Chapter 9 #3
The first guests drop toys in the bin, their smiles easy and oblivious. We smile back. The machine of the day clicks forward, and I force myself to let it.
“You will tell your brothers,” Declan says quietly.
“After the police,” I reply, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “If I call now, they’ll drive here and posture. I don’t have time for a show.”
“You want me to call Ryker?” he asks. “He can run interference.”
“Call him after we have facts,” I say. “He’ll listen to you.”
Declan nods, slipping his phone back into his jacket pocket. “Your plan’s better than mine,” he says. “I’m changing my mind about the order of calls.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.” The small joke escapes before I can stop it, and he smiles. The tension loosens by a fraction.
Down the drive, headlights slice through the snow. The police cruiser rolls to a slow stop beside the veranda. Declan’s hand finds mine, a brief squeeze—firm, grounding. I don’t pull away.
We walk to meet them together. The gravel crunches under our boots, the air sharp with cold. Jonas Goodwin steps out first, Elijah Caldwell right behind him. Both men scan the veranda, then the closed tasting room doors. Their presence alone settles the space—official, solid, and calm.
“What do we have?” Jonas asks, his tone brisk but not unkind.
I steady my voice before answering. “A box with a burned ornament. Delivered with no label. Midday drop, short window. We moved guests outside. Staff are rerouting service, and we have footage from the entry cam.”
Elijah nods once, pulling a small notepad from his coat. Jonas glances toward the building, then back to me, waiting for the rest.
Elijah nods. “Good. Show us.”
Declan leads the way. I match his pace and keep my chin high. Jonas and Elijah follow. The day tilts around us, normal and not. I take one breath, then another.
We reach the closed doors. Declan opens them and we step in. The room glows like nothing is wrong. I walk over to the counter and carefully lift the box left on the doorstep, trying not to add any fingerprints to it.
Elijah puts on gloves and lifts the lid. He peels the tissue and looks at the blackened glass. He doesn’t speak for a long beat.
Then he looks up at me. “This is not random. The scorch marks tell me someone applied direct flame. That takes intent.”
“I know.”
“Don’t touch it.”
“I didn’t.”
He nods. “I need to make a call.” He steps away to give whomever answered the phone the rundown, and when he’s done, he turns to us.
“Let’s bag it for evidence and get it back to the station. I’ll have someone pull the footage. I’ll also need your vendor list, delivery records, and anyone you’ve let go recently.”
“I’ve already compiled a list.” I give him a paper with more names that I care to admit.
“Good.”
Jonas glances at the tree, then at the garlands, then at me. “You plan to keep the tasting open.”
“Yes.”
He looks at Declan. “You okay with that?”
Declan looks at me first, then back at Jonas and Elijah. “We adjusted the layout. We’ll keep guests on the veranda and reserve lounge until you clear the room. I’ll work with their security team to run extra patrols tonight.”
They study us both and then nod. “I’ll give you instructions for tonight. Follow them.”
“I will,” I answer quickly.
Jonas bags the ornament with care and tapes the edges. He marks the time in his notes. He asks two more questions about the box and the drop. I give him everything I know. Declan fills in anything I miss. We work like a team because we’re okay, even when we pretend we’re not.
At the door, Elijah pauses. “You should expect a second message.”
I feel the words land. I don’t flinch. “Then I’ll expect it. And I’ll be ready.”
He studies my face for a breath, then nods and leaves with the evidence.
Declan turns to me. “You good?”
“No. I’m steady.”
“We keep eyes up.”
“Always.”
The veranda cheers as a tray of first pours comes out. Music starts, soft and bright. The sky pulls thin threads of light over the far hill.
Declan touches my elbow. “About that cup.”
“You earned it.”
“So did you.”
We pour two cups of mulled wine and stand by the doorway where I can watch my people move like clockwork.
He lifts his cup. “To truce.”
“To proof.”
We drink. The spice warms my throat. The room behind us stands ready. For a heartbeat, I stare at the garlands and tree, so normal and bright, and the contrast with the blackened ornament makes my chest tighten. Normalcy and menace in the same breath.
He leans closer. “I’ll be here tonight.”
“I know. But I’m making a change.”
“What change?”
“I’m done waiting for someone to tell me this is over. We take the next step. We put cameras at every entry by morning. We lock down deliveries. We check every outbuilding with you, Beckett, and Ryker at dusk. We don’t wait. We make the next move.”
He nods, jaw set. “We make the next move.”
A couple waves at me, and I wave back. Declan stands at my side, eyes on the path, hand steady on his cup. The wind stirs the ribbons on the veranda, just enough to make them whisper.
I square my shoulders and step forward. If someone wants to scare me off my family land, they chose the wrong woman. They wanted a reaction. I’ll give them action instead.