I jog back to my Honda, climb in, and drive through the now-open gate like I own the place. Fake it till you make it, right?
The driveway continues through more open land, definitely pastures under all that snow. The house gets bigger as Iapproach, and oh my God, it’s enormous. Three stories, stone and timber construction, the kind of place that belongs on a ranch for wealthy people who want to pretend they’re rugged while still having heated floors.
I pull up to the front, put the car in park, and sit there for a second.
“Okay,” I tell Lily, my phone in my hand now. “I’m here. Someone clearly knows I’m here, because they opened the gate. So I’m going to go knock on the door, explain myself, and hope they don’t shoot me.”
“Please be careful.”
“I’ll do my best. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call the cops.”
“That’s not even funny.”
“Come on, murder doc girl. I thought you’d love the dramatic setup.”
“I love it when it happens to other people, not my sister.”
“Fair point.” I’m walking toward the front door now, boots crunching in snow. “Okay, I’m knocking. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck not getting arrested.”
“Your confidence is inspiring. Okay, gotta go and do this. Call you later.”
“You’d better.”
I disconnect the call before she can argue some more, shove my phone into my pocket, and knock on the wooden front door.
Nothing.
I wait, knock again.
Still nothing.
The house looks closed up, windows shut, no lights visible, no movement. But someone opened that gate.
I glance back at the driveway. The gate is still open behind me, like an invitation. Or a trap.
“Hello?” I call out, knocking one more time. “Chris? Anyone home?”
Silence.
Okay. This is weird.
I turn away from the house, surveying the property and move to its side. The barn is to my left, maybe fifty yards away. I can’t see any reindeer in the visible pastures, but there’s a large fenced pen behind the barn, and what looks like a vegetable garden buried under snow.
Maybe they’re in the barn?
I head that way, trudging through snow, my breath misting in the cold air. The barn is huge, easily big enough for multiple animals, with a solid structure that looks recently rebuilt. There’s a wooden beam across the door, keeping it shut.
And I can hear noises inside. Movement. Animals.
My heart rate picks up, so I reach for the wooden beam, lift it, and push the barn door open.
A reindeer suddenly charges out.
I shriek, stumbling backward, landing hard on my ass in the snow as a blur of brown fur and flailing legs barrels past me.
“What the?—”
