Chapter 1

1

MEADOW CREEK RANCH--JANUARY

H olden rose early, keeping to old habits in the month he had spent at Wolf and Ana's ranch. He dressed in a sweatshirt and jogging pants and went to the kitchen, finding Ana brewing coffee. Where her husband was a night owl, often working until three or four in the morning, Ana was an early bird like Holden, saying she enjoyed being up to greet the day, having it to herself for a little while before the chaos began.

"Coffee?"

"Please," he said, taking a seat on one of the stools at the oversized island.

"Are you making any headway with the script?" she asked, the first time she had brought up business with him.

"Actually, I have the first twenty pages under my belt. Wolf read them yesterday and gave me some great feedback. Overall, though, he approved of the direction I'm taking and said to keep going after I make the tweaks he suggested. I've found my rhythm now. It's going to go faster from here on."

She brought the cup of coffee to him, having already added the one sugar and amount of creamer he liked.

"If Wolf said it's good, it is. He's not one to heap praise where it isn't deserved."

"Thank you," he said, accepting the coffee and taking a sip of it. "I think I'm ready to find a place to live."

Ana clucked her tongue, taking the stool beside him. "You know you're welcome to stay at the ranch as long as you'd like, Holden. We have plenty of room for you. Besides, Eva and Bear adore you."

She referred to the couple's two children. Not having had siblings, Holden hadn't really known much about kids, but the Ramirez children had taken to him the last time he'd visited when he'd come down to Texas to discuss his characters and plot with Wolf before the director begin filming Capitol Crimes . He'd found he had really enjoyed being around them and saw what a great mom Ana was. He could now trace the beginnings of his discontent with Madison to the fact that he'd wanted children someday. She hadn't when he'd brought up the topic.

"Your hospitality has been appreciated, Ana, but I'm ready to get a place of my own. Something nearby, so that I can meet with Wolf often, but I just need my own space."

She smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. "You mean you don't have time for tea parties or playing Ninja Turtles?"

"I'll always have time for that when I visit. I work better in total quiet, though."

"Have you heard from Madison?" she asked out of the blue.

A sour taste filled him. "She called me a few times. I let it go to voicemail. She said some pretty nasty things. Then she bombarded me with texts. I finally blocked her without responding."

"Did you save any of those voicemails or texts?" Ana asked, clearly concerned.

He nodded. "I did. My first instinct was to delete them. Get them out of sight and out of mind. But then I thought about an important plot point in Hill Country Homicide and decided that would be unwise. I hope I've learned something from a foolish character."

"I think you made a wise decision, cutting ties with her. I only spoke with her briefly on set when she visited. That woman was not for you, Holden." Smiling brightly, Ana added, "Maybe we can find you a good Texas girl."

"No matchmaking. Please," he said lightly, not certain if Ana were teasing or not. "I was with Madison five years. I want to be on my own now and not jump into a new relationship."

"I can understand that." She paused. "Still, don't push away an opportunity if you do meet someone interesting. Simply because things didn't work out between you and Madison, you don't want to turn a blind eye to every woman you meet."

Laughing, he said, "I'll stick to the women in my screenplay for now. Changing topics, do you have an idea where I might be able to rent a place?"

"Boerne is closest to us," she said, referring to the town ten miles to the south. "About five miles to the east is Parham, but it's little more than a speck on the map. I think you'd have better luck going north to Lost Creek."

The name intrigued him. "How big is Lost Creek?"

She thought a moment. "Probably twenty thousand or so. Big enough to have some conveniences, and yet it still has a small-town feel. They started something really fun last summer, a thing called Harmony & Hues."

"What was it?"

"An event which celebrated artists in the community. Shops on the town square stayed open late on Saturday nights. People could shop or grab a bite to eat. Along the sidewalks, various artwork was displayed. Mostly paintings, but there were also some pieces of sculptures, pottery, and even jewelry which had been hand-crafted by local artisans."

She pushed aside her hair, revealing an earring. "I picked these up there. Once people had time to view the art, the musical portion of the night began, featuring singers and musicians from around the area."

"Ah, a fusion of music and art. I like the idea."

"It was started by the local coffeehouse owner and his girlfriend, who's a painter. Her work is really good. I've read she's going to have a show in New York soon at Clive Crutchfield's gallery in Soho."

He was familiar with the name from having lived in New York. "She must be better than good if Crutchfield is interested in her work."

Bear bounded into the kitchen, running to his mom and hugging her leg before turning to Holden and reaching out his arms.

He leaned down and scooped up the five-year-old, placing the boy in his lap. "Ready for another day at preschool?" he asked.

"We get to do finger paints today," Bear announced.

"That sounds like a lot of fun. You'll have to tell me about what you paint when you get home this afternoon."

Standing, he kissed Bear's head before placing him on the stool. "I'm going for my morning walk. See you later, buddy."

As he headed into the laundry room and slipped on his jacket, Holden heard Eva's voice asking for pancakes. Bear's older sister was a true girly-girl, liking bows in her hair and polish on her fingernails. He'd grown close to both children in his month at the ranch, and it had reaffirmed that he would definitely choose to be a parent one day.

He was gone for about ninety minutes, thinking about the next scene he would write, playing out the dialogue and then honing it as he spoke into his phone.

As he'd suspected, writing a screenplay was a huge challenge. The writing hinged upon the dialogue, which had to be terse and compelling. Holden had taken to reading Hemingway each night before bed, just to get a feel for how concise language could be. He had also read a minimum of one screenplay a day, getting a feel for how other writers put words on a page. Wolf had been helpful in this, recommending a variety of movies, including a few murder mysteries. He was glad his friend had asked him to write this script.

Returning to the house, he knew he'd made the right decision in leaving New York—and Madison. It had been liberating to come back to Texas, unencumbered with a messy relationship, everything he owned, easy to transport. The open skies and quiet of the country would be conducive to his work. While he'd grown up in Austin, Holden wasn't sure if he'd ever live there again. The city was still full of great restaurants and cultural events, but the one time he'd gone to Austin since his return, the traffic had astounded him.

He had the money to buy something, but he wasn't ready to sink roots anywhere just yet. For now, he would investigate Lost Creek and see if he might find a place to rent while he worked on his script.

The kitchen was empty. Ana would be on her way to drop off the kids at their different schools. Wolf wouldn't be up for another few hours. Holden went to his guest suite and showered and dressed, grabbing his laptop and doing a search on Lost Creek. He brought up the city's website. The photograph on the home page was picturesque, showing the town square Ana had mentioned. He clicked on the various tabs and liked what he saw.

Pictures didn't ever tell the full story, so he'd drive to Lost Creek now and check it out in person. If he liked what he saw, he would go by the local real estate office to see about available rentals.

Wolf had given him use of a truck during his stay, and he went to the garage now and drove off the property, heading the fifteen minutes north to Lost Creek. On the way, he passed a winery, recalling now that several of the wines Ana had served bore this label. He might have to stop in and do a tasting on his way home. Even purchase a few bottles to bring back to his hostess.

Holden drove around the town, getting a feel for the place, and then found the square and parked. If anything, he loved a good cup of coffee and decided to stop into Java Junction.

Entering the coffeehouse a little before eight-thirty, he saw it was busy this Friday morning. He wondered if it emptied out after the morning rush and might be more conducive to writing.

One of the baristas smiled at him, a tall, lean man who looked to be in his early thirties.

"What can I get you?"

"I'm a coffeeholic," he admitted. "First time here. What do you suggest?"

"I'm a purist myself, so I would start with a pour over or drip brew. It's like when I eat at a new Mexican restaurant. I go with beef enchiladas and a bowl of chicken tortilla soup. If those basics are good, I know the rest of the food will be. I can make you whatever you want, though. The call is yours. And since you're new, it'll be on the house."

"That's generous of you, but I don't want to get you fired for passing out free coffees."

The barista's eyes gleamed, a hint of mischief in them. "Since I'm the owner, I think it'll be okay." He reached his hand over the counter. "Dax Tennyson. Owner of Java Junction."

Taking the offered hand, he shook it, saying, "Holden Scott. Writer, and possible new resident in Lost Creek. If the coffee proves good, that is."

Recognition flickered in the coffeehouse owner's eyes. " The Holden Scott? I should've known you from your picture on the jacket." Dax said. "I've read both your books. They're way different, but both are compelling."

"Thank you. It's nice meeting a fan."

"Have a seat, and I'll bring you something special." Dax grinned. "On the house. And I promise not to text my wife to bring me copies of your books so that you can sign them."

"Text away," he said, liking this man. Hoping he might have found a friend, something he could really use.

Holden walked through the coffeehouse, noting the casual placement of comfortable furniture scattered about. A group of men in their seventies and eighties gathered in a back corner. From their laughs, they were obviously enjoying themselves. Different pockets of women in athleisure wear were at various tables, sipping their drinks.

He paused, admiring a painting of a lake. The use of color was extraordinary and drew a person into the scene. Then he found a spot at a table for two that looked out over the square. He noted several places to eat. A diner. A sports bar. And what looked like a place with country cooking. The square also had a few clothing shops. A bakery. An antique store.

Dax approached, setting down a coffee, along with a sausage roll. "Here you go, Holden. Hope you enjoy it. It's a Cortado. Think of it as a beefed-up macchiato. It balances espresso with warm milk for less acidity."

"Would you like to sit a minute? After all, you are the boss."

"Sure." Dax took the seat across from him. "Are you here to do research for another book? I recall your bio said you were from Austin originally."

"I grew up there. Went to college at SMU."

"No kidding. It's a small world. I went to business school there."

"English Lit major for me. I guess our paths never crossed in the classroom."

"Fraternity?" Dax asked.

"Nope. Too poor. Scholarship student."

The coffeehouse owner grinned. "Same. But I went to a ton of frat parties. As the DJ."

He vaguely remembered hearing others talk about a fellow student who DJ'd a lot of Greek parties. "So, how does a DJ slash business major wind up owning a Hill Country coffeehouse?"

"I made good money quickly, thanks to some timely investments, and wanted to get away to a quieter, kinder life. Drove around Texas until I got to Lost Creek. Something in the town called to me, so I stayed."

Holden pointed to the painting of the lake. "Is that your girlfriend's work?"

Dax looked surprised. "You know Ivy?"

"No."

Briefly, he explained how he was staying with Wolf Ramirez and how Ana had mentioned attending Harmony & Hues a few times the previous summer.

"Ivy's my wife now," Dax said, pride evident on his face. "And that's Lost Creek Lake she painted."

"She's talented."

"Very. Ivy really got the ball rolling on Harmony & Hues. I just took my cues from her. We plan to hold it again next summer. In the meantime, Java Junction hosts musical nights every Wednesday and Saturday, spotlighting singers and musicians in the area. You should come tomorrow night. I've got an interesting singer/songwriter performing."

"I might do that," he said. "What time does it start?"

"Seven. Let me know if you decide to drop by. I'll save you a table."

"Could I bring Wolf and Ana?"

Dax smiled. "The more, the merrier. Ivy will be there. Sometimes, her sister and brother-in-law stop by or her teacher friends Finley and Emerson come."

Thinking his coffee had cooled enough to drink, Holden took a sip. " That is a great cup of coffee."

"I've got a wide variety of both coffee and tea. Try the sausage roll. It's from The Bake House."

He bit into the roll and chewed a moment. "Outstanding. I'm finding a lot to like about Lost Creek."

"Back to my question. Are you here researching?"

"No, I've agreed to write the screenplay for Hill Country Homicide. I've never written one before, but Wolf is starting his own production company. He bought the rights to my book and asked me to try my hand."

"It's a great story. Usually, I can guess who the murderer is halfway through a book or movie, but you kept me guessing up to that final page."

He smiled. "That's a great compliment. Since you live here, can you give me any tips on a place I might be able to rent? Somewhere quiet."

Dax thought a moment. "I have the perfect place. It's a B&B just outside of town."

"No," Holden protested. "I don't want to be in a house with others."

"This is different. The Inn on Lost Creek is a traditional B&B with rooms in the main house, but Jean Bradley also has a couple of cottages on the property. They're close to Lost Creek. The area is wooded. Peaceful. I'll bet you could rent one for a couple of months. They even have a small kitchenette."

Nodding, he said, "That sounds perfect."

Dax gave Holden directions and said, "I'll give Miss Jean a buzz. Tell her you're dropping by."

"Is that part of the small-town service?"

"I had to learn just how tight-knit a small town is when I moved here this time last January. Yes, everyone knows your business, but the residents of Lost Creek are really friendly. After you check out Miss Jean's place, you might want to stop by the local library. They've got some nice nooks you could write in for a change of scenery."

Again, the coffeehouse owner gave Holden directions to the library and then stood.

"I'll let you finish your coffee and sausage roll in peace. I hope you'll decide to stay in Lost Creek, Holden." He paused. "This place changed my life."

"Count on the three of us coming tomorrow night."

Dax smiled broadly. "Sounds good. And I just may have a book or two you could sign for me."

He laughed. "For the free coffee and roll? I think I can give you my John Hancock."

Holden stayed another quarter-hour, observing the patrons in the coffeehouse. He'd always studied people from the time he was young, making up stories in his head about them and their lives. Already, he had a good feeling about Lost Creek and hoped one of the cottages Dax had mentioned would be available. He didn't want to have to do upkeep on a house.

The directions he'd been given were easy to follow, and he was at The Inn on Lost Creek seven minutes after he got into the truck. He went up the stairs and rang the bell.

The door opened, and a woman in her early seventies beamed at him. "You must be Holden. I'm Jean. Dax said you're a writer and looking for a quiet place to work. Let me show you one of my cabins."

They walked about a hundred yards away from the main house, where two cabins faced one another.

Pointing to one, she said, "That's my honeymoon cabin. Even at this time of year, it's booked up most weekends. I think this other one would suit your needs, though."

"Is it available for three months or so? Once I settle in, I wouldn't want to have to move."

That was the deadline he'd given himself for finishing the first draft of the script and then passing through it again, using Wolf's notes.

"Yes, it's free until the end of April. Starting in May, I do have scattered bookings for it, though. Let's go inside and see if it'll work for you."

She unlocked the door and let him enter first. The room was large, furnished with a sofa and chair that turned out to be a rocker, which he loved. A TV graced the wall. A countertop with two stools next to it was the only place to eat. The kitchen was small, but it had a coffeemaker, microwave, and toaster oven, along with a decent size fridge.

The innkeeper went about the room, opening the blinds. "It gets good natural light. I want you to see that. It's a one-bedroom. Let's look at it."

She went first, opening blinds again in the bedroom. A queen-sized bed stood in the middle, two nightstands on either side of it. A dresser completed the room.

"Bathroom through there. No tub. Only a shower."

He grinned. "I haven't taken a bath since I was about six years old. A shower is fine."

Holden went inside the bathroom, seeing it was neat and updated. The cottage appealed to him, and he made the decision to move here.

"When would it be available?"

"You could move in tomorrow morning," she replied. "I'd like to give it a once-over. Sweep and mop. Dust. I can do those things for you once a week. Change the sheets. You'd get fresh towels daily. It's got cable TV with Netflix."

"I'll take it," he said, quickly coming to an agreement for the next three months.

They returned to the house, and Holden gave Miss Jean his credit card, telling her to put the entire three months on it.

"If you're sure," she said. "I don't mind billing you weekly."

"I'm good for it."

As the innkeeper ran his credit card, he was glad he'd never merged finances with Madison, much less given her access to his credit card. With the way she was screaming at him when he left, she probably would've bankrupted him if she'd known his number.

Miss Jean gave him a key, saying she had the other copy. "I'll spruce it up for you this afternoon. I'll clean on Mondays at eleven if you're agreeable to that. You're welcome to come here and use the gathering room to write. Or you might want to go to the local library. With school in session, that place is usually quiet as a tomb unless it's Mommy & Me Storytime. That's on Wednesday mornings at ten."

"I think I'll drop by the library now," he said, wanting to become familiar with the facility. Libraries had always been a friend to him.

Holden thanked Miss Jean again and returned to his truck. Finding the library was easy, and only a handful of vehicles stood in the parking lot. He entered and saw the checkout desk was to his right. To his left, he saw an array of black and white photographs on display and went to view them.

One by one, he studied each image, the black and white a stark contrast. The photo display was of the Lost Creek area, and he drank it in. As a storyteller, he was drawn to art, and these photographs definitely told a story of their own. He felt a burning need to meet the photographer and compliment him or her.

Spying a woman seated at a desk in the center of the library, he headed toward her.

"Excuse me," he began. "I'd like to know?—"

"Holden Scott!" she exclaimed, quickly standing. "It really is you. Dax Tennyson called and told me you might be stopping by. I'm such a fan, Mr. Scott. I'm Dorothy. Dorothy Prigmore, the head librarian."

Dax was right. A small town was different.

"I'll be staying in Lost Creek for a few months," he explained. "Working on a new project. I thought I'd come by the library and become familiar with your facilities."

"Then let me give you the grand tour," Dorothy said.

It only took a few minutes to see the entire building. Dorothy was warm and welcoming, even showing him the employee break room and offering him the opportunity to stop in for a cup of coffee during the times he might be writing here.

"I appreciate that," he said.

She showed him a small area with furniture that looked out over a beautiful park. "This might be a place you'd like to sit with your laptop and write. Or any of the study carrels. And remember, you can always book time in one of the study rooms if you'd prefer that."

"You've given me a lot of options, Dorothy. Thanks for the tour. One more thing before I go. I was really drawn to the photographs on exhibit as I entered the building. Can you tell me anything about the photographer?"

Dorothy smiled brightly. "They were taken by Finley Farrow. She's a teacher here in town, and she also pursues photography on the side."

Dax had mentioned a Finley being one of his wife's friends who came to listen to music at the coffeehouse. With such an unusual name, he didn't think there would be another Finley in Lost Creek.

Holden looked forward to meeting Finley Farrow and talking with her about her photographs.