Driving to the offices of the local paper, she’d found herself caught in a clog of traffic, as a steady stream of vehicles headed south. She could guess where. The Cahill Inn and Christmas tree farm drew visitors from all over the Northwest right before the holidays. This year, with the notoriety and mystery surrounding James Cahill’s missing girlfriend, even more people had arrived. Not just searching for Christmas trees at the farm or staying at the inn with its renowned Christmas theme, but because they wanted a glimpse of the place where all the intrigue had started: lookie-loos and gossips.

But they were also readers who would lap up the details of the newspaper’s report on the scandal. Details Charity expected to provide. If she could ever get through this knot of traffic, grab a cup of coffee at the shop near the office, and plead her case to her editor, who happened to also be the owner of the Riggs Crossing Clarion.

She tapped her fingers restlessly on the steering wheel, then gave a sharp beep with her horn as the older Cadillac in front of her wasn’t keeping up with the snail’s pace. “Come on, come on,” she muttered, wondering just how old the woman behind the wheel was. She was so small she seemed to be peering through the steering wheel rather than over it, and she certainly was in no big hurry.

But Charity was.

The Cahill story was hers! And she couldn’t allow some reporter from Seattle or Tacoma or Portland to steal it from under her!

No effin’ way. But she was stuck. She’d tried to phone Cahill at his home, on his cell, and through his businesses. And she’d struck out. She gave the horn another impatient tap. He was avoiding her. And it pissed her off.

As the traffic inched toward the main intersection of town, she fiddled with the dial for the radio, hearing snatches of rap, country, hard rock, political talk, and sports before settling on a station that played Christmas carols 24/7. But the notes of “Frosty the Snowman” got on her nerves, and she snapped the damned thing off. Agitated, she reached for her Juul and remembered she’d left it at her apartment. “Shit.” She’d given up smoking after college and switched to vaping; now she was trying to wean herself off nicotine altogether as vaping was getting a seriously bad rap. Still, right now she could sure use a hit.