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We strode past more pop-up restaurants, merchants, and local groups manning their booths, progressing nearly a full block in our trek before Mags ground to a halt once again.“Candles!” she cried. “Oh my heart!”

I nodded toward the pair of women sitting outside the tent. Mags had already disappeared inside where it was dark, save for the glow of tealight candles set up carefully around the inside.

“She makes candles for a living,” I explained to the ladies sitting outside the tent. I felt odd standing here with them while Mags was inside but knew better than to take my cat and dog into a space with open flames. “Yours are beautiful. How much are they?”

“We’re not selling the candles,” the younger of the two women explained with a kind smile. “We make and sell menorahs. Other members of our synagogue are also set up selling potato latkes a few booths down.”

“Oh, for Hanukkah. I’ve never celebrated myself but have always loved the story about the Maccabees and the miracle of the oil.”

“It’s not just a story,” the older woman said. “It’s God working miracles. He still does that to this day, you know.”

“How much is this?” Mags asked, rejoining us with a small silver menorah in her hands.

The women told her the amount, and she handed over a couple twenties.“Thank you. I will cherish it always. Happy Hanukkah.”

“Happy Hanukkah,” the women called after us as we continued toward the ice sculpture garden.

“They have a bit of everything here. Don’t they?” Mags asked.

“You have no idea,” I said with a giggle. “Just wait until we check out some of the reindeer games.”

“I’m glad we got here nice and early. There’s so much to do, I’m afraid we won’t have time for it all.”

“Well, here’s the ice sculpture garden. Let’s make sure we give each contestant fair consideration, then pick our winners and get back to the streets.”

We crossed the road and entered the park where rows of enormous and intricately carved ice statues stood in a spiral configuration. A sign at the beginning of the path read:“Start here and follow the path until you reach the center. Once there, follow the red ribbon for a shortcut back to the start. Enjoy!”

“It’s like the Guggenheim,” I said, thinking of the fantastic museum I’d studied during my humanities coursework. “You never have to turn or think about where to go next, freeing you up to enjoy art for art’s sake.”

“Look at this one!” Mags cried, already a few sculptures down the path and admiring the carving of a swan splashing into water with wings spread wide. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“How about this one?” I said pointing to a giant, elaborate snowflake. “It must have taken so much time to get all the details exactly right.”

“It’s sad that this gorgeous art is all going to melt away.” Mags stood in front of the statue of a woman wearing a gorgeous flowing gown now. “And it’s going to be very hard to pick just three to win.”

“Let’s start by just looking. Then when we reach the center, instead of taking the shortcut out, we can walk through again and try to make a short list of our favorites.”

Mags nodded.“So far, everything is my favorite.”

“It may take a few back and forths,” I agreed. “So let’s get started.”

We walked through the spiral, admiring sculptures of animals, people, nature, and even abstract creations. Hardly any time had passed at all before we wound up in the center, and a swatch of bright red caught the corner of my eye. I turned toward it, expecting to see the promised ribbon that would guide festivalgoers out of the garden and prevent traffic jams.

Instead I saw deep pools of crimson marring the otherwise pristine snow.Blood.

Chapter Four

My eyes darted to Mags, who stood trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“Is that b-b-blood?” she stammered, allowing Paisley to leap from her arms to the ground below. I hated it when the small dog took these bold leaps, but somehow she never seemed to get hurt when she collided with the ground.

Octo-Cat yanked on his leash.“Of course it’s blood, genius. What else would it be?”

I glowered at him, sorely wishing I could reprimand him for being so insensitive in this delicate situation.“Yes,” I whispered carefully to Mags. “And where there’s blood, there may be a body. At least that’s been my experience. Wait here while I take a look around.”

Mags trembled even more violently and refused to meet my eyes. She kept her gaze fixed on the deep red as it crept through the snow, feeling more dangerous with each new inch it gained. Her hands shook harder and harder, sloshing the remaining cocoa from her mug.

Wow.Maybe Mags and I weren’t quite as similar as I had once thought. While I didn’t exactly enjoy finding myself in these situations, I’d learned to mostly control my emotions so that I could focus on the mystery rather than the horror. Mags, on the other hand, had already become a terrified, blubbering wreck—as most normal people would, I supposed.