Water.
I crossed the room in two strides and dropped to one knee, following the trail with my eyes. It led straight under the cabinet. I opened it and saw the split immediately. A clean break in the pipe, jagged at the edges. Ice frosting the pipe.
I exhaled slowly and stood, already moving.
The shutoff was in the basement. I took the stairs two at a time, twisted the valve, and waited until the sound of movement in the pipes stopped. Back upstairs, I grabbed towels and got to work. The water hadn’t spread far yet. That was something.
I worked methodically, mopping, wringing, laying towels flat to absorb what remained. There was no point in being angry. This was the result of a decision I had made months ago, knowing exactly what the risk was.
The furnace needed replacing. I had hoped it would make it through one more winter.
Apparently I should have known better.
By the time the floor was dry enough to walk on without slipping, my fingers were numb and my patience was thin. I straightened and looked around the kitchen. It was cold with no water and no heat.
Frankly, it was uninhabitable.
I called the furnace company first. The receptionist sounded apologetic before I even finished explaining.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “Our primary technician had a family emergency and the backup is booked solid.”
“Fow long?” I asked.
There was a pause. “A couple of weeks, at least.”
I thanked her and hung up, then called the plumber.
“Yes, I can book you in for next week,” he said. “Even if we replace the pipe, if you don’t have heat, you can’t turn the water back on safely.”
“I understand,” I said.
When I hung up, I stood in the kitchen for a moment, letting the situation settle. The house was not safe to stay in. Space heaters were insufficient to make me comfortable, and continuous use was a potential fire hazard.
I considered Hale Ski Lodge briefly, but the holidays meant they were already packed, plus it was ridiculously expensive to stay there at any time of the year, let alone the premium holiday time in December.
Staying with a coworker was worse. I did not impose on people, especially not when I wore a uniform that already came with expectations.
That left one option.
The Snowdrop Inn.
The thought sat there, unwelcome but practical. The inn had heat. It had to have at least one empty room.
It would be temporary., I told myself.
I gathered a small bag, shut off what needed shutting off, and locked the house behind me.
The drive through town was short, and familiar. Maple Ridge looked festive with lights strung neatly along storefronts, displays in front windows, and red bows on the street lamps. When I drove into the parking lot of the Snowdrop Inn, it stood out immediately. Warm light glowed in the windows.
I parked and sat for a moment, collecting myself.
This was a solution. It might be a little bit messy considering I was asking them questions in an investigation, but I was a professional. I could handle this in a professional manner, I reminded myself of that as I stepped out into the cold.
The warmth hit me the moment I opened the door.
It smelled like cinnamon and freshly polished wood. The lobby was busy, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing lightly off unfinished floors. A woman stood at the front desk with a clipboard tucked under her arm, dark hair pulled back loosely, brows drawn together in concentration.
She looked up as I came in. She had brown eyes that were alert and curious.
