Page 44 of Christmas with Holly

“Great,” came the little girl’s cheerful reply. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

Maggie smiled, relaxing slightly. “Happy Thanksgiving. What are you up to?”

“I let Renfield outside to go to the bathroom, and then he came back in, and I put food in his bowl and gave him some water.”

“I can tell you’re taking good care of him.”

“But then Uncle Mark made both of us leave the kitchen while they cleared out the smoke.”

“Smoke?” Maggie’s smile faded. “Why was there smoke?”

“Uncle Sam was cooking. And then they called Uncle Alex and he’s taking the oven door off.”

Maggie frowned. Why in the world would Alex be removing the oven door? “Holly…where is Uncle Mark?”

“He’s looking for his safety goggles.”

“Why does he need safety goggles?”

“Because he’s helping Uncle Sam cook the turkey.”

“I see.” Maggie looked down at her watch. If she was fast, she had enough time to drop by Rainshadow Vineyard and still make the late-morning ferry to Anacortes. “Holly, I think I’m going to stop by your house before I go to the ferry terminal.”

“Great!” came the enthusiastic reply. “Except…maybe you shouldn’t say that I called you. Because that might get me in trouble.”

“I won’t mention that part,” Maggie assured her.

Before Holly could reply, a male voice in the background asked, “Holly, who are you talking to?”

Maggie said, “Tell him it’s an opinion poll.”

“A lady is doing an opinion poll,” she heard Holly say.

A brief muffled consultation, then Holly said importantly, “My uncle says we don’t have any opinions.” A pause, and a few more muffled words.“And,”Holly added severely, “we’re on the do-not-call list.”

Maggie grinned. “Well, I’ll just come over, then.”

“Okay. Bye!”

It was cold and a little blustery, the perfect weather for Thanksgiving because it brought to mind images of cozy fireplaces, a turkey in the oven, and watching the Macy’s parade on TV.

There was a BMW in the driveway, immaculate and sleek. The vehicle undoubtedly belonged to Alex, the Nolan brother she hadn’t met. Feeling a little like an intruder, but driven by concern, Maggie parked and went up the front steps.

Holly met her at the door, dressed in corduroy pants and a long-sleeved tee featuring a cartoon turkey. “Maggie!” the girl cried, bouncing up and down, and they hugged. Renfield came up to them, panting and wheezing happily.

“Where are your uncles?” Maggie asked.

“Uncle Alex is in the kitchen. Renfield and I are helping him. I don’t know where anybody else is.”

A distinct odor of scorched food tainted the air, becoming stronger as they went to the kitchen. A dark-haired man was in the middle of disassembling the front of the oven, a power drill in his hand and a ponderous tool box beside him.

Alex Nolan was a smoother, more polished version of his older brothers. His features were handsome but remote, his eyes the crystalline blue of glacier ice. Like Sam, his form was lean and elegant, not quite so broad in build as Mark’s. And his polo shirt and khakis, while casual, had the look of expensive garments.

“Hello,” he said. “Who is this, Holly?”

“This is Maggie.”

“Please, don’t get up,” Maggie said hastily, as he set aside the drill and made to stand. “Obviously you’re in the middle of…something. Can I ask what happened?”

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