by Bree Baker
I followed on their heels. “Speaking of history,” I said, retaking the seat at my bowl of tepid soup. “I saw Mayor Dunfree’s name in a lawsuit from about twenty years ago. A teen fell from a cliff at the bluffs. Do you remember that?”
Aunt Clara looked sad. “I do,” she said softly. “It was awful.”
Aunt Fran nodded, sobered by the memory.
Janie watched them, appearing equally horrified and waiting for details.
Aunt Fran rolled a napkin between her fingertips. “I believe that was actually when the idea of pursuing historic town status first came up.”
“Why?” I asked, unable to make the connection.
Aunt Fran shifted on her seat. “The attorney in that case suggested historic status would help justify the absence of signs near the cliffs. Even if Charm was only beginning to pursue the option, it would have explained the lack of warnings. Though, a fence might’ve been required to make it right. I can’t honestly recall.”
“There were rumors,” Aunt Clara said. “People said Dunfree blamed himself for what happened to that boy.”
Aunt Fran shook her head, a look of regret in her dark eyes. “None of us ever gave the cliffs a second thought before that. We’d all been warned away as children. As adults, we cautioned others, but folks rarely venture out that way, and we don’t get many tourists,” she told Janie.
Everything Aunt Fran said was true. Despite the teen’s death, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the necessity of signage at the bluffs. Anyone could easily see the drop was deadly.
Janie looked green. “I visited the bluffs this fall. There still aren’t any railings or fences to keep people away from the edge.”
“True,” Aunt Fran said. “Though we added a hand-carved sign at the trailhead and one along the roadside warning folks to explore with caution. We thought that had been enough until last fall.”
I covered my mouth as a memory rushed to mind. “The birder,” I said. Of course! I turned to Janie, knowing she hadn’t been in town for the near-tragedy, and the explanation would help pull a few more pieces of our puzzle together. “Charm gets a lot of birders in the fall when our maritime forest draws various species to the area. Birders follow, hoping to catch a glimpse of a rare species or one that’s new to them. A woman was out bird-watching and wanted to get a photo without scaring the bird away. She later admitted that she was paying more attention to the shot than her footing, and she fell. Thankfully, she was several yards away from the peak, putting her only about fifteen feet above the beach at high tide. She survived with minor injuries and a major scare, but it was all people talked about for weeks. If she’d been up a little higher or fallen at low tide, she could have died.” I released a huff of air, suddenly understanding why her fall had caused such a commotion in the community. “Most folks probably remembered the death of the teen years before, and the injured birder brought those old feelings back to the surface.”
Aunt Fran nodded. “Dunfree never stopped talking about getting historic status for Charm, but I’m sure that fallen birder was the catalyst for his recent renewed interest.”
“Guilt is a powerful motivator,” Janie agreed.
Aunt Clara looked heartbroken. “Well, he must’ve finally gotten his act together if the committee was willing to come tomorrow.”
“I wonder what changed?” I asked.
Gene Birkhouse’s six-foot privacy fence came to mind.
Chapter Twenty-One
I rubbed fatigue from my eyes and removed the next quilted tea bag from my advent calendar. Four days until Christmas. I frowned. Aunt Fran was out of police custody, for now, but a killer was still at large.
I sent Grady a text to see if he felt like breakfast, and received an affirmative reply less than a minute later.
I warmed at the instant response, then looked around for some way to stay busy until he arrived. Snow floated outside the windows. Not another near white-out or the wet mush that had been coming lately, but big fluffy flakes that I wanted to twirl in.
I shrugged into a heavy coat, stuffed my feet into boots, and pulled a knitted cap over my hair. I hadn’t collected the mail yesterday, and that seemed like a perfectly grown-up reason to head outside. I tugged wool mittens over warm fingers and wrapped a matching scarf around my neck before whisking out into the snow.
The sun was warm and melting the ice from trees and rooftops, but an overnight burst of precipitation had dumped an additional six inches of snow on the town. It was the perfect combination. Warm sun. Lots of snow. The steady rush of the sea. I pulled in a deep breath, savoring the crisp winter scene of a postcard-perfect world. Then, I dragged my shovel off the porch to clear the snow from my walk. Aunt Fran had kicked an early morning path through the worst of it when she’d come to collect the cookies for the council meeting, but there was work yet to do. When I reached the end, I emptied the mailbox.
Grady’s truck swung into view as I flipped through the post. Holiday ads, a couple of bills, and two brightly colored envelopes.
I watched as Grady headed my way in long purposeful strides. He moved like the hero in a movie, right before he swept his heroine off her feet and spun her around. I imaged the scenario with Grady and I playing the leads. Me in his arms. His smile burning bright. I’d reach for his sexy black Stetson and put it on my head when he returned me to my feet. White flakes would fall around us like the untouchable contents of a snow globe, but we wouldn’t notice. We’d have one another to keep us warm.
“It’s freezing,” Grady said, shoving both hands into his front pockets. “Why are you just standing out here?”
I blinked. “I was waiting for you,” I said, reluctantly returning to reality. “I saw you pull up. I was also getting the mail. And shoveling.” I extended both hands, the shovel and envelopes backing up my story. “Coffee?”
“Yes. Thank you.” He relieved me of the shovel, smiled, then set his palm against my back as we walked to the door. Tingles danced up and down my spine. When he’d made the same move at the police station, I’d dismissed it as a fluke. Twice in two days, however, was no accident. I hoped he might even make it a habit.
Grady released me to turn the knob and push my front door open. “After you.”
He left the shovel on the porch, and I dropped my mail on the counter.
I poured two cups of coffee, then whipped up some pancake batter with a generous amount of blueberries. “How’s the investigation going?” I asked. “Any idea who sent me the glitter bomb or vandalized Chairman Vanders’s Jeep? Have you gotten any new evidence from Mayor Dunfree’s phone?” Surely that had turned up something.
Grady worked his jaw. “It’s coming together,” he said. “These things always do. One piece at a time.”
“What kind of pieces?” I asked, ladling batter onto a skillet. The familiar sizzle and rising scent of melting butter raised the hairs on my arms. Thrilling every time.
Grady sipped his coffee, watching me. Probably choosing his words and preparing to deflect me. “We’re going through surveillance footage from the post office on the day the letter was stamped. There were dozens of people in and out that day, but it creates a list I can use to compare and contrast.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Have you seen anyone on the footage who’s also on your list of possible suspects?” If so, was that person on my list too?
“I’m working on it,” he said.
I huffed, flipped the pancake, then struck a hands-on-hips pose. “Are you being unintentionally coy, or are you refusing to talk to me about this?”
“I’m politely avoiding a conversation we shouldn’t be having,” he said. “Details of an ongoing investigation are private, and for the record, I’m never coy.”
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s not as if I’m going to leak the details to the press. We’re just having a casual conversation.”
He wrapped his
long fingers around the mug and laughed. “You might be all T-shirts and ponytails on the surface, but there is nothing casual about you, Everly Swan.” His cool gray eyes glimmered, and I lost my train of thought. “Plus, you have a way of getting involved in my work that makes me crazy.”
Spell broken.
I plated the first pancake and poured more batter into the skillet. “Here.” I set the plate before him and delivered a mini pitcher of homemade syrup to its side. “Did you know Mayor Dunfree was named in a lawsuit against our town when I was a little girl?” I asked. Having toiled over the concept all night, the subject was still on my mind. “No one ever talks about it,” which was a statement on its own, “and I still wouldn’t know if I hadn’t been digging online for something about Dunfree to explain his murder.”
Grady had a mouth full of pancake, so I kept going.
“My aunts said the accident gave him the idea to pursue historic status for the town. I’m willing to bet getting Charm into historic-status-worthy condition was the reason he wouldn’t budge on Gene Birkhouse’s giant fence. A fence he’d been painting with the same shade of red someone splattered on the gnomes and used to vandalize Vanders’s Jeep.”
Grady forked another bite of pancake into his mouth.
“Well?” I asked, giving the second pancake a flip.
He nodded. “Delicious.”
“Thank you, but that’s not what I was asking.” I waved my spatula at him and tried again. “Did you know about the lawsuit? What do you think about it? Could it be relevant to this case?”
Grady chewed slowly. Intentionally.
I dropped a second pancake on his plate. “A boy died. It could have been the catalyst that led to Dunfree’s obsession with keeping everything in this town unchanged, all so he could make Charm an historic community. So he could justify the lack of warning signs on the cliff.” I poured another round of batter into the skillet and felt my shoulders droop. “Maybe he wasn’t such a horrible person after all. Maybe he was just living under a load of guilt and shame.”
Grady ran a napkin over his lips and sighed. “The boy’s name was Tony Boyles. Seventeen. A senior at his local high school in Milwaukee. He was a trumpet player, a swimmer, and an Eagle Scout with a full academic scholarship to the University of Nebraska waiting for him.”
I flipped the next pancake, feeling unreasonably slighted. “You knew.” I waited a minute for the pancake to brown, then turned off the stove and slid my breakfast onto a plate.
He dipped his chin once in answer.
I took the seat at his side. “I wasn’t able to find any of that information about him when I looked.”
“It was in the accident reports,” Grady said. “Commentary from his parents. Details from the obituary. It probably never made the papers outside of Charm and Milwaukee. The aftermath was rough here. Tony’s dad petitioned hard for a year or two, wanting Dunfree thrown out of office. His wife brought friends and members of her church to sit vigil at the cliffs a few times, maybe trying to raise awareness, but none of it amounted to much in the way of publicity. Eventually the case settled upon the condition his parents let it go. They accepted the cash and the terms and never returned to Charm as far as I can see.”
“I don’t blame them,” I said, suddenly losing my appetite. I pulled the mail across the counter in my direction and selected the holiday cards. Both had local return addresses. I ran a fingertip under the first flap.
“Who’s that from?” Grady asked.
I unsheathed the card and opened it for a read. “It’s from the Realtor who sold me the house.” I smiled, then set it up to admire and opened the second envelope.
A photo of my face drifted onto the counter, surrounded in red glitter, both eyes gouged through with something sharp and wide. Festive font on the back stated simply:
I didn’t want to have to hurt you, but you were warned.
* * *
I climbed gratefully into Grady’s truck. I didn’t want to be alone, so I packed my big quilted tote with some supplies and the giant peppermint stick. Grady said he’d take me to my aunts’ after the police station. Maybe Aunt Clara would be in the mood to make the cocoa jars she’d mentioned.
My teeth chattered from fear and excess adrenaline as we made our way to the police station.
Grady reached across the space between us and ran his palm up and down my arm, then squeezed my elbow before returning his hand to the wheel. Two blocks later, he wheeled into the parking lot outside the police station and settled the engine.
I unbuckled my seat belt, and Grady’s gaze shifted past me to my window a second before someone rapped on the glass at my ear.
“Jeez!” I yipped, spinning to find Wyatt. I climbed out, unsure what else to do. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He smiled. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”
Grady moved around the front of his truck. “No, you didn’t.”
Wyatt winked at Grady, then pulled a card from his inside coat pocket and handed it to me. “I know how much you love getting cards. I’d planned to bring it by your place later, but since you showed up at my work, I figured. Fate.”
I cast a look at the nature center standing proudly beside the Charm police department.
“Couldn’t wait to see me again?” he guessed.
I laughed. If only something as trivial as a crush had brought me back to the police station this week.
Grady extended a hand to Wyatt in greeting.
The men shook while I opened the card.
Wyatt had turned an old photograph of the two of us at a rodeo into a holiday card. A string of sketched colored lights acted as a border. We looked young and happy. I was seated on the top rung of a metal gate inside the arena, and Wyatt’s arm hung protectively over my shoulders. I looked as if I’d won the lottery, beaming brightly at the camera. Wyatt looked downright starstruck, but he wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at me.
Inside, he’d written:
E,
This Christmas, I hope you’ll find yourself immersed in the same unspeakable amount of joy that your love once brought me.
Forever your cowboy,
Wyatt
It was senseless, but knowing I really had meant something to him, seeing it in his words, scripted in his hand…broke my heart.
I slid my arms around his waist and hugged him. “Thank you.”
He embraced me immediately, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I stepped back, emotionally wrecked by the day before lunch. “Merry Christmas, Wyatt,” I said, through a tightening throat. “See you later.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grady walked silently at my side until we reached the police station. “What’s the story with the two of you?” he asked once we were safely inside the station.
“Complicated,” I groaned. “Frustrating. Confusing.”
Grady led me to his office and shoved the door open. “That’s for sure.”
I took a seat in the chair opposite his desk, unsure which adjective Grady had agreed with. I decided it didn’t matter.
Grady dropped the baggie of glitter and my ruined photo onto his desk and pushed a pad of paper in my direction.
“I know the drill,” I said, pulling the items to me. “Write an account of the event in my words. Sign and date it.”
“Right.” Grady took a seat at his desk and unearthed a bottle of antacids from his drawer. He shook a few into his palm, then tossed them back and chewed.
“How are things with your mother-in-law?” I asked, distracting myself as I explained how a second threat had arrived at my door dressed as a holiday card.
“Great,” he said, not sounding as if he thought anything was great at the moment. “Olivia is insistent I help find her husband. I’m guessing that’s the real reason she moved here
.” He rubbed his brow. “If moved is even the right word. I checked online. She hasn’t put her old place on the market.”
I paused the pen. “So, what’s she doing?”
“Manipulating me,” he said. “She claims she can’t sell the other place in case her husband comes home and she’s not there, but she and I both know she’d have to move a lot farther than North Carolina to stop him from finding her.”
“How far?” I asked, instantly curious as to the limits of a motivated CIA operative.
“Mars?” he asked with a dry laugh. Emotion blazed in his eyes. “I’m considering her request. My agreement could mean leverage. I could get something in return. Peace, maybe.”
“You’d help with conditions,” I said.
He nodded. “I could help on the condition she drop the pretense of living here. It’s confusing to Denver and upsetting Denise.”
I turned my attention back to the paper, processing what his agreement might mean for him specifically. Would he leave Charm? How long would he be gone? I pushed the things I couldn’t control from my head and focused on what I could. I scribbled the remaining details of opening a second threat letter, then returned the paper to him.
I tried desperately not to imagine what kind of horror might come next.
“Hays!” A voice called from outside the office door.
A heartbeat later, Brayden arrived. “You’ve got to go.”
The urgency in his voice set us both on our feet.
Grady rounded the desk and reached for me in three fluid strides. “What’s wrong?” he asked, moving through the door behind Brayden with me in tow.
“There was an attack on town hall,” Brayden explained over his shoulder. “A fire. The council’s in a meeting upstairs, and some of them are trapped.”
My stomach lurched, and my feet faltered.
Aunt Fran was at that meeting.
* * *
I held on tight as Grady’s truck roared out of the police station lot and tore down Bay View to the town hall. Fire and rescue was already there, and the wail of an ambulance cried out behind us.
