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

by Meg Muldoon

  I watched as a car swerved around her, missing her by only a hair. It honked loudly, and I could see the driver shouting out the window, his shaking fist expressing something along the lines of “Get out of the street, Lady!”

  Deb didn’t seem to hear him. That, or she didn’t care that she’d almost been mowed over. All her attention seemed to be fixed on a particular fowl that was running wild.

  With only a few days until Thanksgiving, the bird must have seen what was coming his way and had made a break for it.

  I craned my neck, pushing my face all the way up against the window, watching as Deb weaved around a few cars that had stopped in the middle of the road. The drivers all seemed to be gawking at her.

  She jumped up on the sidewalk that ran on my side of the street, her legs pumping hard. But just as she landed on the concrete, her left ankle bent unnaturally. She stumbled, the heel of her shoe snapping clear in half.

  Her face went ashen as she mouthed what looked to be an obscenity of some sort. She slowed down and began hobbling, taking slow and labored steps.

  “Son of a gun turkey!” she yelled so loudly, the noise went through my pie shop window pane like it wasn’t there.

  I suddenly realized that the turkey, which was running for its dear life, was going to pass directly by my storefront.

  I only had a small window of opportunity, but somehow, I snapped myself out of my own gawking. A split second later, I was running for the pie shop door and bolting out into the cold, frosty morning. I threw myself into the middle of the sidewalk like I was trying to apprehend a criminal fleeing from the law.

  The poor turkey nearly slammed right into me.

  He squawked and tried to dodge, running one way and then another, making me feel like a hockey goalie playing a feeble version of defense. A split second later, the turkey had squeezed himself under my black SUV. I ran around the other side of the car, blocking one of the exits.

  A moment later, Deb was on the other side of the Escape, face down on the asphalt. The turkey started making loud gobbling noises as Deb clawed for him under the car. A second later she stood up, the bird flapping wildly as she yanked him from underneath the vehicle.

  She tucked him firmly under her arm and breathed hard, trying to catch her breath.

  “Goodness gracious!” she said as turkey feathers floated all around her. “I thought he was a goner for sure!”

  She sucked in wind like it was going out of style.

  “Little bastard got out just as I was getting ready for work. I guess Jack Daniels knows what time of year it is, and he doesn’t much care for the idea of how we humans celebrate Thanksgiving.”

  I grinned.

  “Jack Daniels? You named the turkey Jack Daniels?”

  She shrugged.

  “Well, he is a Bourbon Red turkey after all. You see, my dad gave him to us earlier this year for our Thanksgiving meal before… well, before he passed on. I thought Daddy would like it if I named the turkey after his drink of choice.”

  I smiled.

  The turkey was kicking its legs, trying to escape Deb’s clutches, but the effort was futile: she had a death grip on him. Soon enough, he stopped twisting. He started moving his head back and forth, looking around. His red jowls jiggled, and his beady eyes stared out into the dim fog.

  I felt a wave of chills rush through me as I looked at the turkey’s scaly, bumpy and bald scalp.

  Jack Daniels wasn’t the prettiest belle at the ball by any stretch of the imagination, and truth be told, he kind of creeped me out.

  Deb wiped away a little dribble of sweat that had trailed down the side of her face with the back of her free hand, and then forced a smile as she regained her breath.

  I tried not to stare too long at the woman’s disheveled, half-naked get-up, but it was a little hard not to. Only one side of her face seemed to have mascara and eyeliner. Her pink lipstick was smeared, and her curlers were coming undone. The slip she was wearing wasn’t really much more than glorified underwear.

  I couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that Deb Dulany looked like a hot mess.

  Which was unusual for her. Before recently starting a new career in real estate, Deb had been my hairdresser. In both professions, she’d gotten a reputation as being one of the most stylish ladies in Christmas River. She always had her hair done in the trendiest, most up-to-date ways. She actually wore heels on a regular basis, and since taking a stab at real estate, she’d started wearing fashionable suits.

  I wasn’t sure how well her new profession was going for her so far, but she certainly had the look of a successful woman.

  Most of the time anyway.

  “Cinnamon, I’m in your debt,” she said, readjusting the turkey in the nook of her arm. “You just saved Thanksgiving for us. The kids would’ve been just devastated if we didn’t have turkey on the table this year. Last year was hard enough.”

  “It was nothing,” I said. “I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me if our roles were reversed.”

  “Well, nobody else did what you did, so thanks for that,” she said. “They were just all content to stare and be rude.”

  She shot a nasty look toward traffic, as if the driver who honked at her was still on the street.

  “That ankle of yours okay?” I asked. “I couldn’t help but see that your heel snapped.”

  She looked down at her bare feet.

  “I think so,” she said. “Damn Payless shoes.”

  She muttered the last part under her breath.

  “Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?” I said. “You must be cold. And I feel like it’s been forever since I last saw you, what with you changing professions.”

  She shook her head, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful that she declined.

  I didn’t really want that scaly, creepy-looking turkey running around my dining room if I could help it.

  “I’d love to catch up, but I’ve got to get Jack Daniels back into his pen and make sure it’s secure,” she said. “And I… well, just look at me.”

  She glanced down at her revealing outfit.

  “I’m in no condition to be anywhere but at home right now. Besides, I’ve got a showing in half an hour. I better get cracking. We’ll have to get coffee another time. But thank you for the offer.”

  She looked down at the turkey.

  “And for your help with this guy.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  She started hobbling down the street, carrying her heels in one hand, the turkey in the other.

  “Have a good Thanksgiving, Deb,” I said after her.

  “You do the same, Cinnamon,” she said, not looking back.

  A car driving down the road honked at her and a carful of teenage boys on their way to school started whistling out the window.

  Deb picked up the pace and before long, I saw her disappear down Mistletoe Avenue, the street where she lived.

  Chapter 2

  I rubbed my arms, suddenly realizing that I was shivering.

  The fog out here this morning was of the freezing kind and had coated the junipers and pines with a sparkling layer of hoarfrost. The trees looked like towering ghosts through the mist.

  I took one last glance around the street before leaving. The school traffic was starting to let up, and even though shopkeepers in downtown Christmas River were beginning to open their doors for business, there was a general sleepiness that hung over the small town, the way the fog did. Hardly anyone was out on the street anymore.

  Hardly anyone, save for Tobias Jones.

  Tobias sat hunched over on the sidewalk across the way, near the Christmas River Drug Store and Pharmacy. The homeless man’s face was downcast, and I couldn’t tell if he was awake or suffering through some fitful, icy slumber.

  My heart ached a little seeing him there like that.

  Christmas River didn’t have a lot of homeless folks, though it seemed like there were more and more of them lately. There were a
couple of regulars who liked to haunt downtown – Tobias was one of them. I didn’t know much about him except that he’d once been in the Marines and was wounded on one of his tours in the Middle East. For the past few months, he’d started hanging out by the drug store, nodding off to sleep there while the rest of the town basically ignored him. Sometimes he’d hold a sign, asking for change. Other times he just sat there, trying to catch a little bit of the cold mountain sun’s warmth.

  I shivered again and saw my breath freeze in front of me.

  I started heading back into my pie shop, but then stopped.

  I found myself glancing back across the street at him. I bit my lower lip.

  It just didn’t seem right.

  Chapter 3

  Tobias twisted his worn and weathered green wool beanie between his hands nervously as he sat down at the booth in the dining room.

  The homeless man had a wild look about him. His skin had the quality of aged leather that had seen countless days of sun, rain and snow. His cheeks were slightly discolored from years of being exposed to harsh weather. His hair and beard had a mangy look, and to put it politely, he was in bad need of a shower.

  His hands shook hard as he reached for the steaming cup of coffee I’d just poured him. He brought the mug up to his mouth and took a long sip.

  “Mmm,” he muttered in a gruff voice. “That warms up a cold body nice.”

  “What flavor of pie would you like?” I asked to my only customer of the morning so far. “We’ve got Gingersnap Pumpkin, Cinnamon Blueberry, Mountain Cherry, Whiskey Apple, Berry Vanilla Pudding, Chocolate Hazelnut Liqueur, Sweet Potato Fig, Snickerdoodle Banana Mocha Pudding, or Cranberry Apple Walnut today.”

  His eyes grew wide as the pie names rolled off my tongue.

  “Why, that’s a lot of options, miss,” he said, shaking his head. “Uh… well, I… Well what do you think I should have?”

  “Well, I guess it depends on what you like, Tobias,” I said. “If you like a real sweet pie with a little bit of a kick, than the Gingersnap Pumpkin fits the bill nicely. If you like something a little tart, then the Cranberry Apple Walnut would be my choice. If you like something on the savory side, then the Sweet Potato Fig is right up your alley. But if you like an old-fashioned, classic, never-fail pie, then the Mountain Cherry is your gal.”

  He gave a half smile and stroked his white beard. He knit his brows together in a look of deep contemplation.

  “Well, that is a tough choice, miss,” he said, as if I was a waitress at a five-star restaurant who had just rattled off a specials menu in French.

  He stroked his beard again.

  “I guess I’ll go with that first one. The pumpkin one.”

  “One Gingersnap Pumpkin coming right up,” I said, going back to the pie case and cutting him a large slice.

  I put an extra helping of fresh whipped cream on it, and then came back to the booth, placing the loaded plate in front of him, along with a fork.

  He dug into it, at first with reserved, self-conscious gestures. Then he started eating more quickly, conveying just how hungry he had actually been.

  I took a seat at the booth across from him.

  “My aunt used to have a bakery back in Rapid City,” he said in a low voice between bites. “Many years ago.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded his head.

  “I practically grew up in that bakery. I used to help her when I was a kid. Made all sorts of tasty delights. Bear claws, turnovers, bars, brownies. Pies, too.”

  By the looks of Tobias’ rail-thin figure, all of that was many years ago indeed.

  “She always made sure to save me a little something from the front case at the end of the day. Made sure I wasn’t want for anything.

  I was always her favorite.”

  His lips turned up into a bright smile and the skin around his eyes creased with the effort. But a moment later, the smile had wilted like leaves in the frost.

  “Some ways that was just yesterday,” he said. “Other ways… Other ways that was a long, long time ago.”

  I thought for a second about asking him where his aunt was now. How he ended up out here in Oregon. If he had any other family.

  But I decided to hold my tongue.

  I didn’t want to bring up any bad memories for him.

  I noticed his eyes drift over to the pie case, and then they dropped down sheepishly when he noticed that I’d seen him looking.

  I smiled.

  “Something else on your mind?” I asked.

  “No, miss,” he said, keeping his eyes down. “You’ve already been nicer than you needed to be.”

  I got up and grabbed his plate.

  “You know, I didn’t know you were a pastry expert when you walked in here,” I said. “But now that I do, I would appreciate it if you tried that Cranberry Apple Walnut pie of mine. You see, it’s my newest flavor. I wouldn’t mind a little feedback on it if you’re not too full on the pumpkin.”

  His face brightened up. He lifted his eyes, and for the first time, they met mine.

  “Really?” he said.

  I nodded. I took his plate and went back over to the pie case. I cut into a new Cranberry Apple Walnut, and I served him up a big gooey slice.

  He looked like a kid in a candy store when I handed it to him.

  I was about to sit down at the booth again, but just then, the bell on the front door jingled and a woman walked in.

  I tried not to shudder as I recognized who it was.

  Chapter 4

  Meredith Drutman was a local relator who had once been a real beauty back in the day, having been crowned the local Christmas in July Parade Queen in her time. These days, her looks were crumbling. But she still had all the uppity attitude of a small town beauty queen who had never quite made it in the real world.

  Meredith was a terrible gossip, smiling in everyone’s face while spreading nasty rumors about them around town. Her twenty-something daughter Haley took after her mom, and in the past, the girl had thrown a nasty insult or two my way when she thought I was a romantic rival for a young Sheriff’s deputy she was obsessed with. I was sure that Meredith’s young son wasn’t much better than his mom and older sister. Meredith’s husband probably wasn’t either, for that matter.

  Needless to say, I didn’t much care for Meredith. But customers were customers, and for some reason, the Drutmans continued to come back to my pie shop.

  Meredith was wearing a red wool trench coat and had a little bit too much eyeliner and mascara on for this hour of the morning. Her heavy makeup job settled deep into her wrinkles, making her look older than she actually was.

  She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Tobias sitting in the booth across from me. Then she shot a nasty look in his direction.

  “What can I help you with?” I said coldly, getting up and going back behind the glass case.

  “Cinnamon, I need to place an order for Thursday. I’ve got George’s entire family descending on our house, including his cousins Bob and Morgan, who, between you and me, are gluttonous good-for-nothing bums. Then Haley’s bringing her new boyfriend home for Thanksgiving, which I guess is okay, but I can’t say I’m too fond of Haley’s new love interest. Did you know that that boy has tattoos covering the entire length of both arms? I told her, ‘Haley, that boy’s not the marrying kin—”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s a little late to be placing an order,” I said.

  I’d had a sign in front of my pie shop for two months now telling folks to place their orders for Thanksgiving at least a week ahead of the big day. I’d made that rule so I’d be adequately supplied for all the orders and so I wouldn’t have to spend Thanksgiving here at the pie shop, making food for other peoples’ feasts instead of my own.

  But in typical Meredith fashion, she thought the rules didn’t apply to her.

  Her eyes narrowed, a hint of anger behind them. But then the expression on her face changed into a full-on pout.

  “But it’s Th
anksgiving, Cinnamon,” she pleaded in a whiny voice. “I’m depending on these pies. I might lose my sanity if I have to make dessert myself. And you know, your pies make everyone so happy. I mean, my entire family just loves them. Haley especially would be disappointed if we didn’t have your pie this year.”

  I crossed my arms, and looked out the window.

  I didn’t buy any bit of what she was trying to sell me, but from a practical standpoint, I knew that taking this order would help put a little extra something into my Christmas present fund this year.

  I’d had my eye on a new pair of boots for Daniel to replace the ones that Wyatt Rasmussen upchucked all over at last year’s Christmas River Rodeo. The new boots had a hefty price tag on them. And being that Daniel and I had just returned from our Maui honeymoon, where money just seemed to flow out of our bank account like a river, I was going to need all the help I could get to purchase those boots.

  I looked at Meredith skeptically, and then pulled a pen and notepad from the drawer.

  “All right,” I said. “What kind of pies do you want?”

  The edges of her mouth curled up into a smile, reminding me of that part in The Grinch when the green cave dweller devises his malicious plan to ruin Christmas for Whoville.

  She rattled off some typical Thanksgiving pie fare. Pecan, Gingersnap Pumpkin, and Whiskey Apple.

  “They’ll be ready by 9 a.m. Thursday,” I said. “I’m closing the shop by noon, so don’t wait until the last minute to pick them up.”

  She nodded quickly.

  Tobias coughed, catching Meredith’s attention again. She turned around, staring at him. Then she leaned forward toward me.

  “Cinnamon, what is that man doing in here?” she rasped, her eyes growing wide, as if I was committing some crime by having him in my shop. “Don’t you know that he’s…”

  She trailed off as she realized that I wasn’t in agreement with whatever she was implying.

  “I asked him to be a taste tester,” I said. “Tobias has some experience in the pastry industry.”

  “But Cinnamon, he’s a…”