Chapter 1
Amelia Kensington took a step back and studied the garland draping the railing along the wrap-around porch. With a critical eye, she checked the spot where she knew the zip ties were holding the greenery in place. Satisfied that none were showing, she yelled towards the side of the house. “Greg, can you flip the power on?” She held her breath as Greg Adams, the town’s handyman, flipped the breaker. The greenery erupted with small white lights, and she let out a sigh of relief. She looked over as Greg walked around the edge of the house. “The new panel seems to handle the load okay.”
The burly older man stopped next to her and studied the house. “The garland will look great at night.” He looked at the second and third floors of the old Victorian house. “You sure you want the candles in the windows to stay on as well?”
Amelia nodded. “The bedrooms have blackout curtains that can be closed if the light bothers any of the guests.” She studied the wreaths adorning each window of the upper floors with a single LED candle centered in each wreath. When she realized the renovations would be completed in time for Christmas, she coordinated the opening of the inn with the annual festival that takes place in St. Marys every December. She was pretty proud that her marketing effort resulted in the inn being fully booked. She hoped that it boded well for the future. Booking were already coming in for the first part of next year. “Greg, you really outdid yourself in making sure we got done with the renovations in time.”
Smiling, he shrugged and looked back at the house. “It’s about time someone did something with this old house. Another winter without replacing that roof would have destroyed most of the interior, so I’m glad you got to it in time.”
Amelia looked back at the house. There was an odd sense of relief at seeing the house as it was now. A year ago, when they were putting the roof on before the first snow hit, the project had seemed daunting. Paint was peeling, none of the electrical worked, and the plumbing was a mess. Now, as the sun was setting, and the lights twinkled on the railing, it looked like something that might be on a Christmas card. “Thanks Greg. I’m sure your wife will be glad to have you home for a change.”
“Trust me, she isn’t complaining. This job has kept us and the kids fed and clothed for a year.” He walked up the porch steps and picked up his toolbox. “Call me if you have any issues. The first guests show up tomorrow afternoon, right?”
Amelia nodded. “That’ll give me tonight to make sure everything is good overnight.” She watched until his truck disappeared around the bend in the driveway before walking back into the house. The Christmas tree twinkled in the corner of what was now a large entertaining area. They had taken down the wall that separated the formal living room from the dining room and created a room large enough to hold several round dining tables and a couple of cozy nooks. The fireplace lay dormant now, but by the time guests arrived tomorrow, she’d have a fire roaring.
She moved into the room on the other side of the foyer. It was probably her favorite place to just sit and relax, although she had done little of that over the last year. It too had a fireplace, but instead of different seating areas, this was more of her own retreat although she certainly wouldn’t mind guests using it as well. The floor to ceiling bookcases were full of every kind of book someone might want to read.
As much as she would love to curl up on the couch and read, she wanted to run through the eight guest rooms on the second and third floors before getting ready for bed. Climbing the main staircase up to the third floor, she started at the end and worked her way down. Each room had a Christmas theme and had been decorated accordingly. Her favorite was probably the clockmaker’s room on the second floor. It was just above her own bedroom on the first floor. But for now, she was starting with the Dickens room. Decorating for Christmas was easy for this room, but she sincerely hoped for the guests’ sake there would be no visits from ghosts.
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Logan Talbot zipped up his duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. He had already tucked his notes away in his backpack along with his laptop. Officially…he was doing a story on the Twelve Days of Christmas Festival in St Marys. It was a festival that had been going on for almost one hundred years. He was pretty sure the founding fathers of St. Marys had never expected their festival turning into the spectacle that put the small little town on the map for two weeks every December.
Unofficially, he was looking forward to doing some research on a story he came across while getting information about the festival. A series of disappearances occurred a couple of decades ago. It was a footnote in a newspaper article and not much more. Getting into town should let him try to find some more information while appeasing his editor. Maybe the story about the festival would get him out of the doghouse. Or, maybe just solidify that he didn’t have the temperament to work for others. He had an idea for a book rolling around in his head; he just needed more time.
So, he was off to the small town of St Marys for a two-week stay in a bed-and-breakfast that looked like it should be on a Christmas card. He’d write the story for his editor and maybe come away with a bigger story. It was the season of miracles…maybe he would get one of his own and start the new year with a plan.
