A Christmas Mystery (Green Valley #5)

One

I WAKE UP AT 7:21 IN the morning two Thursdays before Christmas.

For the past two years, I haven’t set my alarm, but I’ve gradually begun going to bed earlier, so I’m naturally waking up earlier too. Starting my mornings between seven and eight always feels best, and I’m pleased when I check the time on the wooden clock carved with birds on the wall across from my bed.

It’s my 753rd morning waking up alone after Chris, my fiancé, died in a car accident three weeks before our wedding date. For the first year, I always woke up with a heavy weight in my gut even when I wasn’t consciously sad. But that’s slowly been changing—lightening—and this morning I feel really good.

I’m back in Green Valley, North Carolina. My hometown. I’ll be here through Christmas and New Year’s Day, and I’m excited about the next three weeks.

Not about the holidays. All the artificial excitement and festivities don’t appeal to me anymore.

And not about encountering a slew of old acquaintances, none of whom know me as the person I am now. They only know me as Chris’s girl. Then his fiancée. Maya Alexander. The absent-minded, artsy-crafty one who could never complete projects or even hold a regular job for more than a few months at a time.

But I am excited about seeing Tee, my great-aunt who raised me from the age of seven, and my cousin, Daniela.

I’m also excited about solving the mystery of my secret pen pal who’s been sending me messages for almost a year but refuses to identify himself.

The only thing I know for sure is that he’s a man and that he lives in Green Valley. He appears to have a history there, so he likely went to school with me.

Green Valley kids tend not to leave town, and if they do leave, they eventually move back. I would still be living there too had I not lost Chris and desperately needed to get away.

So my pen pal is probably a Green Valley local—born and raised and still living in town.

Before I take off again after New Year’s, I’m going to find out who he is.

I’m lying in bed, mulling over my plans for the next three weeks, when Claude climbs the stairs to my bedroom loft, leaps onto the mattress, and walks up my body to peer into my face with his intelligent gold eyes.

Claude is my Bombay cat—sleek and black and eerily clever. He’s a dramatic contrast to Ed, my big, fluffy orange tabby who is currently curled up, snoring on the second pillow beside my head.

“I’m getting up,” I tell Claude, who is ready for breakfast and disapproves of my sloth. “You don’t have to glare at me like that. You can’t be that hungry.”

At the sound of my voice—or maybe at the word “hungry”—Ed lifts his head and squints at me.

“I know. It’s breakfast time.”

That’s enough to motivate even Ed to heft himself onto all four paws. With a sigh, I sit up, taking care not to hit my head on the low slope of the loft’s ceiling. I pull on an oversized sweater over my pajamas and then climb down the stairs carefully since they are narrow and built right against the wall.

The small kitchen is under the loft, so the ceiling is low there too. I slice a lemon and add half to a glass of water before going outside to walk as I drink it.

Mid-December in North Carolina is often fairly mild. It’s in the high forties this morning, and the sun is starting to rise. It’s brisk but not uncomfortable beside the lake. I walk around the campground until I’ve finished my glass of water, clearing my mind and taking deep breaths in a way I’ve practiced every morning since Chris died.

Early on, this form of meditation was the only way I could keep myself from crawling back into bed to cry for the rest of the day, but now it mostly helps begin my days with a peaceful, settled heart.

Theo Humphrey would probably call it trendy, empty spiritualism. I was into crystals for a year after college, and Theo always eyed them disapprovingly. He was Chris’s best friend ever since kindergarten, and he thought I was too silly and frivolous to be a good match for his friend.

Chris was hardworking and practical, but he never cared that I was different. That I love crafting and thrifting and art and unusual mental health habits and ritual and deep spirituality. Chris loved me for who I am and wanted me to pursue whatever made me happy, but Theo never understood. He still doesn’t.

Of all the people in Green Valley I don’t want to see over the holidays, Theo is at the top of the list.

I shake the image of his thick, wavy auburn hair and grumpy expression out of my head so that I won’t lose my pleasant mood. Then I return to my tiny house to make coffee in the French press.

I bought this tiny house with part of the inheritance and life insurance money I received after Chris’s death. It’s adorable—only two hundred square feet in a cottage style with a small fold-down deck on the side. What Chris left me has allowed me to travel all over the country in the past two years, towing my house and staying for a few weeks at a time in campgrounds and parks.

Even before losing Chris, I was never really built for a regular nine-to-five job, and for months afterward there was no way I could focus enough to work. So I traveled. I did a lot of praying and meditation and reading and crafting. I disconnected from news and television and all the scrolling on social media I used to rely on for stimulation. I only kept my Instagram account, using it like a journal to post photos and brief reflections on grief and healing and providing my friends and family updates on life traveling in my tiny house.

And slowly more people began to follow me. I didn’t consciously work to gain new followers. I barely even noticed the first year as friends would share my posts and new people would like my photos or interact with my meditations or wish me well. But by the second year, my large number of followers changed life for me.

I was able to monetize the account. Brands started contacting me, wanting me to form partnerships. I had to obscure my personal details and specific locations since having such a large number of people knowing exactly who and where I am, traveling as a woman alone, was no longer safe.

Now I make more than enough money as an influencer to cover my modest monthly expenses, and I can still put some into savings. I’m no longer relying on my inheritance from Chris to live, and I see no reason I won’t be able to continue living and traveling in my tiny house for the foreseeable future.

I’m not as happy as I used to be, living in Green Valley and looking forward to a long life with Chris, but I’m content. At peace. I’m usually glad to wake up to each new day. And for a while that was something I never believed could be true for me again.

After I drink my coffee, I do a half hour of yoga and then get out my camera to capture some images of the lake in the morning light and the surrounding woods clinging to the last of the year’s green life.

Tee is expecting me by ten thirty, but I have time to put together one post, introducing my new location and highlighting the large lake, before I shower quickly and dress in a brown sweater, long plaid skirt, tights and boots. My dark brown hair is longer than it’s ever been—almost reaching my waist—and it’s currently threaded through with streaks of a rose-red color in various layers. The color changes fairly frequently whenever I get bored.

I French-braid the top layer of my hair around my crown, pleased with the effect and the way it brings attention to my dark eyes and high cheekbones, and leave the rest of my hair loose.

I’m never going to look like a fashion model. I never wear makeup, and my clothes are never in style. But I want to look as pretty as I can for some reason. I’ve been away for two years. I feel like a different person now. And I want the people who happen to see me to know I’m doing well.

When I’m satisfied with my appearance, I grab my big leather bag and head out the door, excited to see Tee and take her on errands and to lunch.

And hoping not to run into anyone too obnoxious while we’re out.

***

T EE’S HOUSE IS AN OLD farmhouse that was already getting old by the time Green Valley started being developed as an exclusive gated community on the lake fifty years ago. The house is a large two-story with a wraparound porch, and it looks like a ramshackle anachronism among the newer, nicer houses that surround it.

It still has a large yard and an outbuilding that used to be a barn but that Tee has always used as studio space for our arts and crafts.

I love this house. My earliest memories are set here, even before my parents died and I moved in with Tee full time when I was ten. A warm swell of pleasure fills me as I pull into the driveway and park in my regular spot on the far right of the gravel parking area.

After unbuckling and grabbing my bag, I slide down the high step from my pickup truck seat. As anyone who’s ever met me would testify, I’m not a truck person, but I needed a heavy-duty vehicle to tow my tiny house around the country, so I ended up purchasing this one. I used to feel ridiculous—like some sort of impostor—driving it around, but I’m used to it now and don’t care that it’s not what anyone would expect of me.

Tee is opening the front door before I take my first step onto the paved walk. She’s basically an older version of me—five-nine, still slender, tan skin, long salt-and-pepper hair. She’s wearing a loose dress and a long hand-knit sweater. She grins and lifts her arms in welcome as I approach.

“Get over here, mija , and give your old Tee a hug!”

I pick up my speed, smiling as I run over to embrace her, overwhelmed with the familiar scent of her—cinnamon, paint, the lemon-based cleaner she’s always used. I’m oddly emotional as I pull away. I have to give my eyes a quick swipe.

She notices. Of course she does. But she doesn’t comment as she steps aside to let me in the house. “How does it feel to be back in Green Valley?”

“A little strange. But really okay. Not as hard as I expected.”

“That’s good.” Tee and her sister, my maternal grandmother, were born in Mexico but moved to the US when they were in their late teens. She still has a very slight accent that’s only noticeable occasionally. She eyes me up and down with a penetrating gaze I well remember. “I’ve missed you, but it looks like being away was the right thing for you. You’re beautiful. And more settled in yourself. The last year has been good for you.”

“I think so too. I feel more like myself. I’ll probably always miss Chris, but I can actually see the shape of a life without him now.”

Tee nods. “Daniela is in the studio. Give her a hug before we leave. I have a whole list of errands for today.”

I’m not concerned about her list of errands. They usually consist of going by the post office to ship packages of her art or jewelry that she’s sold online and visiting the art supply store and a few of her favorite boutiques downtown.

The post office I can tolerate, and the other stops will be as fun for me as they are for Tee.

My cousin, Daniela, is one year older than me. She’s the only daughter of my mother’s brother and his wife, who both died in the same accident that killed my parents. Daniela is built smaller than me and has more delicate features but the same mop of long dark hair. She’s wearing a gray tank top and old army trousers but still manages to be gorgeous. She’s tougher and more reserved than I’ve ever been, but we’ve always been close, and she’s genuinely happy to see me when she glances up from the large chunk of wood she’s chiseling.

After we hug and say a few words of greeting, she explains she’s deep into her work but that she hopes I’ll hang out with her this afternoon.

I promise to do so and then walk with Tee back to the house so she can use the bathroom and apply lipstick before we leave.

It’s an odd feeling. To be so completely at home. With family. And yet to feel like I’m not quite the same person I used to be when I was last here.

***

M Y ERRANDS WITH TEE proceed as I expect. The post office takes forever since it’s almost Christmas, but we chat as we’re waiting in line, so it doesn’t feel like wasted time. After the onerous duty is done, we spend a long time in the art supply store, and I insist that Tee fill up a basket with anything she wants so I can buy it for her.

We have lunch at a little bistro downtown and then take our time browsing through some clothing stores. We mostly buy scarves and jewelry, but I do splurge on a wine-colored velvet jacket.

Whenever Tee expresses concern about my spending too much money, I try to explain how much money I’m earning as an influencer. It might as well be a foreign language to her, and she doesn’t quiet down until I pull up my banking app and show her the balances in my checking and savings accounts.

She’s quiet for a while after that. Then finally asks with a thoughtful frown, “Daniela shows me the pretty pictures you take and reads me your thoughts from her phone. They all sound just like you, so I always want to hear them. But I don’t understand how you get paid for it. So people give you money just for being you?”

I think for a moment before I answer. “Yes. I guess that’s a lot of it.”

She shakes her head with a smile. “Well, it’s very odd to me, but I’m proud of you. I should have expected you to make a unique place in the world for yourself, and now you have.”

I hug her again, ridiculously pleased by her approval and understanding. I’m still smiling as I turn away and my eyes land on a familiar face.

It’s a handsome face. Not like a movie star or a model but with a boy-next-door appeal. The jaw is square, the cheekbones strong, the forehead broad, and the mouth set in a frown. He’s clean-shaven with slightly too long auburn hair that insists on curling despite his best attempts to tame it. His eyes are a vivid blue. His body is built naturally big and strong, although he’s never spent a lot of time lifting weights. He’s wearing gray trousers and a neat blue Oxford. He’s standing on the corner of the sidewalk outside and was talking to someone else when our eyes met through the large front window of the shop.

Theo Humphrey.

Chris’s best friend and the last person I want to see today.

I glance away, hoping futilely that he’ll pretend he didn’t see me and not come inside to speak. He’s never liked me, and he’s not going to have miraculously changed his opinion in the past two years. But he’s never ignored me. He’s always made a point to say a few terse, stilted words to me whenever our paths have crossed, as if he feels like it’s his duty as Chris’s friend to play nice.

So I’m not surprised when the bell on the door chimes a minute later. I turn around with as close to a polite smile as I can muster.

Theo blinks at me with a frown. “Maya.”

“Theo Humphrey.” I’m not sure why I always say his last name. Just that the name Humphrey sounds appropriate to his grumpy personality.

“You’re back in town.”

“It appears that way.” I really can’t help the dryness in my tone.

“How long?” There’s still not a trace of a smile on his face. Just that sober, intent scrutiny he always focuses on me.

I shrug. “A few weeks. For the holidays.”

“Maya,” Tee says, stepping away from the rack she was searching through. “I don’t see anything here.” She pauses when she sees Theo. “Ah. You’ve found a young man.”

My back stiffens sharply. “I do not have a young man. Theo saw me as he was passing by and stopped in to be polite. You remember Chris’s friend, Theo, don’t you?”

Of course Tee remembers Theo. She remembers faces and names from decades back. I’m actually not sure whether she’s trying to make me uncomfortable or Theo, but she’s definitely doing it on purpose.

“How are you, Ms. Santiago?” Theo asks her soberly.

“Young man, you need to call me Tee like everyone else.”

Theo clears his throat and doesn’t answer her with anything but a nod.

I’m about to suggest Tee and I depart when Theo blurts out, “Are you still in that toy house?”

I narrow my eyes, offended despite my attempts not to care about his attitude. “It’s not a toy house. It’s a tiny house. And yes, I’m still living in it.”

“Okay.”

I wait a minute for him to say something else. To make a gesture toward basic civility.

But not Theo. He just stands there staring at me disapprovingly.

He’s never been a big talker. Chris told me that, and I’ve seen it when he’s interacted with other people. But he does manage to smile occasionally or have a normal conversation with people other than me. It’s clearly only me he doesn’t care for.

It used to really bother me, and maybe it still does. But I’m no longer in a mental place where I’d try to remedy his opinion of me.

If he doesn’t like me, then that’s his problem. I’ve never done anything mean or impolite to him. Or even around him. I’ve always tried to be a good-hearted and generous person. I might not be the smartest or the most capable or the most ambitious or the most competent at life, but there are other positive qualities that people can possess.

If he can’t appreciate who I am, then he’s the only one it affects. I won’t let it bother me anymore.

“Okay,” I say, more glibly than I normally speak. “It was lovely to see you again, but Tee and I have to get going. Have a good day and a merry Christmas.”

He kind of grunts. Maybe that’s an answer. But it’s clearly all I’m getting from him.

I take Tee’s arm and maneuver her out of the shop before she decides to cause any trouble.

“A very shy young man, I believe,” Tee says when we’re out on the sidewalk.

I gasp and shoot her a surprised look. “Shy? No, not really. Rude is how I would describe him.”

Tee gives a funny little laugh. “Is that what you think?”

“Of course that’s what I think. He’s always been that way with me—even back in school before I started dating Chris. It’s not just that he didn’t think I was a good match for his friend. He simply doesn’t like me.”

A memory hits me then of the first time I remember Theo existing. I was in the sixth grade, and he was two grades above me in the same class as Chris. I didn’t know either of them back then. I had a few friends but was never popular since I was new in town, my family wasn’t wealthy in very wealthy Green Valley, and most people thought we were kind of odd.

But one afternoon some boys in my class were being mean to me, making fun of my clothes and that I spent every spare minute scribbling pictures in a notebook. of them took my notebook from me and flipped through it, laughing meanly about my drawings.

Theo was striding by just then, and he elbowed the boy without even glancing over at him. The notebook dropped, and one glare from Theo, who was big and broad-shouldered even then, sent the other boys running.

He picked up my notebook and handed it to me. I smiled at him, shaky and touched and confused by the incident.

I did manage to say thank you, but he only shrugged and stared at me. I waited because it seemed like he was going to say something, but he never did.

He eventually shrugged again and walked off.

Over the years, I thought about that encounter, trying to fit it into my larger understanding of him. I tried smiling at him a few times after that. I wasn’t flirting—definitely not—just trying to be nice since he’d helped me. But he never smiled back and never tried to talk to me.

When I started dating Chris in my sophomore year of high school, he finally began speaking to me but never in a friendly or genuine way. More like an unpleasant duty because of my connection to his best friend.

All I’ve been able to come up with in terms of an explanation is that Theo isn’t a bad guy. He’s a decent man who wants to help people who need it. He went to law school, and instead of taking a high-paying job, he became a public defender so he could help the people who need it the most.

That’s probably how he viewed his rescue of me all those years ago. I needed help, so he helped me.

But that didn’t mean he liked me then, and he definitely doesn’t like me now.

I don’t know why, but it’s a fact of life that is clearly never going to change.

It doesn’t matter. Other people like me. My life isn’t defined by the one person who doesn’t.

So Theo Humphrey can fade into my past. I’m not going to let him distract me from my otherwise enjoyable day.

He simply doesn’t matter anymore.