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“Yeah, of course.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious.” It wasn’t completely a joke. Not like we used to use to tease each other. But it was unexpectedly close.

There was no smile in Raleigh’s voice. “Listen, if Malcolm isn’t responsible for what happened to Astrid, then someone else is. That person could very well be at the party tonight.”

Chapter Ten

I’d already been running late before the phone call with Raleigh.

By the time I showered, changed, and called an Uber—I wasn’t taking any chances on someone tampering with my vehicle or getting pulled over after a couple of drinks at the party—I was almost fifty minutes late.

Thatwas going to look terrific. And probably further alarm Malcolm.

Although, maybe me actually showing up was the most alarming idea.

The Uber pulled into the crowded parking lot. I got out and went up the steps to the long wooden porch of the Hygge Haven Inn. Then I spent a couple of minutes trying to come up with excuses for why it wasn’t really necessary to attend this party.

What if they all still thought I was guilty of killing Tom?

What if they blamed me for Astrid’s death?

What if word was out that I’d suggested I might sell the company? How soon before theCopenhagen Herald’sSunday edition hit the stands? Five a.m.? Earlier?

What if Malcolm was dropping hints that I was having a mental breakdown?

What if? What if? What if?

What would Astrid do?

I knew she would laugh at the very idea, and felt a bit better.Deep breath. I opened the large carved wood door with its pretty frosted glass panels, and stepped inside.

For the last fifty years, the Bredahl annual holiday party had been held in the charming old inn off Route 39. Just stepping through the doors and out of the bitter cold felt like receiving a warm hug. The lobby area was comfortingly scented with vanilla, cedar, and apples. Aged wooden beams gleamed overhead. The glossy floors were covered with thick, plush rugs. Deep leather sofas and armchairs were strategically placed in inviting groupings. In the heart of the room was the grand stone fireplace, its large mantel adorned with lush green garland intertwined with twinkling lights. A towering Christmas tree stood near a giant window, branches laden with handmade wooden ornaments, vintage baubles, and strings of cranberries and popcorn. Underneath its green branches was a landslide of gifts in old-fashioned wrapping paper.

Once upon a time—twenty years ago—I’d been fascinated by the promise of all those lovely, mysterious presents. Now I understood that they were just pretty, empty boxes. No, to be fair, they were symbols, not reality.

As always, several Bredahl employees had taken their drinks and slipped out of the banquet room to chat in cozy privacy. Usually, I’d have been one of them.

But tonight, I was a man on a mission. Even if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what my mission was.

I strode toward the banquet room, raising my hand in greeting to the one or two employees who automatically glanced my way. Wilma from customer service dropped her drink. I could hear the whispers—they weren’t exactly whispers—and I kept walking.

As I reached the open double doors to the banquet room, I heard Malcolm’s voice booming over the microphone, doing the honors on behalf of the Bredahl family. I had to stop for a moment to catch my breath. Not because I was so out of shape—I actually wasn’t that out of shape; working in a prison laundry is hard work both physically and just about every other way you can think of—no, I felt a wave of sheer stage fright at those miles of linen-covered tables surrounded by a chairs and chairs of smiling, talking people. A sea of faces. Many whom I recognized. But many whom I did not. Eleven months is a long time.

“…past weeks have been nearly as difficult for you, but I speak for both Casper and myself when I say how much your kindness and support has meant. I know how much he would have liked to be here tonight, but I’m afraid at this time he’s just not—”

My heart froze then jumped into action.The hell, I thought.

“Sorry I’m late!” I called loudly, walking swiftly through the tables. “The traffic on the 39 wasunbelievable.”

Malcolm said something that was lost in a sudden burst of feedback There was a moment of excruciating dead silence. I could feel every pair of eyes in the room pinned on me. Somehow, I kept walking, hanging on to my big fake ridiculous smile. A low murmur rippled through the crowd, and seemed to grow with each step I took. The murmur swelled into laughter—laughter?—and suddenly people were pushing back their chairs, rising, clapping. There were even a few cheers.

What the hell?

Was that actually for me or was dinner finally being served?

The mic screeched as Malcolm picked it up again and waved it beckoningly. “Late as usual! Come up here, you young rascal. Say hello to these good folks!”