Chapter One
Belclare Police Station
Wednesday, November 30, 9:50 a.m.
Riley measured the span of the double doorway and clipped the tape measure back on his tool belt. He’d picked up work with the company in charge of transforming Belclare into a Christmas extravaganza just as the director suggested. Riley considered his assignment off to a stellar start when he was sent over to decorate the police station.
“She’s in a meeting.” The young cop working the reception desk behind him was having trouble with one of Belclare’s citizens. “May I take a message?”
“She’s a young hothead is what she is,” the irritated older man replied. “The historical society has never been handcuffed in this manner. I will not stand for it. The tourists expect...”
Riley continued tacking holiday garland around the door frame as the man droned on about tourism, children and intrusive patrols.
“Safety is our utmost priority,” the young officer said. “From our chief right down to our newest recruits.”
Preach on, kid, Riley thought. Belclare would need every patrol if only half of the chatter about retaliation was true. Chief Jensen was in serious trouble. Via email, the director had kept him in the loop with the most direct threats to help Riley identify the locals who no doubt had to be involved. At the moment, this guy from the historical society was quickly gaining himself a spot at the top of the list.
Riley stepped down the ladder to gather up the next length of evergreen woven with velvet ribbon and colorful ornaments. This town pulled out all the stops for the holiday. He couldn’t see why the police station needed decorating, but the work put him close to the chief. At this stage, she didn’t have a clue that by doing an excellent job as chief, she’d not only protected her town, she’d also put them in more jeopardy.
Though he hadn’t yet seen more than a photo of the lady with the tough-as-nails reputation, Riley admired her efficiency.
The older man with the beef against the chief’s new security requirements was turning red in the face as he continued his protest.
Finished with the doorway, Riley decided a break in the tension was needed. “I’m taking a break for hot chocolate,” he said to no one particular. “Can I get anyone anything?”
The old man swiveled around, scowling at him. “Who are you?” He turned back to the young cop behind the desk. “Do you know him? He might very well be an assassin right here in our midst. Now who isn’t being careful enough?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Riley said, laughing off the accusation. “I just follow the work. Riley O’Brien.” He stuck out his hand, but the older man refused to take it.
“Martin Filmore, president of the Belclare Historical Society,” he replied, a sour look on his weathered face.
“Pleased to meet you.” Riley gave him a big smile and hooked his thumbs into his tool belt. “Can I get you anything from that shop across the street while you wait?”
Filmore rolled his eyes. “The shop is called Sadie’s. Owned by the Garrison family, the building has been a landmark in Belclare since the town was founded.”
“Good to know.” He looked past Filmore to the kid behind the desk. Riley pegged him as early twenties and fresh out of the academy. “How about you, Officer?”
“Call me Danny.” The young cop grinned, relief stamped on his face. “I’ll take a hot chocolate.”
“All right. Marshmallows or whipped cream? Cinnamon on top?”
“Sounds like you’ve been to Sadie’s before,” Danny said knowingly.
Riley shrugged into his down vest. “A man who doesn’t cook has priorities.”
The cop’s expression brightened more, making him look even younger. Riley was grateful to gain an ally in town, even a young one. Since getting hired on, he’d learned that people here were a bit edgy around strangers. The guys on the crew who’d worked previous seasons said it wasn’t normal for Belclare, but they all agreed the folks had good reason. The national news headlining drug bust marked the first serious crime in their community and they were worried that more would follow.
“I take marshmallows,” Danny said. “No cinnamon.”
“Good choice,” Riley smiled. “How about you?” he asked the older man again. “Last chance.”
“No,” Filmore snapped. “Thank you. I am capable of fetching my own coffee.”
Riley paused, one hand on the door. “The girl at the counter said they were doing some sugar-cookie thing this afternoon. What’s that about?”
Danny sighed wistfully. “I asked for the time off but didn’t get it.”