The Robber and the Witness

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More about The Robber and the Witness

A simple favor, a best friend's promise, and the end of the line.

Wisconsin, 1931—When Gideon Lundgren agrees to escort his best friend's sister to Manitowish Waters, plans go awry when she witnesses a robbery. He thinks he's merely escorting the girl he once knew, but she's grown into a charming beauty.

Evangeline Whitaker's older brother always warned that her kind heart would be the death of her. It might at that. First, when she's an unwitting accomplice to a robber. Second, when her childhood crush becomes her bodyguard.

With a robber on their trail and a tangle of emotions between them, Evangeline and Gideon detour to his boss's cabin to wait out the ensuing manhunt. However, Evangeline's Christmas spirit might be the death of them both.

One cabin in the Northwoods … a decade of Christmas miracles.

Read the Christmas Cabin Series

Prequel: The Sheriff and the Outlaw
Book One: The Baby and the Guardian
Book Two: The Neighbor and the Gifts
Book Three: The Robber and the Witness

What Readers are Saying

"Coming soon." — reader review

Published by Hearth Spot Press
© 2026 Danielle Grandinetti

Read the Opening Scene

Monday, December 21, 1931
Eastern Minnesota

A gust of snowy air propelled Evangeline Whitaker through the train station door. The warmth of the potbelly stove in the center of the room enveloped her in a welcoming hug, a pleasant sensation after the painful goodbye she had just finished with her brother.

The scent of pine from the Christmas wreath beside the door encouraged her to inhale deeply, then let out her breath slowly. Her quiet steps emptied in the empty station as she walked across the small room, and she settled her carpetbag on the wooden bench close to the stove before seating herself next to it. With the train to Chicago gone, her brother aboard, the bustle of the station had ebbed. She was now, for all intents and purposes, alone.

Until her brother’s best friend arrived, of course.

Her stomach fluttered at the thought. She hadn’t seen Gideon Lundgren in nearly a decade, though he and Evan kept up through regular correspondence. Gideon wouldn’t be the boy she remembered—Evangeline knew that. Still, she hoped he still had that underlying kindness that offset Evan’s annoying perfectionism. Especially since she had to spend the Christmas holiday with the family of Gideon’s boss. Would Gideon be there too?

The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Gideon’s train had been due half an hour ago, but apparently there was snow on the tracks and his train had been delayed. It did not bode well for the return trip, back to the town where he now worked as a deputy.

Lord, my wish is to not spend Christmas in the station all alone.

A tall, rail-thin man entered the train station, a knapsack slung over his bony shoulder. He was wiry, his tattered old coat hanging from him. He looked almost hollow. A knit cap pulled low over his eyes, he gave Evangeline a nod as he passed her. She tracked his movements as he walked across the dim space toward the stationmaster’s ticketing counter.

He purchased a ticket, then wandered back toward Evangeline. She couldn’t help but watch him. Was it his ghost-like quality? She could almost picture him going up in a cloud of snow, disappearing like smoke from the stove.

The man approached, glanced over at the ticket master, then spoke to her, his voice hesitant and quiet. “I need to see the privy. Can you … can you watch after my bag?”

“Sure,” Evangeline said with a shrug. Why not? There was no harm in someone setting their bag next to her. She wasn’t about to rummage through it, and she would be here until Gideon’s train pulled in.

The man gave a nod and set the bulky knapsack beside her, shifting her carpetbag out of the way. “Thank you, miss.”

She watched him walk out the rear of the building where the outdoor privies were located. She could hear her brother’s voice in her head, scolding her for speaking to a strange man. If Evan were here, she would comment on how no harm would come from simply watching a bag beside her.

Of course, Evan would have plenty of reasons for cautioning her anyway. The man might, oh, think her someone he could court, or perhaps take advantage of her, or any other such nonsense. If the man were built like Evan, she might agree. But he looked nothing like her brother, who was all broad-supported and stockily built to weather the tough Minnesota winters.

Yet—Evangeline sighed and stretched out her legs, letting her blue woolen skirt ride up to rest just above the tops of her black boots—it seemed like every time she willingly helped someone, she got herself in a scrape. As if she had a knack for helping the wrong type of person.