Chapter 2
Clay let out a long breath. “It’s a prank.” He’d thought they were done with the crazy. Hope, Emily’s daughter from her first marriage, had been missing for seven years. The likelihood that she was even still alive was so remote that they rarely talked about the possibility anymore.
“He just wants to mess with us or jack us up for money.” He sat next to her and held her trembling hand.
The false sightings, the phony calls, the nutty emails, and the dead-end tips had all stopped three years ago, after a serial killer on death row lied about his involvement in Hope’s abduction. Once the sadistic bastard was called on his bluff, the news crews left and the cuckoos crawled back under their rocks. Still, Emily had never been able to completely move on. What parent could?
“Why now?” she asked.
“The holidays. There are a lot of sickos out there, Em.”
“Will you show it to Rhys? Just in case.”
Of course he would. If nothing else, he’d like to find the SOB and give him a piece of his mind. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to latch onto false hope and be put through another emotional ringer. Her pregnancy with Paige had been difficult—both psychologically and physically—and she’d nearly miscarried in the first trimester. They were finally settling in and he didn’t need some crackpot hurting Emily by making false claims.
“I will, I promise,” he said. “You okay?”
The timer dinged and Emily got up to take her cookies out of the oven. “I just thought we were through with this kind of thing.”
She efficiently placed each sheet on a cooling rack, and when she finished Clay took her in his arms, tipped her face up, and looked into her blue eyes. “I don’t want you to worry about this. I’ll take care of it. Trust me?”
“I do,” she said.
“Good. Would you rather I take Paige to the doctor?”
“No, I was looking forward to shopping. And I’m not going to let some mean-spirited person ruin my day.”
“That’s my girl. Call me when you’re almost back in Nugget and I’ll meet you at the Lumber Baron and take the baby.”
Paige began to stir and Emily lifted her out of the carrier to bundle her up before going out into the cold. Clay walked her to the SUV he’d bought her in fall to replace the old minivan she used to drive, helped strap the carrier into the car seat, and kissed his wife and daughter goodbye.
“Drive carefully,” he said and tapped the back door. “Precious cargo.”
He watched the Highlander disappear down the hill, went inside, got his keys and the note and envelope, and drove into town. The square, Nugget’s main commercial district, had been all done up for the holidays. Street lamps wrapped in garland and lights. Shop windows decorated in various holiday themes. Even an enormous Christmas tree trimmed in big red balls had been erected in the middle of the green.
Before Maddy and her brother Nate, bought the Lumber Baron and turned it into a first-class inn, the square had been run-down. Lots of boarded up storefronts, chipped paint, and cracked sidewalks. While it was much improved, it was no Glory Junction, Sonoma, or Napa. It was still very much a working-class railroad-cattle town, which was fine by him.
He parked in front of the barbershop and got out of his truck. Mayor Dink Caruthers came out, waved, and kept going. Clay stuck his head inside to say hi to Owen, who was cutting one of the Nugget Mafia’s hair. The clique of grumpy old men split their time between the barbershop and the Gas and Go. Owen, their unofficial leader, kept threatening to retire. For the most part, his daughter, Darla, ran the shop. Owen tried to engage Clay in a convoluted conversation about politics but he told him he had somewhere to be. Otherwise, he’d be there all day.
He saw Donna Thurston, owner of the Bun Boy drive-through, cross the green toward him and he picked up the pace. The woman was one of his favorite people in the world but was another one with diarrhea of the mouth. He ducked inside the police department just before she could reach him.
“Hey, Connie, the chief in?”
Connie held up her hand to let him know she was on the phone, a cordless headset, and waved him back to Rhys’s office.
Clay found Rhys staring at his computer. “What’s so interesting?”
“Check it out.” He turned the monitor so Clay could see a giant picture of a smoker. “I’m thinking of getting it for Maddy for Christmas. What do you think?”
“If you want to be served with divorce papers on New Year’s Eve, I think it’s a great idea.”
“What are you talking about? She loves it when we grill.”
“Doesn’t mean she wants a smoker as a present. It seems like it’s more for you.”
Rhys’s lips curved up. “Yeah, so what’s your point? What are you getting Emily?”
“Dunno yet. But I want this to stop.” He pulled the note and envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Rhys.
The two of them had grown up together. When they’d turned eighteen Rhys had gone to Alaska and eventually wound up at Houston PD, where he worked as a narcotics detective. Clay, to the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis, then flight school, then war.
They both found their way back home—Clay to run the ranch when his father died and Rhys to care for his dad during his final stages of Alzheimer’s disease. He took over the beleaguered police department and was the best chief the town had ever had.
Rhys examined the three-word letter and then the envelope. “Postmark says North Pole.” He rolled his eyes.
Clay hadn’t even thought to look but it further confirmed his theory that it was a prank. “The US Postal Service offers the postmark every year.” Jen, his late wife, used to mail letters from Santa to the kids when they were younger.
“It’s a nutcase. Best thing to do is ignore it. If whoever it is contacts you again I’ll try to track him down. Did it upset Emily?”
Clay nodded. “We thought this crap was over.”
“I’m sorry, Clay. Unfortunately, there are a lot of folks out there who get their jollies in peculiar ways. Between the press on that situation with the death-row inmate a few years back and Emily’s cookbooks, her whereabouts are pretty public.”
Clay had thought of that. “Bad timing with the holidays, though.” Not that any other time would’ve been better.
“I’ll talk to Palo Alto PD, send them a copy of the note. But honestly, there’s not a whole lot there. These days with self-adhesive stamps and envelopes, we can’t even get DNA.”
“I figured I’d run it by you just in case. Hopefully it’s an isolated incident.”
“Yep, that’s what I’m thinking. How’s everything else . . . Paige?”
“Perfect, other than she doesn’t sleep at night.”
“Emma didn’t either.” Rhys and Maddy’s daughter was two. It seemed like yesterday when she was born with her little shock of dark hair and big brown eyes. “Before you know it, she’ll be keeping you up at night while you wait for her to get home from a date.”
“Nope, she’s never dating.”
Rhys laughed. “Now you feel my pain.”
“Hey, add two teenage boys to the mix. Pain is my second name.” Rhys, of course, had his younger half-brother, Samuel, whom he and Maddy were raising.
“Emily going to that cookie-swap meeting at the Lumber Baron?”
“Yep. It’ll be a good event as long as the weather holds. I hear more than half the town’s participating.”
Connie knocked on Rhys’s open door and poked her head in. “Sloane called in with the flu.”
Rhys frowned. “Guess I’ll be pulling a double shift.”
“Time to hire more officers.”
“Trying.” Rhys got up and grabbed his jacket and keys off a hook on the wall. “I better get out on patrol.”
“Thanks for looking at that for me.” Clay nudged his head at the note still on Rhys’s desk.
“I wish I could do more. You’ll let me know if you get anything else, right?”
“I will. But I’m hoping there won’t be.”
“That would be my guess.”
They walked out together and Clay zipped up his jacket. It was clear but cold. He checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed a call or message from Emily and headed to his truck. Better to hit the feed store now rather than when he had Paige, although he liked showing her off. At some point, he’d have to make a run to Reno to do some Christmas shopping. Maybe this weekend when the boys could go. He wouldn’t mind having a little guy time with Justin and Cody.
He drove the two miles to Farm Supply and found Grace behind the cash register.
“Where’s that beautiful baby?” She gave him a peck on the cheek.
“She’s with Emily at her first doctor’s appointment. Earl get my grain order in?”
“He sure did. It’s round back.”
“I parked the truck back there already. Thought I’d browse.” He had time to kill until Emily made it back from Glory Junction and as much as he hated shopping, Christmas was only two weeks away.
“That time of the year,” Grace said. “We got some nice Western shirts in for the ladies.”
Clay headed over to the women’s clothing racks. While the store sold farming and ranching supplies, it carried just about everything else, including Western apparel, jewelry, and housewares. He thought he’d get his wife a few stocking stuffers. She was so busy taking care of everyone else, including him, she didn’t shop too much for herself. But she liked clothes and shoes and earrings. Occasionally, she, Maddy, and some of the other local women went to Reno or San Francisco for a shopping spree. The last five months of her pregnancy, though, she’d worn nothing but maternity clothes that she was now ready to burn.
He sorted through the Western shirts, which were a little too blingy for Emily’s taste. Another display held an assortment of scarves he thought she’d like and searched until he found a blue one that matched her eyes. In addition to the scarf, he found a pair of sterling silver earrings, furry slippers, and a package of handwarmers. He grabbed a couple of bandanas and hoodies for the boys and a tiny Farm Supply baseball cap for Paige and headed to the cash register. On his way, a shearling jacket caught his eye. The coat had Emily’s name on it. Clay checked the size and was sure it would fit.
“Grace, is this returnable?” he asked, laying his items on the counter.
“For Emily?”
“Yep. A Christmas present. To me, it’s her taste. But . . . women . . . you just never know.”
“Of course you can return it. But I think you’ve got a winner there. Tawny Rodriguez was eyeing it for herself but it was a little snug. You want me to wrap it for you?”
“Sure. If you wouldn’t mind.” He’d put it under the tree after they got in tonight.
While Grace boxed the jacket, Clay wandered to the back of the store to have his grain order loaded. After paying his bill, he stashed the gifts in the cargo carrier in the back of his truck and headed out. He made it to the highway when Emily texted that she was fifteen minutes out. How was that for timing?
He drove back to the square and grabbed a parking space in front of the Lumber Baron. The Victorian inn was as decked out for the holidays as the square. A big wreath on the door, holly garlands swagged across the porch railings, and red-and-white plaid pillows covered Colin’s custom rocking chairs. It looked like a greeting card.
He got out of his truck and went inside to find even more decorations. A big Christmas tree, menorah, stockings, the whole nine yards. It smelled good, too, like hot apple cider and fresh baking.
“Hey,” Brady greeted him. “You here for the meeting?”
“Nah. Emily went to Glory Junction for Paige’s doctor’s appointment. I’m here to collect her so Emily can focus on the cookie swap. How did you get roped in?” Brady Benson was the Lumber Baron’s former cook and now Breyer Hotels’ executive chef. Besides the Lumber Baron, the Breyers owned hotels in San Francisco and a resort near Glory Junction.
“I’m an official member of the Baker’s Dozen. The only dude willing to put up with them.” Clay chuckled and Brady invited him back to the kitchen where the meeting had unofficially started.
“Hey you,” Donna greeted him. “You want some buttered rum?”
Sounded good. “Just a small cup. I have to drive.”
“Nice to see you, Clay.” Nate Breyer and his wife, Samantha, came into the kitchen. “Looks like a party instead of a meeting.”
Donna handed Clay a cup of the buttered rum and a plate of cookies. Coming inside had definitely been a better choice than waiting in the truck. Annie Sparks cleared her throat and tried to get everyone to hush up. According to Emily, the cookie swap had been Annie’s idea and she’d taken charge of organizing it.
The room only grew louder until Brady let out a shrill whistle and everyone shut up. Annie, wearing one of her weird getups—a square-dancing skirt and combat boots—passed around a clipboard.
“Please put down all the names of your subcommittee members and what kind of cookies they’re contributing. We don’t want everyone bringing chocolate chip and remember, each person is responsible for six dozen.”
Clay glanced at his watch to see what was taking Emily so long. He was just about to send her a text when she walked in with Paige, looking white as a Charolais cow. Making his way through the group, he put down his cup, took the baby carrier from her and whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“I was just on the phone with Drew.” she pulled him aside and out of earshot of the others. “He got the same note, Clay.”