Page 5 of Deck the Hauls

After hanging Emily’s coat, I toweled off quickly and then jogged across the clearing to the small rickety wooden shed where I grabbed a hand saw and some pruning shears. When I returned, Emily had finished changing.

“Do I look more like a farmer now?” She stood and twirled on the spot.

My beaten-up shoes and worn jacket had not transformed Emily into a farmer. Her olive skin was too flawless and her brown hair too glossy to have been exposed to the elements day after day and her handbag was definitely not the go-to accessory for farmers. That was what pockets, backpacks and tool belts were for.

“Better.” I pulled my jacket on.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Emily asked as we walked toward the firs.

“Signs of pests. Woolly egg sacks that indicate adelgids. Small bumps from scale insects. Thankfully spider mites and bagworms are less common in the colder months. Browning or yellowing needles or dark spots that might indicate needle blight or root rot. Damaged bark could be canker disease.” I stepped over an old branch on the ground.

“Spidermites and bagwo—ugh!” Emily shrieked.

Emily’s hand clasped my bicep with an iron grip, the force nearly knocking me off my feet. Oops. I probably should have warned her about that branch.

“Sorry!” Emily said. “I tripped. God, you’re so hard.”

My brow shot up. What? “Uh…”

She released her grasp on my arm. “I mean strong. I mean your arm feels so strong…” Emily trailed off, her entire face pink.

I held back a chuckle. The contrast between Emily and the cool detective really couldn’t be more marked. Nothing flustered Detective Marianne Hayes. I bent down and collected Emily’s pen and notepad, which she’d dropped when she’d tripped and handed them back to her.

“Thanks,” she said, tucking the items back in her handbag.

We strolled through the trees in silence, my shoulders relaxing as I scanned the branches and trunks. Perhaps having Emily shadowing me wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“I know I said I’d be as quiet as a mouse, but would it be okay if I asked you a few questions?”

So much for the relaxing silence.

“Fine.”

Emily pulled out her phone, the silver sparkles on its case reflecting in the dappled light. “Is it okay if I record on my phone so I don’t fall over again trying to take notes?”

“Sure.”

“Great! What’s your favorite thing about Christmas tree farming?”

Easy. “The peace and quiet.”

Emily tilted her head, her wavy hair swinging to the side. “It must be quite magical seeing all the families coming out together to pick a tree for Christmas?”

I shrugged. Maybe if Christmas hadn’t been ruined for me.

“What’s the hardest thing about being a Christmas tree farmer at this time of year?”

Did she have to keep asking so many Christmas-related questions? Couldn’t she focus on things like the best soil conditions for firs or the impact of climate change on coniferous trees instead? Now that I could talk about all day.

“Christmas.”

Emily stopped walking and stared at me like I’d just announced I was going to run for president. “What? Christmas?”

“It’s the busiest time of year in this section of the farm. People trampling through here,” I said, waving my arm around, “hacking down the trees and carting them away. I know the whole point of having a Christmas tree farm is selling them, but when you’ve spent years nurturing the trees, protecting them from disease and pests, it’s a little depressing.”

“But think of how much joy each tree brings a family!” Emily flung her arm toward a particularly well-shaped specimen. “A family outing to your gorgeous farm to choose the perfect tree to fit their home. Decorating it with lights and ornaments, its piney scent making their house smell like Christmas. The excitement of all the presents piling up under the tree.”

Emily’s words took me back to that last Christmas morning with my family. The balsam fir covered with gold and silver tinsel, presents stacked underneath. Bowie conspicuously absent from his favorite spot curled up next to the fire in a golden ball of fur.