Holiday Horseplay


 
 
 
 holiday horseplay
 
 Tinsel Pine Cozy Mystery
 
 Prequel
 
 wendy meadows
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright © 2022 by Wendy Meadows
 All rights reserved.
 No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
 Majestic Owl Publishing LLC
 P.O. Box 997
 Newport, NH 03773
 
 Created with Vellum
 
 contents
 
 Chapter 1
 
 
 Chapter 2
 
 
 Chapter 3
 
 
 Chapter 4
 
 
 Chapter 5
 
 
 Chapter 6
 
 
 Chapter 7
 
 
 Chapter 8
 
 
 Chapter 9
 
 
 Chapter 10
 
 
 Chapter 11
 
 
 Chapter 12
 
 
 Epilogue
 
 
 More from Wendy
 
 
 About Wendy Meadows
 
 
 
 chapter one
 
 “M om, are you even listening?” Mary demands from the other end of the line.
 I jerk out of my stupor, staring at the endless hypnotizing gray ribbon that is the highway. I’m headed up the East Coast at a leisurely fifty miles an hour, wiping at the occasional speckles of snow that dot my windshield.
 “Um, sorry, Mary. Could you repeat that? I’m afraid your dear old mom isn’t entirely with it today.”
 In truth, I’m groggy and desperately seeking a rest station that serves halfway decent coffee. Edging closer day by day to my fiftieth birthday, I’ve found that Folgers simply can’t cut the mustard any longer.
 “I said I’m not going to stand for this any longer.” Mary enunciates every word precisely. “You’re turning fifty in less than a month, Mother. You cannot be jet-setting up the coast in a cargo van all alone at your age.”
 I’m half-tempted to point out that she’s not in a stable position herself. She was recently—and wrongfully—evicted and fired from a privately owned groomer’s for having the audacity to break up with the owner’s son. Unfortunately, the owner had also been her landlord, and she’d lost both home and job in one fell swoop. But the petty impulse to lash out fades quickly. As much as I love my transient lifestyle, Mary has a point. It’s getting harder and harder for her to track me down for visits, and I desperately want to get to know my estranged little girl.
 “I’ll tell you what,” I say, as I pass the sign announcing the exit to Tinsel Pine, Connecticut. “I’ll settle at the next town I see if you’ll promise to come live with me. Just for a little while, dear. You know I worry about you surfing couches. Someone might try to take advantage.”
 Mary leaps on the offer like it’s made of pure gold. “Deal. You settle someplace and live someplace that isn’t your van, and I’ll move.”
 I smile a small, self-satisfied smile and nod to myself. Though it’s a bit of a stretch for me to tether myself to one place, having Mary with me is more important. It really is for the best.
 The exit for Tinsel Pine forks off the main road ahead and I flick my signal on, sliding gracefully into the narrow off-ramp. “I’m going to get off now, Mary. Please say hello to your father for me.”
 Mary’s voice softens in response to my request. Though we divorced years ago, Daniel and I never really stopped loving each other.
 “I will, Mom. Drive safely and let me know when you’re settled.”
 I promise to text the second I’ve settled in the neighboring town and she hangs up. Ahead, the lights of a town twinkle at me, bright in the gloom of the gathering storm clouds. I adjust my spectacles, trying to get a better look at the place I’ll be calling home. As I glide ever closer, things come into focus.
 The main thoroughfare that leads into town is decked out in gold, red, and green tinsel. Strands of lights cling to the wrought-iron lamp posts that dot the street, casting colorful pools of light onto the narrow sidewalk. Rows of shops line the street, their awnings drooping beneath the weight of the previous night’s snowfall. The name of the nearest catches my eye and I let out an involuntary sigh of relief. A neon sign above the awning depicts a golden mug, filled to the brim with steaming coffee.
 The sign boldly proclaims the place as “The Golden Caff,” and the tagline beneath claims it serves the best coffee in the county. I’m not sure if it’s a claim that holds any weight, but dimes to donuts it’s better than the average gas station fare. At least there is a chance the pot has been changed since five in the morning.
 Parking my van in an open space, I exit and make my way up the barely scraped sidewalk, skirting a drift of snow someone left near the door.
 When I bump the door open with my hip, a chime goes off somewhere deep within the shop. Despite this, almost no one pays me any mind as I make my way to the counter. There are only a few patrons in the shop. Unsurprising, given I’ve hit them at the lull between lunch and dinner. A young woman wearing a bright yellow uniform informs me she’ll be with me momentarily and bustles into the back before I can respond.
 I’m left standing in the middle of the room, coffeeless and cold, unable to do much but listen in on the bickering pair that sit in the booth at the back of the shop. My eyes drift in their direction without