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

Huckleberry stood on the other side, looking up at me, his angel eyes drawn together in a questioning look of concern.

I felt my heart melt a little looking down at the sweet pooch.

“You’re right, Hucks,” I whispered quietly, kneeling down to run my hands through his soft fur. “I don’t know what I’m doing up either.”

I planted a kiss on the top of his sweet dog head, reassuring him that everything was okay. Then I hit the bathroom light.

I tiptoed back to the bed, sliding in quietly next to Daniel, who was out like a candle in a snowstorm.  

Huckleberry jumped up, nestling in next to me. In a few moments, I felt his breathing go from shallow, to deep and steady as the pooch drifted off into dreamland.

It took me a lot longer to fall asleep.

Chapter 13

“Uh, Ms. Peters?”

I glanced up to find Tobias standing in the doorway, looking wide-eyed, his chest heaving slightly as he struggled to catch his breath.

I’d grown accustomed to that expression in recent months: it meant that the pie case was looking sparse out in the dining room, and that the line was long with impatient customers.

I wiped away the pool of sweat that had settled on my upper lip, feeling like the chunky orange wool sweater I had selected for today’s outfit had been a bad choice.

The morning had been busy, to say the least. With the beautiful fall weather that had descended upon Christmas River, so had the fall tourists, here to see the leaves of the aspens turn to fiery shades of orange and red. And though these crowds weren’t as numerous as the ones that came into town during the summer and winter seasons, it was enough to keep me and all my employees – Tobias, Tiana, and Ian – up to our elbows in flour, butter, sugar, and pumpkin puree from sun-up to sundown.

On top of that, this week was the final phase of renovation work in the kitchen. Which meant a two-fold increase in the hammering and sanding coming from the far side of the kitchen.

“We’re running real low on the Chocolate Hazelnut,” Tobias yelled over the sound of a table saw revving up.

He poked his head back out into the dining room.

“And the Pumpkin Gingersnap? It’s flying out of here like a bat who stuck his tongue out at the devil on his way out of hell.”

I smirked.

I always did appreciate Tobias’s turn of phrase. Even when it came under duress.

“Thanks, Tobias. We’ll get you some reinforcements soon,” I said.

He nodded back and quickly vanished behind the swinging divider door.

I let out a sharp breath and glanced at the clock on the far wall.

It was nearly noon. Though with the way things were going, it didn’t look like I was going to be able to take my lunch break anytime soon.

Normally, that wouldn’t have mattered. But it did today. I had somewhere I needed to be, and the place I was going wouldn’t be open past 3 p.m.

I suddenly felt a pair of eyes on me.

“Is time running out?” Ian said in his heavy Scottish brogue.

“Huh?” I said, startled.

I looked in his direction. He was rolling out a batch of pie crusts at lightning speed on the opposite side of the kitchen island.

It was one of the things that impressed me so much about the young pastry chef: he had the rare talent of being able to not only do things quickly, but to do them with a high degree of quality as well. The crusts he made always ended up being perfect.

“You keep looking at the clock,” he said, nodding at the round white face on the wall. “Like time’s going to run out if you don’t keep an eye on it.”

I let out a short breath and forced a smile.

It seemed like every little thing made me jumpy lately.

“No, I’ve just got a few errands I wanted to run at lunch,” I said. “But it’s looking like we’re too slammed for me to duck out.”

Ian let out a little noise that reminded me of the same kind of utterance Warren made whenever he was about to say “pish-posh.”

The kid must have picked up a few
Warrenism’s
during his time under the old man’s roof.

“I’ll cover for you,” he said.

I shook my head.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” I said. “I’ve got to get started on some more pumpkin pies and those Chocolate Hazelnuts aren’t going to make them—”

“I’ll make them,” Ian said.

I studied him from across the kitchen island.

“C’mon,” he said. “You can trust me not to screw them up. I promise.”

“Ian, that’s nice, but—”

“I’m getting started on them, whether you like it or not,” he said, going over to the pantry and grabbing some cans of pumpkin. “And if you’re not out of this kitchen in five minutes, well, I might just rethink my offer.”

I watched as he gathered some more ingredients, and with his trademark speed, began combining the base of the Pumpkin Gingersnap pies.

He looked up again at me after a few moments.

“Well? What’s it going to be?”

“You sure you can handle it?”

“I already am.”

“I’m just a call away if you need anythi—”

“As my grandmother would said, ‘Get on about it,’ Cinnamon.”

I didn’t need to be told a third time.

“I owe you one, Ian.”

“No you don’t,” he said with a warm smile.

I untied my apron and went for my coat and purse on the coat rack. Then I snuck out the back door, making my way around the pie shop and out to Main Street where my car was parked.

But a moment later, I found myself stopped dead in my tracks, a fear gripping my heart so hard, I thought it might explode.

She’d been waiting for me.

Chapter 14

“Can… can I help you?”

Her yellowed eyes had a hollow, empty look to them that sent feverish chills running down my spine. Her long, wispy grey hair blew around her like Medusa’s snakes in the harsh wind. She wore a long, tattered dress and a wool jacket that looked as though it hadn’t seen the light of day for decades.

She didn’t answer my question.

She just kept staring at me.

Seeing her up close for the first time, I noticed that her face was a complicated and convoluted series of deep, craggy wrinkles.

“Mrs.… Mrs. Blaylock?” I stammered.

She was standing squarely between me and my car, blocking the driver’s door. I felt my muscles tighten as I fought the urge to bolt.

All I wanted to do was turn around and run back inside the pie shop for my life the way a third grader might at the sight of The Witch.

But I wasn’t a school-aged child. I was a grown woman. And real women didn’t run away from their fears. They faced them head-on, no matter the terror they felt in their heart.

She didn’t say anything, and I felt my fists curl up at my sides.

Just what was she doing here, scaring me like this? What right did she have to give me these kinds of looks? I had done nothing to her, as far as I knew. Yet here she was, haunting me the same as any restless ghoul.

I glanced down the street to see if anybody else noticed her standing there, glaring at me. But the streets were oddly empty at the moment.

“Did you find it?”

I nearly jumped at the sound of her gravelly, ragged voice. A voice which I was fairly certain no one in Christmas River could have claimed to have heard for decades.

I gathered up my courage and met her gaze. Her face was unchanged, as if she hadn’t uttered a thing, and for a second I wondered if I had imagined the words. She just studied me with those distant, vacant eyes. Eyes that looked like they were reaching out from another era.

“Excuse me?” I said.

She moved closer to me, and I instinctively took a step backward.

“You did,” she said. “Your eyes just told me.”

I cleared my throat, furrowing my brow.

“Mrs. Blaylock, is there a reason you’re here? Can I help you with something?”

She shook her head slowly.

“No, Cinnamon Peters,” she said. “Nobody can help me. God has cursed me.”

I felt a lump at the back of my throat when she said my name.

Christmas River was a small town. Most people knew who I was, being that I ran a popular pie shop in town and was married to the Sheriff. But the fact that Hattie Blaylock knew my name, and said it as though she knew me too, scared me badly for some reason.

“Goodbye, Cinnamon,” she said.

I felt bitter chills run through me as the old woman brushed past me, stepping up onto the sidewalk with a creaky, labored motion.

I watched as she turned her back and headed north, away from downtown, in the direction of Santa’s Nightmare Lane.

I stood by my car for a long time after she disappeared from view.

Chapter 15

“This is highly unusual, Cinnamon,” Kristy Varner said, peering over the desk at me. “In fact, I very much doubt if we’ll be able to help you with this request.”

The way Kristy Varner said it, it was like she was just hoping and praying that she could say no and tell me she was unable to help. Which wasn’t all that surprising: Kristy, who had been two years ahead of me in high school back in the day, had always been something of an unpleasant malcontent. She used to be on the dance team back then, and let it be known to anyone who would listen that she was a star in the making bound for Broadway. But getting married and starting a family early seemed to have put a wrench in those plans. All these years later, here she was, sitting behind the desk of the same high school she attended, wearing her hair in a high ponytail like she was still on the dance team, enjoying saying “no” as often as she could. 

I dug my hands into my jacket pockets, feeling the heavy class ring between my fingers.

“It wouldn’t take that long,” I said. “I could just go down to the library and ask Mrs. Longmont if they have the yearbooks dating back that far.”

I smiled my best
pretty-please
smile.

“I’d consider it a real favor,” I added.

The receptionist was unfazed.  

“I’m afraid that I just can’t approve this right now,” Kristy said, picking at her long nails, which were painted a garish shade of zombie green. “Principal Henry is not here this afternoon to authorize me to let someone like
you
, who has no connection to the school, into the library. School security is a priority here at Christmas River High School, and we just can’t—”

“I went to school here, Kristy,” I said, trying not to bite her head off, the way I wanted to. “Same as you.”

“Yes, but I get
paid
by the district to be here,” she continued. “You don’t have a child who attends this school, and your reason for being here is well… it’s just a bit odd.”

She scrunched up her nose as she said the last part, something I remembered her doing plenty of times while gossiping about girls she didn’t like in her class.

“I don’t feel comfortable letting you through these—”

“What is it you want, Kristy?” I said, cutting her off.

I knew that she was giving me a hard time for a reason. And it wasn’t because she was concerned that I was a threat to the students of Christmas River High School.

She narrowed her eyes at me. Then she looked up at the ceiling, as if she was contemplating what it was she wanted.

She leaned back in her chair and gave me a coy look.

“I take it you heard about our little problem at the school earlier this week?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“I don’t see why I should have,” I said. “Like you said, I don’t have any connection to the school these days.”

She cleared her throat.

“Well, three of our kids were caught with marijuana in their lockers following an anonymous tip that the vice principal received,” she said, lowering her voice. “Principal Henry was up in arms about it. He’s been threatening all sorts of punishments.”

I placed a hand on my hip.

“Well, that’s a shame that the students of Christmas River High are doing the same things today that they did when we were in school, but I don’t see how—”

“My boy was one of them who was caught,” she said, narrowing her eyes again.

I furrowed my brow, unable to see how I could help in any way with what her teen decided to do with his life.

But within a few moments, it became clear.

“I need
you
, Cinnamon, to talk to that Sheriff husband of yours,” she said. “I need him to come into school to talk about the dangers of smoking pot to the student body. If I can provide this little peace offering to Principal Henry, then maybe, just maybe, I can convince him to be a little lenient when it comes to punishing my Tommy.”

I stared at Kristy hard for a long moment.

Daniel and the Sheriff’s Office usually did come into the high school once a year to talk to the students about drug use. However, the talk usually took place in January, and I knew that he loathed doing it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the kids. He just disliked the manner in which the schools wanted him to talk about drugs. As a law-enforcement officer, Daniel did not condone underage drug-use of any kind. But he also knew one other thing: the more you told somebody not to do something, the more they were apt to do it.

That line of logic could be multiplied by at least a dozen when it came to teenagers.  

But at the moment, Daniel’s personal feelings about anti-drug talks didn’t seem as important as the reason for me being at the school.

I drew in a deep breath.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll talk to him.”

Kristy’s lips curled up slightly at the edges, no doubt pleased at the way she’d manipulated me into getting what she wanted.

But I didn’t care as much as I usually might have that Kristy Varner had gotten the better of me.

I had bigger fish to fry.

She pushed the visitor sign-in sheet toward me, along with an adhesive tag that labeled me as such.

“You
do
remember how to get to the library, don’t you Cinnamon?”

I shot her a sharp look just before signing in.