Twelve Slays of Christmas

by Jacqueline Frost

I leaned my elbows on the counter, bringing my eyes in line with hers. “I’m okay, I promise. I was heartbroken when I came home, but so much has happened.” I stood up. “I’ve got a new lease on life. I want to spend mine with people who could never willingly part with me, and definitely not with someone who might drop me for the next yoga instructor.” Plus, in hindsight, Ben wasn’t the nicest guy. I’d attributed his occasional smart mouth and bad attitude to having a stressful job, but truthfully I was glad I didn’t have to worry about what sort of mood he’d be in at every turn. I wanted a life partner. Someone who treated me the way I treated him. I hadn’t done a lot of dating, but surely that wasn’t too much to ask.

  Mom pulled herself off the stool. “I have no doubt you’ll find a man that recognizes the treasure he has in you one day. He’ll even give you goose bumps after thirty-two years of marriage if you’re lucky.” She patted my hand. “I’d better get back to work. Let me know when Paula gets here, would you?”

  “Paula’s coming?”

  “Yes. I used that bottle of syrup you gave me to try a new scone recipe, and I loved it. I made a little maple butter too. They’re both delicious. I’d like to add them to the menu and maybe sell her syrup on consignment.”

  “You made scones and maple butter without telling me?”

  She rubbed her tummy and disappeared through the swinging door.

  I was sad to have missed the maple butter, but this could still be my lucky day. Mom was making maple scones, and I’d get to talk with Paula again. Every time I’d thought I could slip away for a visit next door, another wave of customers had appeared and stopped me. Now she’s coming to me.

  “Oh, Holly?” Mom called.

  “Yeah?” I turned to see her brilliant smile.

  “Have I told you today how glad I am that you’re home?”

  I smiled back. “Me too.”

  I spent the next hour or so topping off hot beverages and organizing my questions for Paula.

  Caroline slunk through the door looking like a really sad cover model. Her long blonde locks had been flatironed to perfection and anchored behind her ears with bejeweled bobby pins. Her lips were pinup red, and her eyes were nearly the same. “Hello.” She exhaled the word. “Dating stinks.” She plopped a white bakery box on the counter and dutifully unloaded the contents.

  “What happened?”

  “I only attract boneheads.”

  “Oh.” I placed her fresh delivery of cupcakes into the glass display case. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why don’t nice guys ask me out?”

  I gave her daunting beauty another long look. “Maybe you intimidate them.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right. None of the men who talk to me ever seem intimidated. They seem more like they were raised on a New Jersey construction site.”

  I wrinkled my nose, unsure what that meant exactly. “Too confident?”

  “Obnoxious,” she countered. “I mean, who cares if a guy can bench press me ten times if he has trouble counting that high?” She flattened the empty box and gave it an extra few smacks.

  I smiled. “Is this what you look like when you’re angry?”

  “Yes. Mom didn’t think ladies should be angry, so I’m not very good at it.”

  I closed the display door and stared into her glossy blue eyes. “You weren’t allowed to get mad?”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Anger isn’t becoming of a young lady, and frowning gives you wrinkles.”

  I did a long blink. “Wow.”

  A bubble of laughter rocked free from her lips. She climbed onto a barstool lollipop with a moan. “I got all dressed up for a blind date who thought we should get the good-night kiss ‘out of the way immediately’ so he wouldn’t be nervous all night about it.”

  I took the seat beside hers. “He met you and immediately asked to kiss you? Before the date?”

  “Yep.”

  I rubbed my forehead, completely at a loss. “Who set you up with that guy?”

  “My dad.”

  I cringed. My dad would’ve wanted to break that guy’s lips, not send me somewhere alone with him.

  She rolled her eyes and slid off her stool. “He’s some political incumbent’s son. I guess it would’ve helped Mom’s campaign for reelection if we’d gotten along.” She pulled her keys from her pocket and waved good-bye. “In other words, I’m sure to hear about this in the morning.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked. “Hang out awhile. I’ll get you something to soothe your woes. Maybe a little of Cookie’s special tea and a couple delicious cupcakes.”

  “No thanks. The last time I tried Cookie’s tea, I needed a designated driver. I’m going to go soak in the tub and sleep in sweat pants.”

  That sounded like a plan I could support. “I hope you feel better,” I told her retreating frame.

  I drifted back to the bakery display and sampled one of her cupcakes to confirm the quality. I had a second to double-check my observations.

  I was on a sugar high when Paula finally showed up, towing a wagon with wide knobby tires and a metal-grated frame filled with boxes of syrup bottles.

  “Hello!” I jumped into her path. “How are you? We’re so glad you’re here.”

  “You,” she groaned. “What are you doing here? Have you finished harassing the rest of the town already, or do you just have a thing for me?” Her lips twitched. I assumed that was as close to laughter as she ever got. “Where’s your mother?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  She sidestepped me.

  I raced ahead to block her path. “If you’d like to have a seat, I’ll bring you something to drink and let her know you’re here.”

  She braced one hand on her hip and stared.

  “Please?”

  Paula rolled her eyes and dropped into an empty booth. She pulled her wagon between her feet. “Tell her I don’t have all day. I have to get back to my farm.”

  “Absolutely.” I turned to leave but spun back, one finger lifted between us. “I was wondering . . .”

  “Are you serious? Didn’t you hound me enough in town?”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to make sense of things.”

  “It was murder. There’s no making sense of it.” Emotion flickered in her deep-hazel eyes. “Talking about it all the time makes it worse, so let it go. We all need to move past Margaret’s death and get on with our lives.” Her tone was sharp, but her eyes were glossy.

  Paula put on a good show, but I finally saw what she’d been hiding behind all that anger: pain.

  I slid onto the seat across from her. “I’m really sorry about your loss. I should’ve said that when I spoke to you last time, and I should’ve led with it now.”

  She looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do.” There was no denying the remorse in her eyes. Remorse for what, I couldn’t be certain. For a lifetime wasted arguing, I hoped, and not the alternative. I didn’t want Paula to be a killer. I wanted her to be a friend. She’d been running a farm by herself for as long as I could remember, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what that must’ve been like. Growing up, I’d assumed she was a recluse like Ebenezer, making money but not friends, but suddenly she just seemed lonely. Exactly like Mrs. Fenwick had been.

  I steeled myself for another rebuff, but I had to ask. “Did you know Margaret was lobbying for a grant to restore the Pine Creek Bridge?”

  A flash of shock blew across her face, but she didn’t answer.

  I pressed ahead. “I think it was important to her. She had photos taken with her husband and son there, but also it was kind of her job to keep Mistletoe historic.”

  “I was married there.”

  “What? When?”

  She swallowed long and slow. “I lost my Herbert to Vietnam in 1965. We were just nineteen.”

  I tried to imagine her as a teenage bride, kissing a brave young groom in uniform. My heart broke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” />
  “How would you?” she asked. “That was long before you were born. Besides, this town thinks I’m a mean old spinster. Maybe I am now, but I wasn’t always.”

  “You never remarried. Why?”

  She forced a small smile over her sagging face. “There was no replacing Herbert. Love like that doesn’t come along twice.”

  For the sake of every other young widow and widower, I hoped she was wrong, but I didn’t argue. How could I? “Can you think of a reason anyone wouldn’t have wanted the bridge restored?”

  “Besides the fact that it’s fine the way it is?” she snapped. “So what if we don’t drive cars over it anymore? It’s perfectly fit for bikers and hikers. Things age. People age. Should I get a makeover too? Some surgery to look like I did forty years ago? For a town bent on honoring the past, you’d think people would stop trying to change everything.”

  “Did you see Mrs. Fenwick when you left in your sleigh that night?” I asked.

  Paula pulled in a long breath. “No.” Her chin kicked up a notch. “I stopped to see Chip and invite him over, then I went home to wait for him.”

  “Chip?” Was she saying she couldn’t have killed Mrs. Fenwick because she’d had a date? “Is he a local?”

  “I believe you call him ‘Chip Fleece.’”

  I worked to keep my expression neutral. Paula and Mr. Fleece?

  Strangely, I could see it.

  “Paula!” Mom hurried to our booth with a look of delight. She bent over to hug Paula around her shoulders. “It’s always so good to see you. Thank you for coming. We’ve got lots to talk about. I can’t wait for you to try my maple butter.”

  Paula gave me a long look before following Mom to the kitchen.

  I sat there, alone and flabbergasted. Paula didn’t like the idea of renovating the bridge, but she’d just provided an alibi for herself and Mr. Fleece at the time of Mrs. Fenwick’s murder. Unless she was lying to create a cover she didn’t think I’d check out. If so, was the cover for her benefit or Mr. Fleece’s?

  I worked the odd talk over in my mind until Cookie arrived in an elf hat shaped like a corkscrew. The little jingle bell on top bounced and tinkled as she walked.

  Her green dress and tights were adorable, as if she’d arrived directly from a North Pole workshop. “How do you like my costume?” she asked. “I made it myself. It’s got one of those nice swing skirts that look so pretty when ladies twirl.” She turned in a small circle to show off her handiwork.

  “Very nice.” I circled her with a smile. “I always wished I’d learned to sew.”

  “You should have,” she agreed. “I made all my show costumes when I lived in Vegas. I wasn’t allowed to touch my casino uniforms, though. They had to be identical to the next girl’s. In-house seamstresses made sure we showed off the goods, if you know what I mean, but those were the sixties.”

  I tried to imagine Cookie in her twenties, strutting across a Las Vegas stage or selling cigarettes in a casino.

  “Wait until you see what I made to wear to the Christmas Tree Ball,” she said.

  “Aw, jeez.” I rolled my head over one shoulder and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger until it hurt. “I forgot about the Christmas Tree Ball.”

  Her jaw flapped open.

  The Christmas Tree Ball was Reindeer Games’ annual fund raiser. Sponsors bought and decorated trees. Mom and Dad displayed the finished products inside the massive renovated barn we reserved for events like baby showers, birthday parties, and my wedding reception. Mom decked the barn to the rafters in holiday cheer and used the trees as decoration until they were raffled off, fully decorated, to the lucky winners. A local children’s ballet troop performed pieces from The Nutcracker. It was all very adorable. Mom always brought in local musicians for after dinner, and prizes were awarded for the most festive attendee costumes. The ball was a huge deal, and I’d completely forgotten about it.

  Cookie worked her mouth shut, exchanging shock for confusion. “What are you going to wear?”

  “I’ll figure something out,” I told her. “I’m sure Mom kept all my old costumes. Maybe I can wear one of those. I’m sure with a little updating and embellishments, no one will know it’s a repeat from last decade.”

  Cookie examined her cuticles. “If only you knew someone who could sew.”

  I hugged her. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t agreed.”

  “Please?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Sheriff Gray opened the door and held it for an older couple to pass. He strode inside with his hat pressed to his chest and a peculiar expression on his face. “I forgot to buy a tree, so I came out here to choose one.”

  I stepped toward him. “Maybe I can help you choose. We have really pretty firs.”

  He rubbed a hand through his hair and screwed his hat on tight. “I already got one. It’s leaning against my truck.” His brows worked together. “But it’s got a pickle in it. Is that normal?”

  I laughed. “It means you win a prize.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  I went around the counter to grab a Hide the Pickle flyer. I slicked it against the counter and made a sweeping motion with my hands. “Voilà.”

  “Congratulations,” Cookie said.

  Sheriff Gray puckered up and laughed out loud. “What did I win?”

  Cookie looked at her watch and ran behind the counter. “You win a sleigh ride. Doesn’t he, Holly?” She shot me a “don’t argue” face.

  “Sure,” I agreed. “Why not?”

  “Well then,” she said, “I’ll take over your post, and you go get him set up with a sleigh.”

  The sky outside the Hearth window had darkened to ethereal shades of periwinkle and gray. My favorite time of day.

  “You know what?” Cookie went on. “Why don’t you go with him? Take as long as you like. Relax.”

  “Um . . .”

  Sheriff Gray caught me in his gaze. “Looks like we’ll get that evening ride together after all.”

  I stripped off my apron and threaded tired arms into thick wool-coat sleeves, though I doubted I’d need help staying warm with the sheriff at my side.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I led the way to our barn with an unnecessary number of butterflies flapping in my tummy, obviously the result of sleep deprivation and not the man I barely knew walking beside me. I pressed a hand discretely to my middle in an effort to eradicate the strange flutter. I hadn’t experienced the sensation in a decade, and I preferred to keep it that way.

  Twilight had triggered the property’s twinkle lights, illuminating our largest trees and outlining the Reindeer Games buildings.

  Sheriff Gray moved silently beside me like an overstuffed ninja in his heavy uniform coat and boots. Despite it all, he didn’t make a sound. I checked behind us to be sure he made footprints.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, watching me from the corner of his eye.

  “Yep.” I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets. “How’s your investigation going?”

  He laughed quietly. “We didn’t even make it to the barn.”

  “What?”

  “I assumed you brought me out here to prod me for information, but I thought you’d at least wait until we were in the sleigh.”

  I bristled at the accusation. “I didn’t bring you here. Cookie sprung this on me, and I agreed because it was polite.”

  “Sure.” He stepped into the broad cone of light outside the stables and turned to me. “You two didn’t plan this at all?”

  “No.” The hurt and frustration in his eyes set my blood to boil. “You think I’m a schemer? That I plotted to get you alone in a sleigh and prod you for information? If I had questions, why wouldn’t I just ask them? Why the sleigh?”

  He worked his jaw and averted his eyes.

  I glanced at the dimly lit world around us, and his thoughts seemed to project to mine. I scoffed. “You think I dragged you out here to atte
mpt to seduce the details out of you?” My cheeks burned stupidly at the word seduce. “I don’t know what sort of women you’ve had in your life, but I’m not like that.” I crossed my arms and marched woodenly toward the nearest sleigh.

  One of the farmhands acknowledged me with a nod. He climbed into the driver’s seat and waited.

  I hopped into the back and fanned the blanket over my legs. Hurt and anger had extinguished the butterflies. I folded my arms and debated climbing out and heading home.

  The sheriff watched me from a distance, probably thinking the same thing I was.

  “Well?” I grumped. He couldn’t leave. It was my idea first, and I couldn’t leave if he did or it’d look like I only left because he did. “Come on.”

  A storm brewed in his steady eyes. Behind that blank cop stare, he was mad.

  I patted the seat. I wouldn’t have Sheriff Gray thinking I was the sort of person to set him up on a sleigh ride for selfish reasons. “Move it, Boston.”

  Finally, he reached for the sleigh.

  I scooted over as far as possible, but there was no way to avoid touching him at the shoulder, hip, and knee. We were bundled for the weather, and the sleigh was meant to be cozy. I crossed my ankles and tried to remember I was mad at him. He sat back and stretched the blanket over his knees.

  A moment later, the sleigh began to move, slowly at first, then faster as the horse found a comfortable stride along the path. Icy wind stung my cheeks and nose. I buried my hands beneath the blanket, only to find the sheriff’s there. “Sorry.”

  He smiled. “You sure I was wrong about why you lured me out here?”

  I jerked my hands back on top of the blanket. “I did not lure you. Cookie surprised me just as much as you with her offer.”

  “Then why’d you agree to come?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you were being polite. I get the feeling you don’t do things you don’t want to do too often.”

  “Why’d you come if you thought I had such sinister motives?” I countered.

  We locked gazes for a long beat before he looked away.

  I couldn’t shake the hurt. “Why do you assume the worst about me? You don’t even know me.”

  “It’s in the job description.” He focused on the dome of darkened sky and galaxy of ancient stars.