Mistake in Christmas River Read online

  Mistake in Christmas River

  A Christmas Cozy Mystery

  by

  Meg Muldoon

  Published by Vacant Lot Publishing

  Copyright 2018© by Meg Muldoon

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance whatsoever to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Meg Muldoon Collection

  The Christmas River Cozy Mystery Series

  Murder in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 1)

  Mayhem in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 2)

  Madness in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 3)

  Malice in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 4)

  Mischief in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 5)

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

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

  Menace in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 8)

  Missing in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 9)

  Meltdown in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 10)

  Midnight in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 11)

  Mistake in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 12)

  The Christmas River Cozy Mystery Novella Series

  Roasted in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery Novella (Book 1)

  Caught in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery Novella (Book 2)

  Crushed in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery Novella (Book 3)

  The Cozy Matchmaker Mystery Series

  Burned in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery (Book 1)

  Busted in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery (Book 2)

  The Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery Series

  Mutts & Murder: A Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery (Book 1)

  Bulldogs & Bullets: A Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery (Book 2)

  The Holly Hopewell Cozy Mystery Series

  The Silence of the Elves: A Holly Hopewell Cozy Mystery (Book 1)

  The Broomfield Bay Cozy Mystery Series (with Jools Sinclair)

  Ginger of the West: A Witches of Broomfield Bay Mystery (Book 1)

  Don’t miss out on cozy recipes and great deals on Meg’s books! Sign up for Meg Muldoon’s mailing list by clicking here, and get a free copy of Roasted in Christmas River: A Thanksgiving Cozy Mystery Novella!

  And for more cozy fun, join Meg on Facebook or visit her Blog.

  Mistake in Christmas River

  by Meg Muldoon

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to all my readers, and in particular, to the ones who have joined my Cozy Lodge Patreon Club this year. You guys have supported me tremendously – not just with your monthly pledges, but with your belief in my work. And to me, that last part has truly been priceless.

  In particular, I’d like to thank Cheryl Shoup, Phyllis May, Helen Edwards, Amanda C., Chip Capelli, Carol Schmidt, Mindy Kelly, and Jacqueline Myers. I’m so grateful for your generosity and enthusiasm for Christmas River! Additionally, thank you to Wendy and Cassandra!

  Author’s Note

  The storyline in this latest installment of The Christmas River Series is a continuation of the cliffhanger ending featured in Meltdown in Christmas River: Book 10. Therefore, it may be helpful to reread the last chapter of that book before proceeding.

  Prologue

  25 years earlier

  One moment, the young woman was deep in a numb sleep.

  The next, she was flying through the air like a ragdoll.

  She gasped, her eyes flipping open just before hitting the vinyl seat-back in front of her. A moment later, she ricocheted back into her seat with such force, she thought at first that the wind had been knocked out of her.

  The old bus swerved along the right shoulder of the highway, the tires rolling over the rumble strip. Its rusted frame trembled like a newborn deer until the driver corrected the heap of metal back onto the road.

  “Nothing to worry about, folks,” a voice boomed from the front of the bus. “Just a pothole. This highway’s in need of a good fixing.”

  Or maybe you are, the woman thought, rubbing the side of her face.

  She was still half asleep and for a while, she couldn’t remember where she was. Who she was. Or what she was doing sitting on this bus climbing a mountain pass. All she knew was feeling – her feet were cold, her head hurt. Her back ached too – the kind of ache that came with sitting for a long period of time in an uncomfortable seat.

  She found herself lost in a fog of not knowing anything, and there was something nice about it. Something freeing.

  Then, it all came back to her.

  And the heaviness once again spread throughout her chest like a dark cloud.

  The young woman looked out the smudged window of the bus, watching the trees fly by in horizontal smears of blue and black, seeing it all play out again in her mind’s eye.

  Her mouth went dry and she began feeling nauseous.

  “That pothole was nothing,” the man in the dingy gray sweater next to her mumbled. “You want to talk about bumpy trips, I’ll tell you about the worst flight of my life. Portland to Denver, six years ago. One of them famous Rocky Mountain weather systems turned the plane into nothing more than a plastic bag in the wind and…”

  She now remembered that the middle-aged man had been the reason why she’d closed her eyes in the first place. He’d sat down next to her when they boarded the bus, despite there having been several other empty rows. He’d been trying to start up a conversation, stealing not-so-subtle glances at her curves when he thought she wasn’t looking. She had finally closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep – and after a while, she hadn’t needed to pretend.

  The man had a few gaping black spots where his teeth should have been, and his smell reminded her of the bar where she’d worked for the past two years. There was the smell of mouthwash on his breath, but it couldn’t completely cover up the sharp odor of whiskey.

  She knew that smell all too well.

  She bit at her lip ring and pulled her thin corduroy jacket tighter around her body. She wasn’t dressed properly for the mountains, and even though the bus driver had cranked the heater up to full-blast and most of the passengers had pulled off their hats and gloves, she was still shivering.

  She wondered if she’d ever feel warm again.

  “...And the next thing I know, the stewardess loses her balance and falls face-first right into my lap. Poor broad was only a few weeks into the job, and she started grabbing a hold of me and screaming ‘This is it, everyone! This is the end!’”

  The man let out a cackle that made her skin crawl.

  It was always the same kind of story from these types – always crude, rude, and embellished lies.

  “So I say to this poor gal – look, I’m flattered you want to spend the last minutes of your life with me, honey, but the way you’re grabbing me down there, you’re going to rob the future mother of my children—”

  The young woman fished out the Walkman from her bag and slid a pair of bulky headphones over her head before he finished the story. She h
it “play” on the tape deck and a moment later, Alice in Chains’ Rooster filled her ears with sweet relief.

  She gazed out the window. She imagined the man would feel rejected and maybe even a little hurt.

  But she could give a damn.

  She got through half of the B side of “Dirt” when the speed limit dropped and the blurred trees were replaced with quaint log buildings and frosty fields of dead grass.

  The bus driver’s muffled voice drifted in over the music.

  “Okey-dokey, folks, second stop on our way to the great city of Boise, the little scenic mountain town of Christmas River. We’ll be stopping at The Marionberry Truck Stop for 15 minutes, so feel free to use the facilities and order something if you’re hungry. I just ask that you be back on the bus in a timely fashion so we can get on the road and beat this storm that’s blowing in on our heels.”

  Moments later, the bus slowed and pulled off into a small parking lot crowded with big rigs and men standing together in circles, smoking.

  She stuffed the Walkman and earphones into her purse, clutching the leather straps tightly. The bus came to a sluggish stop. She stood up, impatiently waiting as the drunk next to her took his sweet time getting his own bag and standing up.

  He looked back at her for a split second like a beaten dog.

  She stepped down off the bus, taking in a deep breath of frosty forest air.

  The passengers streamed inside the diner – but the young woman broke away from the pack, walking a few hundred yards to a wooded area at the edge of the lot. There was an old picnic table there, and she leaned against it, fishing a cigarette out of her purse. She hesitated, then brought it to her lips, the familiarity of the habit somehow comforting. She was about to light it.

  “Don’t you think of anybody but yourself?”

  Her mother’s words echoed in her head suddenly, slicing at her like thin razor blades.

  The cigarette slipped out of her trembling fingers, dropping onto the muddy ground.

  “Dammit. Dammit. Dammit,” she muttered.

  She shouldn’t have been smoking them anyway.

  But she rummaged around her large purse, bypassing the stacks of money, until she felt the box again. She fished out the last cigarette, bringing it up to her trembling lips.

  Ma had been right.

  She had been selfish.

  But it was too late to take anything back now. The past was done. That life was done. Her eyes had to be ahead of her now. Always on the future.

  To live any other way now was to not live at all.

  Crack!

  The sound of branches breaking.

  She spun around, finding a pair of sharp blue eyes looking back at her.

  Then, the deep voice.

  “Need a light, honey?”

  Her heart rattled in her chest like a tin can rolling down a dark street on a windy night.

  The driver didn’t notice until they were an hour past Christmas River that he was short a passenger.

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Cin. but I’ve used every trick in my arsenal to get this dude to light. He’s just not having it. I’m afraid he’s given up the ghost.”

  I crossed my arms tighter against my chest, shifting my weight between my well-worn cowboy boots.

  There was enough heat coming out of my head to bake all my pies for the next week.

  “But it only just got installed last year!” I blubbered. “They said it was top of the line. Top of the line! And believe me, I paid a top of the line price for it, too. It can’t break after only a year, Marty!”

  Marty Higgins stood up straight and readjusted the tool belt circling his rotund waist. He wiped at the black smudge on his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve.

  “I know, sweetheart. But luckily you’ve got that warranty on it. Should cover getting a new oven of the same quality.”

  Marty didn’t seem to quite understand the source of my frustration – the warranty was nice, but the point of the whole thing irked me to no end. I’d splurged big time on the industrial-sized oven because of the dependability that all the online reviews claimed it had.

  It wasn’t supposed to let me down like this.

  “Well, how long do you think that’ll take?” I grumbled.

  “To get a new one?”

  I nodded.

  Marty pursed his lips.

  “If we were in Portland, you’d have a new one this week. But since the manufacturer doesn’t have any outlets near Christmas River, I’d say you’re looking at a two-week wait time—”

  “Two weeks?! What am I supposed to do? Valentine’s Day is coming up, and this place is going to be packed. We won’t be able to operate on one oven. Hell – two ovens was pushing it. And with this cold snap coming up, how am I supposed to—”

  I stopped speaking, noticing that Marty’s large features had slumped down – the way pie dough does in the oven when it hasn’t been properly chilled beforehand.

  “I’m really sorry, Cin,” Marty said. “I wish I could fix it, especially since it’s for you. We’ve always been such good pals. Now if you want a second opinion, I don’t mind calling in Wilky from Wilkinson’s Appliances and seeing what he says. We’re not exactly friends, but maybe he can—”

  I took in a deep breath, then shook my head, suddenly feeling guilty for making Marty offer to call in his biggest competitor in town over my busted oven.

  After all, it wasn’t Marty’s fault that the oven had decided to call it quits during one of the busiest times of the year. Marty was only trying to help me. And here I was, losing my cool and taking my frustrations out on the wrong person.

  And if I was being honest, it wasn’t the first time I’d lost my cool at the wrong person in the New Year, either.

  “I wasn’t able to fix it, so there’s no charge, Cin,” he said quickly. “And if it helps, I could—”

  I let my hands drop to my side.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m… I’m sorry for being so unpleasant just now. You were only trying to help.”

  The handyman shifted uncomfortably between his big boots, looking a little relieved.

  “I’ve been… I’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” I added.

  I’d been using that excuse too much lately, too, and I wasn’t proud of it.

  Marty’s face brightened.

  “Aw, don’t worry about it, Cin. I know it’s a lot more than an oven to you – it’s your livelihood that’s at stake here. I get it.”

  Marty’s kind words and absolute understanding left me feeling even guiltier than before.

  Marty Higgins was one of the most decent men in this town. Christmas River’s premier handyman, Marty had a life-size personality to match. The man lit up a room like nobody’s business and had a distinct, deep-throated laugh that gave Santa Claus a run for his money.

  But perhaps the main thing that made Marty such a gem was that he was so giving. He was the type of person who just genuinely liked other people and did everything he could to help.

  If you called with a problem – any problem, mind you – he’d be on his way no matter the hour, the weather, or the cost. That was Marty all over. He had a heart as big as the Time’s Square Christmas tree.

  And that was why when my oven refused to heat beyond 70 degrees earlier that morning, I’d called him right away.

  And why I was feeling guilty as could be now for mistreating him.

  “Elves in El Paso, I didn’t even offer you pie,” I said, shaking my head. “Would you like a slice of something? I’ve got a few HubbaHubba Chocolate Cherry pies that should be just this side of warm and gooey.”

  “I would, but the wife’s got me on a strict diet. She says I’ve got to watch what I eat now that I’m middle-aged or risk getting a beer belly.”

  He pat the upper half of his already-rotund gut that bulged over his tool belt.

  “I told her she must have me mixed up with so
mebody else.”

  I let out a good-natured laugh.

  “Well, what about coffee? I can’t think she’d object to that.”

  He pursed his lips and shrugged.

  “Nothing like one of your pies, but it’ll have to do.”

  I went over to the far end of the kitchen and poured him a fresh cup of hazelnut joe. He took a seat on one of the barstools, and I handed the steaming mug to him. He took it gladly.

  “So I hear that you and the Sheriff are gonna be jetsetting outta here at the end of the month,” he said. “That true?”

  I nodded and couldn’t help but smile a little.

  “Where to?”

  “Ireland.”

  Marty’s eyes lit up as he took a sip of his coffee.

  “For how long?”

  “Two and a half weeks,” I said, feeling the stress over the broken oven lift ever so slightly at the thought of vacation. “I can’t quite believe it, either. I haven’t had two whole weeks off since…”

  I scratched my chin.

  I couldn’t even remember.

  “Not easy running your own business, is it?” Marty said. “Takes heart and soul and then some.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” I said.

  I noticed that Marty’s attention had settled on the row of hazelnut chocolate pies cooling over by the frosty window.

  “You sure I can’t get you anything else, Marty? Maybe just a half-slice of pie?”

  Marty hesitated for a long moment, taking a prolonged sip of his coffee.

  “No. My honey will put a fork in my eye if she finds out.”

  His lips said no, but his eyes said yes.

  I smiled.

  A minute later, a thin sliver of creamy hazelnut chocolate sat on a plate in front of him.