Magic in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Christmas River Cozy Book 7)

by Meg Muldoon

  I retrieved the class ring from my jacket pocket and looked at it again.

  I wasn’t sure why, but the object seemed to have some hold on me. By all rights, I should have returned the ring to the high school and let them deal with finding its owner, or the owner’s family. It wasn’t my responsibility. And God knows, I had more important things to do these days than to go on a wild goose chase that would most likely end with Ralph Henry Baker having passed away peacefully in his—

  I felt my eyes grow wide as something streaked across the window in front of me.

  It stopped for a split second, turning its head toward me. Its eyes seemed to glow red, reflecting the light of the kitchen.

  I stared back at it, unable to believe my eyes.

  Its fur was the color of freshly-fallen snow.

  I had never seen a cat so white before. If it wasn’t there, so real-looking, I would have thought it was a ghost cat.

  The feline just stared at me for a long, long moment. Its wide eyes looking scared and desperate. As if it wanted to say something – as if it was trying to say something. Something that I couldn’t understand.

  “Meooowww!!!”

  The cat’s ear-drum-rupturing screech was followed by the sound of claws scrambling on new tile as Huckleberry and Chadwick jumped at the cry and ran to the window to investigate.

  A moment later, their equally-loud barks echoed through the pie shop, causing the cat out the window to arch its back in alarm. It let out a skin-crawling hiss, then a second later, it vanished out of sight.

  The dogs kept barking, long after Hattie Blaylock’s cat was gone.

  And my heart kept hammering in my chest long after, too.

  Chapter 18

  “Would you hand me one of those extension cords, Cin?”

  I took my hands out of my jacket pockets, and headed for the dark corner of the porch where a tangle of orange cords lay twisted together like a den of snakes.

  “Does it matter which one?” I shouted up.

  “Nope,” he said. “Any old one should do the trick.”

  I leaned down and chose the one that looked the least dusty, pulling at it until I discovered that its tail end was tangled up in a massive knot with the other cords.

  I wrestled with them until I was blue in the face.

  “What’s the hold up?” Daniel finally said, looking down from his perch on the ladder.

  I looked back up at him, exasperated.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just about fifty feet of tangled cord that wouldn’t have ended up like this if you’d stored them away properly in the garage.”

  He chuckled, obviously entertained by my frustration.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Oh, yes it is,” he said, stepping down the ladder slowly until he landed on the wooden porch with a thud.

  It was a chilly autumn night. The kind of night where your breath hangs in the air like cartoon thoughts. The kind of night that held whispers of the storms and violent winter weather to come.

  I got up, putting my hands on my hips and giving Daniel a hard look.

  “Well, are you gonna help me untangle this mess?”

  He stood for a long moment with a contemplative look on his face.

  Then he took several steps forward toward the table by the window, reaching for one of the mugs of steaming apple cider I’d brought out only moments earlier to keep us warm while decorating the outside of the house.

  He took a sip of the cider and grinned brightly, making no motion to come and help.

  “Daniel Brightman,” I said, disapprovingly. “You rascal.”

  “Damn fine cider you made here, darlin,’” he said. “Only I think it could use a little kick of something. I’m thinking whiskey might do the trick.”

  “And I’m thinking the whiskey’s not the only thing that’s going to kick you if you don’t get over here and help.”

  He chuckled again.

  “All right, all right,” he said. “Let me see what I can do.”

  He stood behind me, looking down at the mess of cords. A moment later, he took the end from me, and started weaving it methodically through the other cables.

  Then, suddenly, he stopped.

  “Hey, what’s that there?”

  I looked back and followed his gaze over to an area of the porch a few feet from where I was kneeling.

  It only took a split second for me to realize what it was. I started reaching for it, but Daniel beat me to it.

  I watched as he leaned down, capturing it before me. He placed it squarely on his palm, and studied the strange object for a few seconds beneath the dull glow of the porch light.

  Then he looked back at me.

  “It’s a class ring,” he said, his tone slightly perplexed. “Where did this come from?”

  “I found it,” I said after a few moments of hesitation.

  I got up off my knees and stood next to him.

  “In the pie shop the other day,” I added.

  Daniel raised his eyebrows.

  “Did one of your customers forget it?” he said. “Whoever this belongs to must be getting up there in age.”

  I shook my head.

  “It was behind one of the bricks in the kitchen,” I said. “I think the renovations knocked the brick loose, and this fell out with it.”

  “Hmm,” Daniel said, turning the ring so that he could get a better look. “That’s pretty strange. R-H-B. Who do you think it might belong to?”

  “Ralph Henry Baker,” I said, without a moment’s hesitation.

  Daniel took his eyes off the ring and gave me a sideways glance.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I went to the high school library today to look at an old year book,” I said. “That name’s the only one that matched up.”

  Daniel rubbed the stubble on his chin, and I suddenly remembered the promise I’d made to a certain manipulative receptionist concerning a certain anti-drug talk.

  Shoot.

  Daniel wasn’t going to be happy about it.

  But I had given her my word. And while I wasn’t a big fan of Kristy Varner, I had made a promise to her.

  “Uh… and while I was there at the high school, I might of… um…”

  I looked at him sheepishly, and the expression on his face told me that he already knew what I was gonna say.

  “Oh, no. You didn’t,” he said, dramatically.

  I nodded.

  He let out a sigh.

  “You signed me up for an extraDon’t do Drugs, Kids speech at the high school?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you don’t like doing those. But, well, do you remember Kristy Morton – now Kristy Varner? Well, she’s the school office receptionist and her kid was one of them that got caught with marijuana the other day at the school. She said having you there might talk some sense into the kid, and might convince the principal not to take a drastic measure when it comes to punishing him.”

  “Yeah, I know Kristy,” he said between gritted teeth. “I know her son, too. And Tommy Varner’s not the type of kid who’s gonna just stop using and selling marijuana because I tell him how bad it is for his brain cells.”

  He let out a long, foggy breath up into the air.

  “I just… you know how I dislike those things.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have promised Kristy, but she wouldn’t let me into the library without getting something for herself.”

  He nodded, still looking a little disappointed.

  “Yeah, that sounds like Kristy, all right,” he said. “Always wheeling and dealing on Tommy’s behalf.”

  I stepped closer to him.

  “Sorry, hon,” I said again. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

  I raised an eyebrow, my fingers traveling lightly up his arm. The disappointment in his eyes melted away.

  His lips curled up slightly at the edges.

  “Well, I don’t rightly know, Mr
s. Brightman,” he said. “But let me think on it some. I’m sure we can come to an understanding.”

  I smiled back.

  “In the meantime, though,” he continued. “What else did you find out about this ring?”

  I shrugged.

  “Nothing more. I tried to ask Warren about it earlier, but the old man was playing the slots and couldn’t talk long. I thought he’d have called back sooner, but he hasn’t yet.”

  “Well, that’s probably because he’s three sheets to the wind by now,” Daniel said.

  I punched him playfully.

  “Now what are you saying about my grandpa?” I said.

  He grinned.

  “Just that it’s the old man’s honeymoon and he’s been known to enjoy a few now and again.”

  “No, I’m sure you were implying more with that.”

  “I was just stating a simple fact,” he said. “Nothing more.”

  “Mmhmm,” I said, crossing my arms.

  He rubbed my shoulder. Then turned his attention back to the ring.

  “If you want, I can try and find Ralph Henry Baker for you. Or his kin, if he’s not alive. I suppose class of 1958 would put him at about 75 or so.”

  “You’d do that?” I said.

  “Sure thing,” he said. “Things at the Sheriff’s Office have slowed down some with the fall, and I’m sure Mr. Baker would be happy to have his ring back after all these years.”

  Daniel scratched his chin again, as if in deep thought.

  “Now how do you think that ring got there in the first place? Behind the wall like that?”

  I shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Someone must have put it there sometime before I owned the pie shop. You know, the building’s pretty old. It was built sometime in the 1940s.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “Any idea what used to be there before?”

  “It’s been a lot of things. An ice cream parlor, a diner… before that, I don’t know. But it’s the kind of thing that Warren probably would.”

  Daniel clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

  “Except he’s probably so hammered right now he doesn’t know the floor from the ceiling.”

  I put my hand on my hip.

  “Daniel Brightman!” I said, angrily. “Don’t you go talking about my grandpa like that! He is an upstanding member of this community and you’ve got no right to sully his good name.”

  Daniel started laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.

  “Okay, okay. I was only having a little fun. My apologies.”

  “Well it’s too late for those now.”

  He laughed a little more, looking at me with shining eyes.

  But a moment later, they drifted back down to the class ring, and the smile on his face faded.

  “You mind if I hold onto this until we find him?”

  “Sure,” I said, shrugging. “Let me know what you discover.”

  “I will,” Daniel said, placing it in the front pocket of his forest-green flannel jacket. “Now where were we?”

  “I believe we were untangling a mess of extension cords,” I said.

  “Ah, that’s right,” he said, grabbing the cable again. “Although I could have sworn it was you doing that – as in the singular. Not the plural.”

  “Really? I think your memory’s a little hazy there, pard.’”

  I smiled mischievously and watched as Daniel wrestled with the pack of orange cords.

  Chapter 19

  “What do you think… this one?”

  From the confines of her stroller, baby Laila shook her head fervently, as if her mother had just offered her a steaming platter of Brussels sprouts, broccoli, and cabbage.

  “Hmm, what about this one, then?” Kara said leaning down, pointing to one that was short and fat and had a long, curly stem.

  But the pumpkin still wasn’t quite up to the baby’s standards. She shook her head again.

  Kara straightened out her back and placed a hand on her hip.

  “Well I’ll be if Laila isn’t the pickiest. I think she just keeps saying ‘no’ to spite me.”

  “Or maybe she just knows what she wants and she’s not willing to settle for anything less,” I said.

  Kara smiled.

  “Well, I don’t know why since she’s not even gonna be the one to carve it, but I guess I can’t discourage a gal knowing her own mind.”

  Kara weaved her way through the row she’d been in, and took control of the stroller again. She pushed it slowly down the bumpy, straw-strewn aisle of Harrington Pumpkin Patch.

  I dug my hands deeper into my pockets and took in a deep, frosty breath of crisp autumn air. I tilted my head toward the sun and closed my eyes for a second, letting the late afternoon rays warm my cold face.

  Though the crowds at the pie shop weren’t quite up to the summer tourist mayhem, it still felt like I’d been putting in a lot of hours lately, including today’s shift when I hardly had two seconds to myself the entire day.

  And I knew as we approached the holidays, those long hours would only get longer. And soon, with daylight savings time taking effect, the chances of me getting outside in the sun would be few and far between from here until April.

  “So did I tell you what Edna wrote back to me about that picture I sent?” Kara said as we made our way over to another row of bright orange gourds.

  “Huh?” I said after a long pause.

  My best friend stared at me blankly. The kind of look that I knew was her way of saying “Get with the program, Cin” without actually saying the phrase itself.

  She took a sip from her low-fat iced pumpkin latte that had been secured in a pocket of the stroller.

  “Remember? I sent her the picture of all those mustard bottles in our fridge? After she said that I just didn’t know John’s tastes and how much he hates mustard when I know full-well how much mustard that man goes through.”

  I stifled a sigh and nodded my head.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “Of course. So she responded?”

  “Mmhmm,” she said, and by the way she said it, it was obvious that whatever Edna Billings had written in response hadn’t been to Kara’s liking.

  “Let me read it to you,” she said, fishing her phone out of her jean pocket. A moment later, she was somehow balancing her latte, purse, and phone in one hand, while pushing Laila’s stroller with the other.

  “She said ‘Well I guess that’s just one of the many things that has changed about my son since he met you.’”

  Kara let out a disgusted scoff.

  “Can you believe that passive-aggressive BS, Cin? She’s practically calling me a Yoko Ono to my face!”

  I held my tongue and didn’t point out the fact that Edna hadn’t said any of it to Kara’s face.

  “I mean, doesn’t that sound passive aggressive to you?”

  I nodded, having had the bad fortune of having Mrs. Edna Billings at my Thanksgiving dinner table twice. Though I wasn’t exactly the first person in line to hear about Kara and Edna’s spats, I had to agree with Kara: the woman wasn’t easy to get along with. When she wasn’t blatantly rude, the old woman seemed to derive pleasure from trying to insult people underhandedly.

  “She’s not an easy woman, that’s for sure,” I said.

  “I’d say that’s putting it politely, Cin,” she said. “Edna Billings is the biggest bit—”

  Kara stopped speaking as a buzzing sound interrupted what I was pretty sure was going to be an expletive aimed at her mother-in-law.

  “Sorry,” I said, reaching for my cell, which was stashed in the pocket of my corduroy jacket.

  I glanced at the screen expecting to see Daniel’s name, or maybe Tiana’s, but was surprised to see that the number showed up as “unknown.”

  Normally, I didn’t ever answer calls from numbers I didn’t recognize. I preferred to find out who it was first, and then call back if they weren’t a telemarketer. But
with an unknown number, I wouldn’t be able to call back – unless the person calling left a message.

  My curiosity got the better of me.

  “I’m just going to take this real quick,” I said to Kara.

  She nodded, taking another sip of her latte. A moment later, I had the phone pressed to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  I paused, listening as inaudible static broke out across the speaker.

  I loosened the scarf from around my neck while the thought occurred to me that Warren’s little casino transgression the day before might not have been all that small of a thing. I had never received a call from jail before – what if ‘unknown’ was what showed up on the screen when one of the inmates was trying to get a hold of you?

  The image of Warren in an orange jumpsuit sprang into my mind, and I felt my mouth go dry.

  “Grandpa?” I said. “Is that you—?”

  “No. It’s not Warren.”

  My heart skipped a beat at the sound of the voice.

  It was deep, gravelly and thick, like mud at the bottom of the ocean. The syllables were said slowly, and with a startling measure of precision.

  It put me on my back heels a little bit, and it took me another second before I recovered enough to respond.

  “I’m sorry, who is this?” I said, my voice cracking slightly.

  “You shouldn’t upset people.”

  I furrowed my brow. Kara noticed the strange expression on my face. She raised an eyebrow at me as if to ask ‘is everything okay?’

  “I think you have the wrong numb—”

  “I know you think you’re doing something good,” the voice said. “But you’re picking at old scabs that you have no business picking at.”

  My breath caught in my lungs, and the pace of my heartbeat sped up considerably.

  I cleared my throat.

  “I don’t under—”

  “Stop picking. Or else.”

  “Excus—”

  But I stopped, realizing that there was nothing but dead silence on the other side of the line.

  The mystery caller had said what he’d called to say, and had abruptly hung up.

  I turned the phone off and numbly slipped it into my pocket.