Maple Syrup Mysteries Box Set 1: Books 1-3

by Emily James

  I glanced down at my pajamas, peeking out from under my robe. They were powder blue and covered in butterflies. Finding anything sexy or even grown-up-looking in fleece was surprisingly hard, and I’d needed a warm set of jammies for moving here. Even though I wasn’t looking at Erik as boyfriend material anymore, a girl still needs to have standards.

  If I hurried, maybe I could throw on a pair of jeans instead. “How long until you get here?”

  “I’m actually already sitting in your driveway.”

  Blue butterfly pajamas and robe it was.

  I shuffled to the front door, Toby at my heels. I cracked open the door, and a gust of cold wind forced its way in. If the groundhog saw his shadow this year, I was going to catch him and eat him. This winter already needed to end.

  Erik climbed out of his cruiser and opened the back door. A white-and-black dog jumped out.

  He’d brought back my puppy.

  I sprinted down the driveway, or at least did as close to a sprint as I could in floppy slippers. She wriggled and tugged at the end of her leash until he finally let her go. I met her a few feet in front of the cruiser and had to kneel down to keep from being bowled over. She drenched my hands and chin with her tongue.

  I made a face and wiped the slobber off my skin, but I couldn’t wipe away my grin. “I thought you said I couldn’t have her because the law said she had to be adopted out of state.”

  “Mark found a loophole. Because she was technically stolen, she could be returned to her owners and then they could give her to you.”

  My throat closed. How was it that even now, when it’d been weeks since we’d seen each other or spoken, Mark still found ways to be on my side? “Mark found a loophole?”

  Erik rubbed at his shoulder, and I couldn’t help wondering if the cold would always bother him now. It seemed everyone involved had come out with some sort of scar. “He insisted I bring her back to you rather than bringing her himself. He wouldn’t explain why. Even suggested I should take the credit for it.”

  His tone carried a strong vibe of Would you care to explain?

  I wouldn’t. He was a smart man. He could put the pieces together if he tried. “But, of course, that would have been a lie of omission, and I know how you feel about those.”

  His lips twitched in that almost-but-not-quite-a-smile way of his. “Indeed.”

  Toby had picked his way down the driveway behind me. I stiffened. What if he and my puppy didn’t get along? They’d both been in a situation where they could easily fear or dislike other dogs.

  They sniffed each other cautiously, and then my puppy lowered her front, stuck her hindquarters in the air, and barked in a way that clearly said Play with me!

  Erik touched the brim of his hat with his fingers. “Have a good day, Ms. Fitzhenry-Dawes.”

  “Same to you, Officer Higgins.”

  “That’s still Interim Chief Higgins. At least for a few more weeks.” He opened his cruiser door. “And for what it’s worth, I think you should call Mark and thank him.”

  He closed the door and backed the car out of my driveway before I could figure out a response.

  I wasn’t going to call Mark. Not ever. Because it was official. The moment I heard he’d been working to find a way to return my puppy to me, I knew I was in love with a married man.

  Bonus Recipe: Bonnie’s Maple Syrup Cookies

  INGREDIENTS:

  1 cup softened unsalted butter

  1 cup packed brown sugar

  1 egg

  1 cup maple syrup

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  4 cups all-purpose flour

  2 teaspoons baking soda

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  1/3 cup white sugar

  INSTRUCTIONS:

  1.Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C).

  2.Spray your cookie sheets with non-stick cooking spray.

  3.In a large bowl, cream butter and brown sugar. (To cream butter and sugar, you beat them together using a mixer until smooth.)

  4.Add egg, maple syrup, and vanilla. Beat until well blended.

  5.Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt. (If you don’t have a sifter, you can mix them with a whisk.)

  6.Add the flour mixture to the wet ingredients and stir until well blended.

  7.Shape the dough into 1-inch balls and roll them in the white sugar.

  8.Place the balls onto a cookie sheet. Leave about 2 inches between them. Flatten them with the palm of your hand.

  9.Bake 8-10 minutes. Remove to a wire rack and let cool.

  MAKES approximately 60 cookies.

  For my grandma. All my weird parts come from her, and I mean that as a compliment. Those are some of my favorite parts.

  A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to put its pants on.

  WINSTON CHURCHILL

  1

  When I’d imagined my life growing up, I’d never envisioned being out in a sugar bush in Michigan, covered in gooey maple sap. I didn’t even like the cold, and if there was one thing Michigan was in late February, it was cold.

  Then again, there were currently a lot of things about my life that I never would have guessed as a kid could possibly happen to me—like how many times in the past six months someone had tried to kill me, for example.

  I followed the loud hissing noise, like an angry winterized cobra, to the nearest powder-blue sap line. The hole in this one was so large that the sap dripped from the bottom like my trees were bleeding out on the ground.

  “Found another one,” I called back over my shoulder to Russ, Sugarwood’s manager and my guru when it came to all things maple syrup production.

  Had I been alone in figuring out how to run the maple syrup farm my Uncle Stan left me, I wouldn’t have known what to do when we turned on the vacuum pump this morning to start the sugaring season and barely a dribble of sap moved from our lines into the holding tank. Russ immediately put together teams and sent us out looking for frozen, broken, or leaking pipes. We knew the sap was running, so we had to be losing it somewhere along the way.

  “Catch,” Russ called.

  I spun around in time for a roll of silver duct tape to fly by my head and into a snow drift. My Great Dane puppy and aging Bullmastiff barreled past me after it as if Russ had thrown a ball instead.

  Russ waddled toward me, his barrel-shaped body rocking awkwardly back and forth on his snowshoes. “Did you play any sports as a kid?”

  I could almost hear my parents laughing hysterically all the way from Virginia. “When my class was rowdy in elementary school, I used to hope the teacher punished us by canceling gym class, if that tells you anything.”

  My Great Dane puppy already had one paw planted on the roll of duct tape, holding it down while she gnawed on it. I wriggled it from her grip. She’d only managed to leave a couple of holes so far, which was better than some of my belongings were faring through the teething stage.

  I handed the tape back to Russ. “We might want to use a fresh roll until this one dries.”

  He accepted it with two fingers and a grimace. “This is our last one. Noah was supposed to bring out more, and a couple new fittings, too.”

  We’d already gone through the repair supplies we’d carried out with us, and Russ had called back to Sugarwood on his walkie-talkie for more. But that was thirty minutes ago. Unless Noah got lost in the bush—and the man had better directional skills than a search-and-rescue dog, so I doubted it—he should have been here by now. With all the teams we sent out, he might have received a more urgent call from one of the others, though.

  More faint hissing came from behind me, signaling that the leak we were standing beside wasn’t the only one near us. “Is this amount of damage normal even after we already walked the lines?”

  Russ wiped the roll on his pant leg and wound the tape around the piping. “That was only looking for major damage. You can’t always see the small damage from woodpeckers and squirrels until the sap star
ts to run.”

  That hadn’t actually answered my question, but the extra creasing around Russ’ normally jovial mouth and eyes did. For some reason, our lines were abnormally compromised.

  I opened my mouth to ask him what this might mean for our syrup production and profit margin, but he’d pulled out his walkie-talkie again and had the button depressed.

  “Looking for an ETA on those supplies, Noah. Over.” He released the button, but the line stayed quiet. “Anyone got eyes on Noah? Over.”

  The replies popcorned in. All negative.

  Russ pulled out his cell phone. His small head shake telegraphed the lack of signal. Fair Haven, with all its dead zones, often felt like it belonged back in the 90s.

  Russ ruffled his grey hair with a sticky hand, like he’d forgotten the sap was there. His hair stood up in spikes.

  A knotty ball formed in my chest. Russ’ actions said this was about more than just the need for parts. The question was whether he was fretting about the impact of the delay on our season or about Noah. “You seem worried.”

  I tried to keep my voice casual. Russ tended to glue his lips together when it came to anyone else’s business. If he felt like I was pushing him at all, I’d get nothing from him. And it wasn’t that I wanted to be nosy, but if one of my employees was having a serious enough issue for Russ to agonize about it, it seemed like something I should know.

  His expression smoothed out, but not completely, making it even more obvious that what he felt inside wasn’t what he wanted reflected. “I wanted your first season to start off better, is all. Maybe I’ll head back and check on Noah.”

  I was the best choice to go back to Sugarwood and find a cell signal to call Noah. Compared to Russ, my skills in finding and fixing leaks in the lines were similar to the Karate Kid vs. Mr. Miyagi. “I’ll go. I wanted to take the dogs back anyway so they can get warmed up.”

  Russ shifted his weight back and forth. He clearly knew that if he argued with me, I’d want a reason. Finally, he nodded. “Give me a call on the walkie-talkie when you’re headed back out.”

  I’d have to let it drop for now and hope Russ would confide in me if it was something I should know about.

  I called for the dogs. Toby came immediately. Velma snaked along, heading in my direction but taking the opportunity to smell everything.

  Russ did a double-take as she passed. “Are her toenails blue?”

  “I got tired of people calling her a him, so I painted them.” I clipped on their leashes. “I have purple and pink, too.”

  The look he gave me said crazy lady. I gave him a cheeky grin and headed back toward the buildings. What was the point in having dogs if you didn’t have fun with them?

  As soon as I neared the tree line, my phone caught a signal. I dialed Noah. It rang through to voicemail.

  The knot in my chest swelled. I should have pressed Russ to tell me why he was acting funny. Now I was coming up with all sorts of crazy ideas in my head, starting with Noah having collapsed in the store due to a brain tumor.

  His voicemail told me to leave a message.

  “Hey, it’s Nicole. Call me. Russ is worried about you, and we need those supplies.”

  I walked the dogs back to my house and tucked them into the laundry room together, then headed along the path to the sugar shack. If Noah had his hands full fixing a piece of equipment, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. I’d eliminate the most likely causes for this delay before I let my suspicious mind run amuck.

  No one at the sugar shack had seen him since we discovered the sap wasn’t flowing in properly, but his truck was parked out front, a case of duct tape and a couple plastic bags emblazoned with Dad’s Hardware Store on the seat.

  There was only one other place I could think of that he might be. He could have gone to hook up the two Clydesdales we used to pull the sleigh for tours, planning to bring the supplies out to everyone that way. He liked to use the horses as much as possible to keep them in practice.

  I passed the spot where our antique sugar shack had burned down. The snow covered the charred ring now, which made it easier to pretend that the spot had always been empty. Russ said we’d rebuild come spring and hopefully we wouldn’t lose too many tour bookings. The original sugar shack had been a big draw, especially for families and school groups.

  Our stable sat on the other side of the clearing. The sliding door hung open.

  The tension melted from my shoulders. The delay was just Noah bringing out the horses. I’d pop my head in anyway. I wanted to learn every aspect of the business, and even though Noah had been giving me lessons in handling and tacking the horses, I was still a novice.

  I stepped through the doorway and slid my sunglasses up onto the top of my head. The stable had that warm smell of horses and hay. Before I’d ever experienced it, I’d assumed I’d hate the “stinky” smell of a stable. Instead, it’d ended up feeling like being wrapped up in a warm blanket, that same sense of comfort and security.

  A funny undertone hung in the air today though. I couldn’t identify it over the other familiar smells. A headache pricked the back of my eyes.

  The horses were still in their stalls, and Noah wasn’t in sight, but he could be back in the tack room. His toolbox sat next to Key’s stall. “Noah? Are you in here?”

  One of the horses snorted, and I moved over to the nearest stall. I called both Leaf and his younger brother, Key, my “gentle giants.” They weighed over 2000 pounds each, and their backs were well over my head, but they were calm even around screaming babies, which was more than I could say for me.

  Leaf stayed at the back of his stall instead of coming forward to nuzzle me for carrot bits. My only experience with horses was with these two that I’d inherited, but Leaf looked off to me. There was extra white in his eyes, and his ears swiveled. His upper lip curled almost like he was tasting the air.

  He could be smelling the same out-of-place smell that I did, or he could be sick. I didn’t know enough about horses to tell. “Noah?”

  I leaned sideways so I could see Key in the next stall. He snorted again—the first one must have come from him. They were both acting weird, so at least it wasn’t likely that Leaf was sick. We’d already had enough trouble with the lines. A sick horse was the last thing we needed.

  I dialed Noah’s number again. His ringtone sounded from Key’s stall.

  My fingers went cold despite my thick gloves. He wouldn’t have been so careless as to have dropped his phone in the stall, but I should be able to see him if he were in there. Unless he wasn’t on his feet.

  What I wanted to do was run back outside and pretend I’d never come to the barn. What I wanted to do was call Russ and wait for him to join me.

  What I needed to do was look. I crept forward, stood on my tiptoes, and peeked over the door.

  Noah lay in the wood shavings on the floor of the stall, covered in blood.

  2

  I dialed 9-1-1 and explained to the woman who answered where I was and what I’d found.

  “I’m sending the police and an ambulance,” the operator said. “Are you able to tell if he’s breathing?”

  The same shudder as when I walked into a spider web in the woods curled across my skin. Even after all the bodies I’d seen in the past six months, I still wasn’t used to it. And this was Noah. He wasn’t some stranger.

  But that’s exactly why I needed to do it. Because it was Noah, and I was responsible for him as his employer. If he was still alive, I should sit beside him and let him know he wasn’t alone in the minutes until help arrived.

  I unlatched the stall door and slipped inside. Key stayed to the back of the stall as if he understood that he needed to be careful not to step on Noah. Noah’s chest rose and fell, but there was an awful lot of blood. My vision blurred.

  No way was I passing out now. The emergency personnel didn’t need to worry about me when they got here.

  Imagine the blood is red paint, I told myself. Lots and lots of red paint.r />
  I eased down beside Noah, stripped off my gloves, and took his hand. “Help is coming. Hang in there.”

  “Is he conscious?” the operator’s voice asked in my ear.

  “No, but I thought he might still be able to hear me.”

  The bulky key ring with a master set of keys that Noah always wore on his belt jabbed into my thigh. I wedged the phone between my cheek and my shoulder and shifted position. My hand landed in something gooey, and my stomach rolled.

  “How far out are they?” I asked.

  My voice had that weird, thready wobble to it that meant my brain and my body were about to get into a fight over whether I stayed upright or not.

  “You should hear sirens any minute now.”

  The blare of a siren sounded, almost like I’d willed it into existence. My head cleared slightly.

  I let the operator know they’d arrived and then disconnected. “I’m going to leave for just a minute,” I told Noah. “I have to let them know where you are.”

  Whether talking to him did any good or not, the 9-1-1 operator hadn’t acted like it was silly, so it couldn’t hurt. And it was what I’d want someone to do for me. Some part of his brain might still be registering information.

  I directed the ambulance and the woman officer who pulled into the clearing less than twenty seconds after. She glanced at my blood-covered hand but went inside anyway.

  Then I was by myself with a hand covered in Noah’s blood. My mind kept coming back to it like it was driving in circles. I knelt down and wiped off what I could in the snow. It left garish crimson streaks behind.

  I turned my back to them and pulled the walkie-talkie from my belt. I needed Russ to come with me to the hospital, and if he knew anything about why this had happened, he had some explaining to do. Given how on edge he’d been about Noah’s absence before, I was betting he wasn’t as naïve as he’d wanted to appear.

  I pressed the walkie-talkie’s button. “Russ, this is Nicole. I need you back at the main buildings. Over.”