Chapter One
Brenna Forsythe stole a glance at the clock on her dash and cringed. She should have been at her moms’ house in Noel, Maine two hours ago, but Thanksgiving traffic stalled her on every highway.
A black sports coupe cut her off from the turn lane ahead. She scowled and resisted the urge to lay a heavy hand on the horn. Instead, she turned up the volume and sang along with “Holly Jolly Christmas” as it played on satellite radio. It’s the only way she would survive this traffic.
She couldn’t find another space wide enough to change lanes, and so she inched to the next exit. Her GPS readjusted the route and added an extra ten minutes to her arrival time.More like thirty minutes. She sang even louder, as though the noise could cover her frustration.
An hour later, she neared the final stretch. She drove through Hanville, the last incorporated town before she came to Noel. Lit silhouettes of angels, bells, and toy soldiers hung from streetlights, and evergreen wreaths with red velvet bows brought the holiday alive.
After a long, headache-inducing drive home, she needed this. Now that she wasn’t forced to move at a snail’s pace, she didn’t mind driving slow through town to admire each decoration. It was only a sampling of what she’d see in another fifteen minutes. A town called Noel couldn’t ignore its link to Christmas. With two annual Christmas festivals—one in July and one in December—and a litany of awards from tourism associations, Noel stayed decorated in reds and greens all year long.
The lights of Hanville faded in the rearview mirror. Brenna relaxed in her leather, heated seat and turned down the radio until the volume became a faint whisper. She hummed quietly to “Angels We Have Heard on High” while reflecting on her trip home.
She hadn’t been to Noel since her dad’s funeral three years ago. His absence and the memories of him that she couldn’t escape while home made it too difficult to be there. It would be different if she didn’t have a life elsewhere, but her career in graphic design kept her busy—at least that’s how she justified her absence.
Doubts flailed against her. Maybe she should have told Mom she was coming, but she hadn’t known until she was on the road that she’d follow through with the trip. Even now, she couldn’t explain why she’d chosen this Thanksgiving to return, except for an internal nudge drawing her to the familiarity of her childhood.
She reached the outskirts of Noel. Something wasn’t right. She darted her gaze from left to right, only saw one home with lights. In any other town, that might be acceptable since many families decorated after Thanksgiving, but not in Noel. She’d always loved this stretch of road, where every home became a winter wonderland that lit the path to town starting in October.
As she drove closer to city limits, a brick formed in her gut. If she hadn’t seen that one house with lights she could have passed off the darkness to a power outage. Maybe… If she remembered correctly, that house belonged to Hank Rodgers, who’d always had a generator. That had to be the explanation.
Convinced she’d found the answer, the brick didn’t feel so heavy. Yesterday’s ice storm must have knocked out some wires. She didn’t question the holes in her theory. For now, ignorance was bliss until proven otherwise.
Her entrance into town swiftly kicked away any and all false hope she’d harbored. Only streetlights illuminated the road and not all of them at that. She counted three lights out, a strange and unheard phenomenon in Noel. No Christmas lights, no wreaths, no hint of evergreens anywhere.
Only a handful of stores had their lights on. That in itself didn’t worry Brenna—most shops in Noel closed early on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving—but the complete lack of Christmas décor caused the brick of concern to stab her insides.
Never, in all of her twenty-nine years, had she seen Main Street void of Christmas decorations. Even in spring and fall, outside of festival seasons, holiday décor was easy to spot. Curiosity got the better of her, and she pulled off in front of Honey’s Bakery.
A handwritten sign on the door announced they’d close at eight tonight, later than normal to accommodate the last-minute preppers who still needed to buy their rolls and pies for the big meal tomorrow. The solitary strand of garland across a display case did little to ease the discomfiture growing in Brenna.
She stood to the side until the two customers ahead of her had been served. By the time she stepped to the counter, she’d decided to purchase a raisin Danish to give her mom as a peace offering, er, apology.
“Brenna Forsythe, is that you?”
She jerked her head up and saw Vanna Whitman behind the counter. She hadn’t recognized her at first. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” Vanna frowned and wiped her hands down her apron. “Well, to be honest, I’ve been better, but there’s always something to be thankful for.”
“Yes, there is.” She wanted to press for information, but restrained herself until niceties finished.
“Visiting your mom for Thanksgiving?”
“Yes.” She pointed to the Danishes. “I want to take her home one of those.”
“Good choice. She’s always loved them.” Vanna grabbed one with a set of prongs and dropped it into a brown treat bag. “I’ll add an extra for Beth. Wouldn’t want to see a fight over it.”
“My sister is here?” Her jaw tensed.
Vanna gave her a sideways glance. “Why wouldn’t she be?”
Obviously, Brenna had missed an important piece of information. Or several. “I thought she had other plans. I guess she changed her mind.”
“How long are you here for?” Vanna handed her the bag and told Brenna her total.
“Not sure. Through the weekend at least.” She gave Vanna a five dollar bill.
“Let’s have coffee before you leave and catch up. It’s been a long time.”
