Page 8 of A Christmas to Die For
"Thanks again for ditching the family and joining me. Like you had a choice."
"Like we had a choice," Phoebe says simultaneously, causing the three of us to burst into laughter. These silly, carefree moments remind me of our past.
After Phoebe parks the car, Sabrina and I step out and are immediately hit by the frigid air. We both gasp at the sudden drop in temperature.
"Holy shit!" I zip up my all-weather jacket to my chin, watching my breath cloud in front of me as the harsh wind claws through the fabric, straight to my bones.
"Jesus!" Sabrina yelps. "I didn't expect it to bethiscold."
"Can you two grab some stuff while I make a call?" Phoebe says while shoving her hands in her pockets.
"You good?" I ask her, watching as Sabrina dashes toward the store in search of warmth.
"Yeah, go on without me."
"All right, text me a list of anything you want me to grab."
When I catch up with Sabrina, she's already got quite a few items in the cart that require prep in an actual kitchen.
"You do realize the motel room doesn't have an oven, right?" I point to the various items we won't be able to cook.
"You're serious? What kind of room did you book us?"
"The only one they had left. Two queen beds, a microwave, andmaybea mini fridge."
"No one offered their rental house?" Sabrina pouts.
"Need I remind you that you came up with this plan a month before Christmas? We're lucky the three of us aren't crammed into a king-sized bed or stuck in that very cabin like Romee. Anyone who had an Airbnb deleted their listing. We have to make do with what we have."
Once Mara and Sabrina are safely inside Trader Joe's, I pocket my phone and head in the opposite direction.
Most of the town's population lives up in the mountains, but there's a small shopping center and a gas station at the base for travelers passing through. Housing down here is scarce—just a few homes and even fewer apartment complexes. I imagine most people commute to nearby cities or work from home. Who would want to brave these roads every day once the snow hits? At least the other three seasons make up for it. The hiking trails are supposed to be incredible, and the views from the top? Breathtaking, or so I've heard. Not that we'll see much of anything today. With snow clouds rolling in, visibility is already slipping under a quarter mile. The peaks are probably swallowed whole by now.
But right now, I have one goal: the police station.
It wasn't on Mara's carefully plotted itinerary, but I have a feeling it should've been. I'm not sure why sheleft it off.
When I step through the automatic doors, a blast of warm air hits me—a welcome relief from the cold. Behind the front desk, a man in a short-sleeved police uniform smiles like there's sunshine outside instead of a blizzard.
"Hi, what can I do for you?"
A mini Christmas tree twinkles on the counter beside him, its lights flashing between white and rainbow, while NSYNC's "Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays" blares a little too loudly for a place as grim as a police station.
"Good morning," I practically shout over the music. "I was wondering if I could pick up some files I requested a few weeks ago? We never heard back."
"Sure thing. Records department is down the hall, third door on the left."
He hands me a clipboard to sign in. I write down Mara's name, surprised by how easy it is to get in when she made it sound nearly impossible to reach anyone.
I'm halfway down the hall when the door I'm heading toward bursts open before I can even knock.
An elderly man shuffles out—a terrifying figure clutching a folder like it holds the launch codes for the U.S. military. His gray hair hangs long and greasy, and the glare he shoots me makes every instinct scream to back away slowly. He reeks of something sour and old, and I fight the urge to pinch my nose shut.
He shoulders past me without a word, slips out a back door, andvanishes before I can even think to alert someone.
Should I have stopped him?
I do a three-sixty turn but see no signs of surveillance cameras.
