3 Madness in Christmas River by Meg Muldoon Read Free Book Online

stepped out.
    My slipper suddenly hit something round and light. It rolled across the deck, hitting one of the side railings, and bounced back my way, slamming against the house and cracking into dozens of sharp and shiny shards.
    I glanced around, looking up and down the street. Looking for whoever might have left a glittery Christmas tree ornament on my porch.
    But the street was practically deserted. The only sign of life was the smoke billowing from the chimney across the way. 
    I knelt down, taking a closer look at the shattered ornament, compelled by something that appeared to have been inside of it. 
    I brushed away the sharp pieces of glass with the sleeve of my robe and picked up a weathered, rolled-up piece of paper. I flattened it out, realizing that it was an old photo.
    The picture was of a young guy who couldn’t have been more than 20. He was wearing a black leather jacket, and he had a smattering of acne across his face. A silver pendant hung from his neck. He was puffing out his chest and staring at the camera with a deadpan expression, trying to act serious. But the beginnings of a smile were starting to form at the edges of his mouth. And I knew that if the camera had been a video camera instead, the next still would have shown him laughing.
    There was a big blurry spot at the bottom of the camera that was clearly the finger of the photographer, inadvertently getting in the way of the shot.
    I didn’t know what to make of it.
    What was this old photo doing rolled up in a Christmas ornament?
    And what was that Christmas ornament doing on my porch?
    I heard the sound of snow tires cracking against concrete in the street.
    I looked up.
    A sheriff’s patrol car was sitting at the curb.
     

 
    Chapter 11
     
    I stuffed the photo deep into my pocket and started scraping together the broken shards of the ornament with my slippers into a little pile off to the side of the porch. I pushed the mess behind our small dog sculpture that said “Welcome.”  
    There was no reason for me to hide the photo. But I didn’t know what to make of it, and it seemed better to keep it to myself until I did.
    Right away, I recognized Deputy Owen McHale sitting in the front seat of the patrol car.
    Deputy McHale was one of the young cops that Daniel had invited to our Thanksgiving celebration. I didn’t know him all that well. He was a quiet, pensive type who had hardly spoken two sentences to me since arriving in Christmas River. Daniel seemed to like him a lot, though, so whenever I saw him, I always went overboard in being nice.
    But if I were being honest, Deputy McHale hadn’t won me over yet. He didn’t say a word about the meal I’d made at Thanksgiving, and in my book, that was plain rude.
    Deputy McHale got out of the car and walked slowly and deliberately over the snow heap piled high along the curb—remnants of our first snow storm of the season a week earlier.
    I wrapped my fleece robe tighter around my waist. Huckleberry started barking at the screen door when Deputy McHale was about halfway up the driveway.
    I glanced over, letting Huckleberry know it was okay.
    He stopped barking, just like the well-trained pooch that he was.  
    I placed my hands in the pockets of my robe and watched the deputy as he walked up.
    “Hi,” I said as he ascended the steps. “Back for some leftovers?”
    I flashed him an easygoing smile.
    Owen McHale had come to Christmas River from Philadelphia, or maybe it was Pittsburg, about six months earlier. He was in his mid-twenties, kept his blonde hair closely cropped, buttoned his uniform up all the way, and hardly ever spoke.
    But most of the time, the deficiencies in his manners were forgiven by the folks of Christmas River simply because Owen McHale was good-looking. Very good looking. When he first arrived in town, it was all any of the women could talk about here. From schools teachers, to stay-at-home moms, to baristas at the local Safeway Starbucks—I’d heard all of