I tried to laugh but choked on the effort.
Sheriff Gray arrived with a warm smile. He pulled out Donna’s vacated chair and had a seat. “I like your style,” he said, indicating my undressed house. “Simple. Realistic.”
My trembling lips quirked at the dumb joke. “Shut up. I didn’t finish.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone put enormous candies on their roof. Yours should win for most authentic.”
“That’s not a category.” I stood on unsteady feet. “Can we talk outside? I’m not feeling well.”
He extended his hand, indicating I should lead the way. “Panic attack?” he asked when we were free of the crowd.
“Something like that.” I panted, still unable to manage a full breath.
Cold winter air snapped my heated skin into gooseflesh. I inhaled as deeply as possible, which wasn’t very, and exhaled to a mental count of ten. Soon, I was dizzy. I leaned forward and braced my palms against my knees.
“Holly?” Sheriff Gray’s face appeared next to mine. He’d dropped into a squat at my side. “Do you want to sit down?”
I nodded, slowly bringing myself upright. “Would you mind walking me home first? I don’t want to start any rumors by collapsing the same day our gates reopen.”
He looped his arm with mine and let me lean against him. “Of course.”
I flattened a cold palm to my hot cheek. “Sorry. I’m usually more together than this.”
“How was your time in town?”
“Okay.” My muddled thoughts grew clearer with each fresh breath. “Did you go to the Hearth to judge the gingerbread blinging? I shouldn’t have pulled you away without asking.” I let my head drop forward. “I’m making a terrible impression.”
He eased his hand over mine on his arm. “Actually, I was looking for you. I thought I’d see how you’re doing and offer to make another sweep through your home and check the perimeter.” He led me to the nearest bench and motioned for me to sit.
He didn’t have to ask twice. I fell onto the icy seat, wondering what was wrong with me. Was he right? Was this a panic attack? My chest clenched at his interest in making another sweep through my home. “Has something else happened?”
“No,” he assured. “It’s like I told you this morning, I worry. It’s my job.”
I liked that he worried about me. I wasn’t sure why his “It’s my job” line seemed to ruin it. I concentrated on the slow spill of shoppers from Holiday Mouse and the collection of contestants at the Hearth. “I don’t know what got into me back there. I think the blindfold freaked me out. Which makes no sense. I used to love that part. It made the outcomes sillier.”
He took a seat beside me. “Have you considered that the trauma is getting to you? You’ve been through a lot in a very short amount of time.”
“I haven’t,” I argued. “Not really. Nothing’s happened to me. Mrs. Fenwick, yes, but not me. I only found her because I heard someone calling for help. Same thing with the stakes on my porch. I was on my way out, and there they were.”
Sheriff Gray’s eyes softened. “Finding trouble is just as upsetting as having experienced it. Don’t discount that. And I hate to bring it up, but calling off a wedding this close to the date has to be slightly earth shattering too.”
I shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, when you do, you could talk to me, if you wanted.”
We sat in companionable silence for a long while, watching families come and go.
When I felt more like myself, I twisted on the bench for a look at him. “You’ve known me two days. You’ve only lived here six months. It’s been nonstop drama this week, and I swear it wasn’t always like this here. I wasn’t always like this.” I waved a hand in front of my face. “I used to be fun.” I plucked gloves from my pockets and covered my hands.
“Weren’t we all?”
“Have you spoken with Paula yet? Or Mr. Fleece?” Their residual anger weighed on me. Weren’t those feelings supposed to subside when the object of your wrath is brutally murdered?
“I have.”
I stretched my eyes wide for effect. “And?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got this covered. You need to let me handle it. Maybe get some sleep. It might help take the edge off.”
If only I could sleep. I slouched against the seatback. “Have you ever been in love?” I asked. “Engaged?” He wasn’t married, so if he’d been in love before, maybe he knew what I was going through.
He gave me a sidelong glance. “Love, yes. Engaged, no.”
“Oh, sorry. I think.” I cringed. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
He broke into an easy smile but kept his eyes on the scene before us. “Back in Boston, I was married to the job. Everything else came second.”
“Your girlfriend didn’t like that, I suppose.”
“No one likes coming second to morgue visits and murderers.”
“Go figure,” I joked. “Is that why you came to Mistletoe? Settle down. Marry a human.”
His smile grew, and the color in his cheeks deepened. “I was hoping to have a chance at normal. Maybe experience what it’s like to live a few consecutive days without a catastrophe. And I wouldn’t mind raising a family.”
“Yeah? How big?”
“At least four or five strapping young boys like me.”
“Oh.” I laughed. “Well, good luck with that.”
He nodded along. “I’m kidding. I haven’t thought beyond settling down somewhere calm and safe. Mistletoe seemed like a great place to do all that, so I applied, and here I am.” He stopped moving and extended an arm toward the field. “Look at that.”
The flawless carpet of snow was polka-dotted in every color of ski coat and knit hat, worn by people of every age, tossing snowballs and rolling snow boulders to support their Big Frosty. The gingerbread winners must’ve been announced.
Donna and Birdie waved from beside a mound of snow. “Yoo-hoo!” Donna called. “Yoo-hoo!” She dusted her gloves together and made a beeline in our direction. “I’m Donna. Remember me?”
“Of course.” I pointed to Sheriff Gray. “This is our town sheriff.”
She leaned back as if in awe. “Nice catch, honey. Every woman wants a man in uniform.”
“We’re not—” I began, only to be cut off by Donna reaching for my ear.
“I wanted to ask you about your earrings while we were talking, but then I got the giggles. Where did you find them? They’re fabulous.”
My hands jumped to the faux lollipops on instinct. “I made them. They aren’t for sale anywhere.”
She jutted her bottom lip out. “That’s a crying shame.” She turned to Birdie, still hard at work on their Frosty. “She made the earrings. She says they aren’t for sale.”
Birdie stopped working. “Crying shame.”
“That’s what I said.” Donna turned back to me, deflated. “Well, I won’t keep you lovebirds. That snowman won’t build itself.”
Sheriff Gray and I turned for the guesthouse in silence. When he began to murmur the lyrics to “Frosty the Snowman,” I joined in. Sadly, neither of us knew all the words, and soon I couldn’t sing through the laughter.
I leaned against his arm and caught my breath. “Now you’re just repeating thumpity-thump-thump.”
“That’s how it goes.”
I wiped tears off my cheeks and got myself together. “You might not know the words, but your voice is fantastic.”
He turned his face away.
I released him, sensing a bigger story. “Please tell me you had a band in college.”
He pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “I just like to sing.”
I climbed my steps, trying not to dwell on how much I didn’t know about the sheriff or how our weird, impromptu friendship would work after we’d solved the case. I unlocked the front door and stepped aside to let him in.
He made the sweep as promised but di
dn’t stick around afterward.
After about twenty minutes, I followed his example and went to help my parents measure two dozen snowmen now that I’d calmed down.
I returned home hours later covered in snow. I kicked my boots off at the door and dropped my wet coat onto a coatrack by the fire.
Cindy Lou Who gave me a death glare from behind her toppled bowls.
“I know, I know,” I said, rubbing her soft head. “I’m late delivering your dinner. I forgot how much fun it is here.” I righted and refilled the bowls. “There you go.”
She walked away.
I shook water droplets from my bangs and took my earrings off for the night. I’d left for college with the dream of being a painter. I’d learned freshman year that the best painting I did was on my nails, and it wasn’t even that great. Until a few days ago, I’d worked in an art gallery in Portland selling other artists’ creations. I’d never considered selling my own things.
I cracked open the box with Caroline’s cupcake and inhaled the heavenly scent.
Maybe it wasn’t too late for me. So what if I was a terrible painter? Art came in all sorts of forms. I peeled back the liner and sank my teeth into the moistest, fluffiest cake and icing ever made. “Oh, my sweet Christmas.” I licked my lips and moaned. Like this cupcake. This is a masterpiece. I took another bite. And another. “It’s like eating happiness,” I told Cindy, who’d come to see what all the fuss was about.
I dropped the empty paper in the trash and sprang to my feet with renewed zeal and a fresh sugar buzz. “If Caroline West can open a cupcake shop one day, why can’t I sell my jewelry? I don’t even have to open a shop, Cindy. I can ask Cookie to put a few pieces on her counter and see what happens.”
Cindy flopped onto her side and swung her tail lazily over the floor.
I grabbed a dry coat and boots. “I have plenty of sample inventory. All I need is a sign and a display.” I grabbed my keys and stuffed them in my pocket. “I’ll be right back, Cindy. We’ll make popcorn and watch Miracle on 34th Street while we make plans for a new adventure. What do you say? It’s me and you, kitty.”
I counted to ten before daring a look out the window. No new threat deliveries. No footprints other than my own. Just another beautiful winter night like the dozens before it. I slid into the cold and locked the door behind me.
In some ways, I was probably safer outside than in. Inside was where I’d been when a killer had walked right up to my door and left a giant message. Inside was where bad people could do whatever they wanted to me in perfect privacy. The entire world was outside. There was nowhere to hide out here.
I zigzagged through untouched snow for fun, leaving patterns and spirals behind me. Sounds of distant laughter rose with the glow of a bonfire near the stables. Mr. Fleece and some workers must not have been ready to call it a night. Normally, I’d have gone to say hello, but I was on a mission to re-create myself as Holly the Artist.
The lock at Holiday Mouse tumbled easily. I let myself in to gather everything I needed for a proper Christmas jewelry display. Enthusiasm ripped through me. If none of the pieces sold, so what? I had nothing to lose and a box full of jewelry to keep for myself. But what if they sell?
I filled a shopping bag with the things on my mental list and slid back into the night. A cloud had covered the moon and obscured the stars, but the tiny orange glow of the fire in the distance remained. Happy voices rumbled and chuckled from the stables to my ears.
I started back toward the guesthouse at a brisk enough pace to keep me warm and a slow enough pace to enjoy the night.
An owl circled overhead, catching my attention. It swooped toward the land and rose again moments later with something in its claws.
My heart rate climbed, and a brick lodged in my throat. That poor mouse was out living its life, and bam! I checked over my shoulder. The bonfire was no longer in sight, and the voices had gone silent. My parents’ home stood at the crest of a small hill in the opposite direction. Maybe Sheriff Gray was right. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay there for a night or two.
The crack of a twig stopped me cold in my tracks.
Shadows stretched through the rows of trees at my side. I suddenly identified with the mouse, alone in a field at night, making plans that would never come true because an unseen predator circled nearby.
I squinted into the darkness. “Hello?”
Another crack sounded. This time closer, just inside the tree line and less than ten feet away.
It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. I clutched the sack of borrowed items against my chest and ran away from the woods. Away from the guesthouse. Away from whatever was out there. My panicked mind raced with horrible images of an angry killer on my heels.
“Help!” I shrieked, closing in on my parents’ old farmhouse on the next rolling hill.
The cracking and snapping of fallen twigs and branches broke free of the forest, coming in heavy, thunderous footfalls behind me. Adrenaline burned through my veins, hammering my heart and bringing tears to my eyes.
A scream built in my throat and lurched free.
A blinding light exploded in my world, and I batted my eyes to see.
“Holly?” Dad’s voice boomed from the porch of their home.
“Dad!” I ran faster than I ever had, crying loudly and praying that whoever was after me wouldn’t hurt my parents too. I crashed into his strong chest and pushed him back. “Inside. We have to go inside. Someone’s out here.”
Dad kissed my head and directed me toward the front steps. “Go see your mother.”
“No!” I clung to him. “Please come inside.”
He twirled the baseball bat he kept at the door in one mammoth hand. “I’ve been patrolling for longer than you’ve been alive. If there’s anyone out here, I’ll find him. Go inside and lock the door.”
“If?” Hadn’t the killer caught up with me yet? I squinted against the motion light that I’d triggered over the yard. “I heard him.”
“Who?”
I scanned the silent, motionless landscape. “I don’t know. There was a mouse.”
“A mouse?”
The front door opened, and Mom shuffled down the steps. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you out of the cold.”
I stumbled behind her, poorly navigating the steps and nearly colliding with the door she held open. “Dad,” I called, “be careful.”
Careful of what, I wasn’t sure. From my new position inside the living room, peering out the front window, there was no one in the world except my dad.
Chapter Ten
I spent the next morning adorning reindeer bridles with fake mistletoe and wondering if I was losing my mind. I’d stayed at my parents’ house until dawn, but I didn’t sleep. Dad hadn’t found any evidence that I’d been followed. The news should’ve relieved me, but it only managed to unsettle me further. Had I imagined the snapping twigs and pounding feet? Had the emotional distress of my week unhinged me somehow?
I’d passed the wee hours heating old glass bottles in dad’s basement workshop, clipping and molding the material into tiny rock candy earrings. The results were adorable, but I was exhausted.
I stroked Kevin’s soft reindeer fur and mumbled my concerns into his ear. We’d just met the other night, but I could tell Kevin understood me. He’d been through a lot too.
Cindy Lou Who sat on a hay bale judging me. I’d dressed her in her holiday best, a pointy green velvet hat with faux elf ears on the sides. She pretended to hate it, but we both knew she’d have chucked it off immediately if that were true.
Mr. Fleece adjusted Chrissy and Noel’s bridles beside me. “Have you heard anything new about Mrs. Fenwick’s death?”
“No. Why?” I angled to put a little space between us. The last time we’d had a similar conversation, he’d yelled at me. “Have you?” Was he being friendly, or did he have a reason for staying on top of the case? Like not wanting to be arrested for murder.
He dropped his gaze to Kevi
n. “You’re a natural with him,” he said, quickly changing the subject.
“Thanks. I love animals. Something about being with them calms me.” Unlike the strange expression on Mr. Fleece’s face, which I couldn’t quite place. Was he sorry for losing his temper the last time we spoke? Was he mad I’d told the sheriff to have another go at him? “Everything okay?” I asked.
He answered with a stiff nod. “Hope you’re good with kids too, or this idea of yours is going to go sideways in a hurry.”
I hadn’t been around children in a while, but how bad could they be?
Caroline and a pair of twin girls approached with timid smiles.
“Caroline!” A bolt of enthusiasm shot through me. It was wonderful to see a familiar face. “I’m so glad you’re here. Who are these lovely ladies?”
“These are my nieces,” she said. “My sister’s Christmas shopping today.” She did a stage wink over the girls’ heads.
“Ah. Well, welcome.” I performed a dramatic arm swing and nearly knocked over the camera I’d mounted on a tripod.
“Are the reindeer ready?” Caroline asked. “The girls are dying for a photograph.”
“Absolutely.” I patted Kevin’s side and palmed a treat for him to gobble.
The girls stared wide eyed at me.
I bent to meet them on their level. “What are your names?”
They looked curiously at me, then at Mr. Fleece. He and I made quite a pair, I imagined. Me in my red wool swing coat with rosettes at the collar and tall black boots, him with his scruffy beard, stained barn coat, and knit cap covered in loose reindeer hairs.
“I could call you Pinky and Rainbow,” I offered, based on the colors of their puffy down ski coats.
The taller girl took her sister’s hand. “I’m Ginger, and this is Rose.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Holly, and this is Mr. Fleece, our reindeer keeper. This handsome guy is Kevin.” I pecked a kiss on Kevin’s muzzle. “The reindeer with Mr. Fleece are Kevin’s sisters, Chrissy and Noel. They saw you coming this way, and they told me they wanted to have their pictures taken with you.”
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