Dena parked on the side of the carriage house. When she’d first inherited the Victorian B and B, she’d assumed she could start walking to work, what with the B and B so close to the elementary school. But being a teacher meant carting files, folders and overflowing plastic totes back and forth, meaning she had to either drive or get some kind of urban burro to help her carry everything. She’d elected to use her car.

She left her car unloading for later and walked across the paved driveway to the front of the large, three-story Victorian. Mid-November should mean plenty of snow on the ground, but not this year. Despite the brown grass, the yard still looked pretty with the brightly colored metal turkeys, gourds and Pilgrims nestled among the plants. Pumpkins sat on each of the steps leading up to the front door. Harvest wreaths hung on the front door and in front of each of the first-floor windows.

The Friday after Thanksgiving, the decor shifted from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Dena took care of the interior decorating—it was one of her traditions—while she hired professionals to do the outside of the B and B. No way she was comfortable getting up on a twenty-foot ladder!

She went inside and did a quick scan of the living room with its comfy sofas, ornate end tables and the massive fireplace along one wall. She checked for out-of-place books or guest items left behind, but found all was well. Past that was the reception area. The reception desk was actually an old bar from a brothel that had existed a hundred fifty years ago, when gold and lumber had first put Wishing Tree, then known as Trading Post, on the map.

Winona, her fortysomething general manager and right-hand woman, looked up and smiled.

“How did it go today? Feeling any better?”

“I only threw up once, and I made it to the bathroom in time.”

“Yay. A victory.”

“A really small one. Everything good here?”

“Yes. The Pinkertons called again, looking for space over Christmas.” Winona sighed. “I wish we could accommodate them. They’re such a wonderful couple.”

Dena agreed. The Pinkertons had been coming to the B and B for Christmas since before Dena had inherited the place. They were older—charming and warm—with a love of crafts of all kinds. Every year they showed up with unexpected gifts for the guests and staff. One year Mrs. Pinkerton had made little stuffed Christmas mice ornaments for every tree in the B and B and for each guest to take home. They’d said this year they were going to be visiting family rather than coming to Wishing Tree, so Dena hadn’t held a room for them, but a change in plans had them requesting a reservation.

“You’ll let them know if anything opens up?” Dena asked, already knowing the answer.