Page 100 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

Covered displays form two rows leading toward the glass doors. Autumn arrangements sit between them with pumpkins, dried flowers, and bundles of wheat tied with burgundy ribbon. The red banner stretches overhead.

My attention catches on a wreath mounted to a wooden stand near the entrance.

Pinecones and artificial maple leaves circle its outer edge. Tiny orange lights are woven among them, though the cord remains unplugged. Near the center, something reflects the glow from the emergency fixture.

A pinpoint of glass.

“Rocco.”

He looks up immediately.

I point toward the wreath. “I think something is watching us.”

He crosses the room and stops before entering the area directly in front of it. His gaze follows mine. He moves to the side, approaches from behind the display, then bends to examine the wreath.

“Carver.”

The deputy joins him. Rocco points between two artificial leaves without touching them.

Another camera.

This one is smaller than the device on the ridge, its lens no larger than the head of a nail. It faces the glass doors, the red banner, and the central aisle where tomorrow’s crowd would gather.

The evidence technician photographs it before carefully removing the wreath from its stand. A wire trails from the camera into a battery pack hidden behind the wooden frame. There is no visible light indicating whether it is active.

“How long has that arrangement been there?” Carver asks.

“Since setup began Tuesday,” the coordinator says from the hallway. Her face has gone pale. “It came from storage with the other decorations.”

“Who had access?”

“Staff. Volunteers. Vendors helping with setup. At least thirty people.”

The technician removes a memory card from the camera and returns to his laptop. Rocco takes my hand and guides me away from the doors while files populate the screen.

Most are short video clips activated by movement. Staff carrying tables. Vendors arranging displays. Families attending the preview evening. Rocco entering and leaving the lodge.

Then my own image appears.

I am walking beside him beneath the red banner, my hand gripping his forearm as the recognition from my vision takes hold. The video captures every second: my color draining, Rocco turning toward me, both of us staring at the covered display positioned inside the entrance.

Someone recorded the moment we realized this was the place I had seen.

The technician advances to the next clip.

It was recorded minutes later, after Rocco took me away from the festival. A man wearing a vendor jacket enters through the rear hall. His cap is pulled low, leaving his face hidden from the camera. He moves directly toward the covered display. Then he kneels beside it and reaches beneath the cloth.

Rocco’s hand closes around mine.

“Clear the building,” he orders.

Deputy Carver reaches for his radio as Rocco pulls me toward the rear exit. The final image remains frozen on the laptop behind us of the man’s hand disappearing beneath the same display that stood behind shattered glass in my vision. Whatever he placed there is still waiting for morning.

Chapter 19

Rocco

Iget Loralee through the rear exit as Deputy Carver orders everyone else out of the lodge. The night air hits us hard. She stumbles once on the uneven ground but recovers before I can lift her. I keep one hand at her back and move her beyond the nearest line of trees, putting the lodge between us and the rest of the festival grounds.