Page 11 of A Christmas to Die For
"Nothing," I mutter, blowing a strand of hair out of my face, heart jackhammering. The figure steps into view, moving toward my window.
He taps the glass with two fingers, eyes unreadable. "Gas?"
"Yes, sorry, let me change sides." I scramble to reposition the car, finally landing on the correct side.
"What gas does this car take?" I ask Mara.
She rolls her eyes. "Premium."
"Premium, please!" I call out.
He removes the gas pump while I pop the latch from inside. The pumps look like they haven't been replaced since I was born. They creak when he inserts the nozzle.
"I'm a little jumpy," I admit.
"It's okay," Mara says. "Me, too. I really don't want to be here."
As if on cue, the attendant glances at us. "You gals visiting for business or pleasure?"
He looks normal enough—clean flannel, gray stubble, nothing off. Still, I hesitate before lowering my window a crack.
"Just hoping to get some skiing in."
"The slopes haven't been too great lately," he admits while scratching his jaw. "The snow has been so heavy and wet. Are you familiar with those kinds of conditions?"
"Oh yes," I lie. "We're from Big Bear. Wanted to try something new for the holidays."
He chuckles to himself. "Thank goodness. I thought you were going to say you were coming to see what all the fuss was about a year ago."
"Oh?" Mara's single word is an invitation for him to continue, but he doesn't say much.
He nods absently, still watching the pump. "You'd be surprised how many visitors have come and gone since then."
The question is burning on my tongue. "What did you think of all the… killings?"
It's not exactly breaking news—anyone with a television knew what happened to Romee that godforsaken night. FrosthavenFalls had been a forgotten dot on the map, barely worth a Google search. But secrets don't stay buried forever. And neither did the bodies.
The man doesn't blink.
"If you dig far enough," he says, "You'll find things you wish you hadn't. Every town has secrets. We are no different."
The pump clicks loudly, indicating we have a full tank.
The total is way less than what I'd pay back in L.A. I hand him cash and slide a few extra bills into his palm.
"Be safe up there," he says, shutting the fuel cap. "Snowstorms have a way of turning small problems into big ones… especially when no one's around to help."
The visibility is steadily becoming worse, like a thick white sheet constantly blocking my windshield, no matter how fast the wipers swipe back and forth. It's as if the snow has taken over, swallowing everything in sight.
We've been sliding with every turn, but somehow Phoebe fell back asleep in the back seat, completely oblivious. That girl can sleep through anything, even my little shrieks of concern as we drift precariously.
I'm going as slow as I can, and luckily there's no one else around to worry about. The few cars that went ahead of us arelong gone with their snow chains, and anyone else on the road must have either stayed home or decided it wasn't worth the risk to drive in these conditions.
We passed a sign that said chains were mandatory beyond a certain point, but there's no one here to enforce it. Are we one wrong move away from sliding off the mountain and joining the growing list of innocent victims who've had similar accidents in these treacherous conditions?
"That full tank B.S. is an old wives' tale. You might need to pull over. I don't think we can go much farther." Mara grips the handle near the roof like it's the only thing stopping us from careening to our deaths.
"I can't stop! What if we get stuck in this storm?" I squeal, panic rising in my chest. I did not drive halfway up this mountain just to end up stranded on the side of the road.
