Deadly Christmas Secrets

“It wouldn’t be, but there were a dozen opportunities to take me out on my drive here. Not to mention my sleepover in Dora’s Sleep Haven last night. Place has no security. The windows don’t even lock.”

Sheriff Hunter smirked. “You should have asked a local. We would have pointed you to our pastor. He has a nice in-law suite that he loans out to anyone who has a need.”

“In other words, I’m the first person ever to stay with Dora?”

“There was a guy a few years back. Turned out he was running from the law and wanted a place to hide out. Not so smart to hide in a town that has fewer than a thousand residents. Dora called me. I did a little checking. Guy ended up spending the next night in Snowy Vista’s town jail.”

“Probably a lot more comfortable than Dora’s place,” Logan muttered.

“Probably.” He walked to the fireplace and lifted the shotgun. “Not loaded. I’m not keen on her living out here on her own, but if she’s going to stay, it would be a good idea to have some security.”

“You planning to talk to her about it?” he asked. If Sherriff Hunter didn’t, Logan would. She needed protection. At least until the guy who’d been driving the sedan was caught.

“I’ll give it a try. She has her own way of doing things. Not sure she’s going to listen to me.”

“She will if she wants to stay alive,” Logan responded as Harper walked back into the room.

THREE (#ulink_53711ae9-7ae8-5f96-978a-a004c709dd3e)

Amelia.

She was all Harper could think about as she paced her bedroom, the sound of voices drifting up through the floorboards. Logan’s voice. The higher-pitched voice of his coworker, Stella Silverstone. She’d arrived three hours ago, striding into the cabin as if she owned the place. She’d made tea, fed Picasso, acted as if it wasn’t any of her concern if Harper didn’t want twenty-four-hour protection at the cabin.

“It’s her business,” Stella had said when Logan and Sheriff Hunter insisted that Harper shouldn’t stay in the cabin alone. “If she wants to die before she finds out if her niece is alive, what’s it to you?”

That was it.

All it took.

That one thought, that one little hope that Amelia was alive was enough to make Harper put up with anything or anyone.

Amelia alive...

Her pulse raced at the thought, her throat tight with dozens of memories—her niece’s birth, all the little and big moments that had happened after it.

There’d been times during the past few years when she’d wondered if Amelia was out there somewhere, waiting to be found. Now the possibility seemed real. That little piece of blanket, the newspaper article—had they been hints? Clues designed to pull Harper closer to the truth, closer to her niece?

Or bring her closer to her death?

She shuddered.

She’d kept to herself for years, had separated herself from her old life. She’d put the past behind her, and now it was in front of her again.

Why now?

For what purpose?

She needed to talk to Gabe. She’d called him, left a message on his machine. He hadn’t returned her call. He’d probably make her wait a few days. That was the way he was. The way he’d always been. Everything in his time frame. He and Lydia had been late or early to social events on his whim. They hadn’t even made it to Harper’s college graduation because Gabe had decided that they needed to go over the household budget.

A joke, because Lydia had no control over their finances. She hadn’t even been told how much her husband made. She’d known about the heirloom jewelry he kept in his wall safe, though, and she’d figured out the combination. When Lydia had wanted something, she’d figured out how to get it. She hadn’t really wanted to attend Harper’s graduation. She hadn’t wanted to leave her cheating husband because that would mean giving up the fancy house, the nice clothes, the cash allowance.

Whatever anyone said, whatever anyone believed, Harper had always thought that had cost Lydia her life.

Harper shut the thought off, pulling back the curtains and looking out into the growing darkness. Night fell early this time of year, but there were still a few golden rays of sun glinting on the horizon. In the distance, she could see Snowy Vista, the lights from the town gleaming through the trees. Soon the place would be decorated for Christmas. Every door would have a wreath, every window colorful lights. Trees would be decked out with garland, and yards would boast Nativity scenes and snowmen. She didn’t have anyone to shop for, but every year, she went to town the week before Christmas. Every year, she walked Main Street, looked at all the Christmas decorations, listened to the carols drifting from shops and watched the people walking up and down the street. It was a small town, but near the holidays, people came in from Baltimore and DC, or traveled down from Lancaster and York, just to see the Christmas displays.

That was the kind of town Snowy Vista was. Not a place most people stayed. Not even for a night. Just a place to pass through, to admire in the way one would look at a bouquet of flowers or a snowy mountain peak.

“It’s pretty, though. If I wanted to live around people again, it wouldn’t be a bad place to settle,” she said, and Picasso huffed his agreement, his cold nose touching her hand.

A light flashed in the trees and she frowned, leaning closer to the glass, trying to see if someone was out there. Sheriff Hunter’s men hadn’t found the sedan or its driver yet. The guy would be a fool to return, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

Another flash, and she stepped away from the window, watching as the light flashed again. A signal of some sort? Should she tell Logan? She headed toward the door and was nearly there when it flew open.

Stella strode in. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Away from here,” she responded, grabbing Harper’s hand and dragging her out of the room.

“For how long? Because if we’re going to be gone for more than a few hours—”

“Less talking, more moving,” Stella interjected, her short red hair bouncing as she hurried Harper down the stairs and into the kitchen. It was dark there. No light spilling in from the living room or from the office that jutted off the back of the house.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, afraid to speak too loudly, afraid that if she did, whatever was causing them to rush from the cabin would find them.

“Someone’s out in the woods making a nice little circle of the property. Logan thinks it’s best if we clear out for a while.”

“And go where?”

“Does it matter?” Stella opened the front door, pulled her to a cherry-red SUV and opened the car door. “Get in.”

“Picasso!” she called as she climbed in.

The dog skidded outside and bounded toward the SUV, and then he stopped. Dead still. Every muscle in his body taut, he eyed the dark woods at the edge of the property, growled and then raced toward the tree line.

“Picasso,” she called again, but Stella had already slammed the door and jumped into the driver’s seat.

“I can’t leave my dog,” she said, reaching for the door handle.

“Logan will get him.”

“Logan doesn’t know he’s missing!” she protested, but they were already racing along the gravel road. There were no streetlights out this far. No moonlight glimmering from the steely sky. Stella didn’t turn on her headlights, and the road was shadowy, the trees looming up on either side. Anything could be lurking out there, anyone.

A light flashed, and the SUV shuddered, swerving toward the trees, then back toward the road again. Harper could feel the thump of a flat tire. Someone was firing at them, and one tire had already been shot out.

Stella didn’t slow down, just kept speeding through the darkness.

“Get down!” she shouted, jerking the wheel to the left. Seconds later, the back window exploded, shards of glass flying through the air, falling on Harper’s hair, her hands, her arms. She could see them shimmering in the dashboard lights. She could feel the awful thud of her heart, the rapid pulse of the blood through her veins.