“Really?” Rose asked, a look of wonder in her eyes.
“Absolutely.”
Families began to trickle toward us. Grown-ups formed a line behind Caroline while the children climbed onto wooden fence rungs and watched with uninhibited curiosity.
I helped the girls onto a stack of hay bales set before the reindeer pen. “Okay, have a seat. You’ll be just as tall as the reindeer now, and they’ll bring their pretty faces up beside yours.”
Mr. Fleece arranged the reindeer on either side of the adorable sisters.
“Can we hold the kitty?” Rose asked.
“Cindy?” I asked in surprise.
Her chin lifted slightly at the sound of her name. Her wide green eyes caught mine and narrowed.
“Okay,” I agreed, “but if she runs or complains, it’s not your fault. She’s kind of a stinker.” I scooped Cindy up and delivered her to the girls before taking position behind the camera.
Mr. Fleece gave me a thumbs-up, then ducked out of the shot.
“Say Santa Claus,” I said.
“Santa Claus!” they cheered.
I printed the picture on cardstock and stamped it three times with a green hoof stamp. “There you go, ladies. Signed by all three reindeer.”
The twins crowded around their souvenir and giggled.
Caroline raised one cream-colored mitten to stifle a yawn. “Excuse me.” She blinked puffy eyes. “I was up all night polishing my business plan. It’s time to approach banks for financing and get Caroline’s Cupcakes on its feet. Student loan payments are eating my soul, and this MBA won’t pay for itself.”
I was surprised. “You got a master’s degree in business administration?”
“Yep. I’ve wanted to open a bake shop since middle school, and you’d be shocked at how many new businesses fail. I think marriage has a better success rate, actually.” She cringed. “Oh, sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I waved her off. “Your company is going to be great.”
She sighed. “Tell that to my parents, Dr. and Mayor West.”
A dozen memories of a younger Caroline came rushing back at the sound of those names. “You were the valedictorian.”
“Yep.”
I’d completely forgotten. “Weren’t you also captain of the debate team and voted most likely to take over the world or something like that?”
“That’s me.” Her head bobbed slowly. “Unfortunately, I also earned the Destined to Break Her Overachieving Parents’ Hearts by Baking for a Living Award.”
“Aw.” I wrapped my arms around her, immensely thankful for my unassuming parents. “Well, you can mark me down for a standing order of whatever was in the freebie cupcake you gave me. You aren’t just baking cupcakes. You’re making dreams come true.”
Caroline laughed. “It made you happy?”
“It made me ecstatic.”
She smiled wider. “Well, who can argue with wanting to deliver happiness? Thanks, Holly. I needed that.”
“Anytime.”
She gathered her nieces and pointed them toward the Holiday Mouse. “Now we need to pick out a cute frame.” The trio of West women sashayed away, and I went back to the camera.
The line moved along steadily. Cindy greeted each new child with the same lackluster enthusiasm but never left the spotlight.
Cookie swung by on her way to lunch. “Look at that line. You always have the best ideas.”
“Thanks.” I snapped the next picture and smiled. “It’s fun.”
“Fun for me too,” she said. “I’m selling Reindeer Games frames like hotcakes.”
I laughed. “Well, that’s an unexpected bonus.” I lifted one hand for a high five.
She tapped her little mitten-covered fingers to mine. “I can’t believe the printer hasn’t frozen. This rig looks like a joke.” She kicked snow off my industrial power cord. “Do you want me to get a tent over here to shelter it? Or a space heater or something?”
I’d fed the line through a rear window at Holiday Mouse and dragged it thirty feet to my printer, which I’d sat on a card table. The cord was lined in plastic traffic cones to keep people from tripping on it. So far, so good. It helped that temperatures were up by ten degrees from yesterday and the bright morning sunshine had melted some of the snow. If the afternoon flurries held off until my last picture, I’d call the day a ripping success.
“No, it’s fine. How’s it going with the jewelry?” I asked. I’d returned the borrowed display with a few of my favorite pieces first thing this morning after Dad walked me home to collect Cindy and some of my things.
“Why? Do you have anything else you want me to put on the counter?”
I chewed my lip. “I don’t know. If the ones I left with you this morning aren’t doing well, I don’t think I have anything else.” I tried not to let the rejection sting. Wearing replica Christmas goodies as accessories wasn’t for everyone.
“What? Your stuff did great! They’re all gone.”
“Gone? Really?”
“Yep. Display’s been empty since ten minutes after we opened. I’d have come to see you sooner, but we’re swamped.”
I struggled to imagine people choosing my products over the hundreds of other things Holiday Mouse had to offer. “That’s amazing. Can I bring more tomorrow?”
“Sure, but sooner’s better.”
I smiled as a wave of joy rolled up from my toes to my nose. “I’ll see what I can do.” I passed the photo to the family who was waiting patiently beside me. “Merry Christmas from Kevin, Chrissy, Noel, and all of Reindeer Games.”
Cookie pointed in the direction of her shop. “Holiday Mouse has a lovely selection of frames to commemorate the day.” She struck a sudden pose, cocking one hip and pointing the opposite toe. “Follow me. I’ll take you to them.”
The Rockettes had missed out when they’d turned her away.
I lined up my next shot, and Ray Griggs climbed onto the hay. He arched his back in a terrible mock pinup pose.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He kicked out one pointed toe and puckered his lips.
“Get down from there.” A bubble of laughter built in my chest. “Goof.”
He feigned disappointment as he dragged his long limbs away from the reindeer. “I waited in line fair and square.”
“You did not,” I said. “You cut in front of that little boy.”
He bumped me out from behind the camera. “Hey, I paid that kid a dollar.” He pointed to the child now seated on the hay with a crisp green bill stretched between two red mittens. “How about I take over for a while? I don’t mean to throw my credentials around, but I’m an experienced photographer.”
“Oh, boy.” I made a show of rolling my eyes but kept out of his way. My clicker finger was frozen and eager to hide inside a toasty mitten. “Why are you really here?”
He shot me an impish grin. “I’m trying to pull together a piece on Reindeer Games for the paper, and before you get testy, it’s not what you think.” He poised the camera against his cheek, and the boy smiled. “I’m trying to shed a more positive light on the farm after what happened. Fenwick’s death was a tragedy, but it had nothing to do with this place.”
The printer rocked to life as my hackles went down.
“I appreciate that.” I pressed the stamps onto the bottom of the paper and delivered the photo to the little boy. “Merry Christmas from Kevin, Chrissy, Noel, and all of Reindeer Games.”
“Thanks!” He hustled away.
Ray leaned his eye back to the camera. “No promises that the paper will run it. I make pitches all the time. They usually tell me to stick with photography.” He snapped another photo, then waved at Cindy and some kids. “Your cat is loving all this attention.”
I admired her tolerance. “She’s a sweetie under all that cattitude.”
He laughed. “I think everyone should have a cat. If I was president, I’d make it a law.”
“You’d have the little old lady vote all ti
ed up.” My chest pinched. A broad and heavy ache landed on my heart. “Mrs. Fenwick had a cat.”
Ray snapped another photo and the printer hummed. “Should I ask why that seems to horrify you? You’re whiter than the snow.”
“She’s been gone three days,” I whispered, as much to myself as to him. “Who’s feeding her cat?” I turned in a panic. “Can you cover me here? And keep an eye on Cindy?”
“Huh?” He looked bewildered. His gaze trailed the long line of kids awaiting their turn on the hay. “I don’t actually work here.”
“You do now!” I clapped his shoulder and made a run for the reindeer trucks.
* * *
I pulled into Mrs. Fenwick’s drive thirty-five minutes later with a bag of kibble and a prayer. Her kitty must’ve been starving. No one had been home to feed or water it in three days. Luckily, the woman at the pet shop was loose lipped enough to give me the Fenwicks’ address when I pretended to be the cat sitter called in to care for the feline until Mrs. Fenwick’s extended family arrived. The cashier had been overtly relieved to know I was on the way. She told me that the cat had crossed her mind many times since news of Mrs. Fenwick’s death turned up in the paper.
I climbed the front steps and peered through the parted curtains. “Kitty,” I called. “Sweet kitty?”
A fat tuxedo cat leapt onto the window and meowed.
I launched forward, wiggling the locked window. “Don’t worry. I’m going to help you,” I promised, speaking into the glass. I’d seen people in movies get into homes with a credit card. I’d never tried it, but a cat’s life was at stake. I checked the street in both directions for signs of lookie-loos, then fished a Portland coffeehouse rewards card from my wallet. I laid a hand on the doorknob and wiggled the card against the doorjamb. It didn’t fit. Too thick.
I leaned against the door in frustration and it swung open.
“Whoa!”
“What are you doing?” a man’s voice asked.
I fell against the doorjamb and thrust the kibble between me and my attacker like a shield. My eyes pinched shut on instinct. I didn’t want to see death coming.
“Have you lost your mind?” Sheriff Gray’s voice pried my eyes open. He moved into my personal space and pulled me away from the door. “It’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you, but I thought I’d save you from a breaking and entering charge.” He closed her front door behind us. “I don’t know whether to comfort you or arrest you. I specifically asked you to stay out of this investigation.”
I hugged the cat food to my chest and panted. “Thank you for letting me in. This isn’t about the investigation. I promise.”
“Yeah? Then what are you doing trying to sneak into the victim’s house?”
“The cat.” I dropped the Kitty Yum Yums at my feet. “You said Mrs. Fenwick had a cat, and it hit me today that no one has been caring for it.”
He cocked a hip. “So you thought you’d take it upon yourself to do the job?”
“Someone had to.” I scanned the old home. Antiques and knickknacks burdened every flat surface. Gilded mirrors and wallpaper weighted the walls. “Hey, how’d you get here? I didn’t see your car.”
“I parked in the back so I wouldn’t make a spectacle.”
“Why are you here?”
His cheek ticked. “To feed the cat.”
“When will Mrs. Fenwick’s family come claim her? I have a couple of things I’d like them to have, and if they beat the dumpster to her old office, they’ll find plenty of other treasures from her life.”
“I’m not sure Margaret had any family. Her son’s gone. He was divorced. It’s hard to say what will happen to the estate in situations like these. I suppose it depends on the will and if her son had children.”
The chubby cat pranced over thick emerald carpet and wound between Sheriff Gray’s feet.
“She likes you.”
He hefted her into his arms and stroked her head. “Yep. I saved her life once. She was thinner then. I doubt she could climb a tree anymore.”
“Hey.” I covered her ears with my hands. “Never mention a lady’s figure. Give her here.” I pulled her into my arms and buried my face in her puffy fur.
She nuzzled my cheek and purred.
“I could take her back to the farm with me,” I said. “She shouldn’t have to stay here alone. If Margaret’s family turns up to collect her, I’ll hand her right over.”
The sheriff considered my offer for a long beat. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“What will your cat think?”
I snorted. “Cindy will pretend to hate her while secretly enjoying the company.”
He bobbed his chin. “What do you think, Whiskers?” He scratched the cat under her chin.
I moved her paw onto his hand. “I accept,” I said in my best cat voice. I turned her collar around to check the tag. Yep. Her name was Whiskers.
“I’ll get her things.” He turned on his heels and walked through the archway between rooms. “Don’t move,” he commanded over his shoulder.
I made myself at home, examining the photo-covered walls and tables. A frame in the hallway showcased multiple shots of the same covered bridge where I’d had senior pictures done. Mrs. Fenwick and her husband slowly aged in each photo as the boy between them grew taller and broader. “You had a lovely family,” I told Whiskers, still snuggled in my arms. My voice cracked with the weight of her loss.
I followed the plush green carpet into a cluttered office. This room was in direct contrast to the rest of the house. The desk was piled high with loose papers and file folders stuffed to the gills. I pushed the pile on the corner to keep it from splashing onto the floor.
Sheriff Gray reappeared in a huff. “I told you not to move.”
“Look at this mess,” I said. “The whole house is neat as a pin, and this looks like six filing cabinets exploded. What do you think she was working on?”
He rubbed his forehead. “Holly.”
“I swear I’m not meddling, but did you find anything?” I tipped my head toward the mess. “Surely you’ve taken a look. What did you think?”
“I think none of this is your business.” He handed me a cat carrier and a shopping bag filled with squeaky toys and a small crocheted blanket.
I took another look at the mountain of paperwork.
“Is there anything else?” he asked.
“I guess not.” One curlicue header appeared on several papers. The initials HPS were surrounded by an intricately detailed oval. It was all I could do to keep from pointing it out to him, but he was the cop and I was, apparently, the hapless woman only permitted to care for the cat.
I set the carrier on an armchair and dropped the loot bag on the floor. Whiskers leaned her head on my shoulder. “I think someone was chasing me last night,” I blurted.
“What?” the sheriff growled, then went rigid.
“Well, don’t get mad. You asked if there was anything else!”
“You said there wasn’t. Now you tell me you were followed and expect me not to get mad? It’s not like a person forgets something like that!”
“Stop yelling.”
He pressed his lips together. “I’m not yelling.” This time, he wasn’t. “Why didn’t you report this last night? How am I supposed to keep you safe if I don’t know you’re in danger?”
“I didn’t actually see anyone.” Fear and embarrassment rushed through me, burning my cheeks and stinging my eyes. “I’m not sleeping well, and I saw a mouse get eaten, so maybe I was confused. Dad looked, but he didn’t find anyone.” I tucked Whiskers into the carrier and hung the bag of her possessions over my arm.
Sheriff Gray furrowed his brow. “You still should’ve called me. I would’ve come.”
“There was nothing to report.” I stepped away, tired of him seeing me so shaken—tired of being shaken. “I’ve got to go.”
He took a long stride in my direction. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Was
n’t you,” I said, turning back toward the door. “I’m late for Gingerbread Goes to Hollywood.” I waved good-bye and sprang onto the porch.
“Holly, wait.”
“I’m fine. Thanks for the cat.”
Chapter Eleven
I dropped Whiskers off at the guesthouse when I got back to the farm. I wasn’t sure I’d ever sleep there again, but my parents’ house was a little farther away, and Whiskers needed time to acclimate before I brought Cindy into her life. Cindy was a lot to take in.
The reindeer photo op was shut down as I passed on my way to the Hearth.
I rounded the snack shop’s edge with a flutter of parental anticipation. Where had Cindy gone? Was she safe? Happy?
Mom waved when I pulled the door open.
Cookie smiled, a poor gingerbread fellow pinched between her teeth. “Holly! Come on over.” She patted the empty lollipop seat beside her at the counter. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Where’s Cindy?” I asked. “I left her with Ray and Mr. Fleece earlier.”
“Barn,” Cookie said. “Your dad took her with him to see the horses.”
I exhaled a sigh of relief. “Wow. This place looks fantastic.” Mom had dressed her giant gingerbread-themed snack shop to look like the inside of an old theater. Running lights lined the bottoms of booths and the base of the front counter. Silver film reels hung from the walls between photographs. An oversized line of black film twisted and coiled along the ceiling, and spotlights positioned in each corner of the room cast a cone of light into the air. “This is amazing.”
“Thanks.” She beamed. “I covered these old lunch tables in silver and black for a display area. What do you think?”
“I love it.” I could almost see gingerbread people in tuxes and Marilyn Monroe gowns spinning through the room.
For Gingerbread Goes to Hollywood, each player receives a pile of gingerbread men, a stack of graham crackers, and a tray of gingerbread house trimmings. Contestants had all day to re-create a movie scene with the materials. People could come and go, vote on their favorites or make one of their own. Mom counted the votes and announced winners late in the evening. We’d learned early on that artistry wasn’t nearly as important as choosing a movie everyone recognized. Some of the most terrible renditions had won, we assumed because the movies were dear to voters’ hearts.
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