Punkin raised his muzzle, sniffed the air, and went right back to sleep.

It was just after eleven, and the air was cold and crisp, with what her father called bluebird skies. Ivy scuffed along through the fallen leaves on the narrow two-lane blacktop road into town, waving at the occasional truck or car that slowed, then passed by. As she walked, her thoughts returned to the poignant note tucked in the pocket of the Santa suit.

Maybe, while she was in town, she could find out more about the identity of the note’s author.

Tarburton was clearly a town that got behind Christmas. Display windows in the shops around the square were decked out for the holidays, all the utility poles wore large evergreen wreaths with perky red bows, and in the center of the square itself was a towering Fraser fir glittering with oversized white, silver, and gold ornaments and lights.

Ivy wandered around the business district until she spotted a café called The Coffee Cup.

Every booth in the café was occupied, but she slid onto an empty stool at the counter right next to the cash register. The walls were egg yolk yellow and the countertop was yellow Formica and the room buzzed with dozens of conversations.

“Coffee?” The waitress placed a thick china mug before her and started to pour before Ivy had time to answer.

“You know what you want to eat?” The waitress looked to be about Ivy’s age, with white blond hair swept into a high ponytail and dark penciled-on eyebrows.

“Could I see a menu?”

The waitress slid a laminated sheet of paper in front of Ivy. “You must be new in town, huh?”

Ivy scanned the menu. “Yes, I just moved in.” She was trying to decide between a club sandwich and a hot roast beef sandwich.

“The special’s good today. Pork chop, baked apples, and collard greens,” the waitress said, pointing to a piece of paper clipped to the menu. “Whereabouts did you move to? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I’ll have the special, then,” Ivy said. “Do you know Four Roses Farm?”

“You mean the Christmas house? Bob and Betty Rae’s old place? I didn’t even know it was for sale.”

“That’s the one,” Ivy said. “Did you happen to know the Roses? I found this old Santa suit, and there’s a note in the pocket I’m wondering about.…”

“You want that chop fried or baked?” the waitress asked.

“Baked.”

“Corn bread or biscuit?”

“Biscuit.”

“Got it.” The waitress walked away, scribbling on her order pad.

Ivy sipped her coffee and half listened to the buzz of conversation surrounding her. Ten minutes later, the waitress slid a heaping plate in front of her. “Thanks,” Ivy said.

“Are y’all gonna start lighting up the Christmas house again this year?” the waitress asked, tucking Ivy’s check under the edge of the plate.

Ivy shook her head. There was no “y’all” at the farmhouse, unless you included Punkin, but she knew from experience that he was useless at chores that required opposable thumbs.