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

by Meg Muldoon

  He accepted my decision without further argument – knowing what it meant to me.

  Ralph wasn’t just some distant relative anymore.

  He was somebody real. He meant something to me, though I couldn’t exactly explain it. He represented something in my life. Maybe I had been looking for closure too all this time, in a way. Closure concerning my dad and his side of the family– a chance to come to terms with his absence from my life.

  I had to be here – for that, and for Ralph.

  I leaned against the Sheriff’s truck and watched the swarm of men near the bridge go to work, feeling a surge of emotions rushing through me.

  It just didn’t seem right for someone so young to die.

  And even though I knew logically that plenty of people had died much younger than Ralph Henry Baker, it still seemed so wrong.

  I thought back again to what I had been like at the age of 20. Lost was the best word I could come up with to describe it.

  Ralph never had the chance to find out what his true passion in life was.

  He never had the chance to fall in love with the right person.

  He never had the chance to fully realize his true potential.

  He never had the—

  “So it is happening today.”

  I jumped, startled by the old voice.

  She stood next to me by the truck, wearing a long, tattered dress and ancient leather loafers. Her grey hair flowed around her in teased clumps.

  She looked at me with her old, yellowed eyes.

  But they no longer seemed to be as hollow or empty anymore.

  “Mrs. Blaylock, I really don’t think you should be here,” I said, stepping in front of her view of the river. “You might see something… something disturbing.”

  She placed a hand on my arm, gripping it firmly.

  “I appreciate it, dear,” she said. “But I need to be here. This is my life, after all, that they’re pulling from that river today.”

  I searched her eyes, looking for any shred of doubt in them.

  But there was none.

  Just old, unresolved pain.

  And something else.

  A little bit of hope.

  “Okay,” I said, stepping back. “We’ll see it through together.”

  “All right!” Daniel shouted to the work crew. “I think we’re about ready.”

  Hattie reached for my hand, her bony fingers gripping it tightly.

  “It seems only right that I’m here now, seeing this beside you of all people, Cinnamon,” she said. “Ralph’s great niece.”

  I smiled sadly, thinking about all the strange things that had happened in the last few weeks.

  All of it seemingly leading up to this moment.

  Maybe something otherworldly had been interfering all this time.

  Only it wasn’t Hattie Blaylock’s evil eye or black magic at work.

  Maybe it was something… or someone else.

  I pat Hattie’s hand, then turned my attention back to the river.

  And we watched through tears as the crane pulled Ralph Henry Baker’s truck from the icy waters.

  Chapter 52

  Nobody killed Ralph Baker that cold, frosty December night almost fifty-five years ago.

  Nobody killed him at all.

  But his death was no less tragic.

  Daniel figured it all out based on one simple moment that occurred as we drove back from Frederick Morgan’s old house out in the woods.

  The Sheriff’s truck had hit a patch of frost and had fishtailed right before we crossed the bridge that spanned the Metolious. And that right there had allowed Daniel to put the pieces together.

  The roads were probably even worse that night, all those years ago. The newspaper accounts had said it was a chilly, frosty evening. And if Ralph Baker had been as distraught as Frederick Morgan said he was leaving his house, then it seemed possible that he could have been driving at high speeds. Not to mention the fact that he’d had several beers at the party earlier that night.

  All the elements: the state of Ralph’s mind, the alcohol, and the slick road conditions, conspired to create a terrible, terrible tragedy. And possibly, what had made it worse was the fact that nobody had known that such a horrible accident had ever taken place.

  Once Daniel figured it out, it took several days to get a diver from the Oregon State Police to go into the frigid, swirling currents of the river and see if Daniel’s hunch was right. The diver had come up, confirming that there was indeed a vehicle down there, a 1958 Ford F100 truck that looked like it had been submerged for quite some time.

  And there were remains in the driver’s seat.

  After the discovery, Daniel organized a crane and work crew to recover the truck, finally answering what had been a question mark for nearly six decades.

  All of Christmas River now knew what happened to Ralph Henry Baker.

  And though it was tragic and heartbreaking, I hoped that the truth would bring some peace to Ralph’s sprit, wherever he was now.

  And that maybe it’d bring some peace to Hattie Blaylock’s spirit.

  And to Pastor Frederick Morgan’s spirit as well.

  I didn’t know if finally finding out what happened to her fiancé, and knowing that the Pastor hadn’t had anything to do with his death, changed the way Hattie felt about him all these years later. She had said once that she was no longer capable of loving somebody, and I wondered if that was true. If the heart really could become so badly damaged, that its capacity for loving could somehow be permanently destroyed.

  I didn’t know the answer. But what I did know was that town gossip said Pastor Morgan had showed up to Hattie’s house with a bushel of marigolds shortly after Ralph’s body was retrieved from the Metolious. And that Hattie had accepted the flowers, and allowed the Pastor to enter her old house.

  After everything that had happened, I wasn’t sure if love was something that could ever be restored for the two of them.

  But maybe friendship could.

  Either way, when Ralph’s body had been pulled from the icy waters that day, it seemed as though the curse that had been plaguing Hattie and Frederick had lifted.

  And maybe now, just maybe, they’d have a chance at finding some sort of happiness in their lives.

  The kitchen timer beeped, jarring me from my thoughts. I left the sliding glass door, where I had been watching the sun descend over our backyard meadow, and I went over to the oven. I checked the sour cream apple turnovers. The small hand pies weren’t quite the rich golden color I was looking for yet, so I closed the oven, and set the timer for another seven minutes.

  Then I reached in my pocket, pulling out the thing that had been the catalyst for it all.

  Ralph’s class ring.

  I had tried to give it to Hattie that day when they pulled Ralph’s truck from the riverbed, but she had just looked at it nostalgically for a long moment, then shaken her head.

  “It belongs to you now, dear,” she had said, curling my hands up over it. “I know that he would have wanted you to have it.”

  Before leaving, she had looked into my eyes one last time. And for a second, I thought that I saw a spark of what had once been there, all those years ago.

  A spark of the vivacious, carefree girl she once had been. Before her life had been so significantly altered.

  “He would have been proud of you, Cinnamon,” she said. “Very proud, indeed.”

  I smiled slightly now at the memory, and ran my fingers over the lettering on the ring once more.

  Closure wasn’t something you often got a chance to have in life.

  And when you did get some sense of it, you were one of the lucky ones.

  I went over to the mantle, and placed the ring next to the collection of family photos that featured our loved ones who had passed on.

  “Rest easy now, Ralph,” I whispered.

  Chapter 53

  I stood at the door, completely aghast.

  “Wow, you guys look
…”

  Standing on my porch was a handsome 1880s-era Western gambler with dark hair, a bow tie, and an elegantly-embroidered vest. On his arm was a pretty coquette with sky-high curls, an old-fashioned flowing blue lace dress, and cowgirl boots.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” the gambler said, nodding his head forward. “My lady and me just come from fair Lincoln City where we tired ourselves out at the faro table. We heard we might be able to find some respite in this here fine abode.”

  I smiled, shaking my head in disbelief.

  Warren and Aileen had really gone to town this Halloween. Between Warren’s dark wig and gambler get-up, which made the old man look about 20 years younger, and Aileen’s elegant hair and ball gown, I found myself struggling to find the words.

  All I had done for my costume this year was put on a little green makeup, striped tights, and a witch hat.

  “Well, you two are certainly a sight for sore eyes,” I finally said, reaching out and gently hugging my grandfather, then Aileen, afraid to mess up their fine costumes with too boisterous of a hug.

  “It’s good to see you too, Cinny Bee,” Warren said, winking that hallmark wink of his.

  “You guys look great – but what exactly are you supposed to be, anyway?” I asked, mostly to give the old man an opportunity to give me a detailed account of his costume.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Warren said. “I’m Maverick. And this here is the charming lady gambler who stole my heart.”

  “And I take it you’re a witch, Cinnamon?” Aileen said, peering at my hat.

  I nodded.

  “Not exactly the most original costume, I know,” I said. “But it just felt right this Halloween for some reason.”

  I smiled, stepping aside to let them pass. Huckleberry and Chadwick went up to the two gamblers eagerly, wagging their tails like the pooches hadn’t seen my grandfather and his wife in a full year.

  A moment later, Warren closed his eyes, taking in a deep, greedy breath of air.

  “Something sure smells good in here, Cinny Bee,” he said.

  I grinned.

  He was right on that count. Between the Butternut squash rosemary dip, the apple chutney brie crostini, the hot whiskey ciders, and the sour cream apple turnovers, the house smelled like an autumn dream.

  “The food will be ready in about ten minutes,” I said. “Daniel’s running a little late – he fell a little behind today at work since he had to do that anti-drug talk at the high school – but he’ll be here soon. Until then, let me get you guys a couple of whiskey ciders, and you can tell me all about your honeymoon.”

  I started heading toward the kitchen, where the cider was simmering on the stove.

  “Uh, before that, Cinny Bee,” Warren said, taking something from his vest pocket. “There’s a little something Aileen and I wanted to give you. Something we got at a store near that old Catholic church in Lincoln City.”

  I raised my eyebrows, looking at the small present wrapped in beige paper he was holding in his hands.

  “You guys didn’t have to get me anything,” I said.

  “Well, we had a little extra money floating around,” Warren said, grinning broadly, handing me the small parcel.

  I paused for a moment, but then started peeling away the wrapping, uncovering a small dark blue jewelry box. I flipped the top open and saw something shiny glittering back at me.

  I studied the beautiful pendant, which depicted a man with a halo holding a child, for a long time.

  Then I looked up at Warren and Aileen.

  “Now, you know I’m not exactly a religious man,” Warren said, nodding to the necklace. “But I saw this, and it reminded me of you.”

  “It did?”

  Warren nodded.

  “You see, it’s St. Anthony,” Warren said. “He’s the patron saint of lost things. Lost people, too.”

  “We thought it only fitting,” Aileen said, smiling warmly at me. “After we heard how you solved that missing person’s case and helped bring some peace to that poor soul.”

  I smiled again, looking back down at the beautiful medal, now understanding the significance.

  “Thank you so much,” I said. “This… this means a lot.”

  I took the medal out from the box and placed the silver necklace strand over my head. A moment later, the pendant was hanging around my neck. It felt as though it had always been there.

  “You did good, Cinny Bee,” Warren said, reaching out and pinching my cheek. “You did really good.”

  I felt my heart swell with pride.

  Chapter 54

  “All right, does everybody have their shoes tied tight?” Daniel shouted from the porch. “Because if they’re not, your socks are liable to get knocked off in the next minute or so. And I don’t want to be held responsible for any of them that go missing.”

  A resounding grumble rose up from the lawn around me. Though whether it was because of Daniel’s corny joke, or because he was delaying what everybody had come here to see, I couldn’t be sure.

  The temperature of the night air was dropping faster than a pumpkin from a sixty-story building. The sun was descending quickly, and up above, the wispy tendrils of the clouds were quickly fading into dusky greys.

  All of us – Kara, John, Laila, Warren, Aileen, Ian, Tiana, Tobias, Billy, Chrissy, and Owen – waited impatiently while Daniel tinkered with some extension cords.

  “I’m missing something,” Daniel finally shouted out to us.

  “Oh yeah?” Warren snapped back. “What’s that?”

  “A countdown.”

  In the dim light, I saw my husband smile broadly from his position on the porch.

  I shook my head in feigned exasperation.

  Daniel was conjuring up some serious drama skills this Halloween.

  “All right, let’s give the man what he wants,” Warren said, looking around. “C’mon. 10, 9, 8…”

  Soon, everybody joined in the countdown.

  “5… 4… 3… 2… 1…!”

  A moment later, the entire house came to life.

  Chapter 55

  Big, nostalgic orange and black lightbulbs flashed around the house like cameras during the seventh game of the World Series. Along the porch railing, a row of large, lighted plastic skeletons danced and jangled to a ghastly tune. On the porch steps, several aptly-carved pumpkins sat glowering with hateful, horrifying expressions. Meanwhile, a series of green elf ghouls gazed out from the downstairs windows, looking ominous and foreboding. From the rose bed below the porch, horrible, chilling noises streamed out of a small cemetery – a bony hand reaching up from the fresh soil of one of the tombstones, beckoning from beyond the grave.

  Meanwhile, a six-foot skeleton that reminded me of the one Vincent Price used in House on Haunted Hill, stood next to the front door. Clothed in a big red jacket and a Santa Claus hat, the skeleton made the perfect butler for the occasion.

  After a few moments of breathlessly taking in the Halloween wonders that Daniel had created, the loved-ones standing on our lawn burst into a round of cheers and applause.

  His cheeks growing rosy, Daniel nodded, accepting the praise. Then he descended the porch steps, and took a spot next to me on the lawn as the others went forward toward the haunted house, inspecting the ghouls, skeletons, ghosts, and tombstones up close.

  He put an arm around my shoulder.

  “So?” Daniel said, glancing down. “How’d I do?”

  I smiled, rubbing his back.

  “I think you killed it, hon,” I said.

  His cheeks were a full-on bashful shade of red now, and I suddenly caught a heartwarming glimpse of a 9-year-old Daniel, giddy with excitement for the Halloween night to come.

  “I couldn’t have done any of it without this little witchy wife of mine,” he said, tipping my witch’s hat forward slightly.

  “Ah, it was all you, and you know it,” I said.

  We stood there for a long time, admiring all of Daniel’s hard wor
k.

  Then, as the night deepened around us, he pulled me close.

  “So I take it you dressing up like a witch this Halloween means that you’re no longer afraid of Hattie Blaylock casting some black magic your way?”

  I smiled a little sadly at the thought of the old woman, and the fact that so many people in Christmas River had the wrong idea about her.

  Though Hattie may have looked the part, she was just about the farthest thing from a witch as you could get.

  “No, I’m not scared of Hattie anymore,” I said. “I know now that she didn’t cause any of those accidents. And that there’s no such thing as witches.”

  Daniel rubbed my back.

  “I’m sure glad you were able to help her, Cin,” he said. “You do know that you helped her a lot, don’t you?”

  I smiled.

  “I know,” I said. “And I couldn’t have done it without my Sheriff husband.”

  He shook his head.

  “Ah, it was all you, darlin,’ and you know it,” he said, echoing my words.

  His translucent green eyes, full of love and admiration, gazed deep into mine.

  I felt my heart flutter.

  “Well, I know I just said that I don’t believe in witches,” I said. “But you know what? I do believe in magic.”

  Daniel furrowed his brow slightly.

  “You do?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  I reached for his shirt collar, pulling him toward me.

  Then I stood on my tip-toes, and planted a soft, sweet, tender kiss on Daniel Brightman’s lips.

  And I swear, I felt myself levitate off the ground that night with all the magic of true love.

  The End.

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