”
Then I realized she didn’t mean on the computer. “You want to go to Myra’s.”
She tapped the side of her nose. “Now you’ve got it.”
“Do you have a key?”
She tipped her head like I was being silly. “Jayne. I know you can get in.”
Yes, she did. She’d seen me perform the Santa Slide. She’d stood guard while I’d done it. “You’re right. It’s time to see what else Myra’s been hiding.”
Birdie scooted over to the driver’s side.
“Wait, are we going right now? In this car? Isn’t this the sheriff’s car?”
“Yes, and I’m his aunt.” She threw it in reverse.
The sound turned a few heads. And got the sheriff walking.
“Um, your nephew is on his way over here.”
She sighed. “I see him. Play along.”
Like I had a choice.
She rolled down the window as he approached. “Just going to borrow your car to—”
“No.”
“Hank, don’t sass me. I need the car.”
“Not my patrol car you don’t. Where do you want to go?”
“My house.”
I guess we’d be going to Myra’s from there. On foot. Good thing I’d put my boots on.
He pointed at the passenger side. “Move over. I’ll drive you.”
She obliged, and we were on the way to her place in minutes. The sheriff radioed Deputy Blythe to tell her what was going on and asked her to inform his brother as well. When he clicked off, he spoke to Birdie again. “I would have thought you’d rather go to the station. Catch up on what you missed while you were tied up.”
“I wasn’t tied up. I was free to walk around. Mostly.”
I was sitting behind Birdie now so I could see the side eye he gave her. “You know what I mean.”
“After being detained, such as I was, I want to be in my own house for a bit. See that all’s well there. Then I’ll worry about whatever catching up I need to do. Who’s taking care of the front desk, by the way?”
“Jansen. Desk duty is all he deserves right now.”
His punishment, I supposed, for breaking the snow globe.
Sheriff Merrow glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Warehouse?”
“No, I’m going over to Birdie’s too.”
An understanding light came into his eyes. “I see.”
I’m sure he did. But thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind whatever he thought we were about to get up to. He didn’t press the issue, either. Whatever he was thinking, he had to know our mission was to solve this thing. At least that was what I guessed, as he was quiet the rest of the way. We all were. A lot on our minds, no doubt.
He dropped us off at Birdie’s, we said goodbye, and in we went. Birdie did a quick check of her place. “Everything looks fine. And now that I’m here, I’d really like a hot shower and a change of clothes. You all right with that?”
“Absolutely. After what you’ve been through? You’ve earned it.”
“You want to see if you can rustle us up something to eat too? I’d made a lasagna for Jack right before the yetis snatched me, but obviously that never got to him. Why don’t you heat us up a few pieces?”
“I’m on it.”
“Thanks.” She started for the bedroom, then stopped, her gaze landing on me in a way that made me feel like she was sizing me up. “You know how to heat up lasagna, right?”
“I’m not that helpless in the kitchen.” I put my hands on my hips. Then dropped them. “Microwave?”
“Half power, covered with a damp paper towel so the noodles don’t dry out.”
“Got it.” I headed for the kitchen. A few minutes later, I heard the shower running.
I managed to heat up two big pieces of lasagna without setting anything on fire, and by the time Birdie had rejoined me, I’d also set the table and added two glasses of lemonade from the pitcher I’d found in the fridge. It was a slightly odd drink on this deep freeze of a day, but it was that or water.
“That looks great. I never thought I’d feel this way, but I’m sick of sweets. It’s all the yetis brought me.” She’d changed into jeans and a sweat shirt. I couldn’t say I’d ever seen her in that combo before, but if she wanted to be comfortable, it was perfect.
“Are you glad we didn’t ply them with raw fish?”
She made a face as she took her place at the table. “Oh, I texted Jack.”
I sat across from her and we dug in. “To tell him you’re okay? I’m sure he’s thrilled.”
“He is, but that’s not the only reason I texted him. He’s got a truck. He’s coming to get us and take us to Myra’s.”
I went still, my fork in mid-air. “Um…about that. I…I don’t really like people knowing about my breaking
and entering skill. You’re pretty much the only one in town who’s seen it.”
She finished the bite of lasagna she’d forked up. “Not even Sinclair?”
“Nope. Not yet. It’s just one of those things that could implicate me in a lot of shady business if word got out. Know what I mean?”
She nodded and sipped her lemonade. “Sure, I understand. Tell you what, I’ll distract him in the truck while you go around back and go in that way. Then you can unlock the front door. Does that work?”
“It does. But how are you going to explain me getting in?”
“Key under the back mat.” She leaned in. “And listen, Jack is going to be so grateful that I’m all right, he’s not going to care how you got in.”
“Okay.” I hoped she was right, but it was a small thing to worry about when the town was in need of a serious de-frosting.
Jack showed up half an hour later and we were ready. The downed tree that had blocked my and Sin’s path earlier had been removed, so it didn’t take us long to get to Myra’s. As planned, I went around back and slipped through the door that went into the kitchen.
I took my time, sitting on the tile floor for at least five minutes until my head was as clear as a summer sky. I didn’t need to fall down those basement steps because I was still dizzy. When I got to the front door, only Birdie was there.
I looked past her. “Why is Jack still in the truck?”
She pushed past me into the house and closed the door. “This is a stealth mission. He’s on lookout. If anyone, like my nephew, comes by, he’s going to call me and warn us to get out.”
“I see. So he knows we’re not really supposed to be in here?”
“Sure.”
“And he’s okay with that?”
“Jack’s cool.”
I smirked. “Apparently. All right, let’s get to work so we don’t have to be in here any longer than necessary.”
“Right. I’ll check this part of the house, you take that cabinet in the basement since that’s all winter elf stuff.”
“Sounds good.” I looked around. I doubted Birdie would find anything. The place was still a wreck from the yetis storming through. “Holler if you find anything.”
“You too.”
We split up and I headed back to the kitchen and down the steps, flipping the light on as I went.
I sighed when I saw the ice puddle had grown. Again. The last thing this town needed was more yetis in it. If one came through while I was here, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Whack it on the nose? Or did that only work with sharks?
I stood at the bottom of the steps, staring at the portal and racking my brain for any genius idea on how to close it. Nothing came to me. Which was probably good, because my dad had told me closing it could make the yetis panic. I sure didn’t need them feeling threatened while Buttercup was their hostage.
Stepping carefully around the portal, I made my way to the cabinet. I’d glanced at the newspaper clippings when I’d been here before. This time, I wanted to dig into some of the boxes on the shelves.
I started with a small one about the size of a recipe box, only to find it actually held recipes. They were all North Pole favorites. Reindeer chow. Fish stew. Wintermint popovers. Syrup pudding. Stuff like that.
I closed the box and shook my head. Why would Myra have been interested in North Pole recipes unless she was a winter elf? My belief that her true heritage was the same as mine was only strengthened by the things in this cabinet. All those pictures of my family…was it possible Myra was a distant relative? Or was she just fascinated by the royal side of things?
Further digging turned up two more pieces of winter elf crystal, including a small heart pendant and a penguin figurine. A larger box on the bottom shelf looked well-worn. I picked it up next.
It was full of letters, each one in a creamy ivory envelope that I recognized instantly. It was standard NP stationery. None of the letters had an address, just a beautifully drawn M on the front of the envelopes. Myra.
These letters hadn’t come by standard post. I glanced at the ice puddle. Had they come through the snow globe? That would mean she’d been communicating regularly with someone in the North Pole.
It felt a little snoopy to read through someone else’s mail, but I had no choice. I opened the first envelope and pulled the letter out. The paper was the same creamy ivory. I skimmed down to the bottom, but the short note was only signed with S.
I went back to the top to read and see if that would help me figure out who S was.
“Princess! I found something. I think.” Birdie jogged down the stairs holding a man’s handkerchief. “It was under her pillow.”
I didn’t want to think about Birdie riffling through a dead woman’s bed linens. “It’s a guy’s hankie?”
“Yes, but that’s not the interesting part. Look.” She held out the square of bright white fabric so I could see the corner.
It was embroidered with an S.
I held up the letter I’d been about to peruse. “I found the same thing. This letter is signed S too.”
Birdie looked at the linen square in her hand. “Hmm. Men’s handkerchiefs are usually monogramed with the initial of their last name, but it seems unlikely a man would sign a note to a woman that way.”
“Agreed. But then again, maybe that initial isn’t for his first or last name at all. Maybe it’s for a nickname. A pet name they only shared between themselves.”
“Great, that makes it easy.” Birdie rolled her eyes. “I guess we should just focus on figuring out who S is? I really hope it’s not Santa.”
I swallowed. I really hoped that too. “I’m sure it’s not my uncle, but that’s exactly why we need to dig into this. And we should also figure out who he was to her.” I pulled out about half of the letters. “Here. You read through these, and I’ll read through the other half, and we’ll compare notes.”
She took them. “On it.”
We sat side-by-side on the steps and went through each envelope, scanning the letters for clues.
Birdie paused in the middle of her third or fourth one. “Do you get the feeling they saved the juiciest bits for their talks through the globe?”
“Yes.” I gave the letter I was holding a little shake. “It’s like these letters were just teases. Lots of gooey sentiment and poetic turns of phrases, but nothing of value. Not yet anyway.”
“Same. Maybe that’ll change.”
We went back to reading, but by the last letter, we were no closer to figuring out who S was. We did, however, know that Myra must have been seriously in love with him. And he with her.
I tucked the letters back into the box.
Birdie leaned back on the steps. “That was kind of a waste of time.”
“Not entirely. We know that Myra was in love with someone in the North Pole. And he with her. We know that whoever that man was, he made trips here.”
Birdie’s face lit up a little. “That’s true. In two of my letters, he said something about how he couldn’t wait until he arrived.”
“That might make it easier to figure out who the man was. There are travel records, after all.”
“But how does that help us solve this yeti problem?”
I stared at the box in my hands. “I’m not sure. But it can’t hurt. And it’s better than doing nothing while we wait for my dad and his council to find us a solution.”
“I suppose so.”
“Look, I get it. I want there to be an answer spelled out in black and white, but this isn’t going to be that simple. Unfortunately.” I got up and walked the box back to the cabinet, putting it in the same spot I’d taken it from. I straightened and my gaze landed on one of the many newspaper clippings. Did any of those articles have a connection with the man named S? Besides Santa. It couldn’t be him, though. Everyone who was close to him called him Kris. I stared at a clipping, trying to see whatever I hadn’t seen yet.
And then I stared closer. My eyes skimmed the article. I went to the
next one and skimmed it, studying the picture. Then to the next, and the next. “Birdie. I think I found something.”
“You know who S is?”
“Not a clue, but look at this.” I started pulling the clippings down. “In all of these articles and pictures, there’s one common thread.”
She came closer to look. “They’re all your family?”
“Mostly, but not exclusively.”
“Oh, right.” She tapped the one on top of the pile in my hand. “That one’s about the tinkers’ annual ball. But your uncle was the guest of honor, so technically, it’s still your family. Are we sure that S isn’t for Santa?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then, I give, what is the common thread I’m missing?”
I fanned the clippings out. “Eustace Brightly is in every single one. Either named or just in the background of the picture, but he’s there in some way. See?” I pointed him out in the background of one of the snaps that highlighted my dad giving an award to the kindergartener who’d read the most books in her class.
She leaned in. “Well, butter my biscuit. You’re right.” She tipped her head back to see the ones I’d left in the cabinet. “Look at that. Every. Single. One.”
All of a sudden, she gasped. “I know exactly what happened.”
“What?” I was glad one of us had figured it out.
She stabbed a finger at one of the clippings. “We’re pretty sure that Myra is adopted, right?”
“Right.”
“She must have researched her birth parents and found out that she was a winter elf. At some point, that discovery led her to another one. She had a brother. That brother was Eustace Brightly.”
I thought about it and ended up nodding. “Seems plausible.”
“These clippings aren’t about your family. They’re about hers.”
“Wow, that makes real sense.” I was also super relieved that Myra hadn’t been stalking us. “But where does the mysterious S come in?”
“I bet she went to the North Pole to meet her brother, and while she was there, she met a man.”
“Mr. S.”
“Exactly.”
I pondered that a moment. “You know, that might be enough for us to track him down. I mean, if we assume that he’s a winter elf and that he was a friend of Eustace’s, and more importantly, that he traveled to Nocturne Falls on several occasions, which we know from the letters, then that really narrows the field. Hey, I wonder if he was a tinker too? He could have been if he was a friend of Eustace’s. That would definitely explain how he got access to the snow globes.”
Miss Frost Braves the Blizzard Page 14