Page 48 of Home for Christmas in July

“Really?”

She ignores my surprise. “When I went to the coffee shop to get the first clue, I thought it was empty. I was there during the afternoon lull and I didn’t see anyone. But somebody was there. I heard the bell when they left. Delphina said it was a guy wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses and a baseball hat pulled down low over his forehead, covering his face. She joked about him being a movie star hiding from the paparazzi.”

My skin heats. This guy’s been following her from the beginning. My expression must speak volumes because she swallows hard and stares at me.

“You think it’s the same guy, don’t you? He was probably the person who we heard in the woods.”

“Do you have Delphina’s phone number?” I say. “It’s better if she comes out here. If we go in there, the Lords are going to want to get involved.”

Our local motorcycle club, made up of accountants, familymen, and grocery story clerks cosplaying as Sons of Anarchy, likes to step in and fill the role that a police department fills in other towns.

She nods and pulls out her phone. Her thumbs fly over the keyboard as she types out a quick message. After she stows the phone back in her pocket, I take her hand and lead her down to the parking lot. When we reach the gravel parking pad, I loosen my grasp to release her hand, but she laces her fingers tightly between mine instead.

She cocks her head when she sees Farah’s little white sedan parked next to her car. “You borrowed Farah’s car?”

“My truck’s up at the cabin, remember?”

“Right.” She shakes her head like she’s disappointed in herself for forgetting a minor detail in the middle of this scat storm. “How’d you find me, though?”

I’m explaining that I ran into Sage and Thyme when the club’s metal door opens, and Delphina marches out. She swivels her head toward us, and Noelle lifts her hand in a small wave.

Delphina jogs over. “Hey, Mr. Jolly!”

I give my oldest daughter’s lifelong best friend a probing look. “Holly doesn’t come out here, does she?”

She snorts. “Could you imagine Holly here? Especially withAnderson?”

She laces the name with disdain. Noelle wrinkles her nose at the mention of Holly’s fiancé.

They aren’t wrong. Anderson Wilson Carson, Esquire, is a gigantic pain in the tinsel, and, while he might be the right match for some poor soul, he and Holly go together like eggnog and ketchup. But we all know one immutable factabout Holly—the more you push, the more she pulls. So we’re following the game plan Carol devised when young Anderson slipped that oversized rock on our daughter’s finger: be entirely, infuriatingly neutral about him and wait for Holly to snap to her senses. Then pick up the pieces.

This war of attrition doesn’t prohibit us from indulging in some light snark about the guy. “Actually, I’d love to see Anderson here. The Lords would have a field day with him.”

Delphina chuckles.

Noelle brings us back to the task at hand. “Listen, you two, as much as I’d love to engage in a speed round of ‘Anderson Sucks Eggs,’ we do have a more pressing issue.”

“Right, sorry. What’s up?” Delphina snaps to attention.

“Do you remember the man who was in the coffee shop yesterday when I came in looking for the clue?” Noelle asks.

“Oh, sure, Mr. Incognito. For a guy trying to go unnoticed, he sure is memorable.”

Noelle hands her the image. “This isn’t a great picture, but is this him?”

She squints at it for a long moment. “Ithinkso.” After a beat, she says, “Yeah, it’s him.”

“Thanks,” I tell her.

She hands the paper back and asks, “Is this part of your scavenger hunt? Did you find the next clue?”

“Maybe,” Noelle says weakly.

I chime in, “Thanks for your help, Delphina. We won’t keep you from your friends any longer.”

She gives Noelle a searching look, then shrugs. “Okay. Have fun with your scavenger hunt.”

As Delphina heads back to the strip club, I call after her, “And if you don’t have a designated driver, call the Sober Sleigh for a ride home!”

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