“Mom!” Mrs. Pine exclaims, equal parts scandalized and amused.
Granny May looks up, her cheeks flushed. The wrinkles around her eyes deepen with her smile, but there’s something youthful about her expression that makes her seem decades younger than her late seventies.
“Honey! You’re early!” She pats the gentleman’s hand apologetically. “Harold, these are my people.”
Harold stands with surprising agility for a man who must be pushing eighty. He’s tall, with a straight back, which seems like a major plus among the elderly.
“The famous family,” he says, extending a hand to each of us in turn. “May talks about you constantly.”
“And she’s said nothing about you,” Charlie says bluntly.
“Charlie!” Mrs. Pine hisses.
“What? It’s true.” Charlie shrugs, dropping into a chair. “Though I can see why she’s kept you a secret. You’re a silver fox.”
Harold laughs, “This must be Charlie,” he tells Granny May.
“She’s impertinent,” Granny replies fondly.
Melody moves forward, introducing herself with that natural warmth that makes everyone instantly comfortable around her. “I’m Melody. I’m staying at the Grand Cabin for the holidays.”
“The omega who’s tamed my Oxford,” Granny May says. “Everett told me all about you.”
Melody blushes. “I wouldn’t say ‘tamed’…”
“She gave him a dog bed, and he follows her like a puppy,” I interject. “If that’s not taming, I don’t know what is.”
Granny May turns her attention to me. “And you must be Finn, Gabe’s partner.”
“I am,” I say, “It’s a pleasure meeting you.”
Charlie pulls up a chair, leaning in conspiratorially. “So, I checked out all the new tree suppliers in the neighboring towns.”
Mrs. Pine looks uncomfortable. “Maybe we should discuss this later?”
“No, I want to hear,” Granny May insists. “Those were my husband’s trees, too.”
Charlie continues, “Their story seems solid. They claim they’ve been operating a small tree farm two counties over for years, but have never sold in our area before. When they heard about the shortage from the mayor, they expanded their distribution network.” She makes air quotes with her fingers.
“But?” I prompt, sensing there’s more.
“But it’s too perfect. It’s like they rehearsed everything.” Charlie pulls out her phone to show photos of the local paper. “‘Mayor Reynolds Saves Christmas,’” she reads, pointing tothe bold headline. “The article goes on to say how Reynolds personally coordinated with suppliers to ensure no family went without a Christmas tree.”
“Taking credit,” I mutter.
“Oh, he made sure everyone knew.” Charlie’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Every time they sold a tree, they made a point of saying it was ‘Courtesy of Mayor Reynolds.’ They were practically campaigning while handing over trees. What a load of crap.”
“Charlie,” Mrs. Pine scolds.
“And their trees?” Charlie shakes her head. “Some look suspiciously like the premium Blue spruce variety that Perfect Pines is known for.”
“They stole our trees,” Granny May says flatly.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Mrs. Pine cautions.
“I know,” Granny replies. “Just like I know when it’s going to snow by the ache in my left hip.”
Harold pats her hand. “Your hip is very reliable.”
