Hounded in Christmas River

by Meg Muldoon

  But something about this parade had me humming a different tune, I guess. It was for charity, for starters. And in all honesty, the prospect of seeing Chadwick and Hucks marching around as the canine versions of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was… well… I guess you could say I’d had a bit of a re-think on my anti-costume stance in recent weeks.

  “I suppose you’re right, old man,” I said, setting down the Marionberry Mountain Stout – which was one of Warren and Aileen’s recent beer brewing masterpieces. “But I tell ya – I’d rather be sewing dog costumes for the Society’s pet parade than have any part in their annual Puppy Love Bachelor Auction.”

  A faint smile crossed Warren’s lips at the mention of that notorious event.

  “Well, when you put it that way, Cinny, I’d pick up a needle and thread myself if it meant getting out of that meat market,” the old man said.

  In past years, Warren had gotten roped into being one of the regular “eligible bachelors” on the Puppy Love event’s date auction block. And though it was all for a good cause, he looked forward to the event every year the way you might look forward to catching a bout of Norovirus.

  “If we’re lucky, maybe this pooch parade will raise so much money, the Society will put an end to the date auction.”

  “That’d be a relief,” he said. “No more women screaming and hollering at me… No more sizing me up like I was Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Oh c’mon,” I said, a big, fat grin spreading across my face. “Admit it – you like all that attention.”

  He let out a sharp laugh, looking away as his cheeks flushed slightly.

  “So what’s shaking, old man?” I said after a moment. “How’s the tourist season been treating you guys lately?”

  Warren shrugged, nodding at the full tables next to us.

  “We’re keeping pretty busy.”

  “Looks like it,” I said. “Seems busy everywhere. You know, I was over at Redfield Brewing earlier today. The place was wall to wall people. They were taking tours and buying up merch and Pooch Vitamin Brew like it was payday.”

  “Yep, I hear Connor’s doing pretty well,” Warren said. “Good for him. Brewery market’s not so easy to break into lately.”

  “It doesn’t worry you how many tourists go over there?”

  Warren shook his head.

  “Nope. You can never worry about the competition, Cinny Bee. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because when it comes down to it, there ain’t no such thing as competition. Even when it looks like the same thing, everybody’s offering something unique – something that can only come from them and them alone.”

  Warren looked off into the distance, the way he usually did when he was about to launch into some long bit of trademark Warren wisdom.

  “Take your pies for example, Cinny Bee. Even if a competitor used the exact same recipe, the exact same ingredients, and the exact same oven to bake the pie in, it’d be nothing like yours. Because it’s a different person making it. Now, whether yours is better or the competitor’s is will always be a subjective matter – though I can say without a doubt that you’d win every time in my book. But knowing all that, it’s hard to believe in such a thing as competition. There’s just people doing what they’re doing, and good things always have some heart and love in them.”

  I smiled.

  Good old Warren – he always did have an uplifting way of looking at the world.

  I knew he wasn’t any fan of Connor Redfield. Connor was the only brewer in town who wasn’t part of the local brew guild, which Warren had recently organized. Connor had never even responded to the invitation, and he’d been cold to Warren every time their paths had crossed for reasons the old man didn’t understand.

  But nonetheless, Warren wasn’t about to say anything negative about him – and wasn’t about to feel envious that so many tourists ended up choosing Connor’s brewpub over his.

  “You’re a class act, old man,” I said. “You know that?”

  His cleared his throat, looking down at the table.

  “You start calling a blue-collared man like myself classy, he starts getting mighty uncomfortable,” he said. “Anyway, that’s my two cents about the notion of competition. But just what in the heck were you doing at Redfield Brewing today, Cinny Bee?”

  “I was just checking out that Pooch Vitamin Brew.”

  “You buy any for the pooches?” Warren asked.

  I let out a scoff.

  “I’d have to get a second job before I could do that,” I said. “But I heard that the Pooch Brew is Redfield’s best-selling item these days. Apparently Connor’s trying to get a patent for it.”

  “Well, I believe it – the part about it being a bestseller, that is. Like I said, the beer industry’s hard these days for new breweries. The boom has lost some of its steam, all right. Lots of little breweries having to shut down across the state. That Pooch Brew’s probably keeping Redfield in business. Smart marketing idea, you ask me. Good for Connor.”

  Just then, I saw Aileen step out from behind the screen door, holding a stack of menus. She was followed by a group of women who I recognized immediately.

  They were all talking over each other as they walked, still carrying those big bags from Redfield Brewing. And they looked a little more exhausted than they had this morning when they were in my pie shop.

  “Oh, did you see how I almost fell in when the raft hit that big rock?”

  “I haven’t had that much fun since I took the grandkids snorkeling in Maui.”

  “I’m glad we got to leave our stuff on the bus. Those beautiful ornaments we bought earlier would have been at the bottom of the Christmas River if we’d brought them on the raft.”

  I grinned brightly to myself as the four women passed; glad they decided to take my suggestions. I silently wished the jovial tourists a great rest of their stay in Christmas River.

  “Well, I hate to abandon you here, Cinny Bee, but I left Aileen all alone to host the place,” Warren said. “She’ll be livid with me if she catches me shirking anymore.”

  “Don’t worry about me, old man. I’ll be fine. I’ve got plenty of work to do anyway.”

  I nodded to the little suede vest I’d been sewing.

  Warren grinned. Then he stood up, grabbing the bar cloth off his shoulder.

  “Say – you’re not putting any frills or lace or anything foo-foo on that costume, are you, Cinny Bee? I’d hate for those two proud dogs of yours to feel foolish.”

  “Body snatchers might have gotten me, but I haven’t completely lost my mind, old man,” I said. “These are Old West outlaw costumes I’m sewing. Huckleberry’s Butch Cassidy, and Chadwick’s going to be Sundance. Nothing frilly or foo-foo to speak of.”

  Warren’s eyes lit up a little when I said the name of his two favorite outlaws from the Old West.

  “Well, in that case, you keep working there, Cinny Bee,” he said. “That’s what you’re good at.”

  Warren delivered his spin on the classic movie line and then gave me a big ol’ wink for effect.

  I didn’t know how it was for the tourists at Redfield Brewing, but I did know one thing:

  I always left Warren’s brewpub feeling better than when I’d arrived.

  Chapter 9

  I went over to the coat rack in the corner of the kitchen and grabbed a knit sweater I kept there. I pulled it on and shook off a round of chills that had been pestering me for the last ten minutes or so.

  I knew that in most places in the country, late August usually meant blazing temperatures. But here in Central Oregon, there was always about a week in August where temperatures took an unseasonable plunge, and the first hints of fall showed through. And though there was still plenty of light left in the sky when I got back to the shop, the sun had already slipped behind the mountains, and it was beginning to get cold.

  I put my apron on over the sweater and then rolled up my sleeves, getting back to the mammoth batch of mari
onberry pies I’d been making. I’d already blind-baked the buttery, flaky pie crusts, and I’d just finished mixing an enormous amount of fresh berries with sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon, and a good helping of lemon juice. I grabbed a clean spoon and took a small taste of the filling, then added a little bit more lemon juice to make the flavor pop.

  I began filling the pie crusts with the jewel-toned marionberry mixture, assembling them as quickly as I could while trying not to spill any berry goodness in the process.

  People always asked what the secret was to my marionberry pies, and I always told them the truth – there was no secret. All you needed to do was let the bright and flavorful marionberries speak for themselves and not dress them up too much. Just a little sugar, a little bit of thickening agent, a smattering of spice, a squeeze of lemon, a buttery crust, and that was it. Well, except for one other all-important ingredient. The thing that made everything in the world taste better – love.

  I filled up the last pastry and started getting to work on the lattice toppings when my concentration was suddenly interrupted by the sound of paws scrambling up the back steps of the deck outside.

  I furrowed my brow, wondering if Aubrey had returned with that pack of sweeter-than-pumpkin-pie basset hound puppies. But when I peeked out the window, the puppies were nowhere in sight.

  He was carrying a paper grocery bag in one arm, meanwhile Hucks and Chadwick were running out ahead of him on the deck, their tails wagging something fierce.

  I opened the door.

  “Say, did you get my message? I was going to be late, but no way was I going to miss your world-famous blue cheese potato gratin tonight.”

  The sheriff smiled.

  “Yeah, I got your message,” he said, coming up to me. “But I could hear it in your voice – you’ve got a lot of work left to do here tonight. And you were feeling stressed.”

  He leaned down, pecking me on the cheek.

  “So I figured, why not make it easy and bring dinner to you instead? Picnic at the Pie Shop, I’m calling it.”

  I grinned, glancing at the bag and peeking inside. A stack of Tupperware and a bottle of something was in it.

  “You thought of everything,” I said. “Even the wine.”

  “Well, I did forget dessert. But I figure with this being a pie shop and all, we could probably scrounge around and find something. Don’t you think?”

  I took the bag from him. The aroma of butter and bacon coming off the potato gratin damn near made me drool with anticipation.

  “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something,” I said, leading him inside.

  Chapter 10

  I had no idea how I was going to make any more pies tonight.

  Because, as I finished off the last bite of potato gratin and steak on my plate, I could already feel a strong food coma coming on. One of those that knock you off your feet and put you out of commission for hours as all the blood in your body goes toward bailing out your overwhelmed gut.

  But I’d have to find a way to power through – because otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to keep the shop open past 10 a.m. tomorrow. Not with so many tourists in town.

  It’d been a busy and prosperous summer at Cinnamon’s Pies. But I couldn’t lie – I was looking forward to the tourist lull that September promised.

  I forced myself to stand up. Then I grabbed our empty plates, taking them to the back porch where Chadwick and Hucks were happily enjoying the cool night air. I set the plates down for them to lick off the meat juice, and came back inside.

  “You’re sure I can’t get you any wine?” I asked.

  Daniel set his napkin down and shook his head.

  “I’m on call tonight,” he said. “And anyway, I wanted to save room. Truth be told, I have my heart set on a slice of Peach Blueberry Pie here in a few minutes.”

  “You got it,” I said, smiling.

  I sat back down at the butcher block, reaching across the table and squeezing his hand.

  “This was perfect,” I said. “The steak, the wine. And those blue cheese potatoes were worthy of their world-class designation.”

  Daniel looked off in a bashful kind of way.

  “Glad you enjoyed it, Cin,” he said, rubbing my fingers gently. “Sorry we haven’t been able to have too many dinners together lately. Things have been so—”

  “—Busy,” I said finishing the sentence and nodding in agreement. “I know how that goes. But thankfully, we’re almost through summer. In September, we’ll get back to our usual dinner routine.”

  “Sounds great to me,” he said.

  I gazed at him across the table, looking deeply into his eyes.

  “Say… I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Oh yeah?” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, no need to keep me in suspense, darlin’. Go ahead and shoot.”

  I drew in a deep breath.

  Even with everything that had been going on in the last 48 hours, there’d been something of a personal matter that I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

  One that I needed to finally bring up.

  I leaned across the table.

  “Daniel: What do you think about getting a puppy?”

  He smiled slightly at me. I think he was a little bit relieved and I supposed he’d been expecting a more serious question – though it was plenty serious to me.

  “What started this?” he asked in a gentle tone.

  “Well, when Aubrey Berg came by yesterday? She was walking this big pack of basset hound puppies that were just so… adorable. And there was this one – this big chubby fellow – and he had just the sweetest little face with these bright eyes and droopy ears. I immediately took to him. I think he took to me, too. There was this connection and I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about…”

  I stopped babbling, noticing the hint of laughter bubbling in Daniel’s eyes.

  “What?” I said defensively.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. I guess I was just enjoying seeing the gentler, sentimental side of the tough-as-nails Cinnamon Anne Peters.”

  I crossed my arms, wondering if I should take offense at that. But then I saw the look in Daniel’s eyes soften.

  “It’s nice hearing you talk like that, is all,” he said.

  I smiled.

  “Well, what do you think? Can we handle another pup? Is three dogs too many?”

  He rubbed his beard, thinking for a long moment before answering.

  “Well, as I know you know, puppies are a lot of work, Cin,” he said. “And with how busy the Sheriff’s Office is these days and how busy you are with the shop and food truck in Portland, I don’t know if it’d be wise to take on a rowdy little guy.”

  Daniel looked back out the kitchen door at Chadwick and Hucks, who were both stretched out and lounging on the deck.

  “But on the other hand, I haven’t once regretted adopting either one of them. And anyway, maybe they’d enjoy a kid brother. Shake up their routine a little.”

  I felt my face light up like a Christmas tree at that.

  “I say it’s up to you, darlin,’” Daniel said, leaning back in his chair. “If you think we ought to get another dog, then I’m all in.”

  I squeezed his hand.

  I still wanted to think it over before making a final decision – after all, Daniel was right in that both of us had our plates full these days.

  But it made me feel happy that he was so open to the idea.

  “So where’d all those puppies come from anyway?” he asked.

  “Aubrey said they were left in a box on the Humane Society’s doorstep overnight. She suspects they might have come from a farm up near the BrightStar area. According to her, the place is pretty much a puppy mill.”

  As I spoke, I could see the recognition in Daniel’s eyes.

  “You’ve heard about it?” I asked.

  “The Lecky farm, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah… I’ve heard bad things about that plac
e over the years. Run by Tyler and Kacey Lecky, and his mom, Arlene, too. We’ve been out there a lot to check on them, but everything’s always up to code when we visit. Like they’ve been tipped off ahead of time.”

  He sighed.

  “And unless there’s real evidence that they’re mistreating their animals, we can’t stop them from operating,” he added.

  I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth.

  “That’s a shame,” I said.

  He nodded in agreement, looking deep in thought for a spell.

  “But I wonder how those puppies ended up at—”

  Daniel stopped speaking as his phone let out a sharp ring.

  He grabbed it from his shirt pocket, staring at the number on the plastic screen for a split second before answering.

  “This is Sheriff Brightman, how can I—”

  The sound of a woman’s voice came in faintly through the speaker. She was talking fast and frantically.

  The expression on Daniel’s face changed suddenly, and I knew that something big was up.

  “Dammit… Okay. Just stay inside where there are people and don’t move. I’m right around the corner from you. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

  He stood up, quickly pocketing the phone.

  “What’s going on—”

  “That was Aubrey,” he said.

  I felt my heart skip a beat.

  “She’s in trouble.”

  That was all I needed to hear.

  I got up, turned off the ovens, and grabbed the dogs and their leashes.

  Then I hurriedly followed Daniel to his truck.

  Chapter 11

  Aubrey Berg sat at a booth in the Brambleberry Sandwich Shop, blinking hard as Wes Dulany, a paramedic and friend of ours, shone a bright flashlight into her pupils.

  The blues and reds from the ambulance outside spun around the walls of the small shop. Nearby at the cash register, a girl in a white apron who looked barely old enough to be in high school leaned against the counter, looking pale and nearly as shaken as Aubrey.