Christmas on 4th Street (Fool's Gold #12.5)
Susan Mallery
Chapter 1
In real life, snow was not nearly as delightful as it appeared in movies and on TV, Noelle Perkins thought as her spinning car finally came to a stop in a snowbank. She’d been driving up the side of the mountain, not making any sudden moves, when it happened. Although she wasn’t exactly sure what the it was. There’d been a swoosh and a swerve and then the world twirling around her. There might have been a scream or two, but as she was alone, she wasn’t going to admit to that.
She glanced around, noticing how the nose of her car was firmly planted in the wall of a surprisingly firm drift. The good news was she was pretty close to her destination. The bad news was she was going to have to figure out a way to get down the mountain when it was time to leave.
That was for later, she told herself as she turned off the engine then unfastened her seat belt. First she had a puppy to let out.
Noelle opened the door and started to stand, only to discover why her car had gone whirling around. Snow, it seemed, was slippery. Her feet started to go out from under her and she had to grab the door frame to keep from falling.
“This is so wrong,” she murmured, finding her balance and carefully closing the car door. She started walking very tentatively toward the house at the end of the long driveway.
Snow had come early to Fool’s Gold. There had been several inches in late October, then it had all gone away. More had fallen in early November and now this blast the following week. But it was different in town, she thought as she felt her left foot slowly sliding out from under her.
She waved her arms and managed to stay on her feet, then started forward again. In town, roads were plowed and sidewalks scraped. Someone put magical stuff down so it wasn’t slippery. She never had any trouble in town.
Growing up in Florida, followed by a career move to Los Angeles, had not prepared her for a real winter, she thought as she made it to the porch. Her feet started slipping again. She lunged for the railing and managed to hang on as her lower body slipped and stretched until she was nearly parallel to the ground.
She dug her toes into the snow and ice, hoping to find some traction. At last she managed to get her legs back under her and straighten. It was like being a cartoon character, she thought grimly. Only with the possibility of breaking bones.
“This is so not what I expected,” she said aloud, thinking that Felicia’s request had seemed so reasonable. With everyone running around, Webster, her friend’s eight-month-old puppy, had been left home alone. Could Noelle go and let him out?
Felicia had been a good friend to Noelle. When Noelle had opened her own store—The Christmas Attic—over Labor Day weekend, Felicia had been right there, helping stock the place and offering suggestions. When Noelle wanted to participate in town advertising with the other local retailers, Felicia had helped her navigate the maze that was local government regulations. When Noelle worried that she would never find a man for...well, you know, let alone love, Felicia had reassured her that it would happen. So helping with the family puppy seemed the least she could do to pay back her friend.
“I am capable,” Noelle told herself as she made it up the stairs. They were surprisingly not slippery. Whatever that magic stuff was, they must use it here, she thought.
She walked to planters on the railing and felt around for the spare key. Only there wasn’t one. She checked all the planters, sure that was where Felicia had told her to look.
Nothing.
Unsure what to do next, she walked to the front door and heard a soft snuffling sound.
“Hey, Webster,” she called.
The puppy yipped excitedly.
Noelle reached for the door handle and found it turned easily. She pushed it open.
Two things happened at once. A very excited fifty-pound German shepherd puppy bounded out toward her and she saw a duffel bag in the foyer.
Noelle automatically patted the enthusiastic dog. He licked her hands and wiggled before dashing down the stairs and heading for the trees on the side to take care of business.
“It’s slippery,” she called after him, only to realize he had magical feet because he returned at the same hyperspeed with which he’d left and never skidded once.
“Good boy,” she said, hugging him.
Problem one solved, she thought. Which only left the mysterious duffel and the open front door.
The bag could be Carter’s, she thought, picturing Gideon’s thirteen-year-old son. Or it could be the proof that some evildoer had broken into the house and was, even as she stood there, ransacking the place. Either way, she had to find out.
She stepped cautiously inside, the eager dog at her side. By the front door was an umbrella stand. She grabbed the biggest, most threatening umbrella she saw and held it in her hands like a club. She was tough, she told herself. After all, she’d taken a self-defense class earlier that fall. Of course her instructor had warned them all against walking toward trouble.
“If you’re in here to steal stuff, I’ve called the police and I’m heavily armed,” she yelled as she walked through the open area of the main floor. There was a big living room and a huge kitchen. She knew there were bedrooms at each end of the house and more living space downstairs.
Webster enjoyed the game, staying at her side, his wagging tail thumping against the wall at regular intervals.
“Just walk out with your hands up and no one will get hurt,” she continued.