Chapter 13
M organ hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d be busy. I barely saw him. And when I did, it was because I tracked him down wherever he was to steal a few minutes of his time and, if I was lucky, a kiss or three. Either he was in his office—which I found out was located on the second floor of the visitor’s center, a fact he’d neglected to mention when we were decorating the building—making phone calls and answering emails, or he was running around checking in on everyone or taking a meeting with someone. On Tuesday, I stalked him to his office at lunch time to make sure he ate. On Wednesday, I convinced him to come to the pub for dinner, fed him the special of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and got him to slow down long enough to enjoy a beer. We’d ended up in my room above the pub, making out and sucking each other off before I sent him home to bed. I would have joined him, but we both knew if I did, we’d end up fucking, and he was running himself ragged. He needed good sleep.
Thursday was my fault. Even though Morgan had been busy all morning and most of the afternoon, he managed to finish early. But one of Arlo’s bartenders had called in sick, and Thursday was one of The Emerald Lantern’s busiest days. I’d agreed to fill in. I could open bottles and pull draughts. Gemma, both a bartender and one of the waitresses, handled any mixed drinks order. Morgan had tried to wait up, but by the time I could leave and made it to his house, he was out cold, sleeping spread eagled in his red and white pajamas covered with gnomes. I made a mental note to talk to him about leaving the door unlocked and crawled into bed with him anyway.
He woke me up in the wee hours of the morning by sitting on my cock.
Friday, he was off again, finalizing details for the ball the next night. I barely got good morning kisses. So when my phone rang about midday, and I saw his name, I was thrilled.
“Hey. How’s it going?”
“Good, good.” It sounded like he was driving, because I could hear road sounds, and it seemed like his voice was coming from a distance. I knew a trip to Saranac Lake had been on his agenda today. Something about picking up centerpieces from a vendor there. I wanted to go with him, since it was a two-hour drive round trip, but he’d insisted it wasn’t necessary. “Listen, I need your help.”
I straightened up, my heartrate spiking. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure anything is,” he said, and his calm but contemplative tone went a long way to soothing me. “Before I left, I checked the scavenger hunt entries. And there’s only been ten. That’s way down from last year. And we still have four days left, and they’re usually our busiest days. I’m sure we’ll have plenty more visitors. It’s just highly unusual.”
“Okay.” I drew the word out, hoping he’d elaborate. I was waiting for him to get to the problem.
“I’ve been mulling it over. I know it’s well advertised. It’s on the site, there’s flyers up all over town, in all the restaurants, and in all the guest rooms at Sophie’s, The Marquis, and Wayfair. I’ve even heard people talking about it at the Market. That makes me think. Are the stars too well hidden?”
“I mean, it’s possible. What do you need from me?”
“I was hoping you’d wander around town and see if you can find them all.”
Of course he was. Honestly, it sounded annoying as hell and not something I’d ever engage in of my own volition. But he was asking, so of course I would. I just had one concern. “Are you sure I’m the best choice?”
“Yes,” he chuckled, mirth coming through loud and clear. “You’re a little oblivious.”
“What the fuck?” I grumbled. “What the hell does that mean? I’m a Marine, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yes, I know.” He was still laughing. If he wasn’t so adorable, I’d be pissed at that. “This is your mission, Gunnery Sergeant McKinnon. Do you choose to accept it?”
Oblivious, my ass. I’d show him. “Yeah, sure. I can do that for you.”
“Thank you. You’re the best.” I heard his signal light turn on, and he was silent for a moment. He was either changing lanes or making a turn, so I let him concentrate. A few seconds later, he spoke again. “Just take a look at one of the flyers, or the town website, and act like you’re really going to compete, okay?”
“You got it.” I wasn’t usually competitive by nature. I prided myself on keeping an even keel. But something about the way he said it, and his laughter even though I loved the sound, got my back up. I’d been trained to be observant.
“Thank you,” he said again. “Let me know how it goes and if you have any recommendations. See you later?”
“Looking forward to it.”
“Bye.”
He hung up before I could respond. But that was okay. He’d given me a mission, playful though it was, and I knew this was something he was actually worried about. I needed a plan of action. I had to get into the enemy’s mind.
Not that Morgan was the enemy. Far from it. But I had to think like him. Surprisingly, it was easier to do than I thought.
Morgan loved this town. His sole goal was to make it better. And the best way to do that was to support local businesses. He’d want every visitor to this town to make as many stops and patronize as many shops as possible. I thought back to what he said that first day we met, when he’d dropped the star off and I’d put it on the top shelf. There were fifteen stars hidden somewhere in this town.
Just to be sure, I pulled up the town’s website. My eyes widened at just how good it looked. Dynamic colors, engaging text, clickable links. It was well organized and flowed seamlessly. I could see Morgan’s hand in some of the text. He had a distinctive voice. And really, it made Hickory Hollow sound like an idyllic place to visit. He was good.
I scrolled until I found the section I was looking for, then clicked into the rules page. I’d been right. Fifteen stars, all located somewhere within town limits. Take a picture of each one and submit it, along with personal information, through the form. I wasn’t going to do that part, but the rest? I was on it.
I dressed for a day of going in and out of the cold, then headed downstairs. I started with the star here, since that was a cheat. I also knew there was one at Mirabelle’s, I’d seen it peeking out from behind the menu board, so I decided that would be my next stop. I zoomed in, snapped a pic of the glittering glass points, and ordered an empanada to go. I ate that in the SUV as I contemplated my next move.
I considered making a stop at Lowry’s B and B, but that didn’t make sense. Only guests who’d booked a room would have a real reason to go there. I tucked that idea in my back pocket in case I came up short.
Costa’s Coffee and Cakes was an easy choice. While I waited for my peppermint mocha, I surveyed my surroundings. A glint caught my eye. I walked in that direction and yes, there it was. They’d set it in between fancy glassware on a decorative shelf. That was a good hiding spot. The only reason I’d spotted it was because it was much higher quality glass. I snapped a pic just as my order was called.
The barista at the counter handed me my drink. She was young, still in high school or just graduated would be my guess. She offered me a bright smile. “Doing the scavenger hunt?”
“Yep.”
“Good luck!” Then she cocked her head. “You know, you look really familiar.”
There was no way she could know me, but I felt like I had to say something. “I grew up here.”
“Yes! That’s where I’ve seen your face. You took my mom to prom. Mama!” She called, voice loud enough to make me wince. But then what she said penetrated my brain.
“Wait. You’re Lisa Winston’s daughter?”
“It’s Lisa Costa now,” Lisa herself said as she pushed through the swinging door. She wiped her hands on a towel, then tossed it over her shoulder. “Barrett McKinnon. I never thought I’d see you again.”
She opened her arms as she stepped around the counter and I gave her a short, tight hug. We’d been friendly, if not exactly friends, in high school. Even though we bussed out to one of the bigger towns for school, our class hadn’t been that big. Lisa’s boyfriend had dumped her the week before senior prom and she’d marched up to me the next day.
“Look, I want to go to prom. I have the dress, the shoes, everything. You’re the only boy I know who doesn’t suck ass. So how about we go together, sit in the corner, and make fun of all the assholes,” she’d said. So that’s what we did.
“It’s good to see you, Lisa.” I stepped back and took her in. I knew she was the same age as I was, but she looked barely thirty. Then I pointed to her daughter. “How do you have a kid this old?”
Lisa grinned and patted a hand over her heart. “I fell head over heels in love with her father freshman year in college. Eddie and I got married that summer and Jess surprised us shortly thereafter. Three more kids and moving back home, and here we are. I heard a rumor you’d finally come home.”
There was that word again. I shrugged it off. “For a while, anyway. Listen, it was great to see you, but I’m on a time crunch.”
She nodded. “I’ve got scones in the oven anyway. But don’t be a stranger, okay? Jess, any time Barrett comes in, he gets the friends and family discount.”
“Got it,” Jess called back cheerily.
Lisa patted my chest, gave me a “See you,” and headed back to the kitchen. I left as well. Christ, I hadn’t thought of prom in years. Probably since it happened. I hadn’t wanted to go. It seemed stupid. But even back then, I liked to fix things, and Lisa needed help. We’d ended up having a great time, all in all.
I shook off the memories and continued on my mission.
Next up was Bark and Bloom, where Elliott was busy with a customer and I found two stars. One on each side. Tucked between the thick leaves of a plant with a label that read “Dracaena Trifasciata ‘Snake Plant’ (formerly Sansevieria) Not For Sale” a small star with green flecks barely peeked out. Across the room, a display of dachshund plush toys guarded a star the same shape, but with pink flecks. I snapped pics of both, then caught Elliott’s attention.
“Scavenger hunt mission. I’ll stop back in another time,” I said, because I didn’t want him to think I was being rude. He grinned and waved me on.
Since I was right there, I popped into Yarn Voyage next. Carrington was sitting in a chair next to a display of very colorful yarn, tongue poking out as he concentrated on what he was doing. Two needles meant knitting—I learned that years ago, some of my fellow Marines knitted or crocheted to keep their hand and minds busy, especially on deployment—and it looked like a hat. He didn’t even look up as he murmured, “One sec, please.”
“I’ll just poke around,” I said.
He froze, then slowly, almost comically he lifted his gaze to meet mine. It took him a second, but then he remembered where we’d met. Or perhaps, under what circumstances. His mouth made an O, his cheeks colored bright pink, and he crunched his knitting together in his hands.
“Oh, pardon me. Please allow me to apologize for the other day. It’s Elliott’s fault.”
I had to chuckle, he was so sincere until he said that last part, and then his anger came out. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Carrington. Carrington Ellis, at your service,” he said, offering a little bow. Which was strange since he was still seated. He must have realized that, because he stood quickly and gently set his knitting aside. He offered a hand. “I must say it’s not often that we get people like you in here. Unless they’re shopping for a female loved one.”
“Barrett McKinnon.” I shook his hand. “People like me? Do you mean a Marine or a man?”
That delighted him for some reason, judging by the way his face lit up. “Both! Not that’s anything wrong with either Marines or men enjoying the fiber arts. It’s a time-honored skill with a long and varied history.”
I got the impression that if I asked, Carrington could give me a dissertation on exactly that subject. But I didn’t have time for that today.
“I’ve known a few, both Marines and men, who knit or crochet. Sadly, I’m not one of them. Morgan actually has me doing the scavenger hunt. For reasons.” I figured it was better to be upfront.
The way Carrington’s lips quirked seemed secretive. “Feel free to look around then. Enjoy!”
I took that as tacit agreement that he had a star hidden somewhere in his wares. So I started my hunt. At first, I thought it would be easy, since most of what he had was soft, fluffy looking yarn as well as craft books. But he’d also decorated the shop to the high heavens, and every time I thought I spotted it, it turned out just to be décor. I turned the corner into a smaller room, just as decorated as the rest of the shop, where the yarn on the shelves was very thick and squishy looking. My attention caught on a scarf that had to be at least ten feet long, from the way it was draped around the stand. Without thought, I crossed the room to touch it. It was so soft, the yarn was plush, and I knew it would be warm. It was scarlet and gold striped, the official Marine Corps colors. I kept rubbing it between my fingers as I looked around.
And there it was. On the top shelf and wearing a tiny scarf of its own. Distinctly Ridge Holloway’s work. I took a pic and turned to leave. Then I glanced back at the scarf.
“Carrington?”
He appeared three seconds later, that smile still on his face. “How can I help you?”
I pointed at the scarf. “Did you make that?”
“I did, yes.” He tilted his head. “To be honest, I’m not even sure why. It’s far too long for most people, and it’s not my color palette at all. But when I saw the yarn, I was inspired, I guess.”
“How much is it?”
Ten minutes later, I walked out of the shop fifty dollars poorer and with a new scarf I didn’t actually need. That didn’t stop me from winding it around my neck as I continued my mission.
Since I was right there, I walked across the street to the post office. It was a historic building as far as the town went. According to the plaque outside, it had been built in 1908 and became the post office in 1935. It wasn’t much to look at honestly, but I’d been in there dozens of times growing up, and I knew the real character of the building was in the antique mosaic tile floor that had been laid when it was first built and the original woodwork throughout the public parts of the building. I wouldn’t put it past Morgan to tuck a star inside, wanting to highlight the town’s history, and this being one of the oldest buildings still standing.
I headed inside. Weirdly, the first thing I noticed was that it smelled the same, like paper and dust and something else I’d never been able to identify. There was no one behind the desk, but a bell for service had a prominent place. I didn’t need service, so I just looked around until I spotted the star hiding in the case honoring all the postmasters that had worked here.
I wandered through the lighted decorations after I left, and it was lucky I did. Since the lights were currently off, they didn’t go on until sundown, it was easy to spot the star with pale blue flecks at the top of one of the five-foot trees. I squinted, trying to remember what it looked like when we set it up, picturing it lit up. After a minute, I decided that it wouldn’t be too hard to spot, especially because all the other similar trees on the lot had red stars that were clearly part of the tree itself. It would stand out.
Eight down. Seven to go.
I struck out at the church. The doors were locked and a careful inspection of the Nativity display yielded nothing. No joy when I checked the park either. It was more probable the stars were indoors, and refocused my search.
The Dispensary had theirs on prominent display, and the dred-wearing hippie behind the counter had jovially admitted they wanted it to be easy, since half the people looking for it wouldn’t consider buying their products. The one at the senior center—currently open to the public so that they could check out the gingerbread houses—was well hidden in the tree. I wondered if Morgan had hidden it there when I’d been busy, or if one of the ladies added it after.
The one at the visitor’s center was the biggest one, which might have been on purpose. It was tucked into the case detailing the town’s origin as a mill town. After that, I took a chance and drove over to West End, scouring through the multitude of decorations, glad Bruce the Spruce was quiet at this time of day. Since it was such a prime tourist spot, given its popularity, I thought my chances were good of finding one. Ultimately, it hadn’t been that difficult to spot, as long as you were looking for it. It was attached to one of the fat reindeer’s harness.
With three left to go, I really had to put on my thinking cap. I hit up the Winter Market, pleased to see the sleigh was once again filled. I made a mental note to ask Morgan who was taking care of those and if he needed my help. All it would take was one call. I still had connections. The star was red and white, and sitting with other glass decorations beside Santa’s throne. I had to zoom in to take the pic, since Arlo, as Santa, had a line of kids waiting to tell him their Christmas wishes and get their pictures taken.
The next stop was an easy guess. I drove down Wayfair Way to the ranch. Harris’s great-grandfather founded the ranch before the town was even incorporated and it had always been in an Emery’s hands. Growing up, we all avoided it, knowing Harris’s father was a mean son of a bitch. I thought back, and realized Harris had been ostracized too. Though he was a grade above me, I couldn’t think of a single time I’d seen hanging out with other kids. That shit sucked. I hoped it was better now that Roger was out of the picture.
Parts of the Ranch were open to the public, so that’s where I headed. Morgan wouldn’t stick the star anywhere people couldn’t get to. Of course, he could have just dropped it off like he did at the pub and let Harris hide it himself. But no, I didn’t think so. Or at least, not without instructions for it to be available.
The house itself sat back from the road about a hundred meters. But there was a small parking lot to one side of the long drive leading back there, and a cottage-like structure at the edge of the lot. I pulled open the door and a bell jangled, singling my arrival. The man behind the counter barely looked up.
“Welcome to Wayfair Ranch. If you’re looking to book a room, we’re full at the moment. But the sleigh rides and trail rides still have space,” he said in a bored as hell voice. He continued to flip through his magazine.
The star was above the door to an office, in the middle of a horseshoe. I nearly laughed, seeing what they did there. A play on the famous, if kitschy, decoration.
I pulled out my phone to take the pic. To the man I said, “Is Harris available?”
The man finally looked up. The defiance on his face morphed to unease when he saw my size. He was a head shorter and at least fifty pounds lighter than me. Some people were easy to read, and this guy looked like he was always spoiling for a fight. I hoped he didn’t give Harris issues.
“Sorry, man.” He titled his chin at me, almost like a challenge. “The boss is dealing with some horses.”
“No problem. I’m just an old friend.” A white lie. I smiled wide in what my little boot PFCs had called my scary smile. “I’ll catch up with him tomorrow at the ball.”
“Whatever, man.” He dropped one hand below the counter, and I had some guesses as to why. None of them good. I decided, now that I had the pic, it was time to go.
On the way back into town proper, I passed Holloway Glassworks. Inspiration struck. I had one star left and what if it was hiding in plain sight with its maker? I pulled into the empty lot. There was only one other vehicle, a late model cargo van. I headed to the door with the wrought iron sign and pulled it open.
It was hot inside, and I instantly saw why. Though the front was made up of displays and a check-out counter, just beyond that, open for the public to see, was the workshop. Three ovens glowing orange with fire stood against the back wall. A tall, lanky man, who I guessed to be Ridge, was standing in front of the middle one, a pole in the oven door. A moment later, he pulled it out to reveal a glowing white orb of glass on the end.
“Good afternoon,” a soft voice greeted me. A red headed pixie in a T-shirt, jeans, and an apron stood to the side, behind the counter. If this was Ridge's sister, then the woman I'd seen at the market the other day had to be someone else. Her smile was warm. “Welcome to Holloway Glassworks. Is there anything I can help you with today?”
“I’m just going to look around, if that’s okay?” I unwound my scarf and pulled off my watch cap. Even just a few minutes in here and I was already too warm.
She nodded. “Of course. Just call out if you need help or have any questions. My brother is about to blow an ornament, if you want to watch. I’m Gina.”
“Barrett. Thanks.” I started looking around the showroom, but almost immediately, my attention was captured by Ridge as he worked. Unconsciously, I drifted closer to the velvet rope that kept the public at a safe distance.
Gina noticed and started narrating the process. “Traditionally, one can blow into the end of the pipe. But Ridge uses the air pump he works with his foot. See how the glass expands? He has to keep it moving so that it stays even. Now he’s going to add some color. Different pigments are derived from so many materials. That’s why, sometimes, the same piece in a different color can cost more. Ridge is using indigo, because that’s his favorite color. Now back to heat it up a little more.”
Ridge took the piece back out of the oven and grabbed a huge pair of tongs. I forgot why I was really here, mesmerized by the sight.
Gina picked up the narration again. “He’s smoothing out the rough edges. This one is a small piece, so he’s just about done. See, there he goes. Tap and its off. Now he’ll put it in the annealer so it cools down slowly. If it goes too fast, it’ll crack and break. And that’s how an ornament is made.”
“That’s pretty fucking cool,” I said, without thought.
She laughed, a soft chime of a sound. “We think so.”
I had to smile back. “I’m gonna look around now.”
She nodded and left me to it. Ten minutes later, I found the star. It was almost impossible to spot, and not just because there were hundreds of other amazing glass pieces in the showroom. Ridge or Gina, whomever had done it, had placed it high up on the top shelf, amid glass pumpkins in magnificent colors. They probably made them for the fall festival, and these were left over. I knew it was the right one because it had the same shape as the others, but this one had pieces of gold on it. I wanted to ask how that was done. Maybe another time.
While I was there, I bought a hefty pint glass swirled with red and gold for Arlo. It could be his Christmas present. I hadn’t even thought of presents yet. Should I get one for Morgan? It was one thing to give him a “just because” present. One for a special occasion had a whole other, deeper meaning. I’d figure it out later.
Speaking of Morgan, the instant I got back into my SUV, I checked the clock. I’d been at this for an hour and a half. Deducting time for driving, it was less than forty minutes. Pretty damn good if I said so myself. With a smirk on my face, I sent him all fifteen pics, one right after another. Then I added a message.
They weren’t too hard to find. I’m sure the entries will start rolling in.
I was about to put the vehicle in gear when his response came through.
Did you have fun? Did you see how great this town really is?
I snorted and thumbed back a reply.
Any tourist would be enamored with Hickory Hollow. You did a great job, Events Director.