Debbie Macomber: 1225 Christmas Tree Lane

“So where are we?” Mel asked.

“You’re asking me? ” Linc muttered in frustration.

“Okay, okay.” Mel sighed deeply. “Fighting isn’t going to help us find Mary Jo.”

“You’re right.” Linc pulled over to the side of the road and shifted to face his brothers. “Either of you have any other ideas?”

“We could go to the firehouse and start over,” Mel said.

“Once we’re there, we could get the Hardings’ phone number,” Ned added. “We could call and let Mary Jo know we’re on our way.”

Linc gritted his teeth. “Fine. But have either of you geniuses figured out how to get back to the firehouse?”

“Ah…” Mel glanced at Ned, who shrugged his shoulders.

“I guess we can’t do that because we’re lost.”

“Exactly,” Linc said. “Any other ideas?” He was feeling more helpless and frustrated by the second.

“We could always ask someone,” Ned suggested next.

“ Who are we supposed to ask?” Mel cried. “We haven’t seen another car in over half an hour.”

“There was a place down this road,” Ned said in a tentative voice.

Linc stared at him. “Where?”

“You’re sure about that?” Mel didn’t seem to believe him, and Linc wasn’t convinced, either.

“It’s there, trust me.” Ned’s expression, however, did little to inspire Linc’s confidence.

“I remember the name,” his youngest brother said indignantly. “It was called King’s.”

“What kind of place was it?”

Ned apparently needed time to consider this.

“A tavern?” Linc asked.

Ned shook his head.

“A gas-and-go?” Mel offered.

“Could’ve been. There were a bunch of broken-down cars out front.”

Linc didn’t recall any such place. “How come I didn’t see it?” he asked.

“’Cause you were driving.”

That actually made sense. Concentrating on maneuvering down these back roads in the fog, it was all he could do to make sure his truck didn’t end up in a ditch.

“I think I saw it, too,” Mel said a moment later. “The building’s set off the road, isn’t it?”

Ned perked up. “Yes!”

“With tires edging the driveway?”

“That’s the one!”

“Do we have a prayer of finding it again?” Linc asked his brothers.

Ned and Mel exchanged looks. “I think so,” Ned told him.

“Good.” Linc put the pickup back in gear. “Which way?”

“Turn around,” Ned told him.

Linc started down the road, then thought to ask, “Are you sure this King’s place is open?”

“Looked like it to me.”

“Yeah,” Mel concurred. “There were plenty of lights. Not Christmas lights, though. Regular lights.”

Linc drove in silence for several minutes. Both his brothers were focused on finding this joint. Just when the entire trip seemed futile, Linc crested a hill and emerged out of the fog, which made a tremendous difference in visibility. Instantly he breathed easier.

“There!” Ned shouted, pointing down the roadway.

Linc squinted and, sure enough, he saw the business his brothers had been yapping about. Maybe there was some hope, after all.

Linc had no idea how his sister had ended up in the boondocks. He wished she’d stayed in town, but, oh, no, not Mary Jo.

As they neared the building, Linc noticed a sign that said King’s. Linc could see his brother’s point; it was hard to tell exactly what type of business this was. The sign certainly didn’t give any indication. True, there were beat-up old cars out front, so one might assume it was some sort of junk or salvage yard. The building itself was in ill repair; at the very least, it needed a fresh coat of paint. There wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in sight.

However, the Open sign in the window was lit.

Linc walked up to the door, peered in and saw a small restaurant, basically a counter with a few stools, and a convenience store. He went inside and strolled up to the counter, taking a seat. Mel and Ned joined him.

Alarge over weight man wearing a stained white T-shirt and a white apron waddled over to their end of the counter as if he’d been sitting there all day, waiting for them.

“Merry Christmas,” Linc murmured, reaching for the menu.

“Yeah, whatever.”

This guy was in a charming mood.

“Whaddaya want?” the cook asked.

“Coffee for me,” Linc said.

“What’s the special?” Mel asked, looking at a sign on the wall that said, Ask About Our Daily Special.

“Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, corn.”

“If you want to order food, it’s gotta be takeout,” Linc told his brothers, although now that the subject had come up, Linc realized he was hungry, too. Famished, in fact.

“We do takeout,” the cook said, filling Linc’s mug with coffee that had obviously been in the pot far too long. It was black and thick and resembled liquid tar more than coffee.

“Is that fresh?” Linc risked asking.

“Sure is. Made it yesterday.”

Linc pushed the mug away. “We’ll take three meat loaf sandwiches to go,” he said, making a snap decision.

“You want the mashed potatoes with that?”

“Can I have potato chips instead?” Ned inquired.

“I guess.”

“Say,” Linc said, leaning back on the stool. “Do you happen to know where the Harding ranch is?”

The cook scowled at him. “Who’s askin’?”

Linc didn’t want to get into long explanations. “A friend.”

Cook nodded. “Cliff’s a…neighbor.”

“He is?” Maybe they were closer than Linc had thought.

“Raises the best horses around these parts.” The cook sounded somewhat grudging as he said this.

Linc knew car engines inside out but didn’t have a clue about horses, and he had no idea how to respond.

Fortunately he didn’t have to. “You fellows interested in buying one of Cliff’s horses?” the old curmudgeon asked.

“Not really.” Linc hoped that wasn’t disappointing news. “We’re, uh, supposed to be meeting our sister, who’s staying at the Harding place.”

“We had directions,” Mel explained.

“But we sort of got turned around.”

“In other words, we’re lost,” Linc said.

“Lemme make you those sandwiches.”

“What about giving us directions?”

King, or whatever his name was, sighed as if this was asking too much. “I could—for a price.”

Linc slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter.

The grouch eyed the money and shrugged. “That might get you there. Then again, it might not.”

Linc threw in another ten. “This is all you’re getting.”

“Fine.” He pocketed the money and slouched off toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back with your order.”

Ten minutes later, he returned with a large white bag packed with sandwiches, potato chips and canned sodas. Linc decided not to ask how old the meat loaf was. He paid the tab and didn’t complain at the price, which seemed seriously inflated.

“About those directions?” Linc asked.

Ned took out the map the firefighter had drawn and spread it on the linoleum counter. The route from Cedar Cove to the Harding place looked pretty direct, and Linc didn’t know how he’d managed to get so confused.

“The King’s gonna set you straight,” the grouch told them.

“Good, because we are lost, ” Mel said, dragging out the last word.

“Big-time lost,” Ned added.

This was a point that did not need further emphasis. Linc would’ve preferred his brothers keep their mouths shut, but that wasn’t likely to happen.

“Okay, you’re here,” King informed them, drawing a circle around their current location. He highlighted the street names at the closest intersection. “You’re near the corner of Burley and Glenwood.”