smothered a laugh, but her blue eyes sparkled with mirth. She’d lived in a metropolitan area since leaving Minnesota twenty-five years ago. Carissa had forgotten how little privacy a person had in a small town.
“Yes, I am,” she said. “I’m supposed to pick up the key from the chief of police.”
The woman peered over the counter and nodded approvingly when she saw that Carissa wore boots. “I see you know how to dress for winter. It’s only two blocks to the police station, but the streets are kinda slippery. It’ll be safer if you leave your car parked here and walk, ’specially since you’re from down South and maybe don’t know how to drive on snow.”
Carissa laughingly admitted that she had no experience with treacherous roads. When she lived in Minnesota, she couldn’t afford a car.
She zipped up her heavy coat and stepped out into the chill air. The business section of Yuletide was located on the southern tip of Lake Mohawk—a small lake that measured four miles from north to south. Many vacation and permanent residences dotted the lakefront and extended into the wooded highlands.
Although Yuletide lacked Christmas ornamentation, it was a picturesque alpine village of small shops and businesses. Carissa looked forward to exploring the stores at her leisure, but she didn’t dawdle tonight; the wind from the lake was penetrating her heavy parka. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for being wise enough to shop at a mall in Pennsylvania on her way north. Her Florida clothing wouldn’t have been warm enough for Adirondack weather.
Warmth from a wood-burning stove welcomed Carissa when she entered the police station. The chief of police, a short sturdy man, sat behind a massive oak desk that dwarfed him.
“Hiya!” the chief greeted her. “I’m Justin Townsend. Mary, at the restaurant, called and said you’d arrived. We’ve been expecting you, but figured the snow had delayed you.”
Carissa unzipped the front of her parka and shrugged out of the hood, revealing a head of short, curly blond hair.
“The highways were clear until a few miles south of Saratoga Springs. After that, I had to maneuver my way out of a dozen or more snowdrifts. I’d have stopped, but I didn’t see any motels after the snow got so heavy.”
Chief Townsend stood and reached across the desk to shake hands. “Welcome to Yuletide.”
He took a ring of keys out of a desk drawer and handed them to Carissa. “Naomi’s my sister-in-law. Sorry you missed her, but she left for Florida three days ago. She’d intended to show you around before she had to leave.”
“I was delayed at the last minute, and Naomi already had prepaid airline reservations, so I insisted that she go ahead. I called her on my cell phone this morning. She’s already in Tampa enjoying the view of Tampa Bay from my eighth-floor condo. When I called, she was sitting on the balcony drinking a cup of coffee.”
A grin spread across the chief’s broad face. “Well, you won’t be drinking coffee on her balcony in the morning.”
Justin gave Carissa directions to his sister-in-law’s home. “If you want to wait a while, I can drive out with you. My deputy will be back in a half hour.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that, unless the house is hard to find.”
“It’s along the main road, but it’s getting dark. I thought you might be a little skittish about going into a strange house and all.”
Carissa’s even teeth gleamed in a wide smile. “I’ve lived alone for more than twenty years, so I’m not afraid of an empty house.”
“No need to be,” he assured her. “Yuletide is noted for its low crime rate.” He beamed expansively. “I keep it that way. Remember, Naomi’s house is the first two-story log house on your left, a mile north of town. There’s a security light in the yard. We have someone in the station ’round the clock, so call if you need help finding the place. Drive carefully.”
Before Carissa reached the sidewalk, Chief Townsend stuck his head out the door. “Naomi turned the temperature down. The house might be a little cool, but it’ll warm up in a hurry when you raise the thermostat.”
Carissa waved her hand to indicate she’d heard him and hustled to her vehicle.
The drive along a narrow road, bordered by snow-covered evergreen trees, reminded Carissa of her childhood in Minnesota. And a wide smile spread across her face as she pulled up to the chalet she was to occupy for the next few months. The storybook setting was exactly what she’d been expecting.
Carissa had never met Naomi Townsend, but Betty Potter, a saleswoman for Cara’s Fashions—Carissa’s designing business—had called upon Naomi often. One weekend when Betty had been stranded in New York, Naomi had invited Betty to stay with her in this lakeside home. It was Betty who’d brought Naomi and Carissa together, when she’d learned that both of them wanted to spend the winter away from home.
The dusk-to-dawn pole light illuminated the two-story chalet with a soft glow. A porch, with waist-high banisters, hugged the house protectively, and a set of snow-covered steps led to the front door. Drifts blanketed the roof, and the evergreens in the yard bowed low under their accumulation of snow.
A sliver of moon hovered over the Townsend house, and Carissa remembered a portion of one of Whittier’s poems: “The moon above the eastern wood shone at its full; the hill-range stood transfigured in the silver flood, its blown snows flashing cold and keen.”
When she’d unwillingly memorized those words in an elementary school in Minnesota, Carissa hadn’t suspected that she would ever find her way out of her dismal circumstances. But by sheer determination she had, and now stood in a setting that the poet could have been describing.
A cold wind discouraged Carissa from unpacking the car. She took the small bag containing her overnight essentials, walked up the steps and fitted the key in the lock. Expecting the house to be cold, Carissa was pleasantly surprised when a draft of warm air greeted her entrance. She could even smell food! Had she come to the wrong house? But the key had worked, so this had to be the Townsend home.
Carissa respected Betty’s judgment, but still, she’d had some reservations about agreeing to occupy a home she hadn’t seen. Her hesitation had been unfounded. The house could be a fitting subject for a magazine article.
She stood in the great room facing a fireplace encased in native stone. The room’s furnishings were a combination of antique tables and chests with modern cozy chairs and upholstered couches. The vaulted ceiling was supported by rectangular logs, and a grandfather clock beside the stairway chimed the hour of nine o’clock as Carissa admired the setting. A teddy bear on the fireplace ledge gave the room a homey atmosphere.
Walking toward the kitchen, Carissa stopped suddenly. The television was on, although the sound was muted. Naomi had been gone for three days, and Carissa had understood that no one had been in the house since then. She looked at the thermostat, which was set at seventy degrees. Justin had distinctly said that Naomi had lowered the temperature. Had someone been in the house since then? Was someone there now? What other explanation could there be?
Suddenly, Carissa’s lodging didn’t seem so enticing. Should she telephone the police chief and ask him to check out the house? But if she’d misunderstood him about the thermostat, the man would think she was foolish. And she knew several people who never turned off their televisions. She reasoned that
