Chapter 5
HANNAH
“Are you sure you should go there alone?” Lily’s voice crackles through my car’s speakers, concerned and slightly judgmental, which is her default setting when I’m doing something she thinks is questionable.
“Yes, it’ll be fine.” I adjust my grip on the steering wheel, watching Main Street scroll past through intermittent snowflakes. “I just need to verify that he actually has reindeer. That’s all.”
“You could’ve asked him to send a photo.”
“A photo can be faked. I need to see them with my own eyes.” I pause at a red light, watching a family cross the street, bundled in matching scarves.
“After Scot, I can’t… I can’t afford to so easily trust again.
I need to know this is real before tomorrow.
” I also googled him but there’s almost nothing on him online.
There’s a beat of silence on the other end. “Okay. Fair. And good idea to bring the brownies as an excuse.”
“Obviously. Perfect cover story. Just dropping by with baked goods to thank him for helping, totally casual, definitely not stalking to verify his livestock claims.”
“That’s only slightly creepy.”
The light turns green, and I ease forward. “Besides, he won’t mind. Right? I mean, who turns away brownies brought to their home?”
“Someone with a restraining order against you, maybe.”
“Not helpful, Lily.”
She laughs, and I can picture her in the bakery, probably elbow-deep in cookie dough, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. “Fine. But I want all the updates.”
“You watch too many murder documentaries.”
“And you’re about to drive to an isolated property to confront a bounty hunter you barely know. One of us is being sensible here.”
“One of us is being paranoid.”
I’m driving through the heart of Whispering Grove now, and even mid-morning on a Friday, the town is packed.
Tourists everywhere, families window-shopping, couples sipping coffee on heated patios, kids pressing their faces against bakery windows.
The Christmas parade is tomorrow, followed by carols near the town tree at night, and everyone wants to be here for it.
Over the phone, I hear Lily working. We are often on the phone where we don’t say anything, and it’s like having each other close when we go somewhere alone.
Around me, the entire town looks like a Christmas card magically came to life.
Garland wrapped around every lamppost, lights strung between buildings, wreaths on every door.
Store windows display elaborate holiday scenes of Santa’s workshop at the toy store, a winter wonderland at the boutique, gingerbread villages at competing bakeries trying to outdo each other.
Speakers mounted on poles, and a group of carolers in Victorian costumes stands outside the bookstore, singing something classical and beautiful.
Despite everything, despite Scot, despite my imploding career and anxiety churning in my gut, I love this vibe. I love Christmas in Whispering Grove. The energy, the magic, the way the whole town transforms into something out of a snow globe.
Fat flakes stick to my windshield before the wipers sweep them away. It’s the perfect postcard weather, picturesque without being dangerous.
“I’m heading out of town now,” I tell Lily as I turn onto Mountain Pass Road. “Leaving civilization behind. If I don’t come back, tell everyone I died doing something brave.”
“Like verifying reindeer ownership?”
“Exactly. Very noble. Put it on my tombstone.”
“Here lies Hannah Parker, killed by suspicious livestock verification. Has a nice ring to it.”
I snort, navigating the curve that takes me away from Main Street and toward the mountain range. The road narrows, trees pressing in on both sides, snow heavier here where the plows haven’t reached yet.
“So how’d you even get the address?” Lily asks.
“Mr. Walsh. At the post office.”
“The guy who’s been running that place since dinosaurs roamed the earth?”
“He’s not that old. Maybe seventy?” I slow down for a patch of ice. “I was there this morning mailing Christmas cards, because I’m an adult who does things on time, and I asked if he knew anyone in town who owned reindeer.”
“And he just… told you?”
“He said there used to be a couple. Greg and Mary Saxon. They ran a small hobby farm on their property, kept reindeer. But they both passed a few years ago, and the reindeer went to someone else. Family, maybe? He wasn’t sure. But he had the address because he still delivers mail there.”
“So you’re driving to a dead couple’s property to find reindeer that may or may not exist.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“Because it is bad, Hannah.”
“It’s fine. It’s research. Due diligence.” I take another turn, and the road gets even narrower, climbing now.
“Or you’re about to trespass on private property owned by armed bounty hunters.”
“You really need to stop watching those murder shows.”
“And you really need to start watching them. They’re educational.”
The trees thin out slightly, revealing glimpses of the valley below. Whispering Grove spreads out like a toy town, all those Christmas lights twinkling even in daylight. Beyond it, mountains rise in every direction, snow-capped and dramatic.
It’s beautiful. Isolated as hell, but stunning.
“Okay, I think I’m getting close.” I check the GPS on my phone. “Mr. Walsh said it’s about twelve miles out from town center, private drive on the left marked with a stone pillar.”
“Marked how? With Trespassers Will Be Shot signs?”
“You’re not helping my anxiety here.”
“I’m preparing you for reality.”
“Your version of reality involves me getting murdered by reindeer-owning bounty hunters.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
I spot the turn, a stone pillar about four feet tall with the words “Saxon Estate” carved into it, partially obscured by snow. The driveway curves off into the trees, disappearing from view.
“Found it.” I slow down, then signal even though there’s no one behind me. “I’m turning in.”
“If anything feels wrong, leave. Don’t be polite. Don’t worry about being rude. Just leave.”
“I will. Promise.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I turn onto the private drive, tires crunching on gravel under snow. “But I’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Do you want the list alphabetically or by likelihood?”
“Goodbye, Lily.”
“Stay on the phone!”
“Fine.” I keep her on speaker as I drive, following the winding driveway through dense trees. “But if this turns into a three-hour conversation about your true crime theories, I’m hanging up.”
“Deal.”
The driveway goes on forever, or at least a quarter mile, which feels like forever when you’re driving toward potential disaster. Trees press in on both sides, thick and dark, branches heavy with snow. It’s quiet here, peaceful in a way that’s either serene or ominous depending on your perspective.
Currently leaning toward ominous.
Then the trees break, and I see it. “Holy shit,” I breathe.
“What? What’s ‘holy shit’? Hannah, what do you see?”
“The gate.” I’ve stopped the car about twenty feet away, staring.
“There’s a gate. A serious gate. It’s massive, maybe ten feet tall, made of thick metal bars.
” The bars curve at the top, decorative but definitely designed to keep people out.
On either side, stone fencing extends in both directions, at least seven feet high, with metal spikes running along the top.
Not just spikes. Actual fortified metal deterrents that look sharp enough to do damage.
“Well, that’s not creepy at all,” Lily mutters.
“That’s what I’m saying.” I inch the car closer, trying to see past the gate. “I can see a driveway continuing on the other side. Open land. Looks well kept but no sign of reindeer. There’s a house in the distance, huge, like a mansion, and to the left, a large barn.”
“Maybe the reindeer are in the barn?”
“Perhaps.” I pull up to the gate, put the car in park. “Okay, I’m getting out. Moment of truth.”
“Be careful.”
“Always am.”
I grab my jacket from the passenger seat, shove my phone into my pocket, still connected to Lily, and climb out into the cold. Snow immediately sticks to my hair, my shoulders, and I pull my jacket tighter.
The gate has a call box mounted on a stone pillar. I walk over, press the button.
Nothing.
I wait ten seconds, then press it again.
Still nothing.
“Hello?” I call out, feeling ridiculous. “Anyone home?”
Silence.
I peer through the bars of the gate. The driveway continues for at least another hundred yards before reaching the house. The property looks vast, with acres of fenced land and what might be gardens or pastures buried under snow.
And no sign of anyone.
“No one’s answering,” I tell Lily.
“Then come home. You tried.”
But I’m staring at the gate, and something reckless bubbles up in my chest. The fence is tall, yeah, but it’s not impossible. The metal bars have decorative curls and patterns with plenty of places for footholds. And the spikes at the top look intimidating, but there’s space between them.
“Hannah,” Lily says, and her voice has gone suspicious. “Are you in the car already?”
“I’m just… assessing.”
“Assessing what?”
“Whether I could climb this.”
“HANNAH.”
“Just for a quick look!” I’m already walking along the fence, examining it. “I’ll climb over, walk up to the barn, verify that the reindeer exist, then leave. Five minutes, max.”
“That’s breaking and entering!”
“It’s borrowing their driveway without permission. Totally different.”
“It’s a felony!”
“Only if I get caught.” I find a good spot—the decorative metalwork is particularly elaborate here, lots of handholds on the gate. “Besides, what’s the harm? I’ll take one look, confirm that Chris wasn’t lying, and be on my way before anyone even knows I was here.”
“This is how people end up on the news. And what if they have a major Cujo dog?”
“It would have heard me by now and come running.” I grab the lowest bar, test my weight. Solid. “I’m doing this.”
“God, be careful.”