by Meg Muldoon
“Are you sure, Deb? I mean, I don’t know what happened between your two families, but this is a bit of a strange way to get revenge, isn’t it?”
Deb didn’t seem to be swayed by my doubt.
She let out a beleaguered sigh.
“You know, Frankie and Hunter used to be best friends before this year?” Deb said, looking out the window. “Meredith and I were actually friends, too. She’s the one who inspired me to get into real estate. She was making all this money, and I was barely making ends meet doing hair. She said I had a good personality and that I’d go far if I got my license.”
She rubbed her face, hesitating.
“We were all just as happy as peas in a pod. Until… well,” she said, her face growing dark. “That son of hers? He changed this year. He started hanging out with these mean, older kids at school. And him and Frankie sort of had a falling out.”
She let out a long sigh, and her face fell.
“Those boys locked Frankie in the school library Halloween night. By himself. All alone in the dark. He’s still afraid of the dark, Cinnamon. I must have been driving the streets until one that night looking for him, out of my mind with worry. I thought something terrible had…”
She trailed off, biting her lower lip.
Then her face flushed.
“And you know what Meredith said when I told her what had happened – that her son had been part of it? You know what she said to me?
“Boys will be boys, Deb. Boys will be boys.”
She shook her head in disgust.
“I took it up with the principal of the school, I was so angry. And after we had a sit down and Hunter got suspended for a week, Meredith stopped talking to me. Last month, she brought cupcakes to the annual Women Relators of Christmas River meeting. She made a point to hand them out to everyone. Everyone but me. Can you believe that? That nasty woman.”
I felt my insides cringe as I listened to the story.
Poor Frankie, trapped alone in the dark all night. Waiting for someone to come save him.
I had that fear growing up too. I was afraid of the dark a lot longer than most kids my age. I eventually overcame the fear, but to this day, I still shuddered at the thought of being trapped in dark places alone.
I was sure that Hunter was a bad apple, just the way his mother and older sister were.
But it didn’t mean that he had stolen Jack Daniels.
“But Deb, how can you be sure it was him?”
“I can’t,” she said. “Only that this seems just like the kind of dirty, low thing the Drutmans would do, Cinnamon.”
She stared past me out the window.
“It has to be them.”
Chapter 16
I put the last batch of the Gingersnap Pumpkin pies in the fridge, and then quickly went for my coat and scarf on the coat rack. I hurriedly put them on and checked to make sure I’d turned off the ovens and the burners. Then I hit the light switch, and the kitchen fell into darkness.
I quickly sped across the empty dining room and then stepped out the front door. I locked up behind me, shivering a bit as the cold, damp air bit at my cheeks.
I dashed across the sidewalk and then climbed into the passenger seat of the truck.
Huckleberry assaulted me with a flurry of slobbery doggy kisses.
I laughed, running my hands through his soft fur. Then I pecked Daniel on the cheek before buckling up.
“Is the plane still on time?” I asked.
“Last I checked,” he said, throwing the car in reverse and backing up slowly. “Unless the old man is stalling it by talking the pilot’s ear off about Scottish beer. Which seems like a strong possibility, knowing him.”
“Hey now,” I said, pretending to be offended. “What is it you’re trying to insinuate about my grandfather?”
Daniel looked over at me and grinned mischievously.
“Nothing you don’t already know, honey,” he said.
I laughed.
I couldn’t argue. Warren would talk anybody’s ear off about most subjects, if given the chance.
Daniel pulled out onto the downtown streets, driving a few miles under the speed limit as his eyes scanned for ice on the road ahead. The truck’s heater was on high, blasting warm air into our faces. Huckleberry rested his front legs on my lap as we drove, leaning his head back as his way of asking for more scratches behind the ear.
“How’d it go with my car?” I asked, half afraid to hear what the monetary damage turned out to be.
Daniel and I did all right when it came to our finances. But we’d been on a bit of a spending spree lately between our wedding last December, our new house, and the honeymoon. Things were tighter than I would have liked, especially with the Christmas season ahead and all that that entailed. A big car expense was something that we just didn’t need right now.
He shrugged.
“Aw, it was okay,” he said.
But by the tone in his voice, I knew that it had cost more than he had expected it to.
I raised my eyebrows at him.
“That bad?” I said.
He shrugged again.
“You know how it is,” he said. “You take it in for one thing, they find something else too. The cosmetic stuff wasn’t a big deal, but your brakes were squishy. Got you some new tires too. The ones you had were worn down.”
I bit my lip.
“How much all together?” I asked.
“A dime and some change,” he said.
I felt my gut twinge a little, the way it did whenever I got an unexpected bill in the mail.
“Don’t worry, though,” Daniel said. “I took care of it.”
I bit my lip.
That didn’t even include the car insurance premium, which was probably going to go up now that I’d mowed over those mailboxes.
I looked out the window into the dark night, and tried to push it out of my mind.
I’d been making all those pies earlier to go into my Christmas present shopping fund. But now I knew the money would be going somewhere else.
After a few moments of silence, I realized that there was no use in dwelling on any of this for much longer.
It was Thanksgiving tomorrow, after all. A time when you didn’t think about what you didn’t have – but all that you did have.
And compared to so many, Daniel and I were incredibly lucky.
We pulled out onto the highway that led to the Redmond Airport and sped along, the junipers along the side of the road swaying in the dark wind.
“Any luck finding who stole Jack Daniels?” I asked, changing the subject.
I had promised Deb I would convey her theory on Meredith and her son back to Daniel, though I still wasn’t completely convinced.
“Not anything concrete,” he said. “But, uh, well, I talked to a few of Deb’s neighbors. One of them had something interesting to say that could explain what happened.”
I listened attentively.
“Seems that one of them saw a homeless guy outside the Dulany’s front yard a couple of times in the past week.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Really?” I said.
Daniel nodded.
“I asked Deb about it, and she said she hadn’t seen him. But I asked Frankie, and he said he saw the homeless man too out there once.”
I swallowed hard, as a thought occurred to me.
Deb Dulany’s house wasn’t all that far from Christmas River’s Main Street.
Not all that far from the drug store where…
“Uh, what did they say this homeless guy looked like?” I asked.
Daniel shrugged.
“The neighbor said he was scruffy looking, like just about every other homeless guy in Christmas River,” Daniel said. “And that he kept staring at the turkey. The neighbor came out once and asked him what he was doing. He said the homeless guy got scared and ran away.”
I bit my lip.
“Did they say anything else about how he looked?” I asked.
Daniel heard it in my voice. He looked over at me, eyeing me a little suspiciously.
“Yeah,” he said. “The neighbor said this guy was wearing an old brown jacket and a green beanie.”
I let out a ragged sigh.
“Do you know this guy?” Daniel asked.
“I think I might,” I said. “His name’s Tobias Jones. He’s that man who sits out front of the drug store across the street. I invited him into my shop the other morning for pie and we talked a little while.”
Daniel furrowed his brow.
“I think I’ve seen him before,” Daniel said. “He kind of keeps to himself most of the time, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. He seems like an okay guy,” I said. “I think he’s just had a hard time of it. But he doesn’t seem bad, you know?”
“When’s the last time you saw him?” he asked.
“Today, as a matter of fact,” I said. “He came into the shop right before Deb came by and…”
I swallowed hard, remembering how I had offered Tobias a slice of pie earlier, and how he had turned me down.
Because, he said, he had a big meal to eat later that afternoon.
I had thought he was talking about the free Thanksgiving meal the local homeless shelter offered every year the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.
But maybe… maybe he had meant something else.
I rubbed my hands together anxiously.
“Deb has a different theory about who stole Jack Daniels, though,” I said.
“You talked to Deb again?” Daniel asked.
I nodded.
“She seems to think Meredith Drutman and her son Hunter were behind it,” I said.
“The real estate agent?” he asked.
“Yeah, seems like Hunter and Frankie used to be best friends. But then this Halloween, Hunter and some punk friends of his locked poor Frankie in the school library overnight. Deb was furious and Meredith’s son got suspended. Deb thinks Hunter stole the turkey or let him out of the cage as some sort of revenge.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Poor Frankie,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “And either way, it doesn’t seem like the family is going to get their turkey back.”
I looked out the window, letting out a disappointed sigh.
I still didn’t know why it bothered me so much.
Had he stayed in his pen, Jack Daniels would have ended up on the Dulany’s dinner table. Now it appeared the turkey at least had a chance of surviving. That is, if Tobias wasn’t eating him right now.
The mystery of who stole Jack Daniels didn’t much matter to the turkey, wherever he was.
But it did matter to Deb and her family.
And I was sure it mattered to Frankie.
Something about that kid’s face haunted me. It was more than just the worried expression he’d had. It was in his eyes.
There was a sadness in them.
And something in me felt like I couldn’t quite bare for him to have any more sadness in his life.
I thought of their small Thanksgiving table this year. Of the empty spot in the middle where the turkey was going to be.
I shuddered.
I knew it was as simple as buying the Dulany family another turkey. But in some ways, it wasn’t. Because after Thanksgiving, all those problems the kids faced, of growing up poor without a dad, would still be there.
Daniel looked over at me, forcing a smile.
“It’ll be okay, Cin,” he said. “I’ll go talk to the Drutmans tomorrow. We’ll figure out something. You trust me?”
I bit my lip, then nodded.
“But for now, let’s focus on what’s immediately in front of us,” he said. “And that’s surviving one whole week with Warren under our roof.”
He grinned devilishly in the dim light coming from the stereo. I punched him lightly in the arm. He pretended like it hurt, rubbing his shoulder.
“Hey, that was uncalled for,” he said, still smiling.
“Well, that’s what you get for talking nonsense about my grandfather.”
We both laughed.
Daniel liked Warren as much as I did. He was just trying to lighten the mood.
And it seemed to do the job. Despite the icy road ahead of us, and the dark night all around us, the feeling in the car the rest of the way to the airport was one of eager and happy anticipation.
It was going to be so good to have the old man back home.
Chapter 17
I saw his shiny bald head in the crowd of tired-looking, stone-faced passengers from a mile away.
I tried to restrain myself, but within a moment, I found that my heart had run roughshod over my brain.
Like a kid on the last day of school, I started running, weaving my way through the oncoming river of the recently arrived, dodging large suitcases and duffle bags, my eyes fixed dead ahead on the old man.
It had only been a few months since I’d seen him. But to me, it had felt like a heck of a lot longer.
At the beginning of this year, Warren had boarded a plane to Scotland with a couple of his friends to go study beer in the old country for 12 months. His study abroad adventure had come as somewhat of a shock. He’d never lived anywhere else but Christmas River, and he was awfully old to be embarking on an adventure that was more suited to a college student. I was proud of him for having the courage to do something that big and to follow his dreams.
But I’d missed him terribly since he left.
“Grandpa!” I shouted, throwing my arms around him and squeezing him hard.
I think I might have squeezed him too hard because he started coughing a little. After a few moments, I slapped him on the back and pulled away.
I was making a bit of a spectacle, and I could feel the eyes of the exhausted and ornery passengers on us, but I didn’t care.
Warren coughed some more.
“Cinny Bee, I think you might have knocked the breath right out of your old grandfather,” he said.
He was grinning when he said it, though.
For the first time, I noticed the woman at his side.
She was in her early to mid-60s with long, dark brown wavy hair. She had clear, deep-set green eyes, full lips, and a nose that turned up just a little bit at the tip.
I recognized her as the pretty lady from the photo Warren had been carrying around in his wallet the last time he visited.
“You must be Aileen,” I said, turning my attention to her.
She nodded, a little nervously.
She had a warm and youthful smile.
“And you must be the granddaughter I’ve heard so much about,” she said, her Scottish accent thick.
She stuck a hand out to me, but I wasn’t having any of it.
I embraced her, making sure to use a little less force than I had used when I hugged Warren.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” I said, pulling away after a moment.
She looked a little surprised by my overbearing hug, but she was still smiling.
Maybe that’s not how they did things in Scotland. But that was how I did them.
I looked back at my grandfather. Now that he was finally here, it really did feel like Thanksgiving.
Chapter 18
I sat up in bed, looking at the weak moonlight spreading out across the wood floor.
I let out a long, sleep-deprived sigh.
It was about 2:30 a.m., and by all rights, I should have been in a deep, deep sleep. I was tired enough for it, that was for sure. After bringing Warren back home to our house, I’d been in the kitchen until 11 p.m., prepping for tomorrow’s big feast. I’d made the ginger cranberry sauce, peeled and cubed the butternut squash and sweet potatoes, made the bread for the cornbread cashew stuffing, and tried to do as much prep work for the other items on tomorrow’s menu as I could. As far as I could tell, I was on schedule to serve the first appetizer of Thanksgiving dinner at 4 p.m.
I’d been exhausted by the time I crawled into bed. And with an early
start time at the shop in the morning, I knew that I would need my sleep.
But here I was, at this dark, dark hour, as awake as if I’d just consumed a whole pot of coffee.
I moved as quietly as I could, trying not to wake Daniel, or Huckleberry, who was snoozing silently at the edge of the bed. Then I pushed my feet into a pair of slippers and quietly shuffled over to the window.
I stared outside. At the crescent moon hanging high in the sky. At the meadow beneath it, bathed in its milky light. A layer of ice and frost glittered all the way to the opposite edge of the woods. I admired the picturesque view, but it didn’t help dispel my troubled thoughts.
This was me all over. Whenever I had something on my mind that was bugging me, I just couldn’t sleep.
Every night had been like this in the year after my divorce from Evan, my first husband. I’d toss and turn and watch never-ending infomercials about oldies music box sets and high tech blenders and miracle make-up that was supposed to make you look ten years younger.
That restless sleep pattern had lasted for a long, long time.
But then I met Daniel and those nights of sleeplessness became something of the past.
Still, every once and a while when something was really bugging me, I found myself having troub—
I felt pleasant goose bumps break out across my body as he wrapped his arms around me.
“What’s all this about?” he whispered sleepily in my ear, his voice cracking a little with the effort.
He pressed his cheek to mine and looked out the window at the moon, following my gaze.
“Aw, it’s nothing that can’t wait until morning,” I said, placing my arms over his and pecking him on the cheek. “Go back to bed.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late,” he said. “Now I’m awake, looking out this window with you, feeling worried, too.”
I let out a sigh.
“It’s just that… well, I’m thinking about Deb and her kids, and I’m thinking about Tobias and that turkey. And I’m thinking… well, if Tobias did steal Jack Daniels, well, maybe he’s waiting until tomorrow to, you know… to eat him. Maybe he’s got him somewhere out there. Maybe Jack Daniels is still alive.”
I knew it was a long shot. I knew it was wishful thinking. And I knew too that this should have been the furthest thing from my mind the night before Thanksgiving.
