I’m not here for holiday cheer. I’ve been hired to do a job—find out how Snow Hills cheats its way into winning a holiday decorating competition every year. I’m going to get to the bottom of it, I’m going to get paid, and then I’ll be done with this postcard-perfect town.
At least that’s the plan until I meet Liza Grable. She’s like the Christmas fairy of Snow Hill, all curves and sweetness. I’m supposed to be investigating her and her mother, the mayor, but the thought of her being a cheater simply doesn’t fit.
What does fit? The two of us together.
Snow Hills was supposed to be easy money, a brief bit of work before I moved on. But the closer I get to Liza, the more I realize I’ve found something rare and beautiful. Something I have to keep close to my heart. But I’m not the only one who can’t let Liza go …
MINK’s Note: Is there anything better than holiday love? Maybe a kitty, a coffee, and holiday love.
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1
CRANE
“As I’ve said, there’s simply no way Snow Hills has won for the past three years without cheating.” Mayor McGovern thumps his palm on his desk. “Especially with that harpy Ellen Grable in charge. She’s practically a witch. Her and her daughter.”
“Her daughter is the holiday consultant you mentioned?” I try to steer the mayor away from ranting about the Grable women. He’s been doing it for the better part of an hour. I didn’t come here for small-town gossip. I came here for a job and some easy money.
“Yes. Liza. She’s just as bad as her mother. Maybe worse. She’s the one who’s in charge of the town’s Christmas decorations and the big show they put on. It’s ridiculous really.”
“Don’t you do the same thing every year?” I ask.
He sputters, his cheeks going red. “Of course I do! Here in Winter Heights, we do it bigger and better than those idiots in Snow Hills ever could. That’s how I know they’re cheating. Why, last year, our Tinsel Queen was voted the most beautiful woman in the state!”
“By who?”
“The Winter Heights Cigar Club.”
I sigh and force myself to stay put. Easy money, easy money, easy money–that’s the mantra I have to keep repeating to myself. This is the perfect way to lay low and take it easy for a while. I’ve attracted too much heat in the Boston underworld, and working as a private investigator for this blowhard mayor is the perfect cover–and use of my skills. Still, it chafes. Being told what to do by a complete bozo isn’t exactly a piece of cake for me.
He waves a hand. “None of that matters. It’s in the past. This year, though, is my year. I’m up for reelection next year. I want to go into campaign season with the Spirit of the Season Cup as the crowning jewel of my tenure as mayor. I’m going to win this time, Mr. Windham. I have to. But I need you to make it happen. You have to catch them in the act. Do you understand?”
“Yes. The job is for me to go to Snow Hills, set up shop as a new resident, and keep an eye out for any wrongdoing by the mayor or her daughter. Is that correct?”
“Look, I really want you to get in there. Make them believe you’re one of them. That’s the only way you’ll ever get access to all their dirty little secrets. I hired an investigator last year. He got nowhere. They could smell the city stink on him.” He looks me up and down, taking in my perfectly tailored gray suit. “You have to make more of an effort to fit in. Understand? Play along with all their bullshit and get the dirt I need.”
“What exactly do you think they’re doing to sway the Spirit of the Season Committee?” The more I talk to the mayor, the more I regret agreeing to this meeting in the first place. He’s clearly unhinged over some stupid holiday competition. Easy money, easy money, easy money.
“Probably doing sexual favors. Or bribes. Or maybe some sort of bribery with pictures of their feet.” He clears his throat. “They are attractive women, I suppose.” He leans over his desk. “But that’s how they lure you in. With their feminine wiles and what have you. They honeypot. The judges fall for it every year.” He sneers. “But not this time. This time I’m going to catch them. I mean, you’re going to catch them.”
“I got it.” I stand. “I’ll head to Snow Hills tomorrow. Is there anything else I need to know?”
He rises, too, a little flustered as he digs around in the papers on his desk. “Here’s a photo of them. Their addresses. Everything my other PI found for me.” He hands me a folder. “I want daily updates. Let me know as soon as you get the incriminating evidence. I’ve already got my contact at the county newspaper chomping at the bit for the whole sordid tale.”
I take the folder.
He holds on to it. “I can count on you, right?” He looks up at me, his beady eyes narrowing. “I heard about your reputation. This should be an easy bit of work for you.”
I pull the folder free. “If you heard about me, then I don’t have to answer that question.” I turn and stride out, letting the door slam behind me.
Once I’m in my car, I flip open the folder and pull out some sheets of information and a thumb drive, which I assume has all the same materials on it. A photo falls out, and I pluck it from the floor.
It’s an older woman in a red pantsuit holding the Spirit of the Season Cup. She has a warm smile, and beside her stands a beauty with golden hair and big brown eyes. She favors the older woman but has her own style–a poofy red skirt and a green cardigan with a kitten embroidered on one lapel.