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I check the time. We’re closing up early today for our traditional town meeting. We have it every year in case anyone has any new ideas they might want to bring to the table for decorations or events. I have a few things up my sleeve. But I never divulge all of my secrets. I like to surprise people.
I think this year is going to be the best year yet. I glance down at the books Eve set aside for herself. As I scan them for checkout, I stare down at the cover with the happy bride. I love Christmas. It’s my favorite time of year, but living in Snow Hills makes me wonder if I’ll ever have the Christmas that I’ve always dreamed of.
3
CRANE
Snow Hills is just as picturesque as it sounds. It’s nestled on the top of a gentle ridge overlooking a wooded portion of countryside. It strikes me about the same as Winter Heights. A lovely little town full of boring people with boring lives. I doubt they have any idea there’s a whole wide world outside the bounds of this place.
My gaze flicks to the photo of Liza I’ve propped on the dash. I wonder if she feels content here in this small town. I suppose she must. After all, she’s in charge of making this place a Christmas town each year. From the photos I searched on the web, she’s damn good at it, too. Makes sense that Mayor McGovern is gunning for the Grable women.
I drive slowly down Main Street, the shops on either side of the road beginning to put out Christmas décor. The light poles are wrapped like candy canes, and old-timey wire lights in shapes like angels and holly glow at the top of each one. It’s a far cry from what I’m used to, but I suppose it has its charms for some.
There’s a banner strung across the last poles on the street. It says there’s an annual town meeting tonight. McGovern told me it’s a planning meeting, so I intend to get my first taste of what Snow Hills is planning.
Pulling up in front of the town hall, I park and pull the rearview mirror over so I can see my reflection. I look ridiculous. My dark brown hair is a bit mussed, no longer in smooth, straight lines like I prefer. I’m wearing a pair of glasses with simple brown frames, and the rest of my clothes make me want to laugh. A buffalo-check button-down shirt, blue jeans, and a Patagonia jacket. The only thing I wouldn’t compromise on was my shoes. They’re boots, but not some damn Land’s End bullshit. These are Italian leather with a decent shine to them.
A family parks beside me and gets out of their car. The man gives me a two-fingered wave. It raises my hackles. Does he want his ass kicked? I shove the rearview mirror away and glare at him.
His eyes widen, and his wife walks up and gives me the same wave.
Oh, shit. He wasn’t being a dick. He was genuinely waving at me. To benice. And now he looks like he’s about to piss himself.
I plaster a fake smile to my face and give him the two-finger salute, which makes me snort in and of itself.
He grabs his kids and hurries his family away from me.
Not good. I need to work on fitting in. That means waving. And smiling. And being generally non-threatening. Fuck. I’m not good at any of that shit.
I sigh and remind myself this is for easy money.
Opening my door, I enjoy the brisk cold of the falling night. The entire place is already covered with a dusting of snow, giving it an even more idyllic glow. If I were the kind of person who made judgments about ridiculous Christmas towns, I’d say this place is nice. But I don’t. So I won’t.
Another family walks past me, the little ones bundled up against the cold. I follow them, keeping an eye on their mannerisms and mimicking them whenever possible.
A sheriff stands at the entry doors. Shit. Law enforcement and I aren’t exactly on good terms. Then again, I don’t think I have any active warrants on me at the moment. But that’s just a guess.
The family greets the cop and walks through the bright doors. I keep my head down and follow them.
“Hey.” The cop is talking to me. Of fuckingcoursehe is.
“Yeah?” I meet his gaze.
“You’re new around here.” He holds out his hand. “Sheriff Vance, but everyone just calls me Clark.”
I try to match his smile and reach out to shake his hand. “Crane Douglas. Just moved to town.”
“Welcome.” He gives my palm a firm shake. “We don’t get a lot of new folks, so it’s good to have you. You moved into the old Smith place, right?”
And there it is. He already knows who I am–at least he knows me as CraneDouglas, which isn’t my real last name. His tone is still friendly, but there’s more curiosity in it than I’d like.
I squeeze his hand right back then let it go. “Yeah. It’s a little dusty, but I think it will clean up fine.”
“You have a job somewhere in town?” Typical cop asking questions that are none of his damn business.
“I work from home.”
“What line of work you in?”
