Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
DANA
Oh shit.
Of course, of all the actresses in the world, I’d be saddled with one I actually recognized. Emily Rossi.
Kelsey and I had stumbled onto Harrowgate while scrolling the streaming apps a few months before we broke up, and had binge-watched the first and only season.
Emily had been good. Really good. So good that I’d Googled her to see what else she’d done.
If my memory was correct, she’d started her career playing a vet in Animal Rescue Hospital, a television drama about a veterinary practice, before she was killed off dramatically by a chimpanzee who had escaped from a zoo.
After Harrowgate, she’d starred in one big blockbuster movie, Clique, and then… nothing.
And now here she was, standing in the clearing before me, grasping a pen and notepad, staring at me with big hazel eyes, glossy dark-brown hair framing her heart-shaped face, her cheeks pink.
‘Detective Marianne Hayes reporting for duty.’ My mouth suddenly felt dry.
I may have had a tiny crush on her character who, despite being bitter, sarcastic and judgmental, was also intelligent and cared deeply about her job.
Two traits I found very appealing. I adjusted my tank top, very aware of just how hot and sweaty I’d gotten during my wood-chopping session. I sniffed. Do I smell?
My eyes dropped to her outfit. Blue jeans, a woolen coat the shade of the dark, rich, green second-year fir needles that ended just above her knees and bright white sneakers. They looked new and spotless. They wouldn’t be either after a morning of scouting. Best to get down to business.
“What size are your shoes?” I asked.
“Eight. Why?”
“Good. Come with me.” I bounded up the back deck of my cabin and opened the door. I yanked two insulated work jackets off the coat rack and picked up my back-up boots from the wooden floor.
“Here, put these on.” I handed her a blue jacket and boots. They weren’t as stylish or pristine as her clothes, but she didn’t seem to mind. “I’ll hang your coat inside.”
“Thanks.” Emily pulled off her coat, revealing a red, figure-hugging cashmere sweater underneath. She handed it to me, then plopped down on the wooden bench to switch shoes.
After hanging Emily’s coat, I toweled off quickly and then jogged across the clearing to the small rickety wooden shed where I grabbed a hand saw and some pruning shears. When I returned, Emily had finished changing.
“Do I look more like a farmer now?” She stood and twirled on the spot.
My beaten-up shoes and worn jacket had not transformed Emily into a farmer.
Her olive skin was too flawless and her brown hair too glossy to have been exposed to the elements day after day and her handbag was definitely not the go-to accessory for farmers.
That was what pockets, backpacks and tool belts were for.
“Better.” I pulled my jacket on.
“So what exactly are we looking for?” Emily asked as we walked toward the firs.
“Signs of pests. Woolly egg sacks that indicate adelgids. Small bumps from scale insects. Thankfully spider mites and bagworms are less common in the colder months. Browning or yellowing needles or dark spots that might indicate needle blight or root rot. Damaged bark could be canker disease.” I stepped over an old branch on the ground.
“Spidermites and bagwo—ugh!” Emily shrieked.
Emily’s hand clasped my bicep with an iron grip, the force nearly knocking me off my feet. Oops. I probably should have warned her about that branch.
“Sorry!” Emily said. “I tripped. God, you’re so hard.”
My brow shot up. What? “Uh…”
She released her grasp on my arm. “I mean strong. I mean your arm feels so strong…” Emily trailed off, her entire face pink.
I held back a chuckle. The contrast between Emily and the cool detective really couldn’t be more marked. Nothing flustered Detective Marianne Hayes. I bent down and collected Emily’s pen and notepad, which she’d dropped when she’d tripped and handed them back to her.
“Thanks,” she said, tucking the items back in her handbag.
We strolled through the trees in silence, my shoulders relaxing as I scanned the branches and trunks. Perhaps having Emily shadowing me wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“I know I said I’d be as quiet as a mouse, but would it be okay if I asked you a few questions?”
So much for the relaxing silence.
“Fine.”
Emily pulled out her phone, the silver sparkles on its case reflecting in the dappled light. “Is it okay if I record on my phone so I don’t fall over again trying to take notes?”
“Sure.”
“Great! What’s your favorite thing about Christmas tree farming?”
Easy. “The peace and quiet.”
Emily tilted her head, her wavy hair swinging to the side. “It must be quite magical seeing all the families coming out together to pick a tree for Christmas?”
I shrugged. Maybe if Christmas hadn’t been ruined for me.
“What’s the hardest thing about being a Christmas tree farmer at this time of year?”
Did she have to keep asking so many Christmas-related questions? Couldn’t she focus on things like the best soil conditions for firs or the impact of climate change on coniferous trees instead? Now that I could talk about all day.
“Christmas.”
Emily stopped walking and stared at me like I’d just announced I was going to run for president. “What? Christmas?”
“It’s the busiest time of year in this section of the farm.
People trampling through here,” I said, waving my arm around, “hacking down the trees and carting them away. I know the whole point of having a Christmas tree farm is selling them, but when you’ve spent years nurturing the trees, protecting them from disease and pests, it’s a little depressing. ”
“But think of how much joy each tree brings a family!” Emily flung her arm toward a particularly well-shaped specimen.
“A family outing to your gorgeous farm to choose the perfect tree to fit their home. Decorating it with lights and ornaments, its piney scent making their house smell like Christmas. The excitement of all the presents piling up under the tree.”
Emily’s words took me back to that last Christmas morning with my family. The balsam fir covered with gold and silver tinsel, presents stacked underneath. Bowie conspicuously absent from his favorite spot curled up next to the fire in a golden ball of fur.
“Yeah. I’m not so into Christmas.”
Emily frowned. “Why not?”
I shrugged again, trying to give the impression of nonchalance as a lump formed in my throat. What could I say that wouldn’t require me to talk about Kelsey, Jake, and Bowie?
“It’s so commercial.” Not the best answer, but that would do.
I only had to get through the next seven and a half weeks, and then Christmas would be over for another year and I could get back to enjoying my life.
I strode ahead before Emily could ask any follow-up questions and focused my attention on scanning the trees for damage. A flash of pale yellow caught my eye. What the…?
I stepped over to a mature fir and crouched beside it. At the bottom of the trunk, a patch of bark was missing.
“What caused that?” Emily asked from behind me.
“I don’t know.” I ran my hand over the exposed wood and then traced the rough bark around it. “Maybe meadow voles or white-footed mice? If it was a squirrel it would be higher up the tree.” I leaned closer. “See these scratches here? They’re toothmarks. Too big for voles or mice.”
Emily peered over my shoulder, her soft, slightly floral scent mingling with the resinous smell of the bark.
“It almost looks like someone attacked it with a fork.”
I frowned. Could this have been done by a human? No. That was ridiculous.
I scanned the ground for animal droppings. Nothing.
“Will the tree be okay?” Emily asked.
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket.
“Whatever it was didn’t remove the bark all the way around the trunk, so it shouldn’t die.
The tree may grow new bark. If not, it might affect how much we can get for it when it’s ready to be sold.
” I snapped a few photos of the trunk and then rose to my feet.
“I’ll keep an eye out for any other damage,” Emily said.
“Glad to hear Detective Hayes is on the case.” Heat rushed to my cheeks. Goddamnit. I hadn’t intended to let Emily know that I recognized her.
Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve seen Harrowgate?”
“Yeah.” Play it cool.
“Huh. Well, you’re among a select few.”
Did I detect a slightly bitter tone?
“It’s a shame they didn’t renew it. I thought it was good.”
Emily smiled. “Thanks.”
I continued down the row of firs, paying particular attention to the lower trunk of each tree and for a moment forgot I had company.
“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la…”
Was that… ? Was Emily singing Christmas carols?
I glanced over. Emily was practically skipping, oblivious to both my attention and the fact that she was singing under her breath.
“Don we now our gay apparel, fa la la…”
Seriously?
I cleared my throat. “Do you mind?”
Emily looked at me blankly for a second and then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops! Sorry. It’s just all this—”, she waved her hand at the firs, “—is getting me in the mood.” She blushed. “For Christmas, I mean.”
Despite yet another Christmas reminder, I bit back a chuckle again.
I let out a deep breath as silence settled back in the forest, broken only occasionally by the high pitched call of a chickadee. We reached the end of the row, stepped onto a dirt path, and turned down the next row.
“These trees are huge!” Emily tipped her head back, taking in the firs.
“These ones are all over fourteen feet tall. We grow them for large houses and the local church, as well as the town’s Christmas display.”
I stopped halfway down the row and frowned.
“The weeds have gotten a little out of control here.” I knelt, pulled out gloves and a large trash bag from my pocket, and began yanking them out.
“If we don’t keep on top of them they can take over, sucking nutrients from the soil and attracting rodents. ”
Emily bent down to help.