Mistake in Christmas River Page 4

  Doors slamming.Mom sobbing. Eventually dying out into bitter silence.

  Leaving only the February wind blowing hard against the house.

  And the cold.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Kiddo.”

  Chapter 8

  “C’mon,” Kara said, scooping up a forkful of my latest version of the Raspberry Lemon Cream pie and shoveling it into her mouth. “Just guess.”

  I pulled out a pan of golden, bubbling Mountain Cherry pies from our only working oven, squashing the urge to yawn again.

  It wasn’t that early in the morning, but I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Maybe it had been the out-of-control energy of the bachelor auction or the stressful day before – but it felt like I’d been tossing and turning all night. When I had finally gotten up, the fog still had the town in its grip and I couldn’t seem to fully wake up.

  “Okay…” I said, placing the pan on the cool marble countertop and tossing my oven mitts next to it. “8?”

  “Higher,” Kara said, shoving another heap of pie into her mouth.

  “Hmm… 10?

  “More.”

  The edges of Kara’s mouth turned up and a sly expression came across her face.

  “More?” I said, placing a hand on my hip and raising an eyebrow. “Well, I better just stop guessing and let you tell me, then. We might be here all day.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, dropping the fork on the plate. “You really want to know?”

  I nodded.

  “Fifteen.”

  I felt my face brighten suddenly.

  “Oh my gosh, Kara! You’re kidding – you really sold 15 copies of The Magic Slipper yesterday?”

  I could see the absolute elation in her eyes.

  “I did get one return,” she said, trying to be modest. “And the book’s only priced at $2.99. But just think, Cin – there are 14 people out there right now reading my words – words that I came up with! Completely on my own! Reading all about Katherine and Joe and their love story. Can you believe that?”

  I shook my head in content disbelief.

  Back in January, Kara had self-published her first romance novel book, “The Magic Slipper” online. At first, it wasn’t selling at all and my best friend had been completely deflated. But over the past week, something had changed. Units began selling. Each morning, she’d stop by my pie shop with an update about how many books she’d sold the day before. The numbers now were climbing like corn stalks in the middle of summer.

  “I mean, it’s not a ton of money or anything, but it’s something. John and I have decided to put it aside for Laila. For college, or whatever she wants to do with it when she turns 18.”

  I smiled, watching as she picked up her fork again and dug into the remaining slice of pie.

  “I’m so proud of you, Kara. Really – I’m just so...”

  I trailed off, unable to find the right word to express the way I felt.

  I went over to the coffee pot, which had just finished sputtering out some piping hot hazelnut coffee, and refilled both of our mugs.

  “I couldn’t have done it without all of your support, Cin. Seriously. If not for how much you loved it, I wouldn’t have had the courage to let anybody else read my book. Thanks for being so supportive.”

  I smiled.

  I didn’t need her to thank me – supporting your friends and helping them reach their dreams was just something that any good person did.

  “And by the way, Cin – this pie is absolutely killer,” she said, finishing off the last bite on the plate and downing it with a big slurp of coffee. “It’s the best Raspberry Lemon one by far.”

  “You think?”

  She nodded wholeheartedly.

  “It just might be my new favorite,” she added.

  The pie was something I had been perfecting in anticipation of Mother’s Day. Though we were several months away, and a whole season removed, I was already thinking far ahead. The success of the pie food trucks in Portland meant that we were opening up a second location in Seattle. It was the biggest risk yet, with by far the biggest possibilities, and I had to bring an A-game collection of pies when we opened in the late spring.

  The opportunity was both exciting and nerve-wracking, and in some ways, it felt like everything was converging in my life all at once.

  That was part of why the trip to Ireland was going to be so important. I needed time with Daniel, and I also needed time to get away and rest before things got too out of control and busy.

  “Can I get you another slice?” I asked.

  She eyed the creamy pink pie on the counter next to her for a long moment.

  “I better not,” she said. “I’m on a diet.”

  Generally, people who were close to me had trouble staying on one of those.

  “So how was the bachelor auction last night?” she asked, leaning back on the barstool.

  “About the way I expected it would be,” I said, looking out at all that fog obscuring the trees and hills in the distance. “A lot of hooting and screaming. And thanks to Daniel arriving late, I got roped into going to lunch with Rex Dawson.”

  Kara’s eyes bulged.

  “Say it isn’t true, Cin.”

  I nodded.

  She let out a snort.

  “Poor Cin. If you were going to get a date with anybody, I would have hoped it had been that new guy they hired at the Fire Station back in November. What’s his name? Riley... something or other.”

  “Riley Dugan,” I said.

  Riley, a 24-year-old, had been the second highest bid of the night. I imagined it had something to do with his big puppy dog eyes and ripped biceps.

  “Yeah – Riley.”

  A dreamy expression came across Kara’s features.

  “I mean, Halloween in Hades,” she said. “That guy doesn’t just put out fires – he starts them. I saw him at Ray’s Grocery the other day, and I almost dropped my bag of apples in the produce aisle. Talk about a drool-worthy dream boat, he’s got—”

  I cleared my throat loudly.

  “And just how would John feel hearing you talk so shamelessly about a man nearly half his age?”

  Kara stopped talking, looking pensively, then she shrugged.

  “I don’t think he would mind, Cin. He knows he’s got me, heart and soul. And besides, it’s my job these days to notice such things. I am a romance writer after all.”

  I put a hand on my hip and raised an eyebrow.

  “So you consider this, uh, this noticing a necessity of the job, then?”

  She downed the rest of her coffee and stood up, wrapping her pink pashmina scarf around her neck several times and flipping her blond hair over it.

  “Not a necessity, Cin. I consider it a perk. A perk.”

  She winked at me mischievously.

  I let out a laugh and shook my head.

  Kara Billings was one of a kind.

  Chapter 9

  It had been a long day, and we were just about out of pie. And though I had a lengthy night of baking ahead of me in the kitchen of The Harvest Bread Bakery next door, I was glad at least to have this portion of the day done.

  But as I walked out into the dining room and headed for the front door to turn the sign over to “closed,” I realized that I had gotten ahead of myself.

  The dining room wasn’t empty. The far booth was occupied by a woman who had come in at exactly 4:45.

  The one who came in here every evening since January at exactly 4:45 , downing cup after cup of coffee and staying well beyond closing time.

  She was in her mid-forties, with deep-set eyes, shoulder-length brown hair, and a thin frame. The woman had eaten a small piece of Coconut Cocoa Pie and was now on her third cup of coffee. Like usual, a stack of files and papers lay scattered out over the wood table in front of her. She sipped her cup of joe and stared intently at a faded photocopy of an official-looking form.

  “Um… can I get you anything else, Vicky?” I asked.

  “Oh
, I’m good for now. Thanks, though,” she mumbled, not looking up.

  “Are you sure?” I said, hoping she might take the hint. “More coffee or another slice of pie for the road?”

  But Vicky Delgado was so buried in her work, the subtleties of what I was saying flew right over her.

  Something I knew wasn’t at all normal for the sharp-eyed, quick-witted Sheriff’s Office lieutenant.

  “Yep, I’m sure,” she muttered, grabbing one of the files on the far end of the table and dropping it in front of her.

  I wiped my hands off on my apron and glanced at the wall clock. It was already half an hour past closing time, and I really needed to start transporting my prepared pies down to The Harvest Bread kitchen. I didn’t want to leave the pie shop abandon and unlocked while I was busy working next door.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to say this to Vicky Delgado.

  Maybe it was the way she was so consumed by her work, or the fact that she was in her Sheriff’s Office uniform and seemed imposing, or the fact that even though she worked for Daniel, I didn’t really know Vicky all that well to be so blunt with her. She had only started the job back in November, having come with stellar references from the Portland Police Department. Our interactions had been limited to the Moira Stewart murder investigation back in December, and now her evening visits to my pie shop where I noticed she wasn’t much for small talk.

  Vicky was the quiet type. She was hard to read, and I never knew exactly what she was thinking about me, Daniel, or the rest of the small town of Christmas River for that matter.

  I held in a sigh, deciding to leave the sign to “open” and let Vicky work in peace for a little while longer. I turned and headed back into the kitchen.

  I wasn’t sure what I would do to pass the time, but I’d figure it out. Part of being a good shop owner was giving customers plenty of leeway and always making sure they always felt comfortable. That was my own belief, anyway. I always put a lot of stock in customer service.

  I turned up the volume of the Townes Van Zandt album I was listening to in the kitchen. Then I started packing up some of the prepared pies I’d been making all afternoon to transport to the Harvest Bread Bakery kitchen – whenever that may be.

  I hadn’t been there yet, but I was hoping that Mr. Longworth would be gone for the evening, the way he had said he would. The bread bakery’s kitchen was already small, and on top of that, I wouldn’t want the likes of him looking over my shoulder, judging my work station the way he’d been judging that kid baker who’d run out on the verge of tears.

  I prided myself on always keeping a tidy workspace, but the nature of pie meant mess every now and then. And while I would be sure to clean it up, I couldn’t work in the kind of uptight environment that Frank Longworth—

  Suddenly, there was a light tap on the swinging door that separated the kitchen and the dining room.

  I looked up to see Vicky standing there, clutching a stack of files at her side.

  “Did you change your mind on that second slice of—”

  “You were trying to tell me that it was closing time just now, weren’t you?”

  “Oh, that. Well…”

  It seemed bad form to admit it, but I couldn’t come up with anything else to say.

  “And I’m supposed to be good at picking out details,” she said, shaking her head. “Sorry, Cinnamon. I got so caught up there, I didn’t see the time.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean…” I trailed off. “What I meant was that—”

  “Don’t feel bad. I don’t mind people being straight with me. And I should learn to read that sign out in front that has the shop hours written on it.”

  “No, it’s fine, Vicky. You’re welcome to stay. You’re part of the Sheriff Office’s family now, so come in and stay however long you like. I mean it.”

  Vicky paused a long moment in the doorway, staring at me.

  “You know, I’ve always heard about this kind of thing,” she said. “I just didn’t believe it really existed.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “Small town hospitality,” she said.

  “You’re not in the city anymore,” I said, smiling.

  “Don’t I know it, too,” she said, her tone unclear as to whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “How are you liking Christmas River so far?”

  She pushed her lips out and tilted her head.

  “It’s a little quiet, but I’m getting used to it. It’s hardest at night. There’s so much silence – nothing but trees. I lived in a busy part of Portland most of my life, so I’m used to noise at night. At least more dogs barking.”

  “You’re always welcome to crash at our house if you can’t sleep. We’ve got two dogs barking there ‘round the clock.”

  She let out a rare laugh.

  “Well, I hope you come to like Christmas River,” I said, dusting my hands off on my apron. “Maybe it’s not for everyone, but it’s a great place if you give it a chance. And we’re all really glad you’re here, Vicky. I know Daniel’s counting his lucky stars that you took the position with the Sheriff’s Office. He said with your excellent record, you could have had your choice of a high-ranking job with many a city police department.”

  She looked down at the ground as I spoke, smiling weakly at the last part.

  Then she fell quiet for a long while.

  “Well, I better get going, Cinnamon. Sorry again.”

  She started to leave.

  “I’ll be sure to bring my reading glasses next time,” she said, just before disappearing out into the dining room. “You know, to make sure I read that sign out front.”

  “You’re always welcome here, Vicky. At any hour.”

  She nodded and I watched as she disappeared out into the dining room. A moment later, I heard the jingle of the front door as she left.

  I went back to packing up the pies.

  It wasn’t until later, when I went out and locked up, that I noticed Vicky had left something behind on the table.

  Chapter 10

  I sat by the bedroom window, sipping a cup of hot chamomile mint tea and listening to the soft sounds of Daniel and the pooches breathing.

  Hearing them all sleep so soundly comforted me at this dark, hazy hour.

  It had been a long while since I’d had a night of uninterrupted sleep, and sitting here by this cold window in my bathrobe, drinking tea, and looking out into the darkness had practically become a ritual from the hours of 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. for me. I’d stare into nothing, usually feeling numb until the chamomile tea began working its magic and I started feeling drowsy again.

  Daniel always wanted me to wake him up when I couldn’t sleep like this so that he could stay up with me. For a little while, I had done just that. But Daniel always looked tired the next day, and after a week of that, I stopped waking him.

  I couldn’t see any good reason for the both of us to miss out on a good night’s sleep.

  Sometimes during these sleepless hours, I flipped through the Lonely Planet Ireland guidebook and highlighted things that I wanted to do during our upcoming trip. Or I brought in my recipe idea notebook and began jotting down thoughts about new pie flavor combinations. Or I scratched out new marketing ideas for the pie cart in Portland.

  But mostly, I just stared into the dark nothingness of the night and thought.

  Usually, I only thought about one thing – the thing that always haunted me at this hour and at other quiet moments during the day. But for the last few minutes or so, I’d pushed my mind in a different direction – trying to focus on something else.

  Anything else.

  And for some reason, my thoughts settled on what Vicky Delgado had left behind in the pie shop earlier.

  There had been a photograph at the booth where she’d been studying all those files – a wrinkled photo of a young woman. The woman in the picture was wearing an oversized plaid shirt over a low-cut lace top, and she leaned against a scuffed-up wood counter, holdi
ng a dishrag. A row of bottles lined the wall behind her, and from the dark lighting in the picture, it was obvious that it had been taken in a bar.

  The woman stared out, her red-stained lips locked in a deep frown. Her eyes were a reddish brown that caught the flash of the camera. There was a nose ring in one nostril.

  She had the kind of look that sometimes shows up in paparazzi photos of celebrities leaving a restaurant late at night or walking their dogs in their sweats. A look that screamed leave me alone.

  It was hard to tell when the picture was taken, but it had been creased and the paper had lost its gloss in some areas. Judging from her authentic-looking grunge style, I would have put money on the photo having been taken sometime in the 90s.

  As I sat there, thinking about the photo, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the woman in it was familiar to me somehow. But try as I might, I couldn’t seem to place her.

  I wondered how the picture fit into what Vicky had been working on lately at the pie shop. I’d been under the impression that she’d been working on the Booze Bandit robbery case, but maybe this had to do with something else—

  “I thought we had an agreement.”

  His voice was scratchy and a little loud – the way it got sometimes when he first awakened.

  “I only just got up,” I said.

  He sat down next to me on the window sill bench.

  “Your side of the bed’s colder than the North Pole, so I know that’s a lie.”

  I forced a half-smile and shrugged.

  “I bet I know what’s keeping you up,” he said, rubbing his eyes and letting out a small yawn. “It’s that date with Rex that’s on your mind, isn’t it? The excitement of having coffee with a bona-fide Christmas River celebrity won’t let you sleep.”

  I felt my lips turn up a little at that.

  “Now how did you know?” I said.

  He draped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

  “Just my cop’s intuition, I guess.”

  I smiled.

  But it didn’t last.

  It never could seem to at this hour.