3 Madness in Christmas River

by Meg Muldoon

  “Did you see anything suspicious?”

  I thought back, trying to remember the way downtown looked at that early hour. Dark and cold and snowy. A ghost town, save for the blinking neon sign of the Christmas Coffee Hut.

  But then again, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the way downtown looked. I had my mind on the cozy warmth of my bed at home.

  I shook my head.

  “I can’t recall anything that looked suspicious,” I said. “It was quiet and empty out. That’s all I remember. It was dark.”

  Deputy McHale nodded and scribbled something down in his leather notepad.

  “What’s all this about, anyway?” I asked. “Is everything all right?”

  He hesitated, like he was debating whether or not he was going to tell me.

  I got the impression that part of him liked keeping me in suspense. That he liked knowing something I didn’t know and holding it over me.

  Maybe that was a young cop thing. Or maybe it was just a Deputy McHale thing.

  I waited, growing impatient with every passing second until he finally said something.

  “Someone’s done a number on the Christmas tree downtown,” he said. “We think it happened early this morning. Meadow Plaza looks like Christmas morning after the kids got to all the presents.”

  My mouth dropped a little in surprise.

  “Really?” I said. “But who would do something like that?”

  I knew the question sounded stupid and naïve, and, as Deputy McHale probably thought, very small-town. But I couldn’t help it. I was from a small town, and that was the first reaction of anybody who lived in a place with under 10,000 residents.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he said. “But you’re saying that you didn’t see anything when you passed through the city center this morning?”

  I thought back again, trying to remember anything that might be useful.

  I shrugged.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It was dark and I was tired. I didn’t see much, but it’s not like I was looking for anything either.”

  He nodded.

  “I suppose that makes sense,” he said.

  He put an extra emphasis on the I suppose part. It irritated me.

  I was about to say something snappy. While Daniel did like him, that didn’t mean I had to. And it certainly seemed to me that if I were a young deputy, I’d treat the bosses’ soon-to-be-wife with a little more courtesy.

  But before I could say anything, he interrupted me.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, curtly. “If you remember anything, make sure to call. You have my number, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll call the office,” I said. “Hey, aren’t there security cameras down there?”

  “The power went out this morning,” he said. “They didn’t capture a damn thing.”

  He pulled a pen from his pocket and a business card from his back pocket, and began writing.

  “Here,” he said. “This is my cell.”

  He handed it to me.

  “If you hear anything about any of this, let me know,” he said.

  “I will,” I said.

  He nodded and then rushed down the steps in one sweeping motion. He walked quickly to his car, got in, and turned the engine over. A second later, he was rolling down the street.

  I stuffed the card into my pocket, my hand brushing against the bent and weathered photo.

  I looked out at my driveway and sighed.

  Halfway through talking to Deputy McHale, it had occurred to me that something looked different about my driveway this morning.

  Marie’s Mercedes Benz was gone.

  Chapter 12

  I dialed her number again.

  It rang five times before going to her voicemail. Again.

  “Hey honey,” the recording played, in what sounded like Marie’s very best Liza Minnelli impression. “It’s Marie, leave a message and I’ll get right back to you. Promise.”

  I hung up before I could leave another message for her, asking where she’d taken off to and when she was planning to come back.

  “Did you check the tavern?” Kara asked, popping a piece of freshly baked gingerbread into her mouth. “I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet when it comes to your cousin.”

  I propped the back door open to let some cold air into the stuffy kitchen.

  “I drove by before work,” I said. “Her car wasn’t there.”

  It was late-afternoon, and the onslaught of customers at the pie shop finally seemed to be slowing down. Chrissy and Tiana had been working themselves into the ground to try and keep the line flowing. It got so bad that I actually had to help ring customers up at the front.

  But thankfully, the crowd was starting to peter out. Which was good, because there were other things that I needed to work on.

  Like the gingerbread house. Kara and I had plans to start designing the gingerbread castle we were going to build for my wedding.

  “But that’s just like Marie, isn’t it?” Kara said. “She’s always blowing in and out of town like that without telling anybody. She probably just met an old high school sweetheart at the tavern the other night and took off to the casino in Warm Springs. You know how she likes to gamble.”

  “I know. She’s probably just fine,” I said. “It’s just… I don’t know. I’ve got a strange feeling about all of it.”

  After stopping by the Pine Needle Tavern to check for Marie, I drove by the plaza and the Christmas tree to get a look at the damage.

  When I saw the tree, lying on its side like a fallen giant, I had trouble not slowing down and gawking at it like a driver passing by the scene of a nine vehicle pile-up.

  The tree, which had been so beautifully decorated, was now ravaged. All its ornaments lay broken and scattered across the plaza. The large plastic ones looked like deflated soccer balls rolling lopsidedly around the brick ground.

  Many of the tree branches had been broken, and a few big gaping holes exposed the tree’s trunk.

  A few pieces of tinsel clung to the broken branches, blowing sadly in the wind.

  Yellow police tape zig-zagged back and forth across the plaza.

  My heart plummeted as the violence of it all sank in.

  I hadn’t expected to be so moved, but I was.

  The annual Christmas tree always meant so much to the people in this town. And even though I didn’t like getting all sentimental and sappy, the tree always meant a lot to me too. It meant sharing a hot ginger cinnamon sugar pretzel with Warren. It meant gathering together with friends and family. It meant the start of the most magical season in Christmas River.

  Seeing it mutilated like that made my heart ache. Like seeing the remains of busted Jack-O-Lanterns scattered across the street just days before Halloween. Only on a much bigger scale.

  Who would do such a thing to the tree? Kids, maybe. But I found it hard to believe that any of the kids around here could be so malicious.

  But then again, you never really knew. It was easy to think that you did, but you never knew your neighbors all that well. That was something that I got a lesson in last July during the Pyro Santa fiasco.

  I just hoped that Deputy Trumbow and McHale would have enough wits about them to catch the vandals while Daniel was in California.

  “Maybe you should have told Owen about the ornament and the photo you found on your porch,” Kara said, dragging me from my thoughts of the tree, bringing me back into the kitchen. “I mean, it’s kind of weird.”

  I shrugged.

  “Maybe. But I just don’t know what any of it means,” I said. “And I don’t know if I trust that Deputy McHale.”

  “What?” she said, setting down her pastry bag of white icing on the table. “What are you talking about? Owen’s a sweetheart.”

  “You’re just saying that because he’s handsome,” I said.

  She smiled slyly.

  “Well, I will admit that if I had to vandalize a Christmas tree to get Deputy Hot Stuff to
show up on my doorstep, I might just do it.”

  “Kara,” I said disapprovingly. “What would your long-suffering boyfriend have to say about that?”

  She held up her hands.

  “Hey, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with looking. Or dreaming for that matter,” she said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed those Caribbean blue eyes of his.”

  “Sure, I’ve noticed,” I said. “I’ve also noticed the fact that sometimes he acts like he was born in a barn.”

  “Now that’s exaggerating just a little bit, don’t you think?”

  I pulled on a pair of oven mitts and slid another tray of freshly rolled, clay-colored gingerbread into the hot oven.

  “He didn’t say a single thing about my food at Thanksgiving,” I said. “Or even thank me, for that matter. That’s barnyard behavior if you ask me.”

  “Well, I was sitting next to him, and he seemed like he was really enjoying the meal,” Kara said. “Maybe he just has trouble expressing his feelings.”

  “Or maybe he’s just rude.”

  Kara started measuring out some confectioners’ sugar into a bowl to make some frosting.

  “You’re too hard on the kid.”

  “He brings it on himself,” I said.

  “Well, okay, so you didn’t tell Owen about the ornament on the porch. But what does Warren think about it?”

  “He thought it was strange,” I said. “He didn’t recognize the kid in the photo either.”

  “What does he think about Marie taking off like that?” she asked.

  “He didn’t seem to be too worried about it. He said about the same thing you did. That it’s just in her nature to drift. That she could never stay in one place for too long.”

  “See?” Kara said. “You’re getting all worried over nothing. Marie’s fine and there’s not a thing to worry your pretty, soon-to-be-married head about. Your biggest concern right now should be whether or not you want gumdrops on this Cinderella gingerbread house of ours.”

  I tried to come up with an argument about why I really should be worried about everything. But in the end, it was just a strange feeling I had. Nothing more.

  “Okay, fine” I said, sliding my phone into my apron pocket. “You’re right. I’m getting all worked up over nothing.”

  “Good,” she said. “So what’s the verdict? Gumdrops or no gumdrops?”

  I sighed.

  It seemed like such a simple question, but these days, even simple questions were hard to answer.

  White buttercream frosting or lemon? Sparkly silver high heels that were impossible to walk in, or lower ones I can dance in? Should Daniel wear a vest under his jacket or not? Chicken or meat? Do I know any vegetarians?

  Did Marie just take off on a whim, or was there more to it?

  After a few moments of contemplating, Kara stepped in.

  “Let’s go with no gumdrops,” she said. “I think they’ve become tacky, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, good call,” I finally said, wrapping the bag of green and red drops back up with a rubber band.

  “Well, I’m not the maid of honor for nothing,” Kara said, smiling.

  Chapter 13

  I was just putting on my down jacket and scarf, about to shut down for the night, when I heard the front door bell jingle.

  Chrissy and Tiana had both gone home. They’d both done phenomenally after the massive onslaught of tourists crowded into the pie shop, and had more than earned their day’s pay.

  I thought about telling whoever had wandered in that I was closing up and that they’d have to go somewhere else.

  But then I thought better of it.

  Even though I was tired, I never liked turning people away. Especially on a blisteringly cold night like tonight.

  I took my scarf and jacket off, hanging them back up on the coat rack, and quickly threw an apron on before heading out into the dining room.

  When I did, I was glad that I hadn’t turned the customer away.

  I placed my hands on my hips.

  “Well, if it isn’t Sullivan Coe,” I said.

  “The one and only,” Sully said, taking off his cowboy hat and revealing his balding head. “Cinnamon darlin’, you’re looking like a dream these days.”

  I shooed away his usual assault of flattery.

  He always said compliments with such sincerity, it actually convinced you that maybe you did look like a dream.

  But then you’d catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glass, and you’d realize that you looked like a sweaty, matted mess on account of a long day of working in front of a hot oven, and that, like always, Sully was just blowing smoke.

  I went around the counter and stretched my arms out, giving him a big hug.

  Sully was one of Warren’s oldest and best friends. They’d grown up together here in Christmas River. And among other things in his life, Sully had once been sheriff of Christmas River. He’d been a city councilor too.

  But these days, his life had a much sunnier disposition.

  “So how’s life in the tropics, Sully?” I asked.

  “Puerto Rico is heaven on earth,” he said. “White sand beaches and the warmest blue waters you could ever imagine. It’s just the medicine this old cowboy needs. I’ve been trying to convince your granddad to come out and visit me for years, but he’s a stubborn old coot.”

  “Does Warren know you’re in town?” I asked.

  “Do you think I’d get a moment’s break if he did?” Sully said. “The way that old man yammers, he ought to find himself a second career as an auctioneer.”

  I faked an offended expression.

  “Hey, watch who you call an old man,” I said, smiling. “Don’t think you can come in here and talk about my grandpa like that.”

  “Well, what could I buy from you to make up for my poor manners?”

  I grinned.

  Sully had always been one of my best customers. Since the time I was a kid, baking mis-measured creations out of Warren’s kitchen and serving them up at the boys’ poker nights. No matter how bad my pie was, Sully always told me it was the best thing he ever tasted.

  “Well, how about a warm slice of cinnamon blueberry? It’s hard to go wrong with that one.”

  He took a seat at one of the booths.

  “You had me at cinnamon,” he said, winking at me.

  I went and got him a generous slice, scooping some French vanilla ice cream on the plate next to it. I brought it to him along with a fork and a napkin, and took a seat across from him at the booth.

  I glanced out the window for a moment while he took his first bite. I couldn’t see much beyond our reflections, except that it looked very cold and windy outside. The strands of Christmas lights hanging from the rafters of Kara’s new ornament shop across the way danced in the gusts.

  “So Cinnamon, I hear you’re about to make some lucky devil very happy this Christmas.”

  I smiled.

  “Did you get the wedding invitation?” I asked.

  I’d never gotten an RSVP from him. But I hadn’t expected one. I knew that ever since he moved to Puerto Rico, he only came back to town occasionally.

  “I sure did,” he said, pushing a heaping forkful of pie into his mouth. “And let me tell you, I was so happy to find out about you getting hitched again. I always thought you got a raw deal the first time around.”

  “So did I.”

  He took another bite of pie.

  “So are you coming to the wedding, or what?” I said.

  He wiped the corners of his lips with the napkin.

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t be there, Cin,” he said. “I’m heading out to Las Vegas to spend Christmas with my grandchildren. Their mother will be in a real pickle if I don’t make it. But I’m real sorry that I’ll miss your wedding.”

  I patted his spotted and aging hand.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s a small wedding anyway. It really won’t be a big deal.”
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br />   “Well, I was back in town for some business and I wanted to make sure and stop by,” he said, finishing off the last of his pastry. “I want you to know that I’m just pleased as pie for you, Cinnamon.”

  “Aw, well, that’s really nice of you,” I said. “You know, we’ve missed you around here, Sul. Warren’s always talking about the old days.”

  “I tell you, this town looks different every time I come back,” he said. “I used to walk around here and know everybody by name. Now it’s like the town’s overrun by strangers.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s not a little mill town anymore. That’s for sure.”

  “It’s hard to watch, if you ask me,” he said.

  “Well, you’re an old man,” I said. “Of course you think that.”

  “Hey, now. Who are you calling an old man?”

  “Well, let me make it up to you,” I said. “Let’s call this slice on the house.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you, Miss,” he said.

  He stood up, grabbing his hat from off the wooden table and placing it back on his head.

  “I’m sticking around town for a little while,” he said. “I hope to make it to one of your grandpa’s poker nights. Does he still do that?”

  “Warren may be getting old, but he’d have to be in his grave not to have his weekly poker night,” I said.

  “Well, good for him. Hey—are you the only one here tonight?” he asked.

  “Yeah. My workers have gone home.”

  “Nobody else back there?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  He furrowed his bushy eyebrows.

  “Well, be careful locking up,” he said. “This town isn’t as small as it used to be.”

  “You’re right at that, Sully,” I said.

  He tipped his hat at me.

  “Until I see you again, darlin’,” he said in a real country twang that always worked on all the ladies.

  He opened the door and started heading out.

  “Hey, what did you think of the pie?” I yelled after him.

  “Didn’t I say already?” he said.

  I shook my head.

  “Best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  I smiled.

  “All right, get out of here you old dog.”