I got out of the truck and went around to help her open the passenger door. It was stubborn and needed a good wrench to get it open, but really I just wanted an excuse to touch her, because she was so fucking cute all bundled up, her soft legs still in those distracting leggings, her feet now in thick socks and shoved into unlaced boots. I didn’t know how anyone wasaround Sunny for any length of time and was able to resist touching her. Kissing her.
Sunny accepted my hand and jumped, landing in the snow, half booted badass and half coat-squishy snuggle bunny. Letting go of her hand made my bones ache.
“I asked Nolan to ask Bee to ask Luca for Comet’s phone number,” I explained as we walked up to the double glass doors of the old brick building. “And then I was able to text her and ask where she’d heard the story originally.”
“Luca has Comet’s phone number?” Sunny’s voice was wounded. “After all I’ve done for him—after I helped him get that wax strip off his butthole—he couldn’t be my stripper wingman in my time of need?”
“He’s making all the reindeer girls new costumes or something. Anyway, Comet told me she heard the story from Ronald Paquette, the trolley driver. I did some digging and found out that he was a postal carrier before he retired ten years ago. I think the post office must be where he heard the story to begin with.”
“That’s a really good place to start,” Sunny said. Then sighed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Probably because she didn’t spend all of her spare time trying to solve cold cases with nosy retirees. But I had an additional source of inspiration. “My mom was in a miniseries a few years ago, playing a detective solving a cold case, and this is how the detective started solving her thing. I mean, that was a grisly murder and not a poignant war miracle, but you get my point.”
“I remember that show!” Sunny said. “Is it true that she had to wear prosthetic eyebrows because her natural ones were too pretty?”
“It’s true,” I confirmed. “Andprosthetic sideburns.” Carina Kelly was simply too fine-boned and symmetrical to play ahaggard, vape-addicted detective without some makeup-chair sleight of hand.
The visitor’s center was warm and filled with overpriced tchotchkes. We made our way over to the trolley waiting area and were greeted by a woman in her forties in jeans and a plaid shirt, with a laptop wedged into her armpit. She had gold-umber skin and black hair waving to her shoulders and had clearly just come from some kind of meeting, if the paper notes crammed into one hand and the reusable coffee cup in the other were any indication. From a door nearby, I saw several be-papered and be-coffeed people emerge, some of them still deep in conversation.
“The trolley’s out of commission today, I’m afraid,” she said. Her name tag readdevika george, christmas notch first selectwoman. “But it should be up and running by tomorrow. Our mechanic is working on it now.”
“Actually, we’re not here for the trolley,” Sunny said, “but I’m a trolley fan, by the way, am definitely open to talking merch opportunities anytime the good townsfolk are ready. But today we’re looking for Ronald Paquette.”
“Oh, Ronald! I love him! He caused a small Christmas Notch scandal by taking his wife’s last name when they got married in the seventies. But unfortunately,” Devika added, “he’s out for the next few days. His wife’s sister is accepting her Ms.Lamoille County Award this week, and they went to the ceremony.”
“Poop nuggets,” Sunny said with a pout. “We were hoping he could give us a little clarity around some town history—we’re on the hunt for an old Christmas miracle, you see.”
Devika perked up enough that she nearly dropped her armpit laptop. “Did you say a Christmas miracle?” she asked as she readjusted the computer. “It wouldn’t be the one about the angel and the mail carrier, would it?”
While Sunny explained about Comet and how she came across the story in the first place, a man walked into the trolley waiting area from outside. Despite the chilly air, he was in jeans and a white T-shirt and had a smudge of grease along his fair but cold-flushed cheek and a wrench in his hand.
He was maybe a couple years older than me, gray-eyed, and absolutely laden with muscle. When he saw me, his lips parted and his chin lifted a little. I watched him under my eyelashes as he approached.
“Mrs.George, I think the trolley needs a new alternator. We’ve got to get it to my garage.”
The selectwoman sighed. “It’s always something.”
“I’ll call Derek for the tow,” the hot mechanic said, and then his eyes slid over to me. There was the subtlest quirk of his eyebrow, and then it was gone. It happened fast enough that I thought I might have imagined it, but then again, my flirting skills were rusty at best. The only two hookups I’d had since Brooklyn were app-assisted, and also it was hard to tell if someone was looking at me because they were interested in having sex with me or if they were looking because I used to dance in fake leather pants onGood Morning America.
“That is Ronald’s son, by the way. Matt.” Devika waved between us. “These guys were hoping to ask your dad about a Christmas miracle involving an angel and a blizzard.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “I tune it out whenever he brings it up. He’s way too into the lore of yesteryear.”
“The lore of yesteryear might be the tourist draw of tomorrow,” Sunny intoned wisely, and then Devika beamed at her, as if she liked the cut of her jib. Sunny beamed back.
“Well, the trolley is the tourist draw oftoday, so I better get to it. Nice meeting you.” He sauntered off, definitely aware of how his ass looked in those jeans.
Someone from the crowd of people holding coffee cups called to Devika, and she nodded at them. “I’ve got to get back over to the mayhem, I’m so sorry. You wouldn’t believe the trouble we’re having with county permits for our mulled wine vendors at the festival. But I think you’ve got the legend the way I’ve heard it told, including by my mother-in-law, and she has a perfect memory for any and all town gossip.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” I asked. “Anything Comet might have missed when she was telling Sunny the story?”
Devika thought a minute. “Well, I’d just remember that the real magic of any story is the people in it. Don’t you think?” She gave us a smile with a half shrug, and then walked over to the group still chattering and waving notes around.
“That’s a nice moral, but I still need a B plot for this thing,” Sunny whined. She plucked fussily at my coat sleeve. “What next, O Son of a TV Detective?”
I pondered while we walked back out to the truck. “Google?”
“I’ve already Googled!”
