Ink & Snow (Clair de la Lune #1)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

I ’d known Clair de la Lune was a small town nestled in the mountains before I’d gotten on the road today. The realtor had warned me about the long drive, given the weather and the serpentine road that led to Clair de la Lune, though I had chalked that up to his inability to interpret a simple map search. The map search had assured me the drive wasn’t really as long as the realtor had said, and I had trusted technology.

Turns out the Internet was wrong and the realtor was right, and the joke was on me, and the solid snow cover on the road that had been mere slush back in Newstaten wasn’t helping.

“Come on, it’s just this little hill,” I told my electric car, fondly patting the dash. “And then that needle curve up ahead.”

The little shit of a car chose that exact moment to give up the ghost. It wasn’t even a dramatic dying of the engine, it just shut down, leaving me with enough time to pull the hand brake and hit the hazard lights at least.

“It’s not a bad fucking omen, Soyer,” I said, looking at myself in the rearview mirror. “This is a good decision. Moving during winter maybe not so much, but this is good . Starting fresh and all that. Just a rocky start. A snowy start.”

And it was still coming down, though the landscape around me was already blanketed in the stuff, tree skeletons and bush bones hiding under white, all the strength they’d need to explode in a shower of greens and petals undoubtedly hidden in their roots.

I grabbed my phone to find the nearest car mechanic and call them to tow me in, but given that bad things loved coming in little groups, I had no reception. Like, none.

“Okay, a rocky, snowy start in the middle of nowhere on a lonely country road on which you might freeze to death. Otherwise, good decision, Soyer, real fucking good.”

I considered my options. One, get out of the car and walk to Clair de la Lune. It probably wasn’t that far on foot, but I’d have to walk on the road, which miraculously had been plowed maybe a day ago, given the mounds on either side, and with my luck, that would get me run over. Especially since night was falling and visibility would only go down from here.

Option two, wait in the car. If no one came by, freezing to death was still on the table. But there was booze in one of the moving boxes in the back, and on the passenger seat sat a large bag of bagels I’d splurged on before leaving the city in fear that a small town might not have a bagel shop, a horror that had really only dawned on me after I’d finalized the purchase of the house on Main with the little storefront and the apartment above I’d soon call home. If I survived getting to the damn town, of course.

Or, option three, I could get out and walk around, hoping my phone would connect to the world at large at some point so I could call for help. I might still get run over that way, and I wasn’t sure whether getting run over or turning into an icicle was preferable.

I went with what was easiest for now and stayed in the car. I pulled off my gloves—really, needing gloves to drive because it was so freaking cold simply seemed vile. What had I been thinking coming out here?

I snorted as I opened the bag next to me and pulled out a bagel. I knew exactly what I’d been thinking. Cecil, my asshole ex wouldn’t want to follow me here. That had been it, my prime motivator for uprooting my life. Well, one of the prime motivators at any rate.

Had I maybe fantasized about seducing and corrupting a plain young villager to warm my bed? Maybe, but that was just because fucking someone else was the best way to get over a broken relationship, and I badly wanted to get over Cecil.

Scratch that. I am over him. This is just phantom anger now that the cause of it is gone. It’ll pass. I just have to remember to find that plain-faced villager to help me fuck the anger right out of my system.

I was halfway through a plain salt and pepper bagel, licking some salt off my bottom lip, when I heard the noise of a large mechanical beast approaching. Hopefully, the townies weren’t some kind of post-apocalyptic cult geared toward survival out here with nubile men strapped to the hoods of their cars. That would be bad. I was sort of nubile.

As it turned out, I’d not been stranded on Fury Road, and the noise was just a snowplow. Even before I could make up my mind to get out and try to get the plow to stop, the driver did so, keeping the engine running while he got out and walked toward me.

The guy was your typical rough-around-the-edges blue-collar type. Big boots, plaid jacket, beige woolen cap and a beard that hid whether he was angry, gleeful, or something else entirely.

I heard him stomp, the snow crunching as he went. Those big boots looked as if they had spikes on the soles. With his gloves on, he rapped against my window.

“Hey. You need help?” he shouted before I even opened it.

Of course the window wouldn’t lower when I hit the button, so I opened the door instead. “Hi. I do, actually. My car broke down. The battery, I think. And there’s no reception.”

He grunted, nodded. “Headed to Clair? You the chap who bought Fran’s Flowers?”

Okay then. Welcome, small town life. “Do you also know my social security number?” I asked.

He gave me a confused look. “No. It’s just the moving van was there yesterday, and they carried in your things. Also, Fran told everyone before she left how she sold to someone from the city. You drive a vehicle not suitable for this road but fine for the city, and there are moving boxes in your back seat. You fit the bill.”

Well, color me surprised. And uncomfortably scrutinized. “I didn’t realize the town PI was driving a snowplow.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m the sheriff, Dwayne McArthur. The snowplow is a side gig since Ed retired. You are?”

My fucking string of bad luck was still going. I’d attracted the attention of the law before even moving into the fucking town. Also, who the fuck was Ed?

“Soyer Bennet, Sheriff McArthur.” I held out my ungloved hand, and he shook after pulling off his own glove.

“Call me Dwayne. People only call me Sheriff or McArthur when they’re in trouble. Now, I’ll go grab my towline, and then we’ll get you home. Sit tight.”

“Of course, Sheriff,” I said, biting my lip. I’d have to remind myself that I specifically had picked this place because I didn’t want to be in trouble, near trouble, or remotely related to trouble ever again.

True to his word, McArthur got me to town, pulling me behind him so absolutely none of the townspeople could miss my dramatic arrival. On the plus side, I had the chance to get a good look at the place.

Unlike in the city, the sky loomed low, none of the houses taller than maybe four stories, if that. A lot of the buildings were actually much smaller.

The homes with yards had decorations up, some more, some less, some going very much overboard and dominating their respective street. The family homes themselves tended toward medium-sized, well kept, painted white or light pastels.

“Fucking quaint,” I said, tapping the steering wheel with my finger.

McArthur pulled me toward the town center, which was an oval-ish park thing, not really big enough to be a proper park, but featuring a gazebo and greenery, even cleared walking paths, making evident the attempt of being like a park. In keeping with the season, lights and decorations had been strung on a tall fir close to the gazebo, and dotted throughout the pseudo-park, large candy canes stood, their red and white like warning beacons in the snow.

As we passed the gazebo, my jaw dropped slightly. There, under the snow-covered octagonal roof, stood a group of carolers wearing red and green and tinsel on their merry hats. I looked around to see if anyone was filming this shit, but no. They were doing it because it was normal behavior in their natural habitat.

“Calm the fuck down. You knew what you were getting yourself into,” I told my mirror image. My grip on the steering wheel had tightened, and I forced myself to ease it.

If things got too weird out here, I could always sell again and move on to somewhere else. I had the savings for it, even if I lost money on the townhouse. The townhouse in front of which Sheriff Dwayne stopped, his brake lights prompting me to pull the hand brake again.

Out my window, I saw the sign above the dark store, a simple work of white letters on a green background: Fran’s Flowers . I’d thought about replacing it before getting here, but in the end I couldn’t be bothered. Besides, I hadn’t decided yet what I wanted to call the place. I knew I wanted to change it, and to do that, the name had to fit. To make it fit, I’d have to break it in, to make it mine.

McArthur got out of his plow, feet pounding on the compacted snow of the road. I opened my door as well, more than ready to stretch my legs. The icy cold hit me right in the face, a needling snowflake landing right in my eye.

“This is it,” the sheriff said. “You got the keys?”

“Yup.” I patted the pockets of my jacket.

McArthur looked me over, though not in the sexy kind of way. Also not in the check-for-weapons kind of way, so there was that.

“You need to go shopping.”

“Excuse me?” The last person to criticize my clothing choices had been my mother, bless her heart, and even that had been years ago.

“It’s not even December yet, so the weather is bound to get worse. You’ll need something a little more outdoorsy than that if you plan on leaving the house in winter.”

Was he…suggesting it was going to get fucking colder?

“Ah. I see.” I kept my face even.

“Go see the triplets about some winter gear,” the sheriff said.

Okay, so maybe it was a cult after all. My bad, should’ve asked the realtor about that. I put on a stale smile.

“I need to go see the triplets. I see .”

McArthur gestured to approximately the opposite end of the town center. “Store’s called We Hikin’ Love It . They should have everything you need. You’re probably used to one-day shipping and whatnot, but we don’t really get that here. If the roads are really bad, it can take a while.”

Same-day shipping, actually, and fuck if I wasn’t aware of the lack. The old owner of the store, Fran, had told me her flower supplier came once a week “just like the mailman.”

“Duly noted. Do I owe you anything for towing me in?”

McArthur waved that off. “Nah. Just being neighborly. Go on, open up, and I’ll help you carry in your boxes. Does your battery just need charging, or do I need to call Ed?”

“Ed with the snowplow?” I asked.

“Formerly. He’s retired. But his niece runs his car shop now. He just picks up the phone these days.”

“I see,” I said once more, hoping that I eventually would. Was I supposed to memorize what he was telling me? Was it pertinent to townie life? Who the fuck knew. “I appreciate that, but I think a charge should do it.”

“All right.”

Without being invited to do so, the sheriff stepped around me, opened a car door, and picked up two boxes, giving me an expectant look. He gave off a lot of red flags for unlawful searches here, but my feet were getting cold, and I decided to let it pass for now.

I stepped through flurries, fishing the key from my pocket. It had gotten tangled in an old gum wrapper, which fell out as I pulled out the key. I’d have ignored that normally, but with McArthur behind me, I decided not to risk it and picked it up before he put me in a cell for the night for littering.

As I crossed the sidewalk to get to the door, I looked around. The shop to the immediate right of mine was, of all the things, a tattoo parlor. Wicked Lines featured a glossy sign with white print on black. The lettering itself was clear, but next to the name, a rose had been made into a delicate, abstract piece of art. I couldn’t fault anything about it, could barely tear my eyes away from the design.

“You lost?” McArthur said from too close behind me.

The snow was doing things to me. I’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. At least McArthur didn’t throw expletives at me like people in the city might have.

“No, just taking everything in.”

“Right. Sure Elias will be by to offer you a tour bright ’n’ early I bet.”

He had to be baiting me at this point. He couldn’t possibly expect me to know who the fuck Elias was or to care. But I had been in interrogation rooms with objectively scarier cops, and they hadn’t fazed me. McArthur wasn’t going to either.

“Okay,” I said and finally made my way to the door.

As I turned the key, I noticed the former owner hadn’t taken down the mistletoe wreath that hung there, red ribbons winding around it. A dusting of white had collected on the shiny leaves, and I brushed some off automatically. The door swung open to blessed warmth and to a shop still mostly stocked. We’d arranged it that way. I took a quick look around, noticing a gift-wrapped box on the counter, which I ignored for now.

“You can just leave everything down here,” I told McArthur.

“You sure? It’s not a bother.”

“I insist. You’ve already been so helpful, Sheriff.”

“It’s Dwayne. And we’re a helpful bunch out here. Why don’t you take them upstairs and I carry them in? Should give you a chance to warm up a bit.”

I offered a lukewarm agreement. Truth be told, I didn’t not like the idea. I was fucking cold, and all I wanted was a warm bubble bath in my very own Cecil-free bathroom.