by Lin, Harper
“I’m sure that the evil spirits had something to do with what happened,” said Craig.
“All that negativity swirling in there,” said Jasmina. “I’m sure that I was possessed somehow.”
Sterling made a phone call to the police station.
When he hung up, he looked them both in the eye. “The good news is, at least you can plead for insanity.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“So I was right,” Nick said. “Craig didn’t do it. I win.”
“Wrong,” said Sterling. “Craig wasn’t innocent. He tried to help his fiancée cover up her murder. He’s just as guilty. Looks like I win.”
Sterling had dropped me off at home and Nick came out to get the scoop.
“What did I tell you guys?” I fumed. “I’m not to be betted on and claimed.”
“Oh,” Sterling said. “Sorry.”
“How did you know that the scarf in the trash was Jasmina’s?” asked Nick.
“It was the same color and the same stitching as the material on Jasmina’s throw on the couch. She was also in the middle of knitting another scarf with the same pattern. Adding in the fact that she loved to clean, I just knew it was her.”
“Brilliant,” said Nick.
Nick and Sterling both looked at me with such adoration that I blushed.
“I’m just glad this is all over,” I said. “It’s so sad. They just wanted to get married.”
Sterling shook his head. “An unfortunate event. Anger is a dangerous thing, more dangerous than any firearm.”
“I hope her sentence is not too harsh,” I said. “Poor thing. I’m sure it was hard to have been the recipient of racism, especially coming from your own fiancé’s mother.”
“Still, that’s no excuse for murdering someone,” said Nick.
“Yes,” I agreed. “It’s just an all-round horrible situation.”
“You never actually thought I would commit this murder, did you?” Nick asked Sterling.
“No,” Sterling replied. “I wanted you behind bars, but my instinct ultimately told me no.”
“I guess we both have pretty strong instincts.”
They did it again—looking at me with a mixture of adoration and expectation. I was used to being looked at by a thousands in a stadium or millions on TV, but these two men made feel like shrinking into myself.
“It’s been a long day,” I said. “Thanks for everything, Sterling.”
He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek goodnight.
I was glad that he was gracious enough to shake hands with Nick.
“And how long will you remain in town?” Sterling asked.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I got a call from my agent earlier this afternoon. The studio wanted to reshoot some fighting scenes in Morocco, so I’ll have to ship out in a couple of days.”
“I see,” said Sterling.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t expect Nick to leave so soon. I was hoping for more time to make a decision.
“You’ll miss me, won’t you?” Nick teased Sterling, grinning.
“Hmm,” Sterling said. “Well, I suppose the question is, will Emma be going with you?”
They turned to me for the third time and I took a deep breath.
“I know it’s not fair that I haven’t made up my mind, and I’m sure you’re eager to know so that you can move on with your lives. If I had to choose right now, I’d pick, well, no one. I want some time alone to figure some stuff out. You know I do have feelings for the both of you, but I’m causing more pain by delaying this decision, so I just want you to be happy. If you can be with another girl who is 100% sure about you, I won’t get in the way.”
Sterling frowned. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“It is,” I said. “It’s been so chaotic this holiday season. I’d just like to spend some time with my family and figure out my next career move, settle down a bit before I make any important life decisions.”
“I’m willing to wait for your decision,” said Nick. “As long as Sherlock here doesn’t try to put the moves on you while I’m away.”
Sterling shot him a look. “I’m willing to give Emma the space, just as long as you don’t bombard her with calls.”
“Fine,” said Nick. “It’s fair if we both give Emma some space while I’m gone for the month so that she has the clarity to come to her senses to pick me.”
Sterling rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.”
All things considered, Nick and Sterling were handling this very well. In the movies, when two guys were fighting over a girl, they often got violent. They actually considered me and my feelings over what they really wanted. This was about my make my decision even harder.
“I appreciate it,” I said to both of them. “I think a month will be long enough. By the time Nick finishes his reshoot, I’ll let both of you know. In the meanwhile, I won’t be in contact with either of you.”
“You can count on me,” Sterling said, staring Nick down.
“I won’t call, I swear.” Nick met Sterling’s gaze and held it.
“Thanks for being so great about this,” I said.
***
Nick came downstairs with his leather duffel bag, ready to go.
“We’ll miss you, dear.” Mom gave Nick a hug.
“Can’t wait for Dead and Alive 2,” said Dad. “Opening day, I’ll be in that theater.”
“Thanks Mr. Wild.” Nick grinned.
My parents went into the kitchen to leave us alone. Mom gave me an encouraging smile.
“This is it,” said Nick.
“Have fun in Morocco,” I said. “Don’t break anything, like last time.”
Nick sprained his ankle during an action scene when he shot the film months ago. I was worried to death. He was lucky he didn’t break any bones. For this film, he had to jump from one building to the next, parachute, and fight from day to night. It was physically draining.
Nick noticed the worry on my face.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m like a cat. I always land on my feet.”
“Okay,” I said dubiously.
“Just know that I’ll be thinking of you,” he said. “Even if I can’t call you, or hear you voice. I’ll just watch videos of you online singing.”
“No!” I laughed. “Don’t. And don’t read the Youtube comments. They are so mean.”
His cab was here. Nick put on his wool coat and I hugged him. He smelled like someone I’d miss already. I’d missed him before and I know I’d miss him again.
He held me in the embrace but tilted his head back to look at me.
“But seriously,” he said. “I’ll be thinking of you. I’ll imagine you next to me and talk to you out loud.”
“I hope you don’t do that in front of the crew.”
Before I could stop him, he kissed me on the lips. It was an all consuming, all devouring kiss, the one that had left me breathless many times before.
“Now you’ll have to think about me too,” he said when he pulled away.
“Nick…” I began to scold. But he looked so adorable that I didn’t.
I opened the door. I watched him get into the cab. He waved from the back as the cab drove off, just like in the movies. I stood in the middle of the street, waving back, feeling a pang in my heart.
The street was calm, the snow was fresh, and the wind grazed my cheeks. I hugged myself in my oversized knitted sweater as I walked back to the house.
It was the new year.
Time to start anew.
With no boys around me, I could focus on my own life and figure out what was really important.
Despite all the flurry of emotions running through me, I was looking forward to that little piece of freedom.
BOOK 3: DEATH OF A SNOWMAN
CHAPTER ONE
The children were gone. Almost without a trace if it hadn’t been for the handwritten note dangling from one of the “hands” of the snowman to inform us that they had indeed
been taken. At least, I heard rumors of this note—a ransom note probably—that the police had removed before the crowd gathered.
The town square was a media circus. The townspeople should’ve been at home eating their dinners, but curiosity got the best of them and they gathered at the scene of the crime to see the newly infamous snowman. It had been made by the abducted children, mayor Richard Champ’s daughter Zoe, 6, and son Joseph, 4, for the contest.
Even though the snowman section of the town square was sectioned off by police tape, everyone tried to get close and snap pictures of this sinister looking snowman, whose carrot nose had been taken from its rightful spot on the face and inserted into one of the branch “hands”. The branch was repositioned higher, holding the carrot in such a way that it looked like a knife, ready to stab at whoever got in its way.
The other “hand” had held the note, which had disappeared into the hands of the police.
“How dreadful,” said an old lady in the crowd to her friend. “Those poor children.”
“What kind of monster would do this?” her friend exclaimed. “And to make a joke out of it?”
“A sick, twisted game.” A man in his 50s shook his head at no one.
The snowman did look menacing with its squinty pebble eyes, hollow nose and cruel snarl. I zoned in on it with my camera phone and snapped a few pictures. The whole thing intrigued me. I had to help the case in any way that I could, especially now that I was friends with the mayor’s wife, Eleanor.
All around me, the the townspeople of Hartfield muttered their grievances with the kidnapping and the distasteful way the kidnapper flaunted it in our faces. It was such a big ordeal that news crews and reporters came all the way from Toronto to report it. My very pregnant sister Mirabelle put her arm around me and squeezed my shoulder with reassurance.
“Who knew this town could be so dangerous?” she said. “Child abductors now?”
She stroked her belly to soothe herself. There had been a couple of murders in Hartfield recently, but when children were involved in a crime, it was beyond fear and anger. There was outrage.
The crowd was shushed by a news crew producer. The camera turned on, the light flashing in the reporter’s freshly made up face. I pulled my coat hood up to be incognito within the crowd in case the camera panned my way.
“Police are still on a wild goose chase to find the mayor’s two missing children in Hartfield, Ontario. They went missing in the middle of the Snowman Festival earlier this afternoon, here in the town square at Hartfield. The children were taken after they had completed their snowman for the Snowman Building Competition. Police are questioning everyone in connection with the children and the festival contest. If you have information, please contact the police. A ransom note had been left in the hands of the snowman, threatening the lives of the children, although police will not be releasing the official contents of the note…”
***
Up until the kidnapping, Hartfield had been a fun place to be, even though the holidays were over. The locals and tourists alike looked forward to the Annual Snowman Festival, which happened on January 21. It was something that started twenty-five years ago to cure the winter blues. The time between New Year’s and Valentine’s Day was usually boring, even depressing, and the festival was a way to get people excited again.
I had been looking forward to the festival too, since I’d missed the the last five Snowman Festivals due to work. It was always something I’d enjoyed as a child. There were contests and performances, food and free stuff given out by people dressed up like snowmen. I used to enter the snowman building contest with Mirabelle all the time, and once we even won 2nd prize, which was a fancy 4-slice toaster that my father thoroughly appreciated.
It was nice to be back in the town I grew up in. When I was 18, I set off for New York and after a few years of singing at open mics, my career finally took off. Now, I was what you would consider to be a celebrity, although I still felt a little strange about it sometimes. For the most part, I was used to the paparazzi, adoring fans, and nosy journalists. It was all part of the game. What was real to me was my family, my little Canadian hometown. My third album was about to be released on Valentine’s Day, and I had been AWOL from the usual promotional stuff, even though my manager Rod, the guy who had discovered me, was calling me up and bugging me like crazy now that he has finally gotten over his holiday haze of binge drinking and general gluttony. I wanted to take a break from the industry, but taking this long of a break wasn’t my style. I was usually quite the workaholic, touring and promoting all the time, but getting by unnoticed in Hartfield had been a nice change.
A week ago, the mayor found out who I was and that I was in town. I had been in Hartfield since December, but I supposed he didn’t know who I was and wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t for the fact that his wife Eleanor was a big fan of my music. She suggested the idea of making January 18th Emma Wild Day in Hartfield. This was certainly wild. Sure, winning Grammys and topping the album charts were accomplishments, but getting my own day? This was something else.
The funny thing was that most people in town didn’t have a clue who I was—mainly because half the population was over the age of 50—but Eleanor explained that Emma Wild Day would attract more tourists, which would boost the town’s economy. I loved this town and I wanted to help in any way that I could, so how could I have said no?
The inauguration of Emma Wild Day took place a few days before the Snowman Festival. It wasn’t a huge celebration. I just went on the stage to receive a plaque, shake hands with the mayor and posed for photo ops. He made a lovely speech about my career and how much I had contributed to the music industry. I was sure that Eleanor wrote most of the speech for him, but it was still rather touching.
Only local reporters knew about the surprise event, who broke the news before the major outlets did, so the paparazzi didn’t have time to descend. I told the reporters that I would be traveling to promote my third album soon so that media types wouldn’t come and harass me in town.
So it had been a quiet but lovely affair. My family were in the audience, as well as a group of about a hundred fans I didn’t know I had in town. I signed autographs and there were plenty of coffee and snacks for everyone, catered by my sister’s Chocoholic Cafe. My fans here weren’t as zealous or crazy as the fans in New York or the ones I met backstage at my concerts. Hartfield was a quiet Canadian town, and Canadians were too cool to care too much about most things.
I was relieved because I was used to being photographed whenever I stepped out of my apartment in Manhattan, but here, I got to chat with fans about the most random things. I probably spent about half an hour talking to one lady about scrapbooking. It was just that kind of town.
The only glitch in the day was when I spotted Sterling Matthews lurking somewhere in the crowd. Usually I would’ve been happy to see him, but he was with someone—a pretty brunette with a ponytail and dressed in a burnt orange jacket. It wasn’t his ex-wife because I’d seen photos of her and she was blonde. Was Sterling on a date? He only passed through the crowd with her, avoiding my direction and any kind of acknowledgement.
But that was supposed to be the deal. Sterling had agreed that he wouldn’t contact me for the month until I made up my mind between him and my ex Nick Doyle. Nick was in Morocco reshooting scenes for an action movie and I hadn’t heard from him either. I did see a picture of him in the papers laughing with his female co-star. Rumors were spreading like wildfire about the heat between the two of them, but I tried not to give them a second thought. Rumors were rumors. He’d been linked to every woman he’d starred in a movie with, and I’d been linked to every bachelor—and a couple of married men—I was photographed standing next to, so I knew that it was all a bunch of baloney.