Shirlee McCoy - Little Girl Lost

Later. When she didn’t have so much going on, so many things to deal with, she’d sit down and look at her options. For now, she’d just take things a day at a time and pray that God would keep her from making too many mistakes.

An hour later, she realized that He’d allowed her to make at least one. The Winter Fest Princess costume had seemed harmless enough when she’d picked it up earlier in the day. Now that she was wearing it, she was sure it had its origins as a medieval torture device. The corset top pinched in at the waist and the brocade skirt weighed almost as much as Portia herself. The tiara dug into her scalp and made her uncontrollable curls stick out in a hundred different directions. Beautiful she was not, but a promise was a promise, and she somehow managed to stuff herself and ten layers of petticoats into the Bug.

As she’d expected, the parade route was cordoned off, parking close to the beginning of the route was impossible. Fifteen minutes after she’d arrived in town, she parallel-parked between two pickups on a street fifteen blocks from where she needed to be. She was already five minutes late. Mr. Dugal wouldn’t be pleased.

The heavy, fur-lined cape slowed her pace, but she managed a semi-jog, her high-heeled boots slipping and sliding over icy patches.

“You look like Cinderella running from the ball.” Mick’s voice was a deep, warm and all too familiar surprise. “Only, no glass slippers.”

“Glass? Please. I’m having enough trouble in these.” As if to prove the point, her foot slipped and she slid sideways.

“Maybe if you slowed down…” He grabbed her elbow, the amusement in his gaze obvious.

“I can’t slow down. The parade is going to start in fifteen minutes and I’ve got to be in it.”

“Ah, the Winter Fest Princess. I’d almost forgotten that tradition.”

“Forgotten?”

“I grew up here. Went to school with your sister, Miranda.”

“Really? I’m surprised I don’t remember you.”

“You were probably still in pigtails when I left town.” His gloved fingers cupped her arm, his shoulder brushing against Portia’s as they walked, and she was absolutely certain that if she’d ever met him, she would have remembered him.

She swallowed hard, trying to force down fluttery nerves she had no business feeling. “My pigtail phase lasted a while. I still sport the style sometimes.”

“Not tonight, though.” He used his free hand to touch the curls that framed her face, his eyes dark blue in the evening light. “I have to say, I like the curls.”

“Thanks.” She needed to change the subject fast. The conversation felt way too personal. “I guess your ice fishing trip is over.”

“It had to be. I’m on duty tonight.”

“Too bad.”

“Not really. I haven’t been to a Winter Fest Parade in years. I’d forgotten how many beautiful sights there were to see.” His words, coupled with the appreciative gleam in his eyes, were a quiet caress that stole Portia’s breath.

“Yeah, well, the local businesses really do go all out to make impressive floats.”

Mick laughed and shook his head. “I’m making you uncomfortable. I’ll stop. There is Mr. Dugal’s carriage, so I guess I’ll say goodbye for now.”

“Thanks for escorting me. I hope you didn’t go too far out of your way.”

“Actually, I ended up exactly where I needed to be. There’s something we need to discuss.” He turned to face her, the hardness in his eyes warning that Portia wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “Your grandfather’s actions earlier today.”

He knew. Somehow he’d already found out about the attack against Alannah.

“I can tell from your silence that you know exactly what I’m talking about. How about we meet after the parade?”

“Mick—”

“Mr. Dugal is heading this way and he doesn’t look happy. So, as much as I’d like to get your version of what happened this afternoon, I think it had better wait.”

“But—”

“Portia Blanchard, what is it you’re waiting for? A written invitation? The parade is about to start.” Mr. Dugal’s voice carried over the sounds of music and laughter that filled the night, and Portia winced, knowing she had to hurry or risk the entire town knowing she’d been late. That would almost be as bad for Aunt Winnie’s reputation as coming up a few cookies short in the snacks she’d provided. After all, despite Portia and her sisters’ ages, the town regarded everything they did as a reflection of the woman who had raised them.

“All right, I’ll meet you after the parade.”

“I’ll be at the end of the parade route. Until then, do your best not to worry about it.”

Portia nodded, but couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. Alannah had actually gone to the police. Could things get any worse?

“Stop frowning. I can’t have a sour-looking Winter Fest Princess riding in the parade.” Mr. Dugal helped her up into the turn-of-the-century carriage, his stooped shoulders set against the winter chill, his frizzy white hair peeking from beneath a black top hat.

Behind the carriage, the high-school marching band practiced, trumpets blaring, drums pounding a jazzy beat. Beyond them floats created by local businesses waited—a wedding cake made of flowers, a snow family perched in front of a gingerbread house. Portia couldn’t see the rest, but knew from past experience they’d all be just as elaborate and beautiful. The comfortable familiarity of it should have eased her tension, but Mick’s words made relaxing difficult and enjoying the carriage ride almost impossible.

People waved and shouted greetings as the carriage lurched forward and the parade began. Portia did her best to smile and wave in true Winter Fest Princess fashion, though her insides were knotted up tight, her pulse racing. Had Alannah pressed charges? Would the police be at the Manor when Portia returned? What would happen to Grandfather? The questions circled in her mind. The trip down Main Street seemed to take an eternity, the two-mile trek feeling more like twenty. Portia wanted to hop out of the slow-moving carriage and run to the end of the parade route. Unfortunately, the entire route was lined with spectators. Many were people she knew. It was bad enough to contend for the position of oldest Winter Fest Princess; she didn’t want to go down in history as the only princess to abandon her post.

Finally, Mr. Dugal pulled on to a side street and parked the carriage. “That’s it, end of the road. You want me to bring you back up?”

“No, my car is actually closer to this end.”

“Then I’ll let you out here. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“You, too.” She climbed down from the carriage and watched until it turned a corner and disappeared from sight. The alley was dark, shadowed by buildings to either side. Portia had been here many times as a child, playing with friends who lived in one of the Queen Annes that lined the street.

She started toward the mouth of the alley, hoping Mick would be easy to find in the crowd. The sooner she spoke to him and cleared things up, the better. Though she wasn’t sure talking would do any good if Alannah had pressed charges. Something shuffled in the darkness behind her, a whisper of a sound that shivered along Portia’s spine and had her turning to peer into the blackness.

“Hello?” Nothing moved, and Portia almost convinced herself that the sound had been her imagination. Then it came again. More a rustle than a footfall. Shadows shifted, a strange realignment of blacks and grays that made Portia blink and step back.

“Is someone there?” She backed up again, moving as quickly as she could in the cumbersome dress, afraid to turn her back on whatever stood in the shadows.