Page 36 of No Business Like Snow Business

“But you can’t just have cheese,” he said. “You have to have charcuterie as well, and maybe some olives and artichoke hearts? And wine, obviously.”

“Best I can do is half a can of flat soda.”

He snorted. “I’m taking you out for lunch, Harvey.”

“Yeah.” I hung Martha’s coat for her, and grabbed mine while I tried to remember how old some of the cheese in the refrigerator actually was. It probably hadn’t all been blue when I’d bought it. “Smart choice.”

He snorted again. “Martha, would you like us to bring you back anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you, dear.” She sent a pointed look my way. “I bring a packed lunch every day.”

“Martha’s trying to teach me how to be frugal,” I said. “But the sandwiches you make at home are never as good as the ones you buy. That’s just a scientific fact.”

Sterling laughed. “The Shack?”

“The Shack,” I agreed, and we headed out for lunch.

“So our next lead is Matty Jessup,” I said, moving my half-finished fries aside and setting my phone down on the table. “Who might be Cap Guy. Travis was supposed to get back to me on that after he talked to Bob and Linda, but he hasn’t yet.”

“He’s probably reinstalling the roof on an orphanage or something,” Sterling said. “That seems to be how things work in this town.”

“Uh-huh. I see what you’re going for, but the implication is that no other towns would fix their orphanage roofs, and it’s kind of hard to emphasize that we’re the weird ones when you’re painting everywhere else as being populated by the kind of people who would let orphans freeze to death.”

Sterling blinked at me. “Okay, I see your point.”

“That reminds me,” I said. “I should call the animal shelter.”

“That reminded you?”

“Some of the kittens might be orphans.” I pulled my fries close again and ate one. “So, there’s a Matty Jessup from Christmas Falls on Instagram, but his account is full of high school football players and cheerleaders, so I think he’s probably not the Matty Jessup we’re looking for.”

I showed Sterling my phone.

“I hope he’s not the one we’re looking for.” Sterling took my phone off me to have a closer look. “If this guy was a teen in the nineties, he should be on some sort of watchlist now. Is this the only Matty Jessup you could find?” He waited for my nod and gave my phone back. “Try Matthew instead of Matty. Guys who were Matty in their teens are probably Matthews or Matts by the time they reach fiftyish.”

“With keen insight like that, you and I could definitely start our own detective agency.” I closed Instagram and went to Facebook. “Score! There’s a Matthew Jessup in Christmas Falls. And—ha! Looks like Instagram Matty might be his son. And...Matthew owns a pool cleaning service. Huh. That probably doesn’t get too much business in December.”

“Probably not.”

I began to flick through Matthew Jessup’s public photos. I stopped at one, and showed it to Sterling. “Looks like he’s still working those seasonal Christmas jobs. That’s the waterfall.”

In the photo, Matthew was smiling at the camera. He was tall and bearded, his dark hair threaded with silver, and was leaning up against one of the red wagons that carried visitors from the parking lot to the modest waterfall the town had taken the second part of its name from.

We finished our lunch and walked back to the museum. Then we borrowed Martha’s car—a silver Ford Taurus that had rolled off the production line right about the same time that Whitney Houston’s “So Emotional” was tearing up the charts—and headed off toward the waterfall.

Christmas Falls nestled into a loop of the river like it was getting a hug. Outside of town, just past the Christmas tree farm, the river cascaded over a series of bluffs and into a wide, sparkling lake. The waterfall wasn’t spectacular. The countryside around here was too flat for that. But it was picturesque.

We parked in the lot and joined a few other people waiting for a wagon ride to the lake. There wasn’t a lot to see here apart from a bunch of cars, some trees, and the sky.

“Hey,” I said to the woman selling tickets. “Is Matthew Jessup working today?”

“Sure,” she said. “He’s driving the boat.”

“Two tickets for the boat ride, please.” I waved Sterling out of the way before he could try to pay.

“I don’t think we really need to go on the boat ride,” Sterling said a few moments later as we waited for the wagon. Beside us, a toddler waddled back and forth, bundled up in so many layers he looked like the Michelin Man.

“I know, but it’s been ages since I did it, and it’s fun. Also, youhaveto go on the boat ride, Sterling. It’s in all the ‘Must-See Attractions in Christmas Falls’ articles online. Imagine if people found out you’d been here, and they asked what the boat ride was like, and you had to admit that you didn’t go on it. You’d be a laughing stock.”

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