by Meg Muldoon
He was utterly convincing, but after a few seconds, I shook my head and snapped myself out of the fireman wall calendar trance I was in.
I knew I shouldn’t have been having such thoughts.
“Look, Riley. It’s probably all unrelated. It sounds like they’re mostly just accidents. Especially Gertrude’s — I talked to her, and she told me she slipped on some dog drool. The others were probably just wrong place at the wrong time kind of things—”
I stopped speaking as a shadow spilled across the table.
Speak of the devil.
I looked over to see, of all people, Gertrude. She stood there, leaning on a pair of crutches. A grease-stained paper bag was tucked under her arm that I would have bet held one of the diner’s famous cheeseburgers.
There was a smug, knowing smile on her face as she looked at us.
“Hi, Gertrude,” I said in a begrudging tone. “How are you?”
“Better, thanks,” she said glancing at her crutches. “I’m up and about as you can see. Recovery’s going well. Who knows? I might make that dancing competition after all.”
I nodded. She eyed both of us.
"Say... maybe it was a good thing I slipped," she said, her voice going low. “Looks like the two of you are getting along just fine.”
She glanced at my leg propped up next to Riley.
“Just fine,” she added.
For the second time that day, I felt my ears burn red.
Since Moira Stewart’s untimely demise, Gertrude had done her utmost to take up the title of Gossip Queen of Christmas River. Of course, she had some competition in that department. When Moira was murdered, the other gossips in Christmas River became like sharks smelling blood in the water. But in the last few months, Gertrude had left most of them behind in the dust, getting the scoop on just about everything that happened in our small little town.
Which was why she was the very last person I wanted seeing me here at the diner with Riley Dugan.
“Gertrude, don’t you go getting ideas now—” I started saying.
But before I could finish, Riley interrupted me.
“We were just talking about you, actually, Gertrude.”
“Really?”
She lifted her eyebrows and shifted her weight on her crutches.
“Yeah. We were talking about your accident. Remind us, how did it happen again?”
“Kara already knows. It was the damn dog. I was cooking up some bacon. The doorbell rang, so I left for a moment to go see who it was. Turns out, it must have been kids or something because nobody was there. I went outside and looked around for a while to see if I could teach them a lesson, but I must have been too slow. So I came back inside and headed back to the kitchen. The bacon smelled like it could be burning and the dog was barking like crazy, so I was going too fast. I didn’t see that big pool of dog drool in the middle of the floor and the next thing I knew, I was flying like a Cirque du Soleil performer.”
She shook her head.
“Thank goodness I had left the back door open,” she said. “If I hadn’t, that handyman wouldn’t have heard me crying for help!”
Riley shot a glance my way, looking as if something had just occurred to him.
“Wait – you’re saying you left the back door open?” he said. “While you went out front to check who had rang the doorbell?”
“We don’t have air conditioning,” Gertrude said. “You hardly need it in Christmas River except for a few days out of the year. Well, last week had some of those days in it. I left the back door open in the morning to get some cool air circulating.”
“Hmm…” Riley muttered, looking deep in thought. “Interesting.”
Gertrude looked like she was about to sit down and have a whole conversation with us about it all, but I interjected before she could.
If she stayed, she’d start saying “just fine” again while giving Riley and I googly eyes, insinuating all sorts of things that were untrue.
“I’m glad you’re doing better, Gertrude,” I said. “We don’t want to keep you from your meal there.”
She eyed me and Riley again, that smug smile coming across her lips.
“I was just on my way to a doctor’s appointment, you know,” she said. “It’s funny — my doctor’s office is in the same building as John’s podiatrist practice.”
I nearly shot up in my seat at that, but reminded myself to play it cool.
“Tell John I said hi if you see him,” I said, calmly. “And that I’ll be home earlier than I said.”
Gertrude smiled coyly.
“I will, sugar pie,” she said. “If I see him, that is.”
A moment later, she was hobbling out of the diner.
I couldn’t help but scowl as I watched her.
Riley, seemingly having missed the entire issue, waited until she was out of range before speaking.
“See! That’s suspicious, don’t you think? Anybody could have come in through her backdoor and put something on the floors so she would slip.”
I finished the last of my milkshake, only half-listening to Riley.
Mostly, I was thinking about what a backstabber Gertrude was. Here I was, saving the stupid play she begged me to save, and now she was not-so-subtly threatening to tell my husband she’d seen me having a milkshake at the Marionberry Diner with a hunky fireman.
I should have never gotten myself into any of this.
“It’s too much of a coincidence,” Riley continued.
“Huh?” I said.
He looked at me with big puppy dog eyes, then.
“I know you want to quit,” he said after a long moment. “And I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you really want. But just reconsider it, Kara. It’s only a few more days and… it would be nice to have you stay on.”
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.
I took the ice pack off of my leg and stood up. The swelling had gone down.
“I’ve got to go pick up my daughter from dance practice,” I said.
I sucked in a deep breath.
“But I’ll… I’ll think about it.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Riley said, pulling out a few bills from his wallet and setting them down on the table. “Can I help you to your car?”
I shook my head.
“I got it this time,” I said. “Thanks for the shake.”
“My pleasure.”
I turned and hobbled away before he could see how red my cheeks were getting.
Chapter 6
I slipped quietly into the Christmas River Dance Studio and was greeted by the sound of the Frozen soundtrack blaring from the speakers, giggling children, and Mrs. Duncan’s commanding yet friendly voice.
“Great work today, girls! And remember to practice your twirling at home!”
Judith Duncan, the middle-aged dance instructor whose dance classes were such a hot commodity in Christmas River that the wait list was practically as long as Santa’s naughty list, did a dramatic twirl that sent the toddlers on the dance floor in front of her into a flurry of giggles.
There was already a large crowd of parents huddled nearby, so I hung back by the door and waited as the toddlers stood up, hugged Mrs. Duncan one by one, and then found their parents in the crowd.
I was so happy that Laila had gotten into this class. Initially, we’d been on the wait list for the Tots in Tutus Ballet Class. But once Mrs. Duncan met Laila, she was smitten with her excellent listening skills and desire to dance, and the instructor made a special exception for us.
I couldn’t help but be proud of my little girl for that. Who knew? Maybe she’d continue with dance class and become a famous ballerina or interpretive dancer one day. Mrs. Duncan was one of the best dance teachers in the state — she’d taught thousands of students over the years, including her own daughter who had helped take the Christmas River High Dance Team to third place in a big national championship.
I watched as Laila, in her adorable little blue tu
tu, went up to Mrs. Duncan and gave her a hug. A moment later, my little girl turned and headed to somebody in the crowd of parents.
At first I was puzzled. But then I saw Cinnamon standing there.
Shoot. I had forgotten to let her know my plans had changed and now I was able to pick Laila up.
I watched as the toddler went over to my best friend, shouting “Aunt Cin!” with such glee, I couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. Cin caught my little munchkin, picking her up and spinning her around. She pecked Laila on the nose.
“You were so good, Laila!” she said. “I had no idea you were such an amazing dancer.”
“I’m a pwincess,” Laila said.
“I was just going to say how much you look like one!” Cin said.
She smiled warmly, nodding goodbye to Judith and coming toward the door with Laila on her hip.
Cin was a natural when it came to kids. And as I watched her interact with Laila, I wondered once again what was taking Cin and Daniel so long in the baby department. I knew she’d been worried for a while that she wasn’t ready for kids. But who really ever was? Even the most well-prepared parents-to-be faced curve balls now and then. Before Laila came along, I myself would have never thought I’d be a mom. But now that I was, I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.
The only thing to do was to jump in feet first and do the best you could.
I wanted to tell her that, but I also didn’t want to harass her. Not everyone wanted kids, and the way I saw it, that was just fine, too.
Of course, it would be a shame, those good genes of hers and Daniel’s going to waste. Both of them had brains, unflappable ethics, and great looks to boot. I imagined their kids would be something special, all right.
“Oh, hey — I thought you couldn’t make it to pick Laila up,” Cin said when she caught sight of me standing there.
“I left the rehearsal early,” I said, not going into too much detail. “Sorry — I should have called to let you know. It was so nice of you to take Laila to practice tonight.”
“Oh, it was no problem at all. We had a great time.”
Cin tapped Laila’s nose, and the tot let out a little gleeful giggle that had me grinning like a fool.
I wanted to tell Cin about what had happened at the rehearsal earlier, especially considering that if Riley was right, then there was nobody better than Cin to go to with this kind of mystery. But I held back, realizing that if told her about what happened, I’d have to mention the shake I’d had with Riley Dugan. And though Cin wouldn’t read anything into it, I didn’t trust the other parents at the studio not to eavesdrop.
“How’re you doing, pumpkin?” I asked, taking Laila in my arms. “I almost didn’t recognize you at first. You look like a princess!”
“I know,” she retorted in that completely self-confident kind of tone that only kids at that age seemed to have.
Cin and I looked at each other and smiled.
We started walking out of the studio, heading into the parking lot. The asphalt was still warm from the hot day, but the air was quickly getting cold now that the sun had slipped behind the mountains.
“Hey — what happened to your leg there?” Cin asked, glancing down at my hobbling gait.
“Those stupid brick heels, that’s what,” I said, bitterly.
“Bad rehearsal?”
"You could say that again. Tell me, Cin – why does every director of that play have to turn out to be bat poop crazy? Remember that Reinhart lady? Well, Doreen Hamlin’s trying to take the crazy cake between the two of them. I honestly don’t know who would win.”
“I guess the theater arts just attracts a certain type of eccentric,” Cin said.
“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it.”
“You know, Mayor Pugmire was in the pie shop again today. I overheard him saying that the parade and play were almost cancelled this year.”
I stopped walking.
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
Cin nodded.
“Yep. Seems like even with the tourist draw, it’s caused the city to lose money the last few seasons. They’ve had a rough fiscal year, so the council decided at the last minute to pull out their sponsorship of the whole thing for this summer. It would have been cancelled if the Hamlin Theater hadn’t stepped in and taken on the entire cost of the event.”
I furrowed my brow.
“I had no idea about any of that.”
Keeping up to date on local news and current events wasn’t exactly something I found easy to do in between raising a child, running a small business, and writing romance novels.
“I heard the mayor say they did a study last year, and the parade and play aren’t necessarily the big draw that everybody thought it was. Turns out the folk festival and rodeo are much more profitable. They’ve been thinking about doing something like that instead next year. Personally, I wouldn’t mind if this town had another folk festival in the summer.”
I rubbed my chin for a long moment, my mind mulling over Riley’s conspiracy theory and how this recent revelation might have fit in.
But in the end, I couldn’t quite make anything add up.
“So… got any fun plans tonight?” Cin asked.
Fun. Sometimes it felt like I’d forgotten the meaning of the word.
Don't get me wrong — I loved my life. But lately, I’d been feeling like I needed to shake things up a bit.
“Just heading home and staying in,” I said. “John’s making dinner. What about you?”
“Probably the same,” she said. “It’s been slow at the Sheriff’s Office this week, so Daniel’s coming home early.”
She smiled dreamily.
“Well, thanks again for taking Laila, Cin. I really appreciate it.”
“Sure thing, Kara. Anytime.”
Cin kissed Laila’s nose, and the little girl giggled. Then she headed to her black Escape.
Yep. Cin would make a great parent.
I just hoped it would be someday soon.
Chapter 7
I picked at the rubbery chicken and stringy, chewy green beans on my plate, my stomach growling. I brought up a small bite to my mouth and chewed it, trying to keep a straight face and not gag.
It wasn’t like John was any grand chef or anything. But he knew how to make a few good things in the kitchen when he put his mind to it.
Unfortunately, this meal was not one of them.
I glanced at him across the table, forcing a smile.
“Delicious, honey,” I said, taking another small bite. “Thanks for making it.”
In my experience, you never got anything but grudges and hurt feelings when you insulted someone’s cooking — even if you were only trying to be honest. Plus, I knew John had tried hard on this meal — he’d really been a lifesaver in the kitchen lately, making meals for me and Laila around the clock because I had no time to.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Good,” I said. “Things are picking up at the store. I think we’re going to be out of those dove ornaments by the end of the week.”
I gulped hard on a piece of rubbery chicken.
“How were rehearsals?” he asked.
“Oh, fine. I mean… no — not fine. Doreen is out of her mind and I was thinking of quitting. But I haven’t decided officially yet.”
John nodded and fell silent, chewing his food and looking out the back porch screen.
A pink dusk was settling in over the land, and the frogs out by our backyard pond were giving the evening a monotonous soundtrack with their deep-throated croaks.
I thought of mentioning more about the play, but I was tired and I didn't feel like getting into the whole long story. So I placed my fork down on the plate and went over to Laila’s chair, wiping at the toddler’s cheeks.
It seemed that most days, Laila’s meals ended up just about everywhere but in her mouth.
“How was your day, hon?” I asked.
“Busy,” he said in a lifeless tone. �
��Lots of people having foot problems lately, most likely because hiking season is in full swing. I’ve been seeing a lot of Tibial Nerve Dysfunction cases this week. Kind of unusual, but I suppose not so unusual.”
John cleared his throat, looking up and meeting my eyes.
“You know, I saw Gertrude Baxter today in the office parking lot.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, playing it cool.
“She looks like she’s healing up pretty well from that fall. She actually told me she’d seen you earlier at the Marionberry Diner.”
I gulped hard and felt my face flush.
The old witch.
“She said you looked like you might have hurt your ankle,” John continued.
“Uh, yeah. It was those stupid heels I had to wear for the play.”
“You really shouldn’t be wearing those,” John said. “You know how much damage heels can cause over a prolonged period of time?”
I did know. John, being a podiatrist, had told me on countless occasions how bad heels were for the body. And while I had tossed out some of my most offensive pairs after the first few months of dating him, I couldn’t be convinced to throw out my whole collection. Heels might have been bad, but I couldn’t help the way a good pair of them made me feel.
“I’ll switch to a better pair for rehearsals,” I said.
“Can I take a look at that ankle?” he asked.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, hon,” I said. “I put ice on it. It’ll be brand new by tomorrow.”
He ate the rest of his chicken, then put down his napkin on the table.
“Thanks for dinner,” I said.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t better.”
I got up and went over to him, tousling his thick shock of salt and pepper hair — something I loved doing.
“I don’t care what I eat so long as I get to sit down and have the meal with you,” I said.
He put an arm around my waist and looked up at me.
“Still, I’ll do better next time.”
He stared at me for a long moment with an expression I could easily read.
He was probing my eyes for something. Maybe wondering what I’d been doing at the Marionberry Diner this afternoon.
