“It was old,” Ben said after a minute. “The wood, the hanger, the string. Something must have just, you know, collapsed after all these years.”
Callie, who’d grown up reading her mother’s Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden mysteries, was skeptical. She’d long released the pepper spray from her fist, but now she dug in the deep pocket of her long down coat to pull out her phone.
Swiping on the phone’s flashlight, she went over to the painting to examine it. Her breath no longer clouded up quite as white, and whatever she had felt in the air seemed to have gone. It was just her and Ben Tremaine, a bunch of vermin (please don’t let it be rats) (or bats), and a painting that had just fallen off the wall at an eerily opportune moment.
“The hanger looks completely intact,” she said in a neutral voice as she skimmed the light over the back of the painting and pulled on the wire with a gloved finger. “It’s made from wire and though it’s a little rusty, it’s not broken or even bent.” She looked up at Ben, who hovered over her.
“I’ll check the wall,” he said, pulling out his own phone for the light.
Callie didn’t stand back while he did the examination. She wanted to make sure it was done to Trixie’s standards, so she joined him at the wall where the painting had hung. She shined her own light over the mildewed and stained wallpaper as they edged right up to the wall, their two beams mingling like the clouds of their breath. She could smell faint mint coming from Ben, they were that close, and Callie was very glad she’d eschewed the cup of coffee she’d considered earlier and had had lemon-flavored sparkling water instead.
“Looks intact to me,” she said needlessly as they both stared at the two nails that had held up the heavy painting. Both protruded from the wall and were angled slightly upright. When Ben tried to jiggle each of them, neither were loose.
“All right, then,” he said in a quiet voice.
Callie didn’t have anything else to add. There was no way the painting had just fallen from the wall.
Her heart was thudding hard and she wasn’t certain whether it was because she’d been standing so close to Ben, or because of the creepy things happening.
She stepped back and tucked her phone away. And, just in time, she stopped herself from running a hand through her hair, remembering how wild it would look if she pushed off her hat.
Not that it mattered.
Other than that one time she and Ben had kissed—thanks to the mistletoe she was still absolutely not looking at—nothing else had ever happened between them…at least in that way.
They’d been friends, sure, and they’d spent a lot of time together with their group of nerdy compatriots, but that was it. Other than a few spicy conversations about whether Legolas and Eowyn would have made a good couple, and why on earth Firefly had been cancelled—complete with whether Mal and Inara ever got together—everything had been definite “friend zone.”
“Well,” Ben said after a minute. “Are you done here?”
“I should check out the balcony,” she said, suddenly feeling the chill despite her heavy coat. “After all, that’s where the magic” —she gave an awkward chuckle— “is going to happen. But you don’t have to stay. I promise to lock up when I’m done.”
“It’s getting dark pretty quick,” he replied. “Probably best if I stick around, just in case.”
She gave him a little frowny sort of look. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”
“It’s dangerous to be poking around in the dark in an unfamiliar place. Especially one that hasn’t been used for decades,” he said mildly.
“I thought you had a caretaker,” she said, walking with firm, confident steps to the balcony’s door. “Though it really doesn’t look like he does much caretaking.”
“She does just fine,” Ben replied again in that same easy voice. “But her responsibility is really only to make sure the clock and bells—and the New Year’s Eve light-up ball, too—work. Since the rest of the building is unusable.”
“Which is something I plan to change,” Callie said breezily and she turned the knob.
To her surprise and pleasure, the door opened easily and she pushed it wide. The generous expanse of the balcony lay before her, and she stepped out into the wintry air.
A few inches of snow covered the wooden-slatted floor and ornate wrought iron railing. The roofless balcony jutted out in a half-moon shape from one side of the triangular Tremaine Tower building, with the twelve-foot wide clock face only a few feet above. The clock had three sides, and the bell’s cupola was in a peaked-roofed top just above it. The silvery glittering ball that exploded with light every New Year’s Eve sat on the very pointed tip of the cupola.
Callie walked to the railing and stood there, looking out over the quaint village of Wicks Hollow. She was only twenty feet above the ground, which was why this was a usable location for a wedding—the guests would be below, and a small reception would take place inside the building afterward.
The small town of Wicks Hollow was relatively quiet in December, although tourists did come in from Chicago, Detroit, or Grand Rapids for “holiday shopping” weekends. Many of the local shops offered unique and artisan items, and the town was always dressed to the nines, so to speak, in holiday decor starting the week before Thanksgiving. The tourists stayed in Victorian homes turned into bed-and-breakfasts decorated with fresh greenery, candles, and acres of ribbons and garlands.
Orbra’s Tea House also did a healthy business during December for (mostly) ladies who wanted “Holiday Tea” with their friends, sisters, daughters, mothers and so on.
But it was late in the afternoon—just after five—and already the sun had mostly disappeared behind the Lake Michigan horizon. Callie could make out the lake’s black water rippling just beyond the westernmost row of houses, shops, and trees. The small marina was closed for the season, but since the trees had dropped their leaves, she could see the broad and deep expanse of the lake, and the Stony Cape Lighthouse just to the north. The sky was dark blue and the lake was inky, with the horizon being only a blush of pale blue in the wake of the setting sun.
Holiday lights in combinations of green and red and blue and white decorated the lampposts throughout the town—green and red on Pamela Boulevard, and blue and white on Faith Avenue. Massive urns spilling with holly, spruce, and fake poinsettias dotted each corner, and wreaths adorned every streetlamp.
In the center of town, just beyond a small park from Tremaine Tower, grew a thirty-foot pine tree that was kept trimmed into a perfect elongated triangle shape. It had been decorated with white and green glittering lights, stars, and reams upon reams of silver and gold garlands. A sparkling three-dimensional star sat on the top branch. Streaks of tinsel and glitter lights arched from each tip of the star, bouncing and dancing in the breeze.
Below, tourists and villagers walked along the streets carrying shopping bags, pushing strollers, managing leashed dogs, and holding hands with loved ones. The little flurry of snowflakes made it look like the consummate festive winter scene.
Callie sighed. This was going to be the perfect place for a wintry, outdoor wedding. She understood why Brenda and Barclay—and the others who’d tragically followed—had chosen the venue originally.