I glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. I'd left home an hour before sunrise. The time now was 7:02 – p.m, not a.m. It had been dark for nearly two hours, but my house was just the opposite.
While I'd been away, someone had decorated the outside – and not just a little. Instead, they'd gone all out with white Christmas lights hung along the roofline and twinkling red lights in every tree and shrub.
I looked to my front door and frowned in confusion. When I'd left, the door had been bare. Now, it sported an oversized Christmas wreath with a classic red bow.
Thiswasmy house, right?
I'd been living here for less than a month, and I was still settling in. But I knew where I lived, and yeah, I was in the right place.
Last week, I'd gotten a form letter from the homeowner's association, encouraging residents to decorate for the holidays. The letter had also mentioned some contest for the best decorations, not that I planned to enter.
Even so, I'd been meaning to call a local company and have them toss up some Christmas lights and maybe a wreath or whatever. It didn't much matter. Christmas wasn't my thing, not anymore. But I liked the neighborhood, and I figured I'd do my part.
Except I hadn't.
Not yet.
It was only November, and Christmas was still weeks away.
If my sister lived nearby, I might've suspectedherof doing the deed – decorating the house as some sort of surprise. But even if shewerelocal, which she wasn't, she couldn’t have done this herself – not without a tall ladder and some serious help.
I was still trying to make sense of it when something else caught my eye. It was an old-fashioned sign maybe double the size of my mailbox. The sign wasn't lit, so I hadn't spotted it right away in spite of its prominent position near the front walkway.
But I was noticing it now.The sign looked like something from Santa's workshop, assuming I believed in such a thing. The sign's stem had a classic candy-cane pattern while the sign's upper portion was red with big black letters.
The letters spelled four words.Welcome to Kitten Cove.
It was an obvious play on words. The neighborhood's real name was Carlton Cove, which was pretty damn funny, considering that the bluff overlooking the water was long and straight.No cove.But the neighborhooddidhave maybe a dozen houses overlooking Lake Michigan.
One of those houses was mine, and it hadn't come cheap. But of course, nothing in this neighborhood was. Even the homes furthest from the bluff would have been well beyond my reach just a decade ago.
A lot had changed since then.
I gave the sign another look. My sister was more of a dog person, so that ruledherout, unless it was some kind of joke.
If so, I didn't get it.
With a shake of my head, I gave up on guessing and hit the button to open the garage.
One way or another, I'd be getting to the bottom of this, and I'd be doing it tonight.
Chapter 4
Lexie
For what felt like the millionth time, I was standing near the front window, peeking out through the gaps in the window blinds. "I don't get it."
Gwen and Harper were sprawled out on the big plush rug in front of the gas fireplace, which was emitting cheerful – if not crackling – flames.
My cousin and sister were surrounded by all five kittens and Miss Lucy, too. Tonight, the kittens were extra feisty, especially Fred and George, who took turns pouncing on each other as their siblings scampered across the rug.
Harper asked, "You don't get what?" Although she was two years my senior, she was as cute as a button with shoulder-length red hair and just a few freckles, ones that she'd inherited from our mom.
I pointed to the house across the street. "He decorated for Christmas."
"Yeah, I know," Harper said. "We saw it being done, remember?"
Of course I remembered.Sometime around three o'clock, when I'd returned from my part-time job at the candy store downtown, a white van had pulled into Cole Henster's driveway.
