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Chapter One
Savanna Shepherd shot a quick glance across Main Street toward her sister’s law office, but there was still no activity. She checked her watch, counting the minutes until she’d need to leave, possibly without seeing her fiancé. Her steaming mocha latte was a poor choice for the current unseasonably warm weather. December in Michigan usually meant snow. Each year, she looked forward to the cold, crisp weather, a freshly fallen blanket of snow bringing with it the extra sparkle of the season. But despite the wreaths and ribbons decorating each lamppost up and down Main Street and the fake snow in the window display at Fancy Tails and Treats, the spring-like temperatures lately made it nearly impossible to imagine the winter festival kickoff next week.
She’d convinced Carson City Council to greenlight funding for Frosty Fest, contracted with vendors for the weeklong event, and secured renowned ice sculptor Lars Anders and his team to create an evolving labyrinth of elaborate sculptures in Carson’s lakefront park. Patrons would stroll through the entrance to the park near the towering Christmas tree, take in the ice sculpture exhibits, go for a spin on the ice-skating rink or visit with Santa Claus, and grab some hot cocoa and cookies while listening to live music. Savanna’s friend and colleague Britt had connected her with the sculptor through their museum’s curator.
The entire Shepherd family was involved in Frosty Fest in one way or another. Youngest sister Sydney’s dog-centric bakery and grooming salon Fancy Tails and Treats was sponsoring a multi-category pet photo contest. Skylar and Travis were running the hot chocolate booth a few of the days. Uncle Max was supplying red and green carnation corsages from his flower shop across the street from the dog salon. Savanna had somehow convinced her friend Jack Carson to step into Santa’s shoes and take toy requests from Carson’s ten and under population. Most of the kids in town knew him as the elementary school librarian; she’d often cross the hall from her art classroom for lunch in the library with Jack and his girlfriend Elaina, a third-grade teacher. He’d worried one of the students might know it was him, but last week’s test run with the Santa suit, beard and glasses, and a whole lot of padding around the middle made him unrecognizable.
This morning was the last day of school before winter break. Thank goodness it had only been a half day; the kids were all wildly squirrely and hyped up. Last week, when she’d scheduled today’s meeting in the park with the ice sculptor, she’d envisioned talking through details while their words froze into opaque puffs suspended in the winter air. She’d also envisioned Aidan being part of their little group today since his clinic was one of the event’s sponsors. But her fiancé had far bigger concerns than a festival.
Right now, Aidan Gallager was in a deposition with Jillian Black of Black, Jones, and Sydowski, doing everything possible to retain full custody of his seven-year-old daughter. Dr. Gallager was revered in the community, a noteworthy cardiothoracic surgeon who doubled as the primary care doctor most of Carson’s residents trusted with their lives. Their little Lake Michigan town was lucky to have him. So were his daughter’s grandparents—his late wife’s parents—who were suing him.
Savanna placed a hand on her knee in an effort to still the nervous energy she’d had trouble controlling lately. Her jingle bells were driving her nuts; she’d worn the silver bell earrings with red bows her friend Yvonne gave her last Christmas, shooting for festive but not even thinking about the constant jingling in her ears with any kind of jostling. She’d tough it out until the Frosty Fest meeting was over and then these babies were being retired.
At the traffic light up the street, Britt Nash’s car appeared. That was her cue. She slung her tote bag over one shoulder and stood at the curb, hailing them as if the little hybrid EV was a taxi. She’d walk back to her car up Main Street later. Britt came to a stop, leaning over the pretty woman in the passenger seat.
“Savanna. Didn’t your parents ever teach you it’s dangerous to hitchhike?” Britt gave her a mock stern look, her friend’s close-cropped blond hair, tiny diamond earring, and stylish gray plaid suit lending them a young David Bowie vibe.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to pick up hitchhikers? How do you know I’m not a serial killer?” She smiled at Britt’s girlfriend, also the Lansing Museum curator. “Hey Helene, how are you? Mind if I hop in?”
“I don’t know. You might be a serial killer,” Helene teased. A few years older than Britt, the curator was lovely, her porcelain beauty set off by her shiny black bob and signature red lips. In the few times they’d crossed paths while Savanna worked in the Lansing Museum of Fine Art this past summer, Helene Devereaux was always friendly and went out of her way to be helpful.
“We’ll take our chances,” Britt said. “You look harmless enough to me.”
She climbed into the back seat. “They always do, you know. The perfectly polite neighbor or always helpful friend you’d never suspect of having bodies in their basement.”
“True. It could be me, y’know,” Britt said. “You could both be in danger.”
“Pfft. As if,” Savanna scoffed. “Have you met you?”
Helene shuddered. “Okay let’s change the subject. You two are getting too creepy for me.”
In the rearview mirror, Britt raised one eyebrow at Savanna. “Helene has a point. Probably not the best topic to joke about. Your little town seems to have an unusually high casualty rate. Wasn’t the last murder just a couple months ago?”
“I don’t think that counts. That happened way out in the woods south of the dunes. Sebastian’s place isn’t in Carson proper.”
“A technicality. Carson’s more than just your cute little downtown.” The car turned into the parking area, the blue of the sky and Lake Michigan in the distance beyond.
Savanna laughed. “Well, cute or not, we may not even get to have the Frosty Fest we’ve spent this past month prepping for. Our famous, costly ice sculptor can’t sculpt a thing unless the forecast changes.” With wide-open spaces and winding walking trails devoid of a speck of snow, Carson Park offered ample space for the event, the entrance near the two-story high evergreen tree that awaited the tree-lighting ceremony next week.
The smaller evergreen that stood year-round near the statue of Jessamina Carson was already lit. In a phenomenon that had begun while Savanna was living across the lake in Chicago, the modestly sized tree transformed each December into The Gifting Tree. A hand-painted wooden sign declared the title and simple instructions. It appeared at the beginning of December along with a storage bin of paper hang tags on ribbon, pens, and an assortment of bows. She’d noticed it last year and asked her sister about it—shop owner Sydney normally knew all when it came to Carson happenings. But she’d simply shrugged, saying it was a mystery; no one knew who’d started the tradition years earlier or why.
Savanna scowled at the beautifully landscaped park and wished fervently for snow. Even a little would help. “I really hope this wasn’t a colossal mistake,” she murmured.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Britt said, flashing a quick grin. “The weather will turn in a few days; it always does. This is just Mother Nature messing with you for a minute.”
“I hope Lars Anders will believe that, after I’ve convinced him to drive hours from the snowy Upper Peninsula down here to the tropics for our ice festival.”
“Lars doesn’t mind driving,” Helene said. “When Lansing acquired his initial works years ago, we drove the sculptures all the way down from Quebec—a twelve-hour drive one way. He lives much closer now.”
“Quebec? His website says he emigrated here from Norway,” Savanna said.
“Originally, yes. He’s been in Marquette on Lake Superior for years though. He likes the U.P.—maybe he loves the cold weather up there. But he knows Michigan weather is unpredictable, don’t worry.”
As they crossed the park to the gazebo, Savanna pulled her ringing phone from the pocket of her holiday-themed dress. Her stomach made a nauseating little flip. The screen displayed the name Rob Havemeyer, her former fiancé. She hadn’t spoken with Rob in two years, since he broke off their engagement to “find himself.” Looking back, she cringed thinking of his “it’s not you, it’s me” speech. She hesitated, uncertain what to do, finger hovering over the green button to accept the call, until it stopped ringing and was presumably routed to voicemail. Relief washed over her at having dodged the call, just as anxiety set in at the thought of checking his message later to see what in the world he wanted. She turned her volume off.
An ancient camper van pulled into the parking lot. The driver slowly emerged, unfolding himself and straightening extra-long legs, making her wonder how he even fit behind the wheel. Or why he’d want to—she’d read online that Anders netted seven figures annually through his sculpting work. He could afford a much newer, nicer vehicle. He crossed the lawn quickly in long strides, joining their group. Up close, his ruddy cheeks and red hair and beard atop the red and black checkered flannel button-down made her think of the lumberjack show she’d seen with her little nephew Nolan last summer on their family trip up north into the U.P.
After introductions were made, Savanna jumped in. “Mr. Anders, we—”
“Lars please,” the ice sculptor interrupted. His voice was low and held the hint of an accent.
She handed him a copy of the festival map Yvonne had created. “Lars, we appreciate you traveling all the way down here. This should give you a good idea of where we imagine your ice sculptures being. The inside walking path begins here, loops around the center, and ends at the ice-skating rink near the concessions.” She pointed across the expanse of pale green grass to the cordoned off skating rink with no ice to speak of.
“We’ve ordered frigid temps and a solid foot of snow for the event, don’t worry,” Britt threw in, smiling.
“No worries,” Helene said, “Lars never commits to something unless he’s sure it’ll work out.”
Anders glanced at Helene, an odd look passing between them. Savanna felt guiltier than ever for dragging him down here to shorts and sandals weather to discuss ice.
She took another stab at kick-starting the conversation. “I really admire your work. It never occurred to me that there might be a transition between sculpting from standard materials to creating ice sculptures.”
“Yes. Thank you. I’ll need to take measurements for the ice.”
Savanna followed him, Britt and Helene trailing behind. From the small black bag he carried, he drew a measuring wheel, assembling it and rolling it along the inside path to the far side of the area and then all the way back around to where they stood. He folded Savanna’s map in half and scribbled some numbers on the back using a charcoal pencil. “Eight large sculptures, smaller displays in between, and the entrance piece you asked for. With pedestals, lighting, and the generator truck for the chainsaws and ice-cutting equipment, it’ll come in close to what I quoted you. I’ll schedule a trip back down here for about halfway through the two weeks, shortly after Christmas. But an exhibit of this size won’t be possible if the weather doesn’t turn.” The large man’s tone was apologetic. “Have you thought about rescheduling?”
“I—no. With the holiday just around the corner, I don’t think we could.”
“Perhaps it could be pushed back a week or so? Lars has a point,” Helene said. “I’m sure you could get the word out in time if it had to be changed.”
Savanna’s mind raced. If they moved Frosty Fest out until after Christmas, her time would be consumed with managing the kickoff details, when she should be focusing on her New Year’s Eve wedding. Waiting all the way into January wasn’t a great alternative either, as so much of what she’d planned was holiday-themed.
Britt read her mind. “Delaying it isn’t possible. It’ll all turn out fine, I’m positive.” Her friend’s unwarranted confidence was inspiring.
“Let’s play it by ear. I wouldn’t say it’s impossible,” Savanna said. “I’ll make it work if we have to reschedule; that is, if you and your team are available after Christmas?” she asked Lars.
He nodded. “I’ll make it work,” he echoed her.
“Great!” She cursed her inability to say no. Mother Nature really needed to come through for her.
After their little group had run through the rest of the Frosty Fest details, Lars departed. She hoped he was satisfied with the details of their arrangement. He’d been so deadpan and expressionless throughout their meeting, it was hard to tell for sure. She’d reserved a small block of rooms at nearby Mitten Inn for the sculptor and his crew, so they could get started this weekend, but she understood why he instead just headed back up north. There was no point in him staying in this balmy weather. Britt dropped her at her car. Before climbing out of the back seat of Britt’s EV, she leaned into the front seat, giving Britt and Helene a quick one-armed hug. “Keep wishing for snow!”
“Oh!” Britt stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Your wedding invitation came yesterday. It’s lovely! I mailed in the response card for Helene and myself, but you know we wouldn’t miss it. The Carson Ballroom will make a beautiful reception venue.”
Helene smiled, adding, “We’ll have our dancing shoes on. I ordered the cutest dress to wear, and Britt has a gorgeous suit picked out already.”
“Of course I do. I may take it for a test run at the gala Saturday. Are you getting excited? Are you mostly ready for the wedding and reception?” Britt asked her.
“It sort of doesn’t seem real yet. We’ve got all the details confirmed, Uncle Max is doing the flowers, my final fitting is next Thursday… everything’s going perfectly.” They hadn’t yet discussed where they’d live, which worried her. They’d made a plan to sit down and figure it out, but that meeting kept getting pushed in favor of more immediate issues.
“As it should,” Britt said. “It will be perfect. You deserve it.”
She smiled. “Thank you. Both.”
Savanna’s cell phone rang over her car’s Bluetooth system as she drove past her sister’s law office. Aidan’s car was gone from the parking lot; he must be finished. She nearly answered the call on a reflex before seeing Rob’s name again on her phone screen. She’d never changed his contact info in her phone when they got serious; not even after he’d proposed. Rob had no pet name or cute little heart next to his name, like her younger sister’s new husband had. Why had she not noticed back then that they’d become more like business partners in the end than a couple in love? She took a deep breath and summoned her confidence.
“Hi Rob. How are you?”
“Savanna. Thank you for taking my call. I’m sorry to bother you. How are you?”
“I’m… good. What’s going on?”
“I ah—this is awkward, I know—and maybe you can’t help, but I have to ask. It’s worth a try. It’s Mother.”
She waited, but he didn’t continue. “What happened to your mother? What’s worth trying?”
“She was attacked. It happened two nights ago. We had a break-in and a significant theft; Kenilworth’s security system was breeched but we don’t know how.”
“Oh no—is your mom all right?” Savanna couldn’t imagine how Kenilworth had been broken into either; the place was a fortress. But her concern over Faye Havemeyer outweighed any curiosity regarding what might have been taken. She and Rob’s mother had been close, and that had taken some doing. Faye was an imposing, intimidating woman, commanding respect and difficult to impress. Earning her trust as an art authenticator at Kenilworth had taken months, and gaining acceptance as Faye’s future daughter-in-law took much longer, but once she’d cleared those hurdles, Rob’s mom had embraced her as part of the family. When Rob’s father unceremoniously terminated her employment the same day Rob dumped her, Faye had argued, butting heads with the patriarch of the family. She’d followed Savanna out to her car, apologizing for the two Havemeyer men who’d just upended her life. The next day, a glowing letter of recommendation from Faye on Kenilworth letterhead was delivered to her by courier. In the end, she hadn’t needed it, not to trade Chicago for her little hometown and Kenilworth for Carson Elementary, but she’d been floored by the gesture. “What happened? Is she badly hurt?” she repeated.
“She’s in the ICU at Northwestern Memorial. They say she’s critical but stable, whatever that means. She—” He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was thick. “Her arm is broken. And she has a periorbital fracture. The bone under her left eye is… it’s shattered.”
“My God,” Savanna breathed. “Will she… do they expect her to be okay?”
“She had to stabilize enough before they could take her into surgery. The surgeon says she’ll need pins or nails or something to fix the bones in her forearm. The swelling from the area around her eye has been the biggest problem. She looks—” Rob’s voice cracked. He fell quiet.
Savanna realized she’d passed the turn for her street. Her mind was consumed with images of Faye. It all sounded horrible. “I’m so sorry. Who would do this? It sounds brutal. She must have been terrified.”
“Security was there, but the surveillance video footage shows it happening so fast, there was no time for them to get to her and intervene. I’m—listen, I didn’t call you to complain about what happened or get your sympathy, though I appreciate it. I didn’t really expect you to take my call at all.”
“Of course I’d take your call.” She made a right turn into deserted Carson Marina, wanting to focus on the conversation. She parked in her usual spot near the dock that led to hers and Aidan’s boat slip. The Catalina sailboat they shared was now on blocks nearby, shrink-wrapped and tucked in for the winter.
There was a beat of silence. “We’ve never really talked about what happened. That’s my fault. I’m sorry, Savanna.”
She was taken aback by his direct approach. She had no desire to rehash their breakup. “It’s been over two years. I’m fine. We’re fine—right? We can put the past behind us.” For a split second, she imagined herself still in Chicago, married to Rob, working for his family; she shuddered. She hadn’t realized until she came home how much she’d missed her sisters, her family, her little town and all that came with it. She’d never have met Aidan. She’d never have discovered how much she loved teaching, how self-sufficient she could be, or how easily a tiny girl like Mollie could infiltrate her heart.
“Yes. You’re right,” Rob said. Where she expected to hear the relief of absolution, his uncertain tone instead conflicted with his words. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
His arrogance needled her. As if she’d still be a mess, a completely decimated pile of mush on the floor because he’d left her. This was the Rob she remembered. She redirected the conversation. “Is there something in particular I can do to help with your mother? I was worried something was wrong when your number came up.”
“Your intuition was right. Which is, I guess, why I’m calling you. It would be easier to explain in person.”
She frowned, fighting against the concern that he might have ulterior motives. She’d been with him nearly seven years. Everything they’d been through didn’t negate her regard for Faye Havemeyer. “I can come there, if you think I should. I feel awful for your mom; if I can help, I will. I’d love to see her.”
“I’m sure she’d like that,” he said. “But my flight lands in Lansing this afternoon. Could we sit down and talk? Please. I won’t take much of your time, I promise.”
She was quiet simply due to surprise. There was no way she could leave the state if one of her parents was injured and awaiting surgery. “I can meet you. That way you’ll be able to get back quickly. I’m sure it was difficult to leave her in that condition. We can grab a conference room to talk at the Lansing Museum of Fine Art, not far from the airport. I consult for them.”
“I actually knew that,” he said, his tone sheepish. “I’ve been following your career a little. The museum is perfect. I’d actually planned to try to get a meeting with your director and security team there before I fly back tonight; I left a message with your front of house person. Kenilworth’s security has reason to believe your Lansing museum is one of the next targets.”
End of Excerpt
