“We are,” we agreed with matching smiles.
“Don’t go,” Mom said.
He rolled his eyes. “If I stay and listen to your anarchy, I’ll get another ulcer. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Okay,” I called. “We love you.”
Mom turned expectant eyes on me. “What’d you find out yesterday?”
The door opened again and Dad poked his head back inside. “Do you want Holly to go do that thing we talked about earlier? I’ve got some time now. I can keep an eye out for peekers.”
“What thing?” I asked.
Mom stripped her apron off and rounded the counter. “No, I want to do it.”
“Do what?” I asked again.
Mom threaded her arms into a white ski coat and stuffed a matching knit cap over her head. “You and I will talk later. I’ve got one more round of pickles to hide.” She grabbed a giant jar from the floor beside the door and smiled. “Since you don’t have any plans, will you lock up when you leave, then come back to prepare for lunch? I’ve got kitchen help coming last minute, but the seating area will need to be tidied and prepped.”
“Sure.” I’d nearly forgotten about Hide the Pickle. It was something Mom’s family had done when she was young. Of course, back then they only had one Christmas tree in the living room, not hundreds of trees on multiple acres. Mom hid big ballpark pickles in the trees, and shoppers collected them for prizes. It was a hit every year.
I checked the cuckoo clock on the wall. I had to get moving. My fibbing record had reached an all-time high this week. I did have plans—I wanted to get a fresh look at the Pine Creek Bridge, and now I needed to be back in an hour.
* * *
The drive to Pine Creek was as beautiful and peaceful as ever. The curving mountain stream was nestled in a winding gorge, always on the move, racing away to somewhere new. I’d been like that stream the last time I’d visited the bridge.
I parked at the gravel lookout and walked the short path to the bridge. Cars didn’t travel the structure anymore, but hikers and mountain bikers still crossed the bumpy wooden slats with enthusiasm.
I kicked stones through tire tracks as I faced the old wooden planks, immediately lost in a fog of nostalgia so thick, I could smell my prom date’s Drakkar Noir.
I took my time, recalling Margaret’s family photos and thinking about the fact that all the Fenwicks in those pictures were gone now. They’d spent decades making memories where I stood, but for them, there would be no more. I paused to watch a couple lean over the railing and admire the clear water below. I’d sat where they stood, many times, feet dangling over the stream, watching leaves and sticks crash into protruding rocks and then swim away. I’d watched the stars from there. Kissed boyfriends. Laughed with best friends. Cried over heartbreaks. The bridge was a piece of my history too, though I’d never given it much thought before. It was just another stop in the town I loved.
The bridge had been built as part of the main passage into town. Over the years, more direct roads were forged, leaving Pine Creek on a route used mostly as a scenic byway for tourists. From the looks of it, hikers still used the gravel off-road parking as a trailhead. A dozen “No Trespassing” signs lined the trees in a row that climbed straight up the hill beside the bridge. It took me a minute to get my bearings, but I was nearly certain that land was east, and according to Dad, it belonged to Paula and her maple tree farm.
A fresh set of footfalls pulled me back to the moment.
I hurried out of the way, stopping when my tummy met the waist-high wooden railing. “Excuse me.” I smiled over my shoulder. Then I recognized the newcomer.
Sheriff Gray stared back, half-shocked and half-angry. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
I turned casually against the railing. “Hello. Beautiful day today.” The words lifted from my mouth in a puff of frozen fractals.
“Should I even ask what you’re doing here? And do not tell me you’re here to feed the cat.” Cold winds fluttered the dark hair on his forehead and over his ears.
I stretched a smile over my lying face. “No. I’m just taking some time to enjoy the view.”
His expression went cocky, and his pale-green eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I meant the view of the stream.” My cheeks burned. “Not that you aren’t a nice view.” I pressed my lips together.
He stared past me into the woods. “You make it hard to stay mad at you.”
“You were mad at me?”
“I told you to stop snooping.”
“I’m not.”
He ambled to my side. “You are, but I was looking for you, so I’m glad you’re here.”
Yesterday’s phone call rushed back to mind. “She narc’d on me, didn’t she?”
“Who?”
I bit my tongue. Maybe he didn’t know about Margaret’s arrangement with the Historical Preservation Society. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut.
He scrutinized my face. “I don’t know who you mean, but I will.”
I struggled to lower my eyebrows from my hairline. “You said you were looking for me?”
“Yeah. I checked out the woods near your house. You said you thought you were followed, but your dad didn’t see anyone.”
My spine went rigid, and ice slid into my boots. “Yeah?”
“I found partial prints, broken branches, and the leg from a frozen gingerbread man just inside the trees.”
My jaw dropped. “I was right.”
“Afraid so.”
Well, at least I wasn’t crazy. “Did you say you found part of a gingerbread man? Like the ones we sell at the Hearth?”
He nodded.
I pressed a steadying hand to my middle. Someone had bought my mom’s cookies, then stalked her only child? What kind of lunatic was this? “Anything else?”
“I made a few passes along the trail. It was loud. I can see how you’d think the person was closer than they really were.”
“So?” I asked. “Are you saying I overreacted or that I had reason to worry?”
He shifted his weight, studying my face. “I think someone was trying to scare you, make you think twice before pressing your investigation any further. And on that note”—he leveled me with his detective stare—“why are you really here?”
“I noticed a logo on the papers in Mrs. Fenwick’s office, so I looked it up last night and found a national organization that funds repair projects for things like this.” I tried to look casual, despite the erratic pounding of my heart. “I called and learned that Mrs. Fenwick was trying to secure a grant to restore the bridge, but to get the money, she had to whip the town into historically accurate shape before the review team got here. That’s why she was so nutty those last few days. This was really important to her.”
Sheriff Gray stepped deep into my personal space. Warmth radiated off him, confusing my addled mind. The same sweet scents of gingerbread and cologne I’d recognized in his cruiser the night we met lifted from his jacket.
I had to crane my head back to see his face.
A hot mix of anger and something else flared in his eyes. “Do I have your attention?”
I nodded like a dashboard bobblehead.
His voice was soft and smooth, as if we were sharing a secret. “What you’re doing is dangerous, and I don’t want you to get hurt.” Sincerity swam in his eyes. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need your help, and I can’t solve this case if I’m constantly worried about what you’re up to. Do you understand?”
More head bobbing.
“Final warning.” He lowered his mouth to my ear. “Leave my murder investigation alone. Go home. Stay safe. I’ve got this. Understand?” He pulled back an inch, bringing his face too close to mine. His breath washed over my lips.
A myriad of impulses curled my fingers inside the sleeves of my coat. “Mm-hmm.”
“Good.” He straightened with a devilish smile and stepped away.
Fire scorched my cheeks. I blinked the ha
ze from my eyes and marched woodenly to my truck, determined not to run or look back, but as I pulled away, the sheriff was still smiling.
Chapter Thirteen
I found Mom, Cookie, and Caroline at the Hearth when I returned to open for lunch. They were lined up at the window inside sharing nudges and giggling.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you went to hide the pickles.”
“I did,” Mom said. “It only took about fifteen minutes. When I came back, I saw a couple of beautiful women waiting at the door. I figured I might as well bring them inside to warm up.”
I smiled. “Well, that sounds like you.”
I followed Mom to the counter as Cookie and Caroline climbed atop the lollipop stools. Cookie’s feet dangled beneath a crushed velvet skirt, nowhere near the ground, while Caroline easily anchored one high heel boot against the floor. Her cream-colored leggings disappeared beneath an ice-blue angora tunic.
Mom went back to hostess mode, filling mugs with hot cocoa. She added a fourth cup for me.
I sipped and sighed. It was good to be home, despite everything that had gone wrong the last few days. My warm memories were especially thick and comforting this time of year. I turned to Cookie with a knowing smile. “Are you ready for the pickle hunt?”
She slid her eyes my way.
“I hope you caught a glimpse of where she hid them,” I teased. “Maybe if we cheat, we’ll have a fighting chance.”
Cookie made a soft raspberry noise. “I could’ve helped her hide the darn things and we still wouldn’t stand a chance.”
I laughed. She was probably right. The only person on Earth worse than me at finding the pickles was Cookie. Our joint efforts were borderline ridiculous. People had walked in front of us over the years and collected pickles we literally couldn’t see while looking at them.
“I’m not doing it,” she added. “My show’s on tonight, and I promised Theodore a pot pie. Besides, I’m whooped. I was worried when Reindeer Games closed for the day that it might hurt business, but I think we’re busier than ever. I can’t keep my shelves stocked. My feet are killing me.”
Mom smiled. “It’s true. We’ve more than made up for the lost day in ticket sales, but our bottom line is still lower than last year. I can’t understand it. People come for the food and games, but I guess they aren’t buying as many trees. We might have to rethink our business strategies before next season.”
“Is that the real reason you stopped buying disposable cups and food boats?”
Her pretty face worked into a rare frown. “I just want to see this place put a little money aside. I’m glad for the patrons, but I can’t help worrying about the reason they’re really here.”
I did too, since sales at the Hearth and Holiday Mouse weren’t enough to keep the farm afloat long term. We were a tree farm. We needed to sell trees. “What does Dad think?”
“He says everything is fine.” She stared through the front window. “The local news crew has been stationed at our gate for three days, and the six o’clock broadcast gets bolder every night.”
“What do they say?” I asked, suddenly feeling guilty for not following the media’s take on us more closely.
“They rehash the fact poor Mrs. Fenwick was found here after fighting with your father and another staff member.” Mom made a sad smile. “They say you called nine-one-one and have been seen with the sheriff several times since then.”
“Are they implying we have something to hide? Do they think I’m guilty?”
She patted my hand on the counter. “You know how reporters are. They look for ways to sensationalize everything because crazy sells.”
“Good to know local reporters aren’t above making an old lady’s death into a spectacle,” I grumped.
I glanced at the window where Mom and the others had been standing. “What were you guys looking at out there?”
“Ray Griggs is back,” Cookie said. “He’s taking pictures for the paper.”
I crept to the window and peeked out. “He says he’s trying to sell a positive article about the farm.”
“Well, that’s awfully nice of him,” Mom said. “I’m glad he’s here.”
“Yes,” Caroline agreed. “Plus, he’s fun to look at.”
Outside, Ray knelt beside a little girl making snow angels. He chatted happily with her for several seconds before shaking a woman’s hand at the girl’s side. He dusted snow from his jeans and marched to the next family with an outstretched hand.
“He’s cute,” Mom said.
I twisted at the waist to make a face at her. “I went to school with him.”
She hiked her eyebrows under neatly curled bangs. “I’m just saying the man’s handsome. There’s nothing wrong with a little polite observation.”
I stepped away from the glass and retook my seat. “He’s young.”
“So what?” Cookie asked.
Caroline made a puke face. “Younger men are only fun until it’s time to go home and you remember they live with three other guys in an apartment that smells like burnt food and dirty dishes.”
“Ew,” I said. “Ray has a house, and I doubt it’s anything like that. He said his mother lives with him now.”
Caroline turned back to the window. “That’s right. His father died,” she whispered. “I forgot.”
Mom rested her elbows on the counter. “Ray sounds like a nice young man. Maybe you should get to know him.”
Caroline’s smile widened.
“Maybe,” I admitted, “but seeing as how I was supposed to get married next week, I’m not really interested in Ray right now.”
Their faces went slack, and the room went quiet.
“Sorry,” Caroline whispered.
Cookie rubbed my arm.
“It’s fine. I’m not upset, I’m just grouchy. I ran into Sheriff Gray at the covered bridge, and he peeved me off.”
“Sheriff Gray,” Cookie parroted. “Now he’s something. Ray’s a cutie, but that sheriff . . .” She trailed off with a wolf whistle.
“What do you mean?” I forced back the memory of his face too close to mine.
Caroline made a choking sound. “What do you mean? He’s a gorgeous, mysterious man in uniform. It’s too bad he doesn’t date,” she said, looking more than a little disappointed.
I scoffed. “He doesn’t date?” Hadn’t he told me that he’d like to settle down and have a family?
“Nope. Ask anyone. I think every single woman in town made a trip to his doorstep when he first moved here last summer. Some kept after him for months, but he wasn’t having any of it. Eventually they all gave up.”
“Really?”
“Yep. He never accepted a single invitation for dinner, lunch, coffee, anything.”
“Huh.” I pressed my mug against my lips and processed the strange information. Why tell me he wanted to settle down if he didn’t? The hamster wheel in my mind creaked into motion. Maybe he told me what he thought I wanted to hear. He knew I’d been recently engaged, and he probably thought he could influence me by being like me and pretending to want the same things that I did. My backbone straightened. Sheriff Gray thought he could manipulate me into doing as he said.
Caroline tapped her crimson nails against the counter. “Hey, I haven’t had a chance to thank you. Your mom told me you asked her about selling my cupcakes here.”
I stopped throwing mental eggs at the sheriff’s cruiser and focused on Caroline’s bright smile.
“It means a lot that you’d do that. You have no idea how much.”
I returned her smile. “Your cupcakes are delicious. You’re definitely going to be rich.”
She laughed. “I’d be happy just making enough to open a shop in town.”
“Well, you won’t have any problem with that.”
“Oh!” Cookie perked. “That reminds me—would you like some money, Caroline?”
Caroline choked on her hot chocolate. “What? Why?” she sputtered.
“I
thought I could help with your new business.” Cookie’s wide eyes twinkled. “It’s a brilliant plan, really. You need money, and I’m loaded. Plus, I love your cupcakes, and you’d be doing me a favor. It’s getting harder to find new adventures around here, and I’ve never helped open a store before.”
Caroline slowly abandoned her imitation of a statue. Her head began to bob. “Okay. Um.” She rifled through her large leather bag and retrieved a hot-pink file folder. “I was planning to give this to the bank. It’s a business plan, my proposed budget, staff requests, inventory estimates, and a chart of projected sales over the first five years.”
Cookie blinked.
“This is everything you’ll need to decide whether or not I’m a solid investment. Take it home. Read it over, and I’ll meet you for coffee to answer any questions you have.”
Cookie dragged her gaze from Caroline to the folder. “I didn’t know there’d be homework.”
Mom barked a laugh.
Cookie pushed the folder back toward Caroline. “I already know it’s a solid investment—I’m investing in you.”
Tears sprung into Caroline’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I talked it over with Theodore last night. We think you’re great, and so are your cupcakes. He even eats the little polka-dotted liners. Oh!” She swung her gaze to me. “I almost forgot—I need more of your jewelry for my counter. People were asking for it this morning, but I’m still out.”
“You only had a few pieces yesterday,” I said. “How can anyone be asking for it?”
“The people who bought me out are wearing the stuff in town. When other people ask how to get some for themselves, they direct them to Holiday Mouse. Business folks call that ‘word of mouth.’” She formed air quotes around the term.
Mom tipped her head. “You always had a creative mind. Probably why you’re so interested in what led up to poor Mrs. Fenwick’s death. Your imagination gives you clever ideas. That’s what I told Evan when I saw him earlier.”
It took a minute for the name to register. “Sheriff Gray?” I whipped my face toward hers. “You saw him?”
“Yep. I was hiding pickles, and he was walking the tree line, looking into the noises you heard the other night.”
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