Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, I was still unnerved by my experience in the maze.
Once again, I hadn’t been physically hurt.
But I felt like someone was playing psychological games with me.
Why would someone want me to be terrified?
At the very least, they’d ruined my night and kept me tossing and turning for hours.
When I finally did fall asleep, it felt like only five minutes later my alarm was going off.
I hit snooze one too many times and now I was going to work with a ponytail.
“How are you this morning, Kelsey?” Grace asked as she refilled a basket of bagels.
A late start had me grabbing a muffin to go, but I always had time for Grace. “I’m hanging in there.”
She stacked up a pile of tiny individual butters and gave me a curious look. “You seem distracted this morning. Hope you’re not working too hard.”
“You’re one to talk,” I said, nudging her with my elbow.
“It’s not work if you love it,” she said with a half-hearted smile.
“Have any events going on today?” I was always more than willing to give the Christmas Creek Inn a little push on social media.
“We were supposed to have ornament decorating at noon, except not enough people signed up.” She kept her voice flat, but her face showed disappointment.
“I guess it’s more of a kid’s activity,” I said. “And there are a lot more adults here than usual.”
As if struck with an idea, Grace raised her finger. “You know what you should check out? The ugly sweater party at the Silver Bell tonight. I bet that will be busy. This new demographic is more of a match for a cocktail at a bar.”
That was actually a good idea. I could get some great photos. There was only one problem. “I don’t own an ugly Christmas sweater,” I admitted in a low voice, like I’d said something sacrilegious.
Grace looked me up and down. “I’m not as small as you, but they’re meant to wear baggy. I have a bunch. Borrow one of mine.”
“Are you going?” I asked.
She shook her head, her dangly Christmas tree earrings quivering. I was surprised. She had seemed to light up when she mentioned it, so I just assumed she was excited to go.
“Why not?” I prodded.
She let out a tired sigh. “I have to stay here. We have some late check-ins arriving tonight. Rudy is being an ornery teenager, Jack nearly killed my computer the last time he touched it, and Angelica has more than enough work cleaning all twenty rooms. So, it’s easier to just stay and do the work myself. ”
My heart cinched. Keeping this place going was so much work on Grace without her husband. She barely had any time for herself.
“Have you thought about hiring more help?” I asked.
She shook her head. “The margins won’t allow it.
We’re barely getting by as it is.” She straightened her shoulders and plastered on a smile.
“But don’t worry about me. After Rudy goes to college and comes back, he’ll work here full time and eventually take it over so I can retire.
And then he’ll have kids, and it will pass on to the next generation.
The Christmas Creek Inn will always be in our family. Just as my husband wanted.”
Her eyes threatened to fill with tears, and she blinked quickly. I knew a change in topic was warranted.
“So, about that sweater,” I prodded. “I’d love to borrow one, if you wouldn’t mind.”
She smiled widely. “It’s no problem. I’ll have Angelica put one in your room when she cleans it today.”
I took my muffin and coffee to go and headed outside. Grace’s eyes had glinted as she talked about keeping Christmas Creek in the family. It was obvious how much the place meant to her. I just hoped she didn’t work herself to death in the meantime.
Not one media van parked along Main Street, so it seemed like the interest was waning.
Carol had been right. With no news on the case, there was no reason for them to stay.
The town hall was quiet, and the door to Carol’s office was closed.
I remembered she was at an off-site meeting this morning, which was convenient since I was a little late.
I scarfed down my breakfast at my desk while I checked on our follower counts—still steadily increasing.
The photo I’d posted yesterday of the family snowball fight got a huge number of likes.
I started scrolling through the comments, liking the cute ones and answering some basic questions.
Then I froze. The poster from yesterday had commented again.
Did you like my snowman?
An icicle of fear trailed down my spine.
The first comment about the present under the tree could have been from anyone.
That story had gone national, and everyone knew the body was found in a Christmas tree.
But this was different. This was about the creepy murdered snowwoman.
Whoever TheChristmasKiller was, they were in town right now.
They’d watched me find the snowman. And they wrote this comment knowing I’d see it.
My muffin threatened to eject itself from my stomach. I covered my mouth and pushed myself away from my desk. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. I had to stay calm. I had to think clearly.
What I really had to do was talk to the police. But who? I certainly didn’t want to see Sheriff McCreeperpants. And I didn’t want to deal with someone I didn’t know. It had to be Nick. He was the only one I trusted. I picked up the phone and dialed.
“Christmasville Police, your call is being recorded,” a young woman said.
I squeezed the phone tightly in my hand to keep it from shaking. “Hi, I’d like to speak with Officer Nick Coleman please.”
“Officer Coleman isn’t in the station right now. Would you like to be forwarded to his voicemail or speak to another officer?”
Damn. Of course, he would be out patrolling.
“Would you be able to reach him on his radio and tell him that someone needs to speak with him?” My voice trembled slightly. “I’m a friend of his wife, Holly.”
“I can’t go back and forth, honey. And I need to leave this line open for emergencies. You can leave a message on his voicemail.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said, my voice cracking.
As if she felt bad for me, she added, “Or you could try to find him at his wife’s place. I think he goes there for a coffee break around this time every day.”
“Thank you,” I breathed. “Thank you so much.”
I was greeted at Holly’s Bakery by the jingle of the bell above the door and a wave from the owner herself. I inhaled deeply. The scent of pastries, soups, and fresh bread commingled in the air like an aroma orgy. But even that couldn’t calm my nerves.
A young couple sat at a table in the corner, and one person was finishing up at the register, but other than that, things looked slow.
It was the downtime between the breakfast and lunch rush.
And it was totally adorable that Nick swung by during this time to visit his wife, but I planned on monopolizing that time today.
I approached Holly, who was standing behind the counter wearing a red apron with a turkey and the words “Let’s Get Basted.”
“How many of those do you have?” I asked, pointing.
She looked down at the apron. “Don’t ask. What can I get ya?”
Well, if I was here anyway … “I’ll have a lemon square and a salted caramel hot chocolate.” What I really wanted was another coffee, but I was jittery enough as it was.
“Coming right up,” Holly said. “To go or are you taking a break here?”
I kneaded my hands anxiously. “Um, actually … I was hoping to talk to Nick. Is he stopping by?”
She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Any minute. Grab a table. I’ll bring your order over.”
I took the table by the window and checked my phone. No new message from Carol inquiring about my whereabouts, which was good. I didn’t know when she was due back to the office.
Holly set down a scrumptious-looking lemon square and a steaming mug of hot cocoa. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and took the chair opposite.
“So, what’s up?” she asked with an inquisitive look. “You’re not backing out of Thanksgiving, are you?”
“No, not that,” I muttered through a mouthful of lemon square. As nauseous as I’d been in my office after seeing the message, now my nervous energy wanted butter and sugar.
The door opened behind us, and Nick strolled in. My shoulders sagged with relief. I would tell him about TheChristmasKiller, and he’d know what to do.
“Hey, hon,” he said, leaning down to plant a kiss on Holly’s cheek. “Hey, Kelsey. Glad to hear you can make it to our house for Thanksgiving.”
“Nick,” Holly said, placing a hand on his arm. “Kelsey is actually here to talk to you.”
He looked at me in surprise. “Is that so?”
“I’ll get your regular,” Holly said, rising.
Nick took the seat Holly just vacated, adjusting the police radio on his shoulder. He truly was handsome, especially in uniform. Holly was a lucky woman.
“What’s up?” he asked.
I wiped some powdered sugar off my face with a napkin. “I think Isabella’s killer has been contacting me through social media.”
His head rocked back. “Start from the beginning.”
I pushed my little plate to the side. “Well, yesterday there was a comment under one of our photos from someone calling themselves TheChristmasKiller. It said, ‘Did you like the present I left you under the tree?’ ”
Nick’s mouth turned down in disgust. “Sick. How did you respond?”
“I had to delete that photo anyway. It was from the tree-lighting ceremony, and I figured it to be in bad taste. When you delete a photo, all the comments go with it. So, I thought that was that. But today, there’s a new comment on another picture.”
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “What does it say?”
“ ‘Did you like my snowman?’ ” I said dramatically. My stomach started to churn again. “It’s clearly referring to the dead snowwoman from yesterday.”
“Yeah, Holly told me all about that, and I dismantled it personally.”
“Was the knife …?” I let him fill in the blank because I physically couldn’t say it.
He shook his head. “Totally clean. And too big. The knife that was used in the murder was a middle-sized knife from a common household knife block.”
I stored that new nugget of information away. It hadn’t been in the news so he probably shouldn’t have told me, but I kept my face neutral.
“So, what else?” Nick asked.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What else did the person write?”
“Nothing. That’s it.”
“Oh.” He leaned back in his chair like he was disappointed.
I didn’t know what he’d been expecting. That someone would DM me under their real name and confess? He had to do some of the work.
Holly appeared with coffee in a to-go cup and a heart-shaped cookie on a red napkin. They were so adorable it made my nausea worse.
“So, what are you going to do, honey?” Holly asked, dragging a third chair over to the table. “Ask Instagram who owns the account?”
He gave her a stern look. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“Of course I was. Kels doesn’t mind.” She motioned to me, and I didn’t disagree.
Nick let out a half-hearted groan. “To get their account IP and personal information, we would need a subpoena, a court order, and a search warrant. They don’t give those out willy-nilly.”
“Yes, but—” I started.
He cut in, “We would have to show that we have evidence this person committed a crime.”
I threw my hands up. “It’s clearly whoever killed Isabella!”
“Is it?” he countered. “Did they say anything only the killer would know?”
I hesitated. “Well, no, but—”
“As of right now, all the person is guilty of is having poor taste. They haven’t said anything to lead us to believe they know more than the general public about the case.”
Holly gave me a sympathetic look. “So, what is she supposed to do? Let them keep being creepy on our town’s account?”
“Of course not,” Nick said quickly. “Delete the comment. You could even try reporting the comment if you want. But I have experience with this, mostly due to school bullying cases, and technically these comments are not against the company’s terms and conditions.”
I thought about that for a moment. The person was careful. They didn’t outright threaten anyone. To anyone outside of this situation, their comments weren’t menacing at all. I’d still report it, just in case, but I knew Nick was right. Still, I didn’t feel safe. This felt personal.
“I wouldn’t be so scared if it was your average Internet troll,” I said. “But this is someone who is physically in town. They saw me with the snowman!”
“Or they saw me, the police, taking the snowman down,” he suggested. “Anytime the police do anything, it attracts attention and this was no different. I had people watching what I was doing.”
Holly nodded in agreement. “Kelsey, this isn’t your personal Instagram account; it’s the town’s. You can’t assume every comment on there is for you,” she said placatingly.
Nick added, “They didn’t use your name. This person may not even know who runs the account. Or it could be someone trying to mess with Carol. That list grows by the year.”
“I completely get why you’re scared,” Holly said gently. “We’re not trying to gaslight you. But we don’t want you to drive yourself crazy with worry that you’re in danger when there is no evidence of that.”
“I appreciate that,” I said in a small voice.
“And if there comes a point when we do have evidence that you are being targeted,” Holly added, her eyes darkening. “Then they better pray for themselves. Because no one comes after my friends.”
I smiled as warmth spread through me. “Thanks, guys.”
Everything they were saying was true. But there was still a chance that this was personal. That the comments were for me. But, then again, that didn’t mean the commenter was the killer. It could have been someone who took on the killer’s identity to try to scare me. But who? And why?