Page 46 of Haystacks and Hoaxes

His lips twisted bitterly. “It’s a gray area.”

The light drones shimmered out again, and a new seriesof pictures appeared — the lone star of Texas, cowboy boots with a strand of Christmas lights circling them, windmills, a pumpjack moving up and down, a boat with water waving beneath it, a gold badge that looked eerily similar to the one worn by the sheriff of Heart Lake, a bird flapping its wings behind a golden cage…

Dread clogged Mila’s throat. “He’s threatening me!” It didn’t make a bit of difference that the light show was being recorded by her brother’s security cameras. Since Troy had begun his drone antics with a marriage proposal, he could simply claim he was romancing the woman he loved with the grand scapes of Texas.

Then the pictures disappeared, and his original question reappeared.

Mila, will you marry me?

“No,” she said fiercely, even though he couldn’t hear her. “Not even if you were the last man standing.” He’d cheated on her the night before they were supposed to be married — with one of their high school classmates, of all people! To this day, she wasn’t sure who’d texted her the photos that had ultimately ended their engagement. It had come from an unidentified number, probably a burner phone.

It was the same classmate he’d enjoyed an on-and-off relationship with, which made his disloyalty sting all the more. His ex-girlfriend had supposedly left town after high school to attend college out of state and major in journalism.

But she was back.

Mila sat back in her chair, stunned. The pictures of Troy Bentley slobbering all over his ex in the party room of a well-known steak restaurant proved that she and her journalism degree were very much back in town.

“Are you okay?” Decker lurched in her direction.

“I think I know who Helen of Troy is.” The realization gave her chills.

“Who?”

“Troy’s ex-girlfriend. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Helen’s exploitation of the runaway bride story had ensured Mila would be buried in the maximum amount of shame. It had been riddled with snide speculation and titillating half-truths that none of the editors at the Heart Lake Times had been willing to fact check. They didn’t have to. The sensationalShe Saidcolumn fell into the editorial category. It was a word salad of little more than malicious gossip — gossip that might’ve swayed the election results out of Decker’s favor if Mila hadn’t worked so hard to counter it with her Cowboys for Kingston posts. A few months later, Helen’s extensive writeup about Troy Bentley’s inheritance had appeared on the sameShe Saidcolumn. Her claim that he was the sole heir of Chester Farm had essentially been printed in an editorial column, not a news article, meaning it might be nothing more than a rumor. Or a deliberate smokescreen to hide the truth.

Mila pressed her hands to her forehead, feeling feverish.

Decker sprinted from the room and returned with a digital thermometer. He rolled it across her forehead and held it up to read the number. “No fever.” His shoulders slumped.

She didn’t share his relief. Her brain felt like it was about to explode. “We need to fact check everything Helen has ever written about Troy, his inheritance, Chester Farm, and the sanctuary status he’s filing for.” It was all connected somehow. She didn’t yet know how, but she intended to find out.

“Because it all appeared in theShe Saidcolumn, eh?” His expression sharpened as he mentally followed her line of thinking.

“There and nowhere else.” She couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her before now.

He wagged a finger at her. “You may be on to something.”

She knew she was.

They returned their attention to his security cameras, but Troy’s light drones were gone. The front lawn was resting in shadows again.

“Show’s over.” Decker searched her face worriedly. “You okay?”

“I am,” she assured. “Merry almost Christmas, Deck.”

“Merry almost Christmas, sis.”

They embraced. Then she returned to the guest room. Sleep, however, remained far from her grasp. After tossing and turning in bed for a while, she sat up and rummaged on the nightstand for her sketchbook and pen. Then she padded in her sock feet down the hallway to the sunroom.

Ollie and Daisy stood up on their cushions and bounded her way, tails wagging. Thankfully, they didn’t bark. All they did was make happy squealing sounds and push their curly heads against her hands for attention. She cuddled with them for a while. Then she settled down on the area rug amidst the array of wicker furniture and opened her sketchpad.

Since she couldn’t sleep, she figured she might as well work on Rock’s Christmas gift. It was way too bad he’d never gotten to tour Chester Farm during its glory days, so she decided to recreate a bit of holiday magic just for him.

Her pen danced over the page as she drew the outline of Farmer Monty’s cozy farmhouse. This time, the shutters were straight, and the porch swing was hanging properly.The urn was also standing upright, holding miniature Christmas trees weighed down with ball ornaments and ribbons. She added the cheerful triple puff of white smoke coming from the chimney that had been there the other day. Instead of blowing sideways in the wind, the puffs were drifting upward in perfect symmetry.

She added the hay huts and the blur of brightly dressed townsfolk moving in and out of them with steaming hot beverages in hand. On a burst of whimsy, she added herself behind the booth at the snack shack, holding out a festive red mug of hot chocolate to none other than Rock Be-Still-My-Heart Hefner.

It was some of her best work, and he was going to like it. She could feel it in her bones. Flipping the sketchbook closed, she pulled one of the decorative pillows off the nearest wicker chair and curled down on the rug between the dogs. Ollie and Daisy snuggled up against her like they’d done the first night.

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