Magic in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Christmas River Cozy Book 7) (2 page)

I shivered again and glanced over at Warren for a split second.

If the cold shadow of the clouds had done anything to dampen his spirits, I certainly couldn’t tell. He was beaming brighter than a July sun in Alaska.

The reason for that expression was standing at the far end of the aisle.

Warren had just caught a glimpse of his beautiful bride.

She was wearing a simple white gown that elegantly highlighted her buff brewer’s arms. Her long black hair was piled high on her head in elegant curls, and she wore a shade of rosy lipstick that complemented her strong Scottish features. Between her hands, she carried a bouquet of sunflowers and autumn foliage – one that Kara and I had helped her arrange.

Aileen looked exquisite.

The violin music changed to a slower, sweeter song at her entrance, and as if on cue, the cloud that had obscured the sun above passed, and beautiful October sunlight shone down on the meadow around us.

Aileen walked confidently down the aisle like a woman who had been waiting to marry the love of her life for 65 years.

The old man’s eyes became glassy, and I could tell that he was having a tough time holding it together.

And, I realized, so was I.

I looked away and tried to hold back the tears as Warren’s bride met him at the altar.

Chapter 3

“And so marriage is an institution that not only requires compassion, understanding, and patience, but it also requires respect. Respect for one another and for the holy matrimony for which Aileen and Warren are about to enter. Respect for the large and the small. Respect for the…”

Little baby Laila let out a soft wail from somewhere in the small audience, interrupting the Pastor’s speech for a moment. Kara rocked her back and forth to calm her down, though nobody could blame the poor baby for bawling. While Pastor Morgan’s speech had started out well, it was now going on close to 20 minutes and was trying everyone’s patience. The way he delivered it was so stern, yet so distant, it felt like he himself wasn’t even paying attention to the words he was muttering.

Secretly, I was hoping that he’d break out into Otis Redding’s
Respect
at any moment and make light of his own convoluted meanderings on the topic, but I figured that the elderly man of God had nothing so lively or humorous up his sleeve.

Folks in the audience were starting to get downright antsy. Those of them who were awake, anyway. Harold, Warren’s buddy and the barkeep at the Pine Needle Tavern, for example, had his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open. It seemed like a spittle of drool was about to drop from his lips at any moment. The kids in the audience seemed to be aware of this possibility too, and kept stealing glances at the dozing bartender.

Oblivious to the fact that he was putting the crowd to sleep, Pastor Morgan droned on, as if delivering one of his weekly sermons to his congregation.

Warren adjusted his weight between his feet uncomfortably, and I could tell he was getting as antsy as everybody else.

“And it is with reverence and respect that you must make your vows, to each other, and to God, because God will—”

“I’m sorry, Pastor, but I’m going to have to interrupt you right there,” Aileen suddenly said, putting a hand on the officiant’s arm.

It could have easily been a gust of wind, but I thought I heard a mass sigh of relief sweep through the crowd.

The Pastor flinched slightly at the interruption, his old eyes seemingly unable to understand.

“No offense, sir,” she said, clearing her throat. “But I just can’t wait any longer. You see, Warren and I have got a lot of living to do, Pastor. We’re trying to make up for lost time. And the sooner we get through this ceremony, the sooner we get to the good stuff.”

Pastor Morgan didn’t look all that pleased at his speech being interrupted, but having some respect himself, he acquiesced to the bride’s wishes.

Aileen turned toward Warren.

“I stopped believing in love,” Aileen said. “I can only admit that now. But I never thought I’d love again. Then… then trouble walked into my pub one day last year in Glasgow. Trouble in the form of a handsome American man who looked at me like I was the most beautiful rose in all the world. And I knew that very day... I knew I’d never be the same person again.”

Aileen smiled.

“I knew I’d be better. Because of him.”  

She ran a finger under the rim of her eye.

“You and your beautiful family have opened your hearts to me, my dear Warren,” she said. “And for that, and for the way you’ve brought such excitement and joy into my life, and for the way you love me so true, I’ll be yours for all eternity, my love.”

She squeezed his hands, and this time, didn’t try to fight the tears. They flowed freely down her cheeks in long, clear streaks.

“Aw, geez,” Warren said, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and quickly running it over his face. “I haven’t even said ‘I Do’ yet, and you’re already making a fool out of me, woman.”

A few chuckles rang out from the crowd, and the serious mood of the ceremony lightened a bit.

He cleared his throat and readjusted his stance.

“Hell, Aileey,” he said, using the nickname he’d given her. “When my wife died, so many years ago now, I didn’t believe in love either. But I’m a changed man. A
new
man. And I’ve got you to blame for that.”

He sniveled a little bit.

“Aileey, I’d stand outside in a blizzard just to tell you how much I love you. I pledge my undying affection and love to you, and I promise to do anything and everything to make you happy, honey.”

He clutched her hands.

“Now what do you say we get on to the good stuff now? Let’s get to living, darlin.’”

She beamed brightly, and nodded her head.

“What do you say, Pastor?” Warren said, turning toward the stoic man. “Can we just skip on to the end?”

Pastor Morgan let out a brief sigh, but seemed to have come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to get to finish his speech.

“It’s unorthodox,” he said, sternly. “But I suppose if that’s what you want. Warren, do you take Aileen to be your wife?”

“I do, sir,” he said, slipping a diamond-encrusted gold band on her finger.

“And Aileen, do you take Warren to be your husband?”

“With my whole heart and then some,” she said.

“Then, by the power invested in me by God, I now pronounce you man and wife,” he said, unenthusiastically.

Warren reached for his bride and gave her a sweet, tender kiss. The crowd burst into a round of happy applause.

If the hot ovens hadn’t already melted away my makeup, then the tears finished the job.

Good old Warren was happier than I’d ever seen him.

And there was nobody else on earth who deserved that joy more than the old-timer.

Chapter 4

The house looked as if it had been hit by a level-five hurricane.

Dirty dishes were strewn nearly everywhere. Someone, who I suspected to be Harold, had spilled pumpkin beer all over the new rug in the living room. Someone else, who I also strongly suspected to be Harold, had knocked over several champagne glasses in the kitchen, and while I had done my best to clean up the shattered remnants, small shards had embedded themselves in the most unsuspecting places.

Meanwhile, the spice and cream-colored wedding decorations, which had so elegantly adorned the entirety of the house only a few hours before, were in complete ruins, most of them now scattered on the floor in heaps.

Empty beer bottles and half-eaten food and mud tracks seemed to be everywhere I turned.

Maybe, just maybe, hosting a wedding in our backyard and the subsequent reception in our house
might
not have been the soundest decision.

“Hindsight’s always 20/20, isn’t it?” Daniel said, coming up next to me and rubbing my shoulders.

He seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

“Unless of course, you’re Harold,” I quipped. “In which 20/20 vision of any kind will always elude you.”

I shook my head, eyeing the large stain on the rug where Harold had spilled his beer.

I swear. The Pine Needle Tavern bartender was practically a menace.

I stood in silence for a moment longer, surveying the mess that had once been our house. Then I let out a defeated grumble.

“Well, I guess at least it was worth it, right?” I said. “Everybody had a good time, don’t you think?”

“Warren and Aileen certainly did,” Daniel said. “The two of them were acting like teenagers the whole evening.”

The newlyweds had been on cloud nine for the entire reception. Warren especially. The evening had all his favorite things: his new bride, his family, his friends, copious amounts of Northwest-brewed beer, and of course, plenty of freshly-baked autumn pie.  

“Well, that’s what matters the most,” I said, letting out a sigh. “Not all the wreckage left behind.”

I tilted my head back to look at Daniel.

“Did
you
have a good time?” I asked.

“‘Course I did,” he said, smiling. “But to tell you the truth, I’ve been looking forward to the, uh,
quiet
part of the night. You know, having it be just you and me.”

He shook his head.

“I tell you, I probably heard that old story about Warren jumping off of that tire swing when he was a kid at least
ten
times tonight from all of the old man’s pals.”

I chuckled.

I knew Warren’s group of buddies to have many qualities: loyalty, humor, and kindness, among other attributes. Short-term memory, however, wasn’t exactly their strong suit.

“Well, I guess this place isn’t going to clean itself,” I said, reaching for a few dishes in front of me that held the remains of the pumpkin pie.

But just as I did, Daniel reached for my arm and abruptly pulled me to him. A moment later, we were face to face, with his arms resting on my hips.

His green eyes were bright and full of devilment.

“Hey, I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “What do you say we leave this mess be for a while?”

I glanced around, making a face. Then I looked back up at him.

“And what do you propose we do instead?”

“I say we get out of these clothes and into some comfortable ones. I say we get the dogs, and we all take a nice little neighborhood stroll.”

“Aw, I thought you were going to say something else there for a moment,” I said, smiling wryly.

“All in good time, Mrs. Brightman,” he said. “I’ve got other plans for the rest of the night, too. And not a single one of them involves dishwashers or vacuums or scrubbing Harold’s beer off the rug.”

I looked around the living room one last time, thinking about the disarray and how badly my feet already hurt from the long evening.

I didn’t know if I had a stroll in me after the events and emotions of the day. And I was just about to say so, but then a thought struck me.

I felt my lips curl up.

“I see right through you, Daniel Brightman.”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion, but it didn’t fool me none.

“You just want to go down to
Santa’s Nightmare Lane
, don’t you?”

He smiled, and then shrugged nonchalantly at the accusation.

“The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

There was a hint of mischief in his eyes that said that it had.

Santa’s Nightmare Lane was a street in Christmas River’s oldest neighborhood and about half a mile away from our house. The street’s real name was Lavender Lane, but nobody around here called it that anymore. Because every year in October, folks in that neighborhood would go all out on a Halloween-meets-Christmas-inspired theme, decorating their houses and lawns to the hilt with spooky ghosts and goblins in Santa hats and elf costumes. The tradition had been in place for as long as anybody could remember, and many folks around here thought that Tim Burton had somehow caught wind of it back in the 1990s, and had come up with
The Nightmare Before Christmas
based on Christmas River’s premiere Halloween street.

“You’ve got the whole town fooled, don’t you?” I said, leaning in closer to Daniel. “They all think you’re this tough, no-nonsense lawman, when in reality, underneath the badge and the cowboy hat, you’re just a grown-up kid who wishes he could still go trick-or-treating.”

He shrugged again and smiled.

“You know me too well, Cin,” he said, planting a quick kiss on the bridge of my nose. “Now let’s hurry up. I want to get there before it gets too late and they turn the lights off for the night.”

He headed for the dogs’ leashes in the foyer.

I glanced around the living room one last time.

I didn’t suppose leaving it for an hour more could make the mess any worse than it already was.

Chapter 5

A skeletal Santa Claus waved a bony hand from atop a third story chimney, singing a little ditty about boiling the bones of bad boys and girls and eating them for a midnight snack. Meanwhile, his skeleton reindeer fleet moved their sharp antlers in unison to the catchy jingle, their eyes glowing red in the velvety night sky.

Daniel’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open slightly as he gazed up at the spectacle. For a moment, he looked no older than ten.

I chuckled, finding more entertainment in my husband’s child-like expression than I did in the skeleton Santa Claus and his reindeer fleet.

“Just like I thought,” I said. “Beneath that badge, you’re just a kid who never grew up.”

He grinned.

“This time of year I am, anyway.”

After a few more moments of gawking, he finally pulled away from the house, and we strolled on down to the next one, Huckleberry and Chadwick leading the way. The night was autumn in a jar: crisp, cool, smoke-tinged air, dry leaves dancing in the wind, and a full moon that glowed like an electrified grapefruit near the horizon.

While I joked with Daniel about his love for Halloween and all its decorations, I also knew that his obsession with the holiday was rooted in the same kind of place that my own obsession with the annual Gingerbread Junction Competition came from. As a kid, Halloween and its festivities had been a distraction for him, something that helped take his mind away from his family’s troubles: from the fact that his mom had left. And from the fact that he didn’t get along with his dad.