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

by Meg Muldoon

  “Well let me make you up some coff—”

  “No.”

  He said it in a sharp and steely tone that caused my breath to catch in my throat.

  The single word had come out so severe, it clean took my breath away.

  “Just…” he started saying.

  But it was too late, and he knew it.

  The damage had already been done.

  The sting reverberated inside of me like a metal coil in an electric storm.

  “Cin, wait a minute, I—”

  “I’ll let you get some rest,” I said, heading for the door. “That’s probably the best thing for both of us.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  But he had.

  It was such a small thing over nothing. But in that millisecond, he’d cut me deeper than any of the knives in the pie kitchen.

  I reached for the door knob and felt the hot tears struggle to break free. I fought hard against them.

  I was halfway down the hall when I felt my phone buzz in the pocket of my jean shorts.

  Pulling it out, I suddenly had a feeling… a bad feeling.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Aileen?” I said. “Is everything oka—”

  “Cinnamon, please get here quick.”

  “What is it?” I said, stopping dead in my tracks. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s…”

  Her voice trembled like the last leaf on an aspen tree in the fall.

  “I don’t know what happened, Cinnamon. But he’s… he’s gone.”

  Chapter 33

  The Pine Needle Tavern was teeming with all sorts that evening.

  Middle-aged men in tourist shirts drinking Bud Light and Coors – their mainstream beer selections a tell-tale sign that they were from out of town, if the tourist shirts were too subtle a hint. Groups of barely-legal twenty-somethings playing pool in the back, looking like they were still nursing hangovers from the celebrations the day before. Gals dressed in over-the-top Western ware drinking Margaritas. Regulars at the bar watching the Mariners game, shooting nasty looks at tourists who got rowdy and couldn’t hold their liquor.

  And in all of this mess, Warren was nowhere to be found.

  We’d been looking for the old man since Aileen called. The two of them had been taking a nap, trying to catch up on sleep. But when Aileen awoke, Warren wasn’t there. His car was still outside their apartment above the brewery, but Warren himself was nowhere to be found. Aileen had tried calling him, but had only gotten his voicemail.

  My calls to him didn’t fare any better.

  The old man wasn’t in Geronimo Brewing.

  He wasn’t at the pie shop.

  He wasn’t at the Pine Needle Tavern.

  He wasn’t at any of his usual haunts.

  And I was feeling sicker than a lottery winner with a misplaced Powerball ticket.

  Because it dawned on me that not only was Warren missing: But that there was a murderer on the loose in Christmas River.

  Daniel had put out an APB for the old man and was now driving the streets with Aileen, looking for him. Meanwhile, my mind was racing with one horrible hypothetical scenario after another.

  “Have you seen Warren tonight?” I shouted over the pub noise to Harold, the bad umpire and bar keep of the Pine Needle Tavern.

  He furrowed his brow, then shook his head, his cheeks jiggling with the effort.

  “‘Fraid not since last night,” he said. “You know, just before…”

  He dragged a finger across his neck and made a gurgling sound.

  “Dammit,” a voice said loudly from somewhere down the crowded bar. “A man died, Harold. And you’ve been making light of it all night.”

  Harold glanced down to where the voice was coming from, and I craned my neck to see who he was looking at.

  To my surprise, I recognized him. Though his face was a good deal redder than it was when he came into the pie shop. And judging by the stack of empty glasses around him, he wasn’t quite as fastidious about his liquor choices as he was about his pie choices.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to offend,” Harold said, pushing his thick glasses higher up on his nose. “I’m just trying to answer this young lady’s question.”

  The Plaid Hipster looked over at me. It took him a moment to recognize who I was.

  “I’m, uh, I’m sorry about what happened at your grandfather’s brewery last night,” he said. “I know that can’t be easy on your family.”

  I raised my eyebrows, taken aback slightly that he knew Warren was my grandfather.

  “Uh, thanks,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “You haven’t seen Warren around, have you?” I asked, a stab in the dark if there ever was one.

  He shook his head.

  “I haven’t.”

  I felt my heart sink farther, if that was even possible.

  “Can you call me if he does come in here, Harold? I mean, first thing, if you see him.”

  “You think something bad happened to the old man, Cinnamon?” Harold asked.

  I knew that he’d be spreading this bit of news around like wildfire to everybody in the bar the moment I left. Harold was known for a lot of things, but discretion was not one of them.

  “Just call me if you see him. Please.”

  I turned around. I saw Daniel at the entrance, scanning the crowd.

  My heart leapt up into my throat.

  Even from across the crowded barroom, I could tell.

  Daniel had found him.

  Chapter 34

  Daniel and Aileen waited at the far end of the bridge while I walked slowly toward the lone figure.

  The relief I had felt after hearing the news that a man fitting Warren’s description had been spotted at the Christmas River Bridge faded as I was overpowered with a deep sense of worry.

  What was he doing out here all by himself in the dark? Why hadn’t he been picking up his phone? He must have known how concerned we all would be. And Warren wasn’t the type to make his loved ones worry needlessly.

  I thought about how much I had depended on him all these years. How he’d always been my rock, the one person in my life who I could always count on.

  Now, I needed to be that for him.

  I stepped quietly up to the figure in the newsboy cap. He was almost in the same exact place that I had been that afternoon.

  “What’s the big idea with you taking my thinking spot?” I said in a soft voice, doing my best not to scare the old man.

  He lowered his head at the sound of it, and I could hear a gush of air rush out of his lungs.

  He was silent for a few long moments.

  “I’m a damn fool, that’s what’s the big idea,” he finally said. “Nothing but a damn fool.”

  His voice was raw and cracked, like it had been out in the sun all day right along with all the tourists in Christmas River.

  “No you’re not, old man,” I said, leaning on the railing next to him.

  “Yes, Cinny Bee,” he said. “Your old grandpa’s the biggest fool of them all.”

  Though it had only been a few hours since I’d been standing here myself, the bridge was an entirely different kind of place in the dark. The sound of the river rushing by filled the night, but in the shroud of darkness, its whooshing put a kind of primal fear into one’s heart. The woods around us smelled cold and clammy. The damp winds coming off the water felt altogether unfriendly.

  “I’m a chump because I know you and Aileen have probably been worried sick over me,” Warren said. “And neither one of you deserve that. Not over an old fool like me.”

  I placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “What are you thinking out here, Grandpa?”

  He let out a beleaguered sigh.

  “You know, before I came here to the bridge, I was over at Rip’s brewery, making restitution.”

  “What?” I said. “Why would you—”

  “Because before he was killed, I made an accusation. One that I didn�
�t have the right to make. He said he wasn’t responsible for those threatening notes, but I just kept on coming at him.

  “That was one of the last things he heard, Cinny. Me accusing him of something he didn’t do.”

  I bit my lip.

  I wasn’t going to tell him what Daniel had told me earlier: That the menacing notes most likely hadn’t been written by Rip. It would only add to the old man’s guilt.

  “It’s just, there was something about that young feller I didn’t trust,” he said. “Something that—”

  “You don’t have to explain it,” I said. “I never trusted him either.”

  He was silent for a few more moments.

  “Is that why you’re out here?” I asked. “Because you feel guilty?”

  “It’s not the only reason,” he said. “All of this business got me thinking about death, you know? How it can all go up in a matter of seconds. And everything you wanted to do, everything you wanted to say, everything you wanted to see… that all just goes right along with it.”

  Warren’s line of thought surprised me.

  Rarely did he talk about serious things like this. Rarely had he spoken of death, in fact. Warren’s answer to just about everything was a mischievous wink and a smile to go along with it. The man would joke with the Grim Reaper himself should the fellow in black wander into the brewpub one day.

  “It just goes so fast, Cinny,” he continued. “And I was just thinking about you, and I was thinking about my new bride. And about how much I want to make you all proud of me. And about how badly I want to leave something behind for you. I want you to have something when I’m gone. A legacy. I thought this brewery might be it. I thought it could be something you all could hold onto one day when I’m gone. Something to remind you of me and what kind of person I was.”

  I gripped the railing in front of me.

  I didn’t like thinking about such things as a world that Warren wasn’t part of.

  “But now… now the only thing anybody’s gonna remember about that place is that a man was murdered there opening night, and the brewery had to shut down. Some developers will come in and turn the place into a Red Robin. And that’ll be the legacy I leave behind for you and Aileen.”

  He sighed again.

  “I didn’t want it to be this way at all. I wanted to give you all something. And now I see that that’s never going to happen. There’s no legacy, Cinny Bee. There’s no nothing.”

  He looked away, looking like a man whose heart had just been stepped on.

  I stared at him a long while, listening to the river fill the silence.

  Until finally, I couldn’t take it any longer.

  I put an arm around his shoulder.

  “Oh, Grandpa, you are a damn fool.”

  I couldn’t see his face all that well, but I didn’t have to to know that there was an offended expression on it.

  “Jeez, Cinny, I tell you what’s on my mind and you start using my own words against me? What kind of—”

  I turned his shoulders so he was facing me.

  “Your legacy won’t be in any brewery, old man,” I said, my eyes growing damp. “It’s not going to be in any IPA or Stout or Kolsch you make, no matter how good it is.”

  I was suddenly very glad that it was dark. It was only a matter of time before the tears welling up in my eyes discovered there were other, less crowded places to go.

  “Don’t you see?” I continued. “Your legacy is too big for any beer or brewery or business. It’s in every kind word you said to me. In every silly wink that lifted my spirits. In every tall tale you told. In every fish we caught together, right here, along the banks of this river. It’s in every brownie and slice of pie you stole when you thought nobody was looking.”

  I shook my head.

  “Grandpa, you’ve already left us your legacy just by being the kind, caring, and wonderful person you are. By being the good man you are. And no brewery was ever going to take the place of any of that. And if you think Aileen doesn’t already know all this too, then I think you’re not giving your bride enough credit.”

  Warren cleared his throat and turned his head to look back down at the river.

  There was a long, long silence.

  Then he wiped at his face with the back of his shirt sleeve and readjusted his cap.

  “You’re not just saying that, Cinny Bee? You really believe all that?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s what we’re always going to remember about you. That’s what’s going to live on in our hearts. Not whether you put Citra or Mosaic hops in your IPA, you old fool.”

  He chuckled slightly at that.

  Some of his never-ending brew talk had apparently rubbed off on me.

  “Well, jeez, Cinny Bee,” he said. “I never thought about it in those terms.”

  “Well, you should,” I said, wiping at my own face. “That’s the only way to look at it.”

  I sniveled some.

  “I love you, Grandpa. Now can we stop talking about your demise? I don’t want to be thinking about your legacy anytime soon.”

  He laughed a little more, and I heard a lightness in his voice that had been missing for a while.

  “That’s nothing you need to worry about, Cinny,” he said. “You and Aileen are gonna be stuck with me for a good while yet.”

  “Music to my ears, old man.”

  “At the very least, until the great grandchildren are off at college and Cinnamon’s Pies is in every city in the country,” he said.

  I smiled.

  “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “Let’s just get you back home now. ‘Cuz there’s a mammoth hunk of Marionberry pie waiting, and you don’t even have to steal it when nobody’s looking. It’s got your name on it.”

  “You have any vanilla ice cream to go with that?” he said.

  I scoffed.

  “What do you think I am? A barbarian?”

  He chuckled.

  “No, I think you’re my sweet, thoughtful Cinny Bee.”

  He hugged me, and then we walked toward the far end of the bridge, where Aileen and Daniel were waiting.

  Chapter 35

  “Uh, can I, uh, can I talk to you for a moment, miss?”

  I looked up from the pan of cream, eggs, and sugar that in just a few minutes, would become a pan of delicious, creamy pudding for a batch of Raspberry Vanilla Cookie pies.

  The balance between sweet and sour was always something I continuously played with in my creations, and was a big reason why my pies were my pies. The dainty sweetness of the vanilla pudding danced with the wicked tartness of the raspberries to create a filling that was so explosive in flavor, it transcended both ingredients to become something entirely new.

  But as I observed the distress written on Tobias’ face, the momentary escape I had found in the kitchen vanished, and that old familiar feeling of worry came back in full force.

  It was early morning, and it was just me, Tiana, and Tobias working. Ian was set to come in later so he could help with closing this afternoon.

  “Of course we can talk, Tobias,” I said, nodding for him to come in the kitchen.

  I turned off the heat and placed the large saucepan of pudding on the backburner so it wouldn’t curdle.

  “I, uh, I mean, can we talk private-like, miss?”

  No matter how often I told him to call me Cinnamon, Tobias just went right on calling me ‘miss.’

  I noticed that he seemed to be a bit jittery this morning. Actually, when I thought about it, it wasn’t the first time I’d seen him on edge like this lately. He started acting this way on the Fourth, when he had needed to take that long break in the middle of our busiest da—.

  A thought suddenly occurred to me that hadn’t before.

  One that made my spirits sink.

  Before Tobias had come to work for me this past December, he’d been homeless. I’d first met him when he set up shop across the street by the Christmas River Drug Store, beggin
g for change. Tobias had suffered from PTSD on account of his time in the military, and had developed substance abuse issues. Since coming to work with me, he’d stopped drinking. But I knew that alcoholism wasn’t a one and done deal: It was a battle, and I’d heard that relapses were common.

  And now, seeing him jittery and jumpy like this, I had a bad feeling.

  A real bad feeling.

  “We can go outside to talk if you like,” I said, dusting my hands off on my apron. “I think that should be private enough.”

  His eyes shifted to Tiana, who was working on a batch of pie dough on the other side of the kitchen, then back to me.

  “Okay,” he said.

  I led the way outside to the back deck.

  Hoping to God that I was wrong about what my gut was telling me.

  Chapter 36

  “It’s, uh, it’s not an easy subject to broach, miss,” he said.

  He sat on the wooden bench, his weathered hands clutching his faded jeans and nervously wringing the fabric.

  “I understand, Tobias,” I said, squinting at him in the bright morning sun. “Just say what’s on your mind.”

  He swallowed hard. His right leg was shaking something fierce.

  “Well, you know the other day, when I tol’ you I needed to take that break?”

  I had seen Tobias come so far in his recovery. He’d been attending AA meetings, he had a sponsor, and he had a permanent apartment just down the street.

  I hated to see all that good work he’d been doing, all that difficult soul-searching, go down the drain the way it appeared to be going.

  “Well, I asked for that break then, even though I knew it’d inconvenience you, because I had some things to think about,” he said. “Some big things that have been pressing on my mind lately. And I find that sometimes, the best thing you can do when you’ve got such things pressing on your mind is to go for a walk in the woods. You understand?”

  I nodded, fearing where the conversation was going.

  The homeless camp where Tobias used to live was still there in the woods, on the outskirts of town. He might have seen some guys he used to know. They might have gotten to talking. They might have offered him something.