5 Mischief in Christmas River

by Meg Muldoon

  Mischief in Christmas River

  A Christmas Cozy Mystery

  by

  Meg Muldoon

  Published by Vacant Lot Publishing

  Copyright 2014© by Meg Muldoon

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance whatsoever to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Other Works by Meg Muldoon

  The Christmas River Cozy Mystery Series

  Murder in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 1)

  Mayhem in Christmas River: A Christmas in July Cozy Mystery (Book 2)

  Madness in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 3)

  Malice in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 4)

  Roasted in Christmas River: A Thanksgiving Cozy Mystery Novella

  The Cozy Matchmaker Mystery Series

  Burned in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery

  Coming February 2015:

  Busted in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery

  Coming March 2015:

  Malarkey in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 6)

  Mischief in Christmas River

  by Meg Muldoon

  Prologue

  There was something wrong in the backyard.

  The woman had been rushing around all day, doing things in the house he didn’t understand. Pushing a long pole with bristles on the end across the wood floor. Spraying something sharp-smelling on the countertops. Suspending long strips of colorful paper across the walls. And then there was that machine making all the noise that the woman pulled across the carpet. He didn’t much care for that machine, rumbling the way it did, roaring so loud that he had trouble hearing over it.

  But there was one good thing to come out of the woman’s strange behavior. The house was filled with the most delicious smells, all of them seeming to originate from the kitchen. He didn’t know what the smells signified, nor could he identify them. All he knew was that he wanted to eat whatever was making that meaty aroma. So much so, that he could feel saliva drip from his chin when he thought about it. The hard kibble in his bowl sat untouched most of the day while he dreamed of the food, just out of reach, in the kitchen.

  Then, a little while after nightfall, the doorbell started ringing. Strangers came into the house, bringing with them all sorts of smells. A few of them rubbed their hands on his head. A few of them he recognized.

  The woman was busy speaking to them, her energy fast and frantic. She was stressed, he could sense it. But it was the kind of stress that she often had, and it didn’t trouble him.

  What troubled him was his chances of getting whatever was cooking in the kitchen before the others did, and before the other little dog that had stayed with them the night before did. The one that barked all the time and didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

  He was thinking about all of this when he heard the noise outside.

  It was faint. The talking by the strangers had almost obliterated it completely. But he heard it, nonetheless. The sound of a twig snapping. Coming from the woods behind the house.

  He lifted his head and sniffed the air.

  He caught a whiff of something, something faint. Something that smelled… unnatural. Not a smell he was used to sniffing back there in the woods. The rancid aroma of those black and white oafish-looking creatures, or the earthy smell of those big creatures that had those long spidery crowns atop their heads.

  No, this smell didn’t belong to any of them.

  He caught another whiff of it.

  He didn’t like it.

  He looked at the woman and then started barking. She held a finger up to her mouth. The other little dog started barking too, though he sensed that the new dog didn’t know what he was talking about, and was joining in just because he could.

  “Shh… Huckleberry!” the woman said between gritted teeth.

  She wanted him to stop. And normally he would have listened to her command. But the dog knew that this was too important.

  He barked until his voice felt scratchy and cracked, until he was hoarse. The woman gave him food from the kitchen, which he paused to eat, but the food was no longer what he wanted.

  “Woof! Woof! Woofff!!!”

  The woman wasn’t listening.

  He suddenly sensed eyes on him. Something staring at him through the see-through door, from somewhere out in those woods.

  The eyes wanted something from him.

  The woman had to be warned.

  “Woof! Woof! Wooofff!!!”

  The other little dog joined in.

  But the woman didn’t understand. She sighed, and looked at him the way she had the very few times he had disobeyed her.

  But she had to know.

  She had to know what was out in the backyard.

  He kept barking.

  Chapter 1

  I looked past my frozen breath, hanging in the air like the word clouds in a cartoon, and stared up at the bubblegum pink sign above the shop.

  My jaw came unhinged without me having any say in the matter. I felt my eyes bulge as I reread the words on the sign again.

  Pepper’s Pies, Pastries, and Other Pick-me-ups!

  And then my eyes dropped down, finding the banner strung below the sign.

  Grand Opening Today!

  I suddenly felt as if I might lose the slice of Chocolate Bourbon Pecan Pie I’d eaten back at my own shop for taste-testing purposes all over the sidewalk.

  A middle-aged woman abruptly bumped into me as she passed by, her overflowing shopping bags hitting the back of my legs. I stumbled forward, then waited for an apology, but one never came. The woman just went on her way, too caught up in the December shopping frenzy to care much about anybody else.

  Sometimes, this time of year could be just too much. Even for a town where it was Christmas all year round.

  The Humane Society Cocker Spaniel I was walking, which the shelter manager had named Chadwick, growled in the rude woman’s general direction. I tightened up the leash, afraid that he might have more to say to her if he was given the chance.

  Maybe I would have been more bothered by the stranger’s poor behavior if I wasn’t so distracted by something else at the moment.

  I glanced up again at the new sign.

  For weeks, I’d been watching from across the street as movers and plumbers and electricians came in and out of this shop. The storefront had been sitting vacant for almost a year, having been a men’s clothing store for almost forty years before that. The clothing store recently went out of business when Harry Pugmire Sr., the owner, passed on at the ripe age of 96. Someone had bought the old musty shop this fall, and had gone a long ways toward renovating it.

  There’d been lots of rumors in the meantime about what was going in there. But it had been a mystery, for the most part.

  Until now.

  I felt my stomach tighten as I peered in the shop window.

  It was shortly after the lunch hour, and the tables inside Pepper’s Pies were all full. Hordes of holiday shoppers were sitting around, laughing, drinking coffee, eating croissants, eating turnovers, eating brownies.

  Eating… pie.

  I swa
llowed hard, a sick feeling rising up from my gut and through my throat.

  I had thought this place was going to be a coffee shop or a bagel place or a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

  I didn’t think that it would be a pie shop.

  Directly across the street from my pie shop.

  Just then, the bakery’s front door opened, and a pleasant burst of warm, sugary air hit me in the face. A woman in her mid-20s wearing a pink apron and with hair the color of embers held the door open, stepping near me.

  Her apron read “Pepper’s Pies.”

  “I promise we don’t bite,” she said, her perfectly shaped lips curling up into a glowing smile.

  “What?” I said, feeling as though I’d been jarred awake.

  “I saw you standing out here, and I just thought you might need an extra nudge to help you get inside the door,” she said. “And since it’s the grand opening today, if you’re not 100 percent happy with my pies and pastries, I’ll give you your money back. No questions asked.”

  I felt my mouth go dry.

  “You’re, uh, you’re Pepper? The owner?” I said.

  “Sure am. Now what do you say to a nice hot slice of pie?”

  I felt my face go numb.

  It was like I was in some sort of bad Twilight Zone. A parallel universe where this town had two pie shops, instead of one. And that the pie shops were right across the street from each other, almost mirror images.

  But instead of being in some nether part of a strange universe, my feet were firmly on the ground, here, in this universe’s Christmas River.

  This was actually happening.

  I swallowed hard, about to tell her who I was, but I struggled to find the basic words of introduction.

  “I, uh, I… well…” I started, looking down at Chadwick.

  He wagged his tail at the woman, and she leaned down for a moment, patting his head.

  “What a precious dog,” she said, scratching behind his flappy ears.

  Chadwick sat down, loving every moment of the attention. He didn’t even growl, the way he usually did when a person he didn’t know started petting him.

  “He’s not mine,” I said abruptly. “I just volunteer at the Humane Society, is all. Sometimes I walk the dogs.”

  She stood back up and smiled, dusting her hands off on her apron.

  “That’s nice of you,” she said. “I wish I had more time to do something like that in the middle of the day. But you know, I’ve got to run the business here.”

  And I don’t? I thought.

  “Sure I can’t tempt you and your friend here with some pie? I’ve got some doggy biscuits inside too.”

  I shook my head hard.

  “No, I’ve got to get back,” I said, all the friendliness that was usually in my voice having drained away completely.

  I started pulling on Chadwick’s leash. The dog was stubborn, though, and didn’t want to leave the friendly woman. He pawed at her legs for more attention.

  “Aww,” she said, looking down at him.

  I tugged harder at his leash until he finally got the message.

  Then I started walking quickly away, nearly running, like a lunatic escaping a mental hospital.

  “Come back sometime!” she shouted after me.

  I hurried down the ice-ridden street, scolding myself.

  Chapter 2

  I cut the butter into the flour and salt mixture, putting all my strength into moving the pastry cutter through the dough. Then I added a generous heap of sour cream, forcing the mixture together. I hurriedly broke the mass of dough into pieces, rolling them into balls. I started covering them in plastic wrap, struggling when the wrap stuck to itself.

  A few obscenities escaped my mouth while I went through countless sheets of plastic, until finally all the dough was wrapped. I threw them into the fridge, trading them out for dough I’d made earlier.

  I rolled out the sour cream pie crusts for a batch of Whiskey Apple Pies I was making. I put a little too much force into the rolling, though, and the delicate crust broke apart beneath my hands.

  “Blast it all…” I muttered.

  I sighed, bringing the broken dough back together, and started over again.

  I had been acting this way all afternoon around the kitchen – like a bull in a china shop. Breaking things and burning crusts and generally being an all-around klutz.

  I shook my head, the reason why I’d been acting this way oh-so obvious.

  I had no right to be upset with Pepper Posey and her new pie shop that had just moved in across the street, I told myself.

  No right at all.

  It wasn’t exactly a pie shop anyway. It was a pastry shop, which was a completely different bird altogether. Our customer base wouldn’t be the same. My pie shop, with its rustic diner charm and good old-fashioned decorations, had a loyal following. My bakery was a place where you could drink your coffee and read the paper and chew the fat with folks while eating pies that reminded you of home. This new girl’s shop, on the other hand, was more in line with those trendy pastry shops in the city. It was a place that my loyal customers would probably try once, just to say that they had. But it wouldn’t become their regular hang-out. That I was sure of.

  At least that’s what I wanted to believe, what I’d been telling myself since walking by Pepper’s Pies earlier and got caught gawking.

  But what I wanted to believe and what I actually felt were two different things entirely.

  Because there were other factors involved as well. Factors that had caused me to burn a batch of Blueberry Cinnamon pies this morning, and had caused me to shout like a crazy woman at the plastic wrap.

  Those factors being that Pepper’s pie shop was cuter, hipper, and trendier than my shop. And that Pepper herself was also cuter, hipper, trendier and at least ten years younger than me.

  And that of all the empty storefronts she could have moved into, she’d had to move in right across the street from me.

  Hell, even her name bugged me. Pepper. What kind of name was that?

  Well, what kind of name is Cinnamon? said another, more logical voice in my head.

  The pie dough I was rolling once again broke under my manhandling of it. I let out a long sigh, and then went over to the stereo. I switched out the Christmas harp music that I’d been listening to, and traded it for some Queens of the Stone Age.

  Tiana, my baking assistant, raised an eyebrow at me as Smooth Sailing blared from the speakers. She was only ever used to hearing me play Van Morrison or Otis Redding or Hayes Carll. Rarely did I feel like playing music this loud and aggressive.

  But right now, it was exactly what I needed to hear.

  I turned it up and then went back to rolling out the crust, trying to use a lighter touch this time.

  “Uh, anything the matter, Cin?” Tiana said, raising her voice above the music while dusting her hands off on her apron.

  I chewed on the inside of my mouth, wondering if talking about it would help any.

  I knew that most of the time, talking about things like this only went a ways to making you feel worse. Most of the time, it was best just to try and push it out of your mind.

  But I didn’t take my own advice.

  “It’s just… it’s just so stupid,” I said, shaking my head.

  “What is?” she said.

  “Nothing,” I said. “There’s no use in talking about it. It is what it is.”

  “You’re talking about that new shop across the street, aren’t you?”

  I looked up at her, surprised.

  “How’d you know?” I asked.

  She shrugged.

  “Deductive reasoning.”

  Tiana was the kind of person who was easy to underestimate. She was plump, short, and in her early forties with greying hair. She had been divorced for several years and had moved to Christmas River to get away from her ex. She had no distinguishing features that made her standout, making it easy for people to not pay her much attention.

&
nbsp; But she was smart. And not the book kind of smart necessarily, though on her breaks she’d often go out on the back deck and pore over romantic suspense novels. Tiana had an emotional intelligence that few others possessed. She always seemed to know when somebody was feeling low, and she always had a way of comforting them. She reminded me a lot of a grandmother. Kind, warm, and generous of spirit, Tiana had a way of knowing just what people needed to hear.

  Though in my case, it probably didn’t take that much emotional intelligence to see that something was eating away at me.

  “It’s stupid,” I said. “I mean, I’m not talking about the shop. I’m talking about how stupid it is that I’m feeling, I don’t know…

  I let out a long, beleaguered breath.

  “Threatened by it,” I said.

  I shook my head.

  “That’s the stupid part.”

  Tiana shrugged again.

  “I don’t think it’s that stupid,” she said. “The woman did just start a pie shop right across the street from you. If it was me who owned this here shop, I’d be mad as hell.”

  She re-tied her apron, pulling it tighter around her waist.

  I’d noticed that in the past couple weeks or so, Tiana had lost a few pounds. She’d stopped taking pies home with her for her days off, the way she always did. She had also gotten a new haircut: an angled bob died a nice shade of mahogany, erasing all traces of the grey hair that had become her usual look.

  I half wondered if there was a new man in her life, and had wanted to ask, but I hadn’t found the right moment to.

  “Have you met Pepper yet?” she asked, adding extra emphasis on her name.

  “No,” I said. “Well, I mean not officially. I kind of saw her earlier this afternoon when I was walking one of the pooches from the Humane Society. She, uh, she seems really nice, from what I can tell.”

  Tiana leaned in across the kitchen island and lowered her voice.