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  “Maybe...” I began but Mayor Gillespie interrupted.

  “Joe, I forgot I had a meeting later this morning. Can we get together tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Joe said. “My schedule is wide open unless a late breaking story comes in...”

  Both men laughed, knowing the biggest story around here was the weather and maybe a fender bender or two.

  That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  Chapter Two

  Joe and I talked for a few minutes after he finished his breakfast and made arrangements to go out to dinner later in the week, once the storm blew over. He wanted to take me to a fancy new restaurant in Harrisonburg that he knew I would enjoy. Also, he hinted that he wanted to see me all dressed up. Thinking about that made my heart beat a little too fast, mostly because I was going to have to go buy something to get all dressed up in and that might mean matching underwear.

  “Too bad he’s from up north,” Poppy said when Joe swaggered out the door.

  “Doesn’t matter where he’s from, he’s here now,” I told her, watching until he was out of sight.

  “Starla! What would your mama say if she knew you dating a northerner?” Poppy teased.

  “Mama would have had a fit. Grandma on the other hand would have said, ‘My, my, my, my, my’ when she got a good look at him.”

  That sent both of us into gales of laughter.

  The morning rush was almost over, my favorite time of day when Poppy and I could take a little breather and relax in the office. I sipped coffee while she counted the money and then we’d take the deposit to the bank and go for our morning power walk around the park.

  That’s when Mr. Nettle came into the diner. To say I was surprised was an understatement. Kind, soft spoken white haired Mr. Nettle had delivered the mail on foot all over town for as long as I could remember. He had to be in his eighties. His wife had been dead for at least ten years and his son, Adam, was a hot shot lawyer in Atlanta who rarely visited.

  Lately, though, when he got tired, he’d just leave the mail wherever he happened to be at the time and go home. Sometimes I’d get a call from the book store saying that my mail was there, sometimes it never left the post office. Some days he made it all the way to the bank. We were all used to it.

  Today, of all days, in a blinding snowstorm, he’d come all the way to the diner.

  “Mr. Nettle, what in the world are you doing out in this weather?” I asked, when he took a seat on one of the chrome and red stools at the counter.

  “Oh, just wanted to make sure you got your check from the Publisher’s Clearing House people,” he answered, his voice trembling as badly as his hands when he handed over my mail.

  I laughed. “Not a chance of that happening,” I said, taking the small stack of envelopes and flyers from him. “Let me get some coffee to warm you up.”

  “Much appreciated,” he said, turned and scanned the diner. “Kinda quiet.”

  “You just missed the big rush,” I said, placing his coffee in front of him. “We were pretty busy earlier this morning, considering the weather.”

  “It’s bad out there,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

  Just over his shoulder I saw Helen Taylor, bundled up in her stylish coat and scarf, heading toward the register.

  “Did your friend ever show up?” I asked.

  Mr. Nettle turned and smiled at her.

  “No, I finally got a text,” she said and held up her smart phone. “He got held up by the storm.” Then she graced Mr. Nettle with a bright smile.

  “Too bad,” I said. “I’m sure you were looking forward to seeing him.”

  “Yes, it’s been a while,” she replied with a sad little sigh.

  I had the feeling that maybe he had been more than a friend at one point. It would have had to have been a long, long time ago because she’d been married to Robert Taylor, a local insurance man, for at least forty years.

  “Would you like for me to walk you to your car?” Mr. Nettle asked. His voice didn’t shake nearly as badly as it had before.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” she said waving off his offer. “I might take a little walk downtown.”

  I stared at her. A walk downtown! In this snowstorm?

  “The sidewalks have been shoveled, but they’re still slippery,” Mr. Nettle said, already reaching for his hat and gloves. “I’ll tag along just in case you need help.”

  “No,” Helen said quickly. “On second thought, I think I’ll just go on home.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” Mr. Nettle settled back down on the stool.

  “I’m sure,” she said, paying for her tea and then hurrying out the door.

  Poppy and I exchanged glances. I thought her behavior seemed a bit odd but Poppy just shrugged.

  Mr. Nettle and I talked while I wiped the counter down and made fresh coffee. He told me that Adam was supposed to come up for Christmas but never made it. “After Peggy divorced him, he remarried. She’s really young, barely twenty, and they started a whole new family. He’s got two more little ones now.”

  “Holy cow,” I said. Adam had to be in his late fifties or maybe even sixty.

  “Took her on a cruise for Christmas. Who ever heard of such a thing?” he added.

  I was sure he really missed having the family all together for the holidays.

  “How long has Mrs. Nettle been gone?” I asked.

  “Let’s see, Tootsie has been gone almost ten years now,” he said with a sad little smile.

  I shook my head. I’d forgotten her real name was Tootsie. “Seems like just yesterday she was answering the phones down at the newspaper office.”

  He seemed to agree. “Taken away much too soon.”

  We were quiet for a moment and then he took a deep breath. “Maybe they’ll come up for Easter. Watching the little ones hunt eggs would be a hoot.”

  “Yes, it would,” I said, sorry I’d brought up Tootsie Nettle.

  “And I might just get each of them baby chicks. That’ll send their prim and proper mama into orbit,” he laughed, then stood up and zipped up his jacket.

  I laughed as well. Adam and his first wife had not made many appearances in Sugar Hill over the past few years but the last time I saw them, they were driving a Mercedes and dressed to the nines. I guess he needed to keep up appearances. And now he’d traded her in for a younger model and started a new family.

  “Mr. Nettle, you be careful out there,” Poppy said as the old mail man headed out the door.

  “Will do,” he promised, saluting her with a gloved hand.

  The midday crew began arriving right after that, starting with our long-time waitress Barbara Ellen. Poppy and I retreated to the office. While she carefully counted and arranged the money so all the bills were pointing in the right direction (don’t ask me why) I sipped coffee.

  “Hey, are you entering the baking competition for the Winter Festival this year?” Poppy asked.

  “Sure am,” I said, never one to back down from a challenge. “Thought I’d change up a cupcake recipe.”

  “I heard a rumor,” Poppy said, whispering as though someone might hear us.

  “What?” I whispered right back.

  “I heard this year’s judging will be on presentation more than taste,” Poppy said, stuffing the money into the blue zippered pouch with the bank’s name emblazoned on the front ‘Sugar Hill First National Bank’. Like there might be a second or third National Bank.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re going to have to decorate your cupcakes and have an original, creative presentation,” she explained.

  “You mean like fancy?” I asked, thinking of all those elaborate creations that graced the pages of magazines.

  “Yeah, you know, make them look like a snow man or something,” she continued. “Maybe a cardinal. You know, something seasonal.”

  “That’s nuts. I’m not a baker. I’ve never ‘decorated’ a thing in my life,” I
protested.

  Poppy pointed one corner of the blue money bag at me. “Well, you’d better get some practice in. You’ll be doing my wedding cake.”

  “But...”

  “And this is going to be good practice. Plus, you need to add some more blue ribbons to that display case,” Poppy said, standing up. “Now, let’s get to the bank and get our walk finished before Mother Nature drops another ton of snow on us.”

  I was still grumbling about the change in the contest rules when we headed out the back door of the diner, bundled up like snow men. The wind was so cold it made my eyes water and when the train roared past, just as we reached the station and headed downtown, I seriously considered turning back altogether.

  The streets were empty, a strange hushed feeling seemed to have fallen over the town, and the sky overhead was dark gray. A few cars passed us, moving slowly. More cars were parked along the street, covered with snow from the snow plows.

  The bank was as empty as the streets. Mrs. Snyder, with her tightly permed blue hair and round owl glasses was right there at her post. She’d worked at the bank for about a hundred years and part of me wondered if she just lived there. Another part of me wondered why the bank was even open.

  She and Poppy made the transaction, with Poppy unzipping the pouch for her while they talked about receipts and checks and how the new twenties looked really weird. I agreed with them but kept quiet, not wanting to prolong this.

  A stack of flyers about the Winter Festival lay nearby. I picked one up and read through it, discovering that Poppy was indeed correct about the baking contest. I stuffed one in my coat pocket so I could look at it more closely later.

  Finally, we scarfed up our purple lollipops and headed back out into the snow.

  “Do you really think we should walk today?” I asked, already dreading the one steep hill on the walking trail at the park.

  “I really do,” Poppy said, heading across the street to the park. “The cold air is so invigorating.”

  I had another word for the cold air but kept my mouth shut. Poppy gets upset if her routine gets interrupted so I sighed, watching my breath plume in the cold air in front of my face. Several cars were parked near the park entrance as well, all covered with snow.

  “Okay, then, let’s get this over with.”

  We shuffled through ankle deep snow to the walking path that ran the full perimeter of the park. I think we’d measured it to be about a mile and a half. Usually, when I wasn’t frozen into a popsicle, we walked it three times. Today, I was determined that we were only going to make one trip around.

  With my hood tied securely under my chin, I bowed my head against the wind and jammed my hands into my pockets. Following Poppy, I stayed in the path she made through the snow. It was deeper here and to distract myself from the cold, I made a game out of stepping in her footprints. Her legs are longer than mine so her strides are wider. So, I was huffing and puffing when I heard her say something.

  The wind blew her words away and I looked up. “What?”

  Someone - a man - was coming toward us, bundled up from head to toe against the weather, complete with a long wool coat, the kind cowboys wear. My first thought was that he was smart enough to wear a ski mask to protect his face from the wind and snow. My second thought was that he looked familiar. Of course he did. Why would a stranger be walking around in our local park in this weather? But a positive identity would be impossible with all of those clothes.

  He nodded at us briefly when we passed on the path and continued on.

  “He’s going the wrong way,” Poppy said when I came up alongside of her.

  I wasn’t aware that there was a wrong way. “Yeah, you’ll need to report that to the walking police,” I said.

  Poppy either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore my remark. “He made us a path in the snow,” she said, moving easily into his larger footprints.

  I slogged along behind. When I glanced behind me, I noted the man had done the same, sliding his feet through the path we had made in the snow. We trudged ahead, the wind blowing snow off the trees, stinging my eyes. Everything looked alien, like we had stepped onto another planet or in another time.

  “Look,” Poppy said, having to shout over the wind. “He came out through the trees.”

  The snow covering everything had me disoriented for a moment but I looked to where she pointed. The footsteps we’d been following led off the path into the woods which I knew led to a clearing that used to be a make out spot for teenagers.

  “Wonder why he was over there?” I asked.

  “Maybe looking for a dog or something?” Poppy guessed.

  “If he’d lost a dog, he would have asked us if we’d seen one.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t over there making out,” I added. I knew it was none of my business, but I really was curious.

  Poppy shot me a wicked look and then burst into giggles.

  “Let’s make sure,” I suggested.

  Anything to get off this boring path, and maybe out of the wind for a little while.

  “Okay, but not far. I want to get in out of this weather,” Poppy agreed.

  This time I led the way, following the man’s footprints in the snow up into the tree line and beyond. Just inside the ring of trees was a winter wonderland right out of a fairy tale. The fountain was silent but the benches were covered in a thick pristine blanket of snow so white it made me blink. The sky was so dark that the old fashioned looking street lamps were glowing.

  “Isn’t it pretty?” Poppy said from just behind me.

  “It is,” I agreed.

  The footprints continued around the perimeter of the open area as if whoever was there hadn’t wanted to disturb the beauty. Just at the top of a knoll the path moved up into the tree line again and stopped. I followed it to the stopping place, right beside a giant oak and turned back toward the clearing.

  And that’s when I saw that the pristine blanket of snow had been disturbed.

  “Poppy, what is that?” I asked, the wind whipping the words back over my shoulder.

  Not waiting for an answer, I slipped and slid down the bank and crossed the opening to the other side of the clearing.

  That was where I found Mr. Nettle. He looked for all the world like he was trying to make a snow angel.

  Except for the pool of blood turning the snow pink under his head.

  Except for the bullet hole right between his eyes.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh my God!” Poppy wailed from somewhere behind me.

  “Mr. Nettle,” I whispered, kneeling in the deepening snow by his boot. And then louder. “Mr. Nettle.”

  “Starla, he’s dead,” Poppy’s voice of reason right at my ear as I reached out. “Don’t touch him.”

  Jerking my hand back, I stood up. Poppy was already on the phone shouting to Thelma down at the police station that we needed help. It took her a while because Thelma is pretty hard of hearing, but she finally got her point across. Poppy’s breath clouded in front of her face. Then she turned away from me, scanning the woods surrounding us.

  “He’s been shot,” I said, needlessly giving Poppy information.

  “I know,” Poppy said, breathless. “Who? Why?”

  “I can’t imagine,” I told her, gazing down at the lifeless man who had been joking in the diner just that morning. His eyes were open, pale blue, snow gathering on his eyelashes.

  “What if they’re still out there?” Poppy whispered, her voice hushed and shaking. She stepped closer to me, her hand reaching for mine. It was shaking, too.

  Suddenly, a different kind of cold invaded my body. The wind seemed to cut right through my clothing and my eyes began to water again. Looking up at the gunmetal gray sky, I saw nothing but snow. It gathered on Mr. Nettle’s pale cheeks and I had the incredible urge to brush it off.

  “I didn’t hear anything. Did you?” I asked, trying to ignore her first question.

  “
No.” Poppy shook her head and squeezed my fingers tight.

  The first wail of a siren broke the stillness of the park. It was coming in our direction fast. Well, as fast as they could with the treacherous streets between us and the police station.

  Finally, she said, “We probably should go back out to the walking path. They won’t know where we are.”

  She was right but I didn’t want to leave Mr. Nettle alone. “You go ahead. I’ll wait here with him.”

  With a solemn nod, Poppy retraced our steps back through the trees out to the walking path. It wasn’t long before red and blue lights flashing through the trees let me know that help had arrived. And soon after that I heard voices and could make out the black and white SUV with ‘Police’ written on the side.

  Poppy led two men, dressed for the cold weather, to where I stood. She simply pointed at Mr. Nettle but looked up at the sky instead.

  And that’s when I saw what looked like a shadow in the trees - with a rifle aimed right at us.

  “Look,” I shouted, pointing.

  The shadow was gone but I heard someone running through the trees.

  “Get down!” one of the officers commanded, leaving no room for argument. Pulling out his gun, already moving in a zig-zag pattern toward the woods. “Get down!” he shouted again.

  I went down like a sack of potatoes and pulled Poppy down with me. She was crying softly and I had a mouth full of snow. This could not be happening. A sniper? Hiding in the woods around a park here in Sugar Hill? There had to be another explanation.

  The two men were off, leaving me and Holly alone with Mr. Nettle.

  “Starla, I just want you to know you’re my very best friend,” Poppy whimpered and squeezed my gloved hand hard.

  “And you’re mine,” I told her.

  “I’m so scared.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I reassured her. “We’re going to be okay.”

  “Mr. Nettle’s not,” Poppy sobbed.

  “I know but the police will get to the bottom of this,” I promised.

  There was more shouting from one officer to the other, echoing through the cold air, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the sound of gunshots. None came.