“He died when I was seven,” she said. “He was living in California with my aunt Charlotte.”
“I’m sorry,” Dev said, surprised to see tears in her eyes. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.
“Me, too,” she said. “I’m sure my grandfather would want me to play with the trains, though. It always made him laugh.”
Elodie showed him the controls and watched as he operated the trains by himself. She walked around the table, pointing out all her favorite train cars and buildings. He set the controls down and followed her, listening to her voice, caught up in the magic of the moment.
And then, it was over. She glanced at her watch and cried out. “It’s time for the gifts,” she said, hurrying to the door. “Come on, we have to get back.”
“Don’t you have to fix the trains?”
“I’ll sneak up later,” she said, flinging the sheet over the table.
They rushed down the three flights, then hurried through the kitchen to the butler’s pantry. Elodie peeked through the door. “You go first. If they ask where you were, just tell them that I helped you find the bathroom.”
Dev turned to face her, then, taking a chance, he leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. He’d never kissed a girl before and was surprised at how easy—and enjoyable—it was. “Thanks,” he said. “I had fun.”
Elodie smiled. “Me, too.”
As he stepped back into the dining room, Dev realized that he’d never think of the Winchesters’ Christmas party the same way again. He’d always remember this night and the moment he kissed Elodie Winchester on the cheek.
When it came time for the gifts, she was the one who handed him his elaborately wrapped present.
“I picked it out especially for you,” she whispered.
Dev smiled.
He watched her for the rest of the night as she mingled among the guests. If he could have kissed her again, he would have. But he knew the dangers of crossing that invisible line. As much as he might enjoy Elodie’s company, this was just one night.
It all would begin and end right here.
DEV CASSIDY PULLED the police cruiser up to the curb in front of Zelda’s Café and turned off the ignition. The sun had come up over an hour ago and the sleepy town of Winchester was just beginning to move.
When the mill had been operating, the town’s days had begun much earlier, the blare of the first-shift whistle splitting the morning silence at precisely 6:00 a.m. But everything had changed since the Winchester family’s flagship business had failed. A secure future had disappeared for so many of the town’s residents. Stores had closed, people had moved out, more businesses had closed, and within three years Winchester was nothing but a shell filled with empty buildings and broken lives.
Most everyone blamed Frederick Winchester, but Dev knew it had been a confluence of events. The Winchester textile mill had been one of the last independently owned family mills in the state. Competing with the newer, more state-of-the-art corporate mills had been an impossible task. The national financial collapse of 2008 hadn’t helped.
Still, the whole thing had left behind a bitter taste for the residents of Winchester. A few weeks after closing the mill, the family had packed up and moved out of town. Then the truth had come out. The Winchesters were bankrupt, the mill mortgaged to the hilt, and there was nothing left to do but close and liquidate. Pensions had disappeared and hopes and dreams of a bright future had been dashed.
It might not have been so bad if it hadn’t been for the way Frederick had handled the situation. With no interest in trying to salvage the business, he’d held a fire sale. Within a week, they’d buried their father and left with the last pennies of the family fortune. All that remained was the mansion that sat on the hill overlooking what was left of Winchester.
As Dev got out of the car, he glanced up at the freshly painted sign above the café’s door. Zelda’s Café had opened last month, spurred on by the town council’s attempt to rejuvenate the downtown. The owner, Joan Fitzgerald, had been a manager at the mill and was now baking her prize-winning cinnamon rolls and serving up fancy coffee drinks with exotic Italian names.
The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside the cool interior. Air-conditioning was always a pleasant relief from the hot, humid weather that was typical for early July in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Dev took a spot at the counter and grabbed a menu, checking out the specials before settling on his usual.
Joanie approached with a mug and the coffeepot. “Gonna be a hot one today. You sure I can’t get you a sweet tea instead of coffee?”
“Hit me with the caffeine,” he said, nodding to the mug. “And I’ll have my usual.”
“Grannie’s Granola with yogurt and berries,” she said. “Raspberries today. I picked them fresh yesterday.”
He watched her prepare the dish, layering her homemade granola with fresh vanilla yogurt in a parfait glass. She topped it with a handful of berries and set it in front of him.
The place was still quiet, so Joanie pulled up a stool and sat across from him, sipping at a glass of orange juice. “That break-in down at Feller’s filling station? You might want to talk to Jimmy Joe Babcock about that. His brother was in here yesterday and mentioned a brand-new set of tires he received from Jimmy Joe for his birthday.”
Zelda’s was the central processing station for most of the town’s gossip, now that the mill was closed. If there was anything of interest going on in Winchester, Joanie heard about it and passed it along to Dev. Like a few other local businesspeople in town, she understood that if Winchester was going to flourish again, Dev needed to rid it of the petty crime that chipped away at its foundation.
“Yeah, I had my eye on him. That boy needs a job. Sixteen and already in big trouble. Can’t you find a spot for him here at the restaurant?”
Joanie shook her head. “I’m already overstaffed with dishwashers and bussers, thanks to you. Now, if he could wash windows, I might have work for him.”
Dev looked over at the café’s huge plate-glass windows that faced the street. “I could probably help you out with that,” he said.
He chatted with a few of the customers as he finished his breakfast, then grabbed another coffee to go before he waved goodbye to Joanie. “I’ll send someone by to get at those windows,” he called as he walked out the door.
Dev stood outside the café and took in the street, his gaze drifting from one end to the other. Most of the buildings were empty, windows revealing one failure after another. But here and there, small entrepreneurs had found a way to make something new. Winchester had always depended upon the mill for its livelihood, and now the town needed something different. But what?
Dev fixed his gaze on a white sedan he didn’t recognize at the far end of the block. He watched as it slowly drove by. Rental plates. He looked up at the driver and his breath caught in his throat. Their eyes locked for a moment and his pulse leaped. Elodie Winchester?
She was there in front of him and then just as quickly disappearing down the road. He glanced down at the car’s license plate and quickly memorized the number. When he got to the cruiser, he grabbed the radio and called in to dispatch. “Sally, this is Dev. I need you to run a plate for me. It’s a rental car, probably out of Asheville.” Dev recited the numbers and then sat back and waited for Sally’s results, sipping his coffee as his mind spun with the possibilities.
It didn’t make sense. The Winchester family had cleared out six years ago. And after the mess they’d left, most folks didn’t expect to see a real Winchester ever again—and didn’t want to.
Hell,