Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
CASSIDY
Cassidy flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” at the Cocoa Corner, pressing a hand to the glass for a moment as she looked out at the softly falling snow.
The glow from the twinkle lights around her window reflected back, dancing over the trays of truffles and the cocoa mugs she’d just hung up to dry.
It was crafting night at the Cinnamon Spice Inn. Cassidy thought she might have to miss it with all the chocolate orders coming in and last-minute Christmas prep, but tonight she promised herself she would go, even if just for an hour. She needed it, needed the connection, the laughter, the warmth.
She tugged on her red wool coat and black stocking cap, locking the shop behind her before stepping into the winter night.
Snow crunched under her boots as she made her way down Oak Way, passing the twinkling lampposts wrapped in garlands, the darkened windows of Liam’s farm shop, and the warm glow spilling from the bakery next door.
The Cinnamon Spice Inn stood at the end of the street like something out of a storybook.
Its white clapboard exterior was strung with warm white lights, and evergreen swags draped the porch railing, tied with crimson bows that fluttered in the cold breeze.
A wreath of pinecones and dried oranges hung on the door, the scent of cinnamon and clove already reaching Cassidy before she even stepped inside.
Cassidy had loved the Cinnamon Spice Inn from the moment she’d laid eyes on it. She hadn’t seen it before Madison and Zach renovated it in the fall, but they’d done a beautiful job.
Inside, a deep green rug with gold swirls greeted guests at the door.
Off to the side, a charming Christmas village had been set up, complete with fake snow and miniature houses that lit up.
There was even a tiny ice rink with animatronic skaters.
She couldn’t help but think of the time she and Liam had gone skating together, and everything that had followed afterward.
She shook the thought away, allowing her senses to ground in the present. The inn always smelled like the cinnamon rolls it was famous for. Cassidy didn’t know if it was from Kit’s baking or if they had fresheners plugged into every outlet.
With snow falling outside and a roaring fire in the hearth, she could see why everyone in the town loved the inn so much. And that wasn’t even counting the twelve-foot spruce in the great dining room, wrapped with thousands of white lights and blown glass ornaments.
“Careful,” Madison said, pulling Cassidy back. “I’m pretty sure it’s a Norway spruce.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” She took a step back, allowing Madison to lead her upstairs and down the hall to Edith’s private apartment.
The door looked like the rest of the guest rooms on the floor, plain white with a numbered plaque on the front, but when Madison opened it, it revealed the combined living and dining space of a quaint little apartment.
The living room was cozy and inviting, centered around a small fireplace.
A plush wingback chair sat angled beside it, with a floral footstool tucked neatly underneath.
A soft, white quilted throw was draped over the back of the couch, which faced the hearth.
To the left, an oak dining table dominated the remaining space.
She could tell the table wasn’t usually that long.
Edith had added the leaves to expand it for company.
It made the whole apartment feel like the kind of place where stories were swapped over games of cards and second helpings were expected.
Off to the right was the kitchen, partially closed off by a set of upper cabinets and a central island that created a small sense of separation without feeling cut off from the rest of the apartment.
Edith had gone all out for tonight’s crafting club gathering.
She had trays set out with bite-sized ham and Swiss pinwheels, bacon-wrapped dates, miniature quiches, and a bowl of rosemary-spiced nuts.
A wooden board held an assortment of cheeses, crackers, and red grapes, while a tiered stand was stacked with gingerbread men and snowflake-shaped sugar cookies.
“I have mulled wine!” Edith said by way of greeting once Madison and Cassidy reached her.
The scent of warm red wine, cinnamon, orange, and clove filled the room.
“I’d love a cup,” Madison said, joining Edith in the kitchen.
“Make that two,” Cassidy said, still taking in all the food before her eyes wandered to the supplies for tonight’s craft.
The dining room table was a crafter’s paradise. There were white socks, baskets of buttons, felt hats, glittery sequins, hot glue guns, fabric scraps, and even a few crochet hooks with yarn if anyone wanted to really go all out.
The rest of the women arrived right on time.
Kit had baked cinnamon rolls, of course, and paired them with Zach’s homemade apple butter.
“I’m sorry,” Cassidy said, seeing everyone walk in with something. “I should’ve brought chocolates. My head’s just not where it needs to be.”
Mrs. C. waved Cassidy’s concern away. “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t. We have enough food to feed an army.”
“And then some,” Mrs. Bishop said, adding a cream cheese veggie pizza to the table.
Cassidy took a sip of the mulled wine, letting its warmth seep through her chest. The room buzzed with chatter and laughter as the women gathered around the table, pulling supplies closer with their plates of goodies.
For a moment, she let herself soak it in, the easy conversation, the delicious food, the smell of the glue guns heating up.
She needed this.
That was, until Mrs. Bishop gave her a pointed look over the rim of her wine glass. “So,” she said casually, “any updates on the Liam front?”
The room went quiet, too quiet. Even the snowman heads seemed to lean in.
Cassidy shook her head. “Wow, okay. We’re just diving right in, huh?”
Mrs. C. waved a dismissive hand. “No sense in pretending otherwise.”
Cassidy let out a sigh and reached for a glittery top hat, as if gluing tiny felt accessories might shield her from the truth. “No, I haven’t heard a peep.” It had been two days without a sound from Liam.
Kit pointed her glue gun like a weapon. “If you ask me, he should’ve talked to you before running off like that.”
“I know. I agree. I get it that he was hurt. I just really want to talk to him and straighten things out.”
“And tell him about his shop,” Madison added.
“What happened to the Hot Honey Farm Shop?” Edith asked, brows lifting as she paused mid-sip of her wine.
“The Gingerbread Jerk struck again,” Kit said, gluing on her snowman’s head.
“No!” Mrs. C. said at the same time Mrs. Bishop asked, “When?”
“Yesterday sometime. And Liam’s switch-on is next week,” Cassidy said.
“I’d be more worried about yours in three days. Don’t want something happening to your display now,” Kit added.
“No, I know. Trust me, I’ve tried to figure out who’s behind it. I still think it’s someone local. Someone who knows these displays mean something, how important they are,” Cassidy said.
“You know what I think?” Mrs. Bishop said, leaning back in her chair and adjusting her holiday brooch with purpose. “I think it’s up to us to solve the case!”
“What? Now why would you say that?” Edith asked.
“Well, if the mayor’s too busy to figure out who’s behind all the vandalism,” Mrs. C. said, “then we’re going to do it. What do you ladies say?”
“I say I want to build a snowman,” Edith replied, carefully dabbing glue on a tiny pom-pom hat. Then she added with a sly grin, “But I’d like to solve this mystery too.”
“How about we do both?” Madison suggested.
The women got to work decorating their snowmen while tossing out ideas and theories.
“I’ve said from the beginning that something with Mr. Alders felt off,” Cassidy offered. “He came into my shop on the first day I opened, complaining that Maple Falls was too over-the-top about Christmas and that things were changing. He didn’t sound happy.”
Mrs. C. snorted. “Sounds like Gary. The man can’t handle change.”
“I’ll second that,” Mrs. Bishop said. “He’s retired, and yet he still shows up at the hardware store every day. Maybe he’s finally lost his marbles.”
“Alright, I’ll add him to the suspect list,” Edith said, taking a pen and piece of paper out of her kitchen drawer. “But have you all seen Hank’s niece lately?”
Mrs. Bishop turned to Edith. “Now that I didn’t think of, but you might be onto something…”
“Elsie?” Kit asked. “Why Elsie?”
“She and Hank have been fighting nonstop. She’s mad he won’t adopt her ideas to modernize Christmas in Maple Falls.
She wants everything livestreamed and ‘on-brand’ for Instagram,” Edith explained.
“Thinks our traditions are outdated. She’s even trying to convince him this should be the last year for the festive light-ups.
She wanted a drone parade and less emphasis on Christmas or something equally awful. ”
“That would be horrible,” Mrs. C. said, scandalized.
“She does seem stressed out lately,” Madison added. “She came into the inn last week looking like she hadn’t slept in days. Muttered something about branding synergy and walked into a door.”
“If that’s true,” Cassidy said slowly, “I could actually see her sabotaging things to get her own way. She’s so driven. Maybe hoping we’ll give up and just go with her plan.”
The group of ladies nodded.
“Okay, so we’ve got two suspects. Anyone else?” Edith asked, clicking the end of her pen and looking around the table.
Everyone paused, frowning thoughtfully over their glitter-strewn snowmen.
Then Edith straightened. “I think it’s time we do a stakeout.”
Cassidy raised both brows. “A stakeout?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Bishop said brightly, as if it were the most obvious next step in a crafting night. “We’ve got the mulled wine, lawn chairs. All we need is a thermos and a set of binoculars.”
Mrs. C. leaned back and patted her knee. “I’ve got a heated blanket and a husband who snores. Count me in.”
Kit grinned. “Do we get walkie-talkies?”
Mrs. C. tapped her pen to her chin. “We should. I’ll check the garage. George used to have some for hunting.”
Cassidy cracked a smile for the first time all day. “Let’s do it tonight.”