3 Madness in Christmas River (6 page)

But if I were being honest, Deputy McHale hadn’t won me over yet. He didn’t say a word about the meal I’d made at Thanksgiving, and in my book, that was plain rude.

Deputy McHale got out of the car and walked slowly and deliberately over the snow heap piled high along the curb—remnants of our first snow storm of the season a week earlier.

I wrapped my fleece robe tighter around my waist. Huckleberry started barking at the screen door when Deputy McHale was about halfway up the driveway.

I glanced over, letting Huckleberry know it was okay.

He stopped barking, just like the well-trained pooch that he was.  

I placed my hands in the pockets of my robe and watched the deputy as he walked up.

“Hi,” I said as he ascended the steps. “Back for some leftovers?”

I flashed him an easygoing smile.

Owen McHale had come to Christmas River from Philadelphia, or maybe it was Pittsburg, about six months earlier. He was in his mid-twenties, kept his blonde hair closely cropped, buttoned his uniform up all the way, and hardly ever spoke.

But most of the time, the deficiencies in his manners were forgiven by the folks of Christmas River simply because Owen McHale was good-looking. Very good looking. When he first arrived in town, it was all any of the women could talk about here. From schools teachers, to stay-at-home moms, to baristas at the local Safeway Starbucks—I’d heard all of them talking about the new deputy at one time or another. But as far as anyone knew, Owen McHale didn’t date, at least not any of the girls around here, much to their disappointment. There were rumors that he had a girlfriend back East, but all anyone could do was speculate.

I, myself, never saw in him what they did. He just seemed like a cold fish to me. A cold, arrogant fish.  

“I was hoping you could help me with something,” he said in a humorless voice as he stepped up to the porch.

I gripped the collar of my robe and held it over my neck as a sharp wind scraped frost down from the roof.

“Why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee?” I asked.

“No thanks,” he said coldly.

It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t standing outside in pajamas and a robe.

“Well, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering what time you dropped Sheriff Brightman off at the airport this morning,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, we got there about 3:30 or so,” I said. “His flight left at 5.”

“So that means you drove back through town about 4:15, is that right?”

A car sped down the street behind him.

“I suppose,” I said. “Is there a reason why that matters?”

“Did you drive through downtown on your way back?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But I don’t understand why that—”

“Did you see anything suspicious?”

I thought back, trying to remember the way downtown looked at that early hour. Dark and cold and snowy. A ghost town, save for the blinking neon sign of the Christmas Coffee Hut.

But then again, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the way downtown looked. I had my mind on the cozy warmth of my bed at home.

I shook my head.

“I can’t recall anything that looked suspicious,” I said. “It was quiet and empty out. That’s all I remember. It was dark.”

Deputy McHale nodded and scribbled something down in his leather notepad.

“What’s all this about, anyway?” I asked. “Is everything all right?”

He hesitated, like he was debating whether or not he was going to tell me.

I got the impression that part of him liked keeping me in suspense. That he liked knowing something I didn’t know and holding it over me.

Maybe that was a young cop thing. Or maybe it was just a Deputy McHale thing.

I waited, growing impatient with every passing second until he finally said something. 

“Someone’s done a number on the Christmas tree downtown,” he said. “We think it happened early this morning. Meadow Plaza looks like Christmas morning after the kids got to all the presents.”

My mouth dropped a little in surprise.

“Really?” I said. “But who would do something like that?”

I knew the question sounded stupid and naïve, and, as Deputy McHale probably thought, very small-town. But I couldn’t help it. I was from a small town, and that was the first reaction of anybody who lived in a place with under 10,000 residents.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he said. “But you’re saying that you didn’t see anything when you passed through the city center this morning?”

I thought back again, trying to remember anything that might be useful.

I shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was dark and I was tired. I didn’t see much, but it’s not like I was looking for anything either.”

He nodded.

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said.

He put an extra emphasis on the
I suppose
part. It irritated me.

I was about to say something snappy. While Daniel did like him, that didn’t mean I had to. And it certainly seemed to me that if I were a young deputy, I’d treat the bosses’ soon-to-be-wife with a little more courtesy.

But before I could say anything, he interrupted me.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, curtly. “If you remember anything, make sure to call. You have my number, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll call the office,” I said. “Hey, aren’t there security cameras down there?”

“The power went out this morning,” he said. “They didn’t capture a damn thing.”   

He pulled a pen from his pocket and a business card from his back pocket, and began writing.

“Here,” he said. “This is my cell.”

He handed it to me.

“If you hear anything about any of this, let me know,” he said.

“I will,” I said.

He nodded and then rushed down the steps in one sweeping motion. He walked quickly to his car, got in, and turned the engine over. A second later, he was rolling down the street.  

I stuffed the card into my pocket, my hand brushing against the bent and weathered photo.

I looked out at my driveway and sighed.

Halfway through talking to Deputy McHale, it had occurred to me that something looked different about my driveway this morning.

Marie’s Mercedes Benz was gone.

Chapter 12

I dialed her number again.

It rang five times before going to her voicemail. Again.

“Hey honey,” the recording played, in what sounded like Marie’s very best Liza Minnelli impression. “It’s Marie, leave a message and I’ll get right back to you. Promise.”

I hung up before I could leave another message for her, asking where she’d taken off to and when she was planning to come back.

“Did you check the tavern?” Kara asked, popping a piece of freshly baked gingerbread into her mouth. “I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet when it comes to your cousin.”

I propped the back door open to let some cold air into the stuffy kitchen.

“I drove by before work,” I said. “Her car wasn’t there.”

It was late-afternoon, and the onslaught of customers at the pie shop finally seemed to be slowing down. Chrissy and Tiana had been working themselves into the ground to try and keep the line flowing. It got so bad that I actually had to help ring customers up at the front.

But thankfully, the crowd was starting to peter out. Which was good, because there were other things that I needed to work on.

Like the gingerbread house. Kara and I had plans to start designing the gingerbread castle we were going to build for my wedding.

“But that’s just like Marie, isn’t it?” Kara said. “She’s always blowing in and out of town like that without telling anybody. She probably just met an old high school sweetheart at the tavern the other night and took off to the casino in Warm Springs. You know how she likes to gamble.”

“I know. She’s probably just fine,” I said. “It’s just… I don’t know. I’ve got a strange feeling about all of it.”

After stopping by the Pine Needle Tavern to check for Marie, I drove by the plaza and the Christmas tree to get a look at the damage.

When I saw the tree, lying on its side like a fallen giant, I had trouble not slowing down and gawking at it like a driver passing by the scene of a nine vehicle pile-up.

The tree, which had been so beautifully decorated, was now ravaged. All its ornaments lay broken and scattered across the plaza. The large plastic ones looked like deflated soccer balls rolling lopsidedly around the brick ground.

Many of the tree branches had been broken, and a few big gaping holes exposed the tree’s trunk.

A few pieces of tinsel clung to the broken branches, blowing sadly in the wind.

Yellow police tape zig-zagged back and forth across the plaza.

My heart plummeted as the violence of it all sank in.

I hadn’t expected to be so moved, but I was.

The annual Christmas tree always meant so much to the people in this town. And even though I didn’t like getting all sentimental and sappy, the tree always meant a lot to me too. It meant sharing a hot ginger cinnamon sugar pretzel with Warren. It meant gathering together with friends and family. It meant the start of the most magical season in Christmas River.

Seeing it mutilated like that made my heart ache. Like seeing the remains of busted Jack-O-Lanterns scattered across the street just days before Halloween. Only on a much bigger scale.

Who would do such a thing to the tree? Kids, maybe. But I found it hard to believe that any of the kids around here could be so malicious.

But then again, you never really knew. It was easy to think that you did, but you never knew your neighbors all that well. That was something that I got a lesson in last July during the Pyro Santa fiasco.

I just hoped that Deputy Trumbow and McHale would have enough wits about them to catch the vandals while Daniel was in California.

“Maybe you should have told Owen about the ornament and the photo you found on your porch,” Kara said, dragging me from my thoughts of the tree, bringing me back into the kitchen. “I mean, it’s kind of weird.”

I shrugged.

“Maybe. But I just don’t know what any of it means,” I said. “And I don’t know if I trust that Deputy McHale.”

“What?” she said, setting down her pastry bag of white icing on the table. “What are you talking about? Owen’s a sweetheart.”

“You’re just saying that because he’s handsome,” I said.

She smiled slyly.

“Well, I will admit that if I had to vandalize a Christmas tree to get Deputy Hot Stuff to show up on my doorstep, I might just do it.”

“Kara,” I said disapprovingly. “What would your long-suffering boyfriend have to say about that?”

She held up her hands.

“Hey, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with looking. Or dreaming for that matter,” she said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed those Caribbean blue eyes of his.”

“Sure, I’ve noticed,” I said. “I’ve also noticed the fact that sometimes he acts like he was born in a barn.”

“Now that’s exaggerating just a little bit, don’t you think?”

I pulled on a pair of oven mitts and slid another tray of freshly rolled, clay-colored gingerbread into the hot oven.

“He didn’t say a single thing about my food at Thanksgiving,” I said. “Or even thank me, for that matter. That’s barnyard behavior if you ask me.”

“Well, I was sitting next to him, and he seemed like he was really enjoying the meal,” Kara said. “Maybe he just has trouble expressing his feelings.”

“Or maybe he’s just rude.”

Kara started measuring out some confectioners’ sugar into a bowl to make some frosting.

“You’re too hard on the kid.”

“He brings it on himself,” I said.  

“Well, okay, so you didn’t tell Owen about the ornament on the porch. But what does Warren think about it?”

“He thought it was strange,” I said. “He didn’t recognize the kid in the photo either.”

“What does he think about Marie taking off like that?” she asked.

“He didn’t seem to be too worried about it. He said about the same thing you did. That it’s just in her nature to drift. That she could never stay in one place for too long.”

“See?” Kara said. “You’re getting all worried over nothing. Marie’s fine and there’s not a thing to worry your pretty, soon-to-be-married head about. Your biggest concern right now should be whether or not you want gumdrops on this Cinderella gingerbread house of ours.”

I tried to come up with an argument about why I really should be worried about everything. But in the end, it was just a strange feeling I had. Nothing more.

“Okay, fine” I said, sliding my phone into my apron pocket. “You’re right. I’m getting all worked up over nothing.”

“Good,” she said. “So what’s the verdict? Gumdrops or no gumdrops?”

I sighed.

It seemed like such a simple question, but these days, even simple questions were hard to answer.

White buttercream frosting or lemon? Sparkly silver high heels that were impossible to walk in, or lower ones I can dance in? Should Daniel wear a vest under his jacket or not? Chicken or meat? Do I know any vegetarians?  

Did Marie just take off on a whim, or was there more to it?

After a few moments of contemplating, Kara stepped in.

“Let’s go with no gumdrops,” she said. “I think they’ve become tacky, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, good call,” I finally said, wrapping the bag of green and red drops back up with a rubber band.

“Well, I’m not the maid of honor for nothing,” Kara said, smiling.

Chapter 13

I was just putting on my down jacket and scarf, about to shut down for the night, when I heard the front door bell jingle.

Chrissy and Tiana had both gone home. They’d both done phenomenally after the massive onslaught of tourists crowded into the pie shop, and had more than earned their day’s pay.

I thought about telling whoever had wandered in that I was closing up and that they’d have to go somewhere else.

But then I thought better of it.

Even though I was tired, I never liked turning people away. Especially on a blisteringly cold night like tonight.