CHAPTER ELEVEN
The moment Nate stepped through the back door of the Chamber of Commerce, the smell of coffee and peanut butter cookies hit him square in the face.
Not a bad way to start the day. Ever since Winnie had taken over as Executive Director, even these last-minute early morning meeting requests had perks.
She treated him like her resident handyman—part muscle, part moral support—and he didn’t mind one bit. Winnie had a way of leaving her touch on everything from décor to morale. She’d even started casual Fridays, which still made his uncle mutter under his breath.
The office already hummed with activity despite the winter morning’s hush outside. Because of the weather, schools and a few businesses delayed opening by two hours. Didn’t bother him much. He kind of enjoyed being the guy who could still make it in, four-wheel drive and all.
“Morning,” he said to Penny at the front desk.
She’d worked beside Aunt Winnie for years, the quiet engine that kept the Chamber running.
While others took credit for smooth events and tidy records, Penny was the one who made it all happen—efficient, unflappable, and armed with a color-coded planner that rivaled Santa’s list. Behind her, the overnight snow clung to the windowpanes, frosting the view of South Hill in white.
At the heart of it all sat Winnie behind an oversized desk probably as old as she was.
With a stack of flyers in one hand, and the phone under her chin, she juggled the tasks like a maestro, looking up long enough to flash Nate a bright smile that somehow said good morning and don’t track slush on my clean floor.
He hopped back on the mat by the door, stomping the ice from his boots, and gave her a thumbs up, which granted him an approving nod.
Before he said a word, Hannah Leigh stepped out from the side office, cheeks flushed from the cold and something more.
In one hand she held the small velvet pouch he instantly recognized.
She gave him that look, the one that said ‘come on, back me up on this,’ and he hustled over to her side and fell in step as she approached her aunt.
As soon as Winnie hung up the phone and took a breath, Hannah Leigh dove in.
“Aunt Winnie,” she said quickly, “before Birdie tells half of South Hill, you need to hear this from me.”
“Oh, dear.” That brought Winnie to full attention. She turned her back on the phone and braced both hands on the desk. “Well, land sakes, child. That sounds serious.”
“Well, it’s not a bad thing. Not a problem with the festival or anything like that.” Hannah Leigh drew a breath. “Yesterday, while Nate and I were decorating around the dogwood, I found something.” She glanced over at Nate, and he gave her an encouraging nod.
“It rolled under my foot when I stepped in the dirt beneath the tree. It’s an old gold locket with a man and woman’s photograph inside. Nate was with me, but Birdie must’ve overheard us talking about it, because she asked me about it, and we hadn’t told a soul.”
Nate nodded to show his agreement with Hannah Leigh, but Winnie’s brows shot straight up.
Winnie’s tongue clucked. “Figures. That woman’s got ears like a church bell. She can hear gossip hit the floor before it even leaves the preacher’s lips.”
Nate bit back a grin. She was right. If nosiness were an Olympic sport, Birdie Horn would have more gold than Michael Phelps.
And as if someone cued her to come on stage, the door banged open, and Birdie barreled into the office like a candy cane in a wind tunnel.
“You’re not gonna believe what I heard over at The Doughnut Den!” she declared, eyes sparkling, and her cheeks as bright red as her hair.
Hannah Leigh and Nate exchanged a glance, half-amused, half-resigned.
“Good morning to you, too, Birdie,” Hannah Leigh said.
“Morning,” Nate echoed, leaning against the wall. “What’s the headline? But first, why is your coat covered in…is that confectioner’s sugar?”
“Oh, goodness.” She swept at the mess, then stomped the ice off her bright pink and black boots and plopped into the nearest chair in the lobby with a dramatic sigh, as though she’d rehearsed this very moment.
“Not my fault. The Doughnut Den has a new North Pole Puff, and I tried it. Actually, I tried three of them. My Lordy, light-as-air doughnuts dusted in powdered sugar and filled with whipped peppermint, and if St. Peter’s handin’ them out at the pearly gates, I’m ready to go now! ”
Everyone laughed, and of course, that just egged old Birdie on, because if there was anything she loved more than doughnuts, it was being the center of attention.
“Although that’s not even the big news.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Edna Sue swears she’s seen that picture from the locket before.
I showed her a photo on my phone, and Lord help us, she about slid right off her chair.
Said she recognized that fancy collar from some newspaper clipping back in the sixties.
She’s been movin’ all those dusty old microfiche files to digital, bless her heart, and now she’s on a mission to help us figure out the mystery. Probably just wants some attention.”
Aunt Winnie jumped in. “If that’s not the kettle calling—” but someone interrupted her.
“Hey, I’m just being a good citizen, trying to help a neighbor,” Birdie defended herself. “You know where the South Hill Historical Society is, Nate. Take Hannah Leigh over there quick before Edna Sue digs up half the archives on her own and calls Channel 7 about it.”
“Sure,” he said, happy to have an excuse to spend more time with her.
“You already showed the picture around?” Hannah Leigh’s eyes darted to Nate, panic breaking through her calm.
He shrugged. Birdie was nothing if not bold.
Birdie’s face went red. “Just trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Hannah Leigh snapped, which struck Nate’s funny bone. No one ever asked for Birdie’s help. Never stopped her.
“Well, you would’ve. I don’t mind. Look, a young couple vanished right before Christmas over sixty years ago. It had the whole town buzzing until the mayor at the time hushed it up.”
Hannah Leigh’s coffee cup stilled halfway to her lips. “Disappeared?”
Birdie nodded, her grin as wide as the Chesapeake. “Poof. Everyone assumed they’d eloped, but there was never a wedding, no postcards, no sightings. Just gone.”
Nate caught the flicker of excitement in Hannah Leigh’s eyes about where this was heading.
“Sounds like we need to make a trip over to the Historical Society,” he said.
Birdie clapped her mittened hands in triumph. “Yes! You’d better. And when you find the scoop, remember who called it first. I expect front-page credit.”
Winnie chuckled, shaking her head as she reached for her phone again. “Mercy, Birdie, if curiosity were cash, you’d own the whole county by now.”
The office settled back into its steady buzz, but for Nate the morning had shifted.
The locket, and the story sealed inside, wasn’t only a mystery waiting to be solved.
It was a reason to spend more time with Hannah Leigh, and that filled him with a hopeful, restless breath that seemed a lot like possibility.
“Ready to see what we can dig up?” he asked.
“Lead the way,” Hannah Leigh said, her eyes bright.
He slipped his hand under her elbow, and together they ducked out the side door.
The narrow brick walkway led to the South Hill Historical Society housed in the red brick building trimmed in creamy limestone, arched windows with carved keystones.
The deep slate roof punctuated by an old copper finial still shone like a penny in the winter sun.
Cast-iron lanterns flanked the heavy double doors, their frosted glass panes etched with delicate scrollwork.
Above them, shiny gold leaf lettering spelled out South Hill Historical Society in elegant script.
“I never appreciated the beauty of the architecture of this building before.” Hannah Leigh looked up, her eyes following the steep roofline.
The decorations on the building matched the era of the architecture. Garlands of dried oranges and fragrant cinnamon sticks twined along the wrought-iron railings. From the central arch, a wreath of antique sleigh bells tied with a strip of fancy velvet ribbon hung.
Nate held the brass handle for Hannah Leigh. “Welcome to the archives,” he said with a grin.