Page 4 of Only One More Lie

Just last week a man, his wife, and son had been here. The man had been so upset that he’d screamed his head off. He’d demanded a refund because the sky had been too cloudy to see the northern lights. He’d thought they’d have more snow. And it was too cold.

Mom had refused to offer any money back. The man had vowed to destroy their business through bad online reviews and social media callouts.

Despite that, her mom had stood firm and refused a refund.

Juniper had been proud of her mother. People shouldn’t back down to bullies. It only rewarded their bad behavior, making things worse in the long run.

But the man—his name had been Bert Something or Other—had an unsettling look in his eyes, as if he wasn’t used to being told no. Her mom even had to call the police on him when he’d shown up at the camp a couple of days later making more threats.

The whole confrontation had left Juniper uneasy. Hopefully, Bert wouldn’t be back any time soon. He’d ruined the whole happy vibe of the camp.

Having a happy vibe was something her parents emphasized as very important to maintain. The family’s problems should always be private and not take away from the overall experience of their guests.

She supposed the theory made sense.

As Juniper slipped inside the cabin, she inhaled the scent of freshly baked cookies and chili. She couldn’t wait to eat both.

The smell of evergreen and cinnamon hit her next.

The aromas of Christmas. She loved them.

Tundra met her at the door, barking and whining. The sound made her gut twist. He wasn’t usually this agitated.

“Hey, boy,” she murmured as she rubbed his head. “I told you I’d be right back. Did you miss me? Is Mom mad because I took so long?”

She glanced around the living room, her gaze skimming the nine-foot-tall Christmas tree, one she and her dad had cut from the forest themselves. Three stockings hung by the fire—one for each of them. Garlands were strung across every doorway and the mantle.

Her mom went all out at Christmas. They spent an entire day decorating and baking and listening to Christmas music.

“Mom?” Juniper called. “Where are you?”

When no one responded, she paced across the knobby wooden floor toward the kitchen. Tundra remained on her heels, panting as if anxious.

She paused in the kitchen. Mom wasn’t at the stove, even though chili still simmered, and a tray of fresh sugar cookies teased her from the counter.

A new scent hit her nostrils, and she stiffened.

Something . . . smoky.

Was something burning? That was when she noticed the oven was on.

She hurried toward it and threw the door open. Smoke billowed out, filling her lungs. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face.

Wasting no more time, she grabbed a potholder. She snatched the pan from the oven and shoved it on top of the stove.

Cornbread. Black now darkened its edges.

She frowned as she stared at it. It wasn’t like her mom to leave something cooking without being close. She was usually much more careful.

Juniper turned the oven off, more apprehension embedding itself between her shoulder blades.

Strange. Maybe Mom had gone upstairs.

Tundra stayed with Juniper as she searched the rest of the cabin.

Her mom and dad were nowhere to be found.

She grabbed her radio. “Mom, are you there?”

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