“Call for a county forensics team,” Seth said to Phil. Trying not to disturb the debris, Seth took a quick turn around the rooms. No Bruce. “We need to put a BOLO alert out on Bruce’s van and expand the search around the park.”
Stepping out of the apartment, he picked up his phone and started calling reinforcements. He left a second message for his wife. Then he said a quick prayer that Bruce was home sleeping and wouldn’t turn up dead in the woods.
CHAPTER TWO
Carly stepped onto her mother’s back porch. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, but by the time she’d shed her gloves and unzipped her parka, the call had gone to voice mail. She checked the screen. Seth. Odd. Her husband rarely called her during the day.
Listening to his brief message asking her to call him back, she herded her daughter into the mud room of her mother’s house. The little cabin on the other side of the meadow where Carly, Seth, and Brianna lived was too small for the Christmas baking marathon planned for the day.
Brianna stripped off her coat, hat, and mittens. The wet items dropped to the floor. Then she sat and tugged off her snow boots.
“Grandma!” She ran into the big country kitchen. “Ooh. Cookies.”
Carly gathered Brianna’s soggy garments and hung them on pegs to dry, then shed her own outerwear and joined her daughter and mother.
“Morning.” Carly surveyed the racks of cooling cookies spread out on the counters. At the table, decorator bags full of icing were lined up on a plate. “What time did you get up?”
Intent on saving her mother some of the more backbreaking work, Carly and Brianna cared for the menagerie of rescue animals in the barn each morning and night, but Patsy just found other work to do.
“I couldn’t sleep last night. Something just feels wrong,” Patsy said with a frown. She shook her head. “I’m probably just keyed up for the holiday. It’s just as well I was up early. We have a lot of work to do today.”
“Is it going to snow more, Mama?” Kneeling on a kitchen chair, Brianna pressed her nose against the kitchen window. Her breath fogged her view. Lifting her head, she drew a smiley face in the condensation on the glass.
“Maybe.” Carly joined her daughter. In the backyard Brianna’s lopsided snowman leaned heavily to the right. Heavy clouds and a light coating of snow on the meadow suggested a white Christmas was a possibility. After an unusually hot summer, the weather had done an about-face on the region and delivered an equally harsh start to the winter season.
“These cookies aren’t going to decorate themselves.” Patsy applied her rolling pin to a ball of pie dough. George Strait crooned “Silent Night” in the background. “Oh no, you don’t.” She shooed a black-and-white kitten off the table. Her Irish setter, Trina, lay on the floor at Patsy’s side, tail thumping on the hardwood.
“Your name is Cookie, but you don’t eat them, sillyhead.” Brianna scrambled off her chair, scooped up the kitten, and set him on the floor next to his brother, Cream. The kittens scampered across the floor and pounced on Trina. The gentle dog sighed as Cookie and Cream played tag around her head. At three months of age, Brianna’s kittens alternated between being cuddly angels and being holy terrors.
“Wash your hands.” Carly pointed toward the sink.
“Debra’s coming over later to help.” Patsy pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. The rest of her long, curly hair, caught in a loose knot, suddenly seemed more gray than brown. The lines around her eyes had deepened. She looked tired, as if she’d aged ten years since Bill’s death the previous spring.
A pang of grief zipped through Carly. This would be the first Christmas without her father. If she closed her eyes, she could see him slip in and steal a cookie from the cooling rack. She wiped a tear from her cheek. “You know we could buy pies at Nell’s.”
“Why on earth would we do that?” Patsy wiped flour-covered hands on her apron.
“It feels like a lot of effort.” Carly sighed, sadness draining her energy.
“Of course it’s a lot of effort. That’s the point. Holidays are special.” Patsy’s mouth twisted in a wistful smile. “We’re all going to miss him, honey. It’s all right to be sad, but he would roll over in his grave if I didn’t make cookies and pie for Christmas.”
How did her mother always know exactly what she was thinking? Carly sniffled. “He loved your butter cookies.”
“He did.” Patsy stopped working for a minute, her rolling pin resting on the flattened dough. “It’s hard times like this that make our traditions even more important. We’re building memories for the children.”
Carly watched Brianna carefully pipe white icing wings on a cookie angel. Carly and her husband, Seth, had committed to spending more time as a family for that very reason. Since losing her father, she’d become acutely aware that time was precious. Every day should be cherished. “You’re right. Today is baking day. I have to call Seth. Then I’ll start peeling apples.”