5 Mischief in Christmas River (6 page)

But it didn’t take a detective to figure out how Daniel felt about the missing dog. There was a flash of frustration that came across his eyes.

“He did,” Daniel said. “I don’t know why he didn’t just come to me first. Foolish, involving you with this.”

It was the first cross word Daniel had ever said about Deputy Billy Jasper.

“I think he just didn’t want to disappoint you,” I said.

“Well, then he shouldn’t have lost the damn—”

He stopped mid-sentence, looking down at me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t let my temper get away from me. It was an accident, and Billy was just doing the best that he could. It’s just… Sometimes, I think this kid has a lot of potential, you know? And I keep wanting to see him live up to it. But he’s just careless sometimes.”

“I know,” I said. “I think he knows that too. He said that’s why he wanted to get the dog so bad. He really wanted to show you that he could excel at something.”

“And he was,” Daniel said. “He was doing a great job with Shasta. But losing a $20,000 dog isn’t a small thing. Our department’s been trying hard for a long while to get that dog as drug trafficking’s gotten worse in the county. We’ve never had the funding up until this year.”

Daniel rubbed his face.

“It’s not going to be pretty for any of us if this gets out,” he said.

I felt my gut tighten a little at the tone in his voice.

I guess I hadn’t exactly seen how serious the situation was. I thought the blame would most likely fall on Billy’s shoulders, but now I could see that wasn’t where it was going to stop.

I stopped walking for a moment, searching his face.

“But how could anyone blame you for it?” I said. “It was Billy’s responsibility.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” he said. “I’m the sheriff. The responsibility starts and ends with me. No matter what.”

“You think it’ll be bad?” I said.

“It won’t come to it,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll find the dog.”

He said the words but didn’t seem to be as confident as he normally was when he said he was going to do something.

He placed an arm around my shoulder.

“Enough about that, though,” he said. “I thought we were out here to do some shopping.”

I forced a smile.

“You’re right,” I said. “Let’s keep our eyes on the prize.”

Chapter 14

I gazed longingly into the glass display window of
Loretta’s Cowgirl Depot
, my heart having just been stolen right out of my chest.

For the most part, I was a down-to-earth gal. I didn’t need diamonds or jewelry or fancy, expensive trips to exotic locales to keep me happy. I didn’t need much at all, in fact.

But every once in a while, as with the majority of women I suspected, I came across something that just completely took me by storm. Something that made me drool with a kind of mad, materialistic desire that couldn’t be quenched any other way other than with a swift swipe of the credit card.

And for me, the fire red, intricately tooled, vintage leather Lucchese cowboy boots sitting in the glass case of  
Loretta’s Cowgirl Depot
was a Level 5 hurricane unto itself.

I must have tried the boots on half a dozen times already over the past few months. Every time I wore them, I felt like I was transformed into some sassy cowgirl who couldn’t be stopped. Like I was Victoria Barkley or June Carter Cash or Annie Oakley. The boots were perfection in every way.

Every way but the price.

The boots cost an arm and a leg, and that was even with the 10 percent off deal the
Cowgirl Depot
was having this evening.

They were way over anything I could afford. And the practical side of me just couldn’t bring myself to spend that much on a pair of boots.  

Still, sometimes when I had a spare moment from the pie shop, or like tonight on Christmas River Friday, I found myself at this very window, staring at these very boots like they were a photograph of a long lost love.

They were gut-wrenchingly stunning.

A sales lady with the
Cowgirl Depot
suddenly came up to the display case. She reached around, grabbing the very boots I had my heart set on. She went back, and I could see her handing them to a middle-aged woman who looked like one of those wealthy West Hills types from Portland. The lady sat down on a footstool and began taking her shoes off.

My heart sank.

“I thought I might find you here,” Daniel said, coming up beside me suddenly.

We had split up for a spell while I was getting Kara a gift for her upcoming wedding shower at the
Babes in Arms Children’s
Store
.

I glanced up at him, trying not to let on just how devastated I was to see those boots on the feet of somebody else.

I hadn’t told Daniel about my infatuation with them. I knew that if I did, he’d do everything in his power to get them for me. And I couldn’t have that. All he knew was how much I liked this store.

“Are you finished shopping?” I said.

“Sure am,” he said. “Are you?”

I nodded. We started heading for the car, crossing Main Street.

But we didn’t get very far before I found myself stopping dead in my tracks.

A large crowd was blocking the entire width of the sidewalk in front of us, spilling out into the street.

If I didn’t know better, I would have thought someone had collapsed and the whole of downtown had gathered around them, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

But I did know better.

I looked over across the street, at
Cinnamon’s Pies
.

The lights were on, and through the window I could see Chrissy and Tiana at the front of the house.

But the place was practically a ghost town.

I looked over at Daniel, my eyes saying it all.

He grabbed a hold of my hand as we turned back around, leaving the crowds of
Pepper’s Pies
behind.

“Wanna get a drink before we go home?” he asked.

At that moment, I couldn’t think of anything better.

My throat had gone completely dry.

Chapter 15

There was something so pleasant about getting a glass of whiskey down at the Pine Needle Tavern with my husband.

It seemed that between our busy schedules, we rarely had time to go out for dinner, let alone for a drink. But being here in the crowded bar,
The Ronettes
playing loud over the stereo, the smell of worn whiskey hanging in the air, the familiar cheerful holiday spirit that the place had this time of year… something about it all went a long ways to making me feel better.

I think the atmosphere did the same for Daniel.

We sat at the crowded bar, a couple of Wild Turkeys sitting pretty in front of us. Catching up on our busy lives like old friends who had been missing each other’s company for a while.  

“So you guys still have no leads on that chicken slaughter out on Mirth Road?” I asked.

Daniel shook his head.

“No fingerprints, no witnesses, no nothing,” he said.

A week earlier, Rowena Parker, a Pohly County city hall secretary who kept a sizeable chicken coop on her property, had been the victim of a heinous crime. She awoke one morning to find all the chickens in her coop dead. Days had passed, but the Sheriff’s Office wasn’t any closer to finding out who did it.

Daniel said he thought it might have been some kids, and that that worried him. As was a well-known fact, torturing animals usually led to other terrible things, which made Daniel want to find out who was behind the chicken slaying all the more.

“I’ve got Owen and Trumbow on it,” he said. “They’ll come up with something.”

He leaned back, crossing him arms. 

“So she’s entered in the gingerbread competition too?” he asked, changing the direction of the conversation unexpectedly.

I nodded, knowing right away who he was referring to.

Earlier, we’d been talking about Pepper Posey and her new bakery that everyone in this town couldn’t seem to get enough of.

“Well, I for one look forward to seeing you beat her,” he said. “No one can hold a candle to your gingerbread house talent, and you know it.”

I forced a smile, though I was having trouble keeping it. 

Daniel took a long sip of his whiskey, setting it back on the bar.

“Aw, Cin, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said. “That’s how everybody is with new things. Especially in a small town. But give it a month, and people ‘round here will see what’s what.”

“But have you tried one of her pastries?” I said. “She studied in France. How can I compete with that? No wonder they’re lining up around the block to get into that shop of hers.”

“Cin, you know the people in this town just as good as I do,” he said. “These folks are basic, blue-collared types. They’re not going to go for all that fancy, hard-to-pronounce, over-the-top nonsense.”

“You think so?”

“‘Course,” he said. “You see, there are two types of people in the world, Cin. There’s them uppity folks who like to call things by fancy names and pretend like that knowledge makes them better than the rest of us. That’s one kind of people. Then there’s the other kind. You know who they are?”

I shook my head.

“Well, they’re good old-fashioned black-coffee, pie folks. Folks who work hard, and want to eat the kind of food they grew up with. And you know which kind of people this town is chock full of?”

I smiled, knowing the answer.

“The second kind, Cin. So I say just let that Pepper have her moment in the sun, and see where you all are in a few months. Okay?”

Daniel always had a way of putting things that made me feel better.

I picked up my glass and clinked it against his.

“To the second kind,” I said.

He grinned back, returning the gesture. I downed the rest of the whiskey, letting the gold liquid warm me up nice.  

“You tired?” he said. “You want to go home?”

I shook my head.

“Naw,” I said, resting my hand on his arm. “Let’s stay a spell. I kind of like drinking with you, Daniel Brightman.”

“Well, that’s lucky. Because I kind of like drinking with you, Cinnamon Peters.”

I smiled as he signaled Harold for another round of whiskies.

Chapter 16

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do without her,” the man with the loosened tie said, leaning forward sloppily against the pine bar. “She was everything to me.
Everything
.”

He rubbed his sweaty face, leaning his palms on his temples, keeping his eyes closed for a long while. As if he no longer had the strength to open them.  

I glanced over at Daniel and raised an eyebrow. Hoping he’d pick up on my non-verbal cue that we should skedaddle before we got in too deep of a conversation with a plastered Pete Burgess about his wife, who had recently left him for another man.

But Daniel, being the kind-hearted guy that he was, didn’t seem to pick up on my hints to ditch Pete Burgess before he started blubbering.

“Aw, there’s plenty of fish out there in the pond, Pete,” Daniel said, leaning over me so Pete could hear him. “It just takes time.”

Pete leaned back and groaned, keeping his eyes shut tight. Then he started shaking his head some more.

Or maybe Daniel was indulging Pete Burgess out of respect. Pete had been on the Christmas River city council for eight years now, but had recently lost his seat during the election this November to a bright and perky thirty-something gal who worked at the community college. Rumor had it that the election result had been quite devastating to the councilman. A couple of days after the election, his wife left him for another man on the other side of the mountains, and ever since, town gossip had it that Pete had been spending most of his waking hours down here at the Pine Needle Tavern. When he did show up to the city council meetings, he was hardly coherent, going on about how much he’d given to the people of Christmas River, and how little he was appreciated by everyone. Blaming everybody else but himself for his wife leaving him. One of his rants made front page news in the Redmond Register, the big paper a few towns over. The article had been written by Erik Andersen, a reporter I’d come to know this past summer.

“But what does Daisy have to do with fish?” Pete mumbled incoherently, taking a pull on the rum and coke in front of him.

I furrowed my brow.

I’d always thought his wife’s name was Barbara.

Daniel appeared to be as confused as I was.

“I’m afraid I’m not following you, Pete,” Daniel said, leaning back.

The councilman started chuckling.

“Get in line, buddy boy,” he said. “More than half the town already came to that conclusion in November.”

He took another sloppy swig of his rum and coke. I nudged Daniel’s arm, and started putting my coat and scarf on.

It was best to get out of these kinds of things before they turned uglier than they already were.

Pete looked over at me, his eyelids swollen with the liquor. He pushed his hand through the air, as if swatting an imaginary fly.

“I’m not that drunk,” he said. “I’m just talking about my Shih Tzu,
issall
.”

“Your dog?” Daniel asked.

Pete nodded.

“Lost her a week ago,” he said. “She wanted out in the middle of the night. Had to use the ladies’ room. So I let her out. But we don’t have a fence. It’s never been a problem before. ‘Cept this time, Daisy didn’t come back.”

He rubbed his face.

“That dog was all I had left,” he said. “A man’s best friend, my Daisy.”

He sighed, large drunk tears welling up in his eyes.

“Now I’ve got not a soul.”

The man crumbled faster than a brittle gingerbread house hit by a snowstorm of frosting.

Daniel puckered his lips as Pete Burgess started convulsing with sobs. A few folks around us hushed, their eyes wandering in our general direction. Watching as the train derailed and crashed head-first into a ditch of self-pity.