Page 68 of Home for Christmas in July

They both shake their heads.

“No,” Rosemary says.

“She’s gotta be around here somewhere, though, Dad. Try not to worry,” Merry says.

“I’m not worried,” I promise before I head out of the kitchen.

I’m really not. Unbeknownst to Noelle, my daughters and nieces, and my guests, I spent the morning arranging a series of security measures that should make the Inn at Mistletoe Mountain impenetrable. Nobody’s getting in unless I want them to. The Santa Claus Crew is set up in eight red Adirondack chairs on the front porch, and a half dozen Lords of the Mountain are scattered around the backyard playing horseshoes and badminton. Meanwhile, Griselda, Sensei Adam, and Enrique are circulating with guests. They’ve all been briefed on Dante Bianchi and I’ve passed around the mug shot Rosemary’s husband emailed me. If he tries to walk into the party, he’ll regret it.

I make a circuit through the parlor, the library, and the formal dining room, checking on guests and smiling at thearts and crafts project Sage and Ivy have corralled several kids into doing. I stand and watch them help our youngest guests make pipe cleaner reindeer for a few minutes before moving on.

Thyme’s tending bar. She’s got the toughest job, but she’s wearing a big smile, moving like lightning, and cracking a steady stream of jokes, so the tip jar on the bar is already nearly full. Good for her. I’m about to go out to the porch to check in with my A Team, when Holly rushes up and grabs my arm.

“Great open house, Holly. You’ve done a fantastic job.”

She waves off the praise as she pulls me into the hallway. “Have you seen Noelle anywhere?” she asks. Her eyebrows are knitted together, and she’s chewed off most of her lipstick, which isn’t like her.

My heart thumps. “No. Why?”

She screws up her face and for a second I think she’s about to cry. My heart’s really pounding now.

But she parts her lips and exhales slowly. Straw breathing, Griselda calls it. She taught it to Carol to help her control her anxiety when she was in hospice care, and Carol taught it to the rest of us.

“That Stillwater kid, the chess genius, does he make up stories?”

“I have no idea. Why?”

She tilts her head toward the sitting room. “Well, I hope he does because he says he saw Noelle leaving with a man.”

My heart stops thrumming and drops all the way to my stomach. I run into the sitting room and skid to a stop infront of Brent Stillwater, who sits in a too-big chair, swinging his legs and sucking on an oversized candy cane.

“Hi, Mr. Jolly. Great party,” he says like a little grown-up.

I remind myself he’s five and crouch in front of him. “I’m glad you think so, Brent. Some of the kids are making reindeer crafts.”

“No, thanks. I’m just here for the sugar.”

“Fair enough.” I clear my throat. “So what’s this about Ms. Winters?”

He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I think she’s mad at me, but I don’t know what I did that was bad. And, really, even when Iambad, she doesn’t usually get mad.”

“What makes you think she’s mad now?” I ask carefully.

“She didn’t say hi to me when she was leaving.”

“You saw her leave?”

He nods. “I was tossing beanbags in the backyard with Sunny.” He pauses. “We were also eating marshmallows.”

It takes me a second to realize he’s justifying playing the game because he was also eating sugar. He wouldn’t want me to think he was doing a child-like activity just for fun.

“Sure, I get that. So you said hi, but she didn’t answer you. Maybe she didn’t hear you?” I suggest.

He considers this possibility. “Maybe. Sunny said she might have had too much to drink because the jerk guy was holding her up and helping her walk.”

“What jerk guy?” I keep my tone as calm and upbeat as humanly possible even though I’m screaming inside.

“The guy who knocked over Sunny’s tower yesterday,” he says matter-of-factly.

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