I sigh and remind myself this is for easy money.
Opening my door, I enjoy the brisk cold of the falling night. The entire place is already covered with a dusting of snow, giving it an even more idyllic glow. If I were the kind of person who made judgments about ridiculous Christmas towns, I’d say this place is nice. But I don’t. So I won’t.
Another family walks past me, the little ones bundled up against the cold. I follow them, keeping an eye on their mannerisms and mimicking them whenever possible.
A sheriff stands at the entry doors. Shit. Law enforcement and I aren’t exactly on good terms. Then again, I don’t think I have any active warrants on me at the moment. But that’s just a guess.
The family greets the cop and walks through the bright doors. I keep my head down and follow them.
“Hey.” The cop is talking to me. Of fucking course he is.
“Yeah?” I meet his gaze.
“You’re new around here.” He holds out his hand. “Sheriff Vance, but everyone just calls me Clark.”
I try to match his smile and reach out to shake his hand. “Crane Douglas. Just moved to town.”
“Welcome.” He gives my palm a firm shake. “We don’t get a lot of new folks, so it’s good to have you. You moved into the old Smith place, right?”
And there it is. He already knows who I am–at least he knows me as Crane Douglas, which isn’t my real last name. His tone is still friendly, but there’s more curiosity in it than I’d like.
I squeeze his hand right back then let it go. “Yeah. It’s a little dusty, but I think it will clean up fine.”
“You have a job somewhere in town?” Typical cop asking questions that are none of his damn business.
“I work from home.”
“What line of work you in?”
“Cryptocurrency, commodities trading, a little cybersecurity, things like that.”
“Bigtime.” He chuckles. “Welcome to town, Crane. Go on in. It’s our annual Christmas planning meet and greet. I made the hot chocolate myself.”
“Sounds good.” I try on a goofy smile and stride past him. It works. He doesn’t ask any more questions, and then he’s on to making small talk with the people behind me.
“Would you like some?” a woman calls from a table with cups of hot chocolate.
I recognize her right off. Mayor Grable. The man next to her is faithfully depositing marshmallows into each cup.
“Sure.” I take a cup from her.
“You’re new. I’m Mayor Grable, but you can call me Ellen.” She smiles at me, the same warmth in her eyes as I saw in her photo.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Crane.”
“And this is Carlton.” She gestures toward the blond man in the Christmas sweater with bells on it.
“Hi.” He gives me a smile. “Extra marshmallows?”
“I’m good.” I lift my cup to him. “Thank you, though.”
The mayor clasps her hands in front of her. “We’re so happy to have you with us in Snow Hills. Did you take the old Smith place?”
I’ve quickly discovered that there are no damn secrets in this town. If that holds true, I should be able to get to the bottom of the Christmas controversy pretty quickly.
“I did. It’s a nice little house. Just needs some work.”
“Are you handy?” she asks as she hands out some hot chocolate to some other townspeople.
“I like to think so, but I suppose I’m about to test that theory.”
She nods. “Let me know if you have any questions about the town or if you need help. I know everyone here, and I promise you people would jump at the chance to help you fix the house up.” She leans closer and whispers. “That way they can get the scoop on you. Everyone loves a new face.”
I smile. This time it’s almost genuine. “No scoop here. I’m pretty boring. But I’m happy to be here in Snow Hills.”
“We’re happy to have another handsome face.” Carlton hands out more hot chocolates as people pass by.
“Thanks.” I have no idea what else to say to that.
“Carlton’s right. We’re happy to have you.” She gestures down the hall. “The show’s about to start. My daughter–have you met her yet?”
“Not yet.” I sip the hot chocolate, pleasantly surprised at how good it is.
“Well, she’s the one who puts this thing on. She wants to get input from everyone on the Christmas theme and plans for the season. Helps create a—what does she call it?” She taps her chin and looks up. “A consistent feeling of Christmas–or something like that.” She waves a hand. “This is her territory. I just sit back and watch her go.”
“I’d like to do the same.”
She smiles, completely oblivious. “See you in there.”
“Thank you.” I tilt my cup toward her, then follow the small trickle of people into a large meeting room at the back of the building.