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“Monday is fine,” I said. “The shop opens at nine.”

“He’ll be delighted. Thank you for your time, Ms. Winters.”

The call ended. Griffin had told me what Meridian could do. He had not told me that Victor Crane had called him yesterday.

Pearl came over at one with her laptop and reading glasses. She did not say I told you so, which I noticed and intended to remember.

We crowded into the back office and shut the door. Pearl set her laptop on Adele’s antique secretary while I told her about paragraph nine, Crane’s call to Griffin, and Monday’s visit.

The Meridian Group was real. Victor Crane was a senior partner in San Francisco, and his company invested in commercial properties across Oregon, Montana, and Northern California. Every project began with a local partner. The completed ones listed Meridian as the sole owner.

“There’s nothing about Holly Creek,” Pearl said. “But every project follows the same pattern. Meridian puts up money beside another developer. Later, that developer disappears from the project, and Meridian owns it alone.”

“You think Crane plans to take the buildings from Griffin?”

“I think his company has done it before.”

“He’s coming here Monday.”

“To Winters Wonderland?”

“Monday morning. His assistant said he wants twenty minutes because he admires my window display.”

Pearl removed her glasses. “A man from San Francisco did not send his assistant to arrange a meeting about your garland.”

“I know.”

“I can’t tell you what Meridian’s agreement allows Crane to do because we haven’t seen it. Griffin told you the company had money tied up here. He did not tell you that the man controlling that money called him yesterday, then sent his assistant to you today.” She closed the laptop. “That matters.”

After Pearl returned to the bakery, I called Owen, the town council chair. He received copies of property filings that affected Main Street. If Meridian had put anything on the public record, he should know. “The Meridian Group,” I said when he answered. “Victor Crane. Do either of those names mean anything to you?”

“No. Why?”

“Meridian helped finance Griffin’s purchase. Crane is coming to my shop on Monday.”

There was a long pause, the pause of a man looking at a wall calendar with a snowman on it.

“Nothing from Meridian,” he said. “Cole’s repair permit is the only filing, and it doesn’t name them. No notice of interest, nothing at the county that I’d get copied on. I’d know, Nora. They copy me when somebody replaces a hinge on the cemetery gate.”

“So Meridian didn’t file anything publicly?”

“Nothing. Whatever agreement exists is between Victor Crane and Griffin.” Owen paused. “You’ll have to ask Griffin what he signed. I can’t find an answer that was never filed.”

I told Owen I would call Griffin.

I didn’t.

At four, my phone buzzed against the table.

Griffin

Decking’s down. Frank signed off on it twice, once out loud and once by leaning on it.

I watched the message until the screen dimmed. Then I typed ask him about Victor Crane and let it sit in the box, gray and unsent, before deleting it one character at a time, prolonging the only choice I was willing to make.

Me

Good.