5 Mischief in Christmas River Read online

  I couldn’t wait to bring the story to life through frosting, cookies and edible glitter.

  I shaped the domes around crushed aluminum foil, and placed the delicately balanced dough carefully in the oven. Then I started mixing up another bowl of white frosting to act as a gluing agent for when the cookies had cooled.

  My mind wandered as I whipped together the powdered sugar and cream, and I soon found myself thinking, not surprisingly, about Pepper Posey.

  I wondered what she was going to enter in the competition. From what she had said at registration day, she hadn’t had much experience building gingerbread houses. It was probably going to be a small, basic one, if I were to guess. The kind that you might find in a kit at a store, with lots of gumdrop decorations. The beginners always went over-the-top with the gumdrops. It was probably not going to be any better than—

  I let out a sigh.

  “You’ve got to stop this nonsense,” I said out loud.

  I had to stop being so competitive with Pepper. And at the very least, I had to stop thinking these mean thoughts about her. She seemed a perfectly pleasant person. She’d given me no reason to dislike her, other than the fact that I envied her business sense and her French pastry training. And if I let that make me feel threatened, than I was no better than—

  “Stop what nonsense?”

  I glanced up. Daniel was standing behind the dividing door, a self-satisfied expression on his face.

  He must have been watching me argue with myself.

  “Eavesdropper,” I said.

  He walked through the doors, his shoes thudding loudly against the kitchen floor.

  He smirked.

  “Well, that’s part of my job as Sheriff,” he said. “To eavesdrop. Make sure everything’s in order here in this rowdy establishment.”

  He took a seat at the kitchen island, his eyes drifting over to the half-finished gingerbread house in the corner.

  He studied it for a while, not saying anything.

  “Well?” I finally said.

  “I don’t know much about these kinds of things,” he said. “But I’d say that’s got all the makings of a winner.”

  He peered at it some more.

  “Is that a cookie sleigh there?”

  I nodded.

  “Wow,” he said. “That’s some artistic genius, Cin. I really mean it.”

  I smiled, going over to him and kissing the top of his head. His hair smelled of pine and melted snow.

  “Thanks, hun.”

  He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close.

  “Any luck finding Shasta?” I said.

  His expression darkened.

  “No,” he said. “We’ve been searching, but no cigar yet. I’m thinking about just coming clean to the media. Sending out a news release. Doing as much damage control as I can now.”

  He let out a troubled sigh.

  “Do you really think that’s the way to go?” I said.

  My experiences with the media had taught me that they’d go to town on a story this juicy. The Sheriff’s Office losing a dog worth 20 grand… that would be a story that would take some time to die down, all right. And it might leave a mighty large swath of destruction in its path.

  “Well, regardless of how it’ll reflect on the department, I think it’s the right thing to do,” Daniel said. “As hard as it might be. And maybe if it comes out that Shasta’s missing, we might get lucky. Someone might have her.”

  “Are you going to offer a reward?” I asked.

  “Most likely,” he said.

  I bit my lip, thinking of Brad’s story about Reginald and the reward scam.

  Daniel could tell I was mulling over something.

  “You have a hunch about Shasta’s disappearance?” he said.

  I nodded. I went over to my bag on the coat rack, pulling out the folded-up missing flyer. I came back to the kitchen island and handed it to him.

  “I ran into Julianne Redding earlier,” I said. “I got some details about how she lost her dog.”

  “What’d she say?” he asked.

  “She was walking him in the BrightStar area about a week ago. He was off-leash and he ran off. She’s been beside herself looking for him. But he hasn’t turned up yet.”

  Daniel looked over the poster, and stroked his chin.

  “That’s the same place that Shasta went missing,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “I know,” he said.

  “And then there was Pete Burgess’s dog that went missing,” I said.

  Daniel nodded again.

  “A little odd, don’t you think? All of this happening in such a short period of time.”

  “No such thing as coincidence, that’s for sure,” he said. “What’s your theory?”

  I took a deep breath.

  I still always felt a little nervous whenever I told Daniel one of my theories. Him having so much experience solving mysteries and all.

  “Well…” I said, pausing. “You know Kara’s friend, Brad? He said his partner, Will, lost his dog once in a park in Portland. He looked everywhere, but couldn’t find the dog. He put up missing posters, complete with a reward promise. And a few days later, this young woman calls him, saying she found the dog. He got the dog back and paid her for her troubles, but then later he figured out she’d scammed him. That she’d stolen the dog in the first place, betting that he’d offer reward money for it.”

  “You think something like that’s going on here?” he asked.

  I shrugged.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hmm.”

  He looked down, deep in thought.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “Well, I like the theory, ‘cept nobody’s come forward as of yet trying to collect any reward money. You’d think with Julianne’s posters up everywhere that someone would have contacted her.”

  “Maybe it’s too soon.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But the longer these scammers keep the dog, the more money it costs them to house it. It’d probably be to their benefit to get rid of it as soon as they could.”

  I hadn’t really thought of that.

  Maybe I was clutching at straws with all of this. Maybe it was all just a coincidence. Maybe the three missing dogs had simply run away.

  “Well, it was just a thought,” I said.

  “And a good one too,” Daniel said, patting me on my lower back. “I’ll be real sad when those P.I. rates go up at the beginning of next year.”

  “Well, if you’re lucky, we just might be able to negotiate something,” I said, winking.

  He grinned back.

  “You hungry?” I said. “Can I get you anything?”

  He shook his head.

  “Naw, we’ve got leftovers at home,” he said. “I just mostly came by because I wanted to tell you something.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, I know it’s not the best timing,” he said, rubbing his hair forward. “But I’ve got to go to Portland this Saturday for a case we’re working on.”

  “This Saturday?” I said, glancing at him.

  He nodded.

  “Yeah…” he said. “And I’m sorry. I know Kara’s thing is this weekend, and that you could use my help at home. But I don’t really have a choice, Cin.”

  I bit my lower lip, trying to keep back a frustrated sigh.

  I was hosting Kara’s surprise wedding shower this weekend at the house. I’d been planning it for weeks now. And even though I hadn’t expected Daniel to have a huge hand in planning the party, I had hoped that he’d help me with a few things ahead of it.

  I tried not to let the disappointment show.

  “Well, I guess if you don’t have a choice, you don’t have a choice,” I said quietly.

  The timer beeped, and I went over to the oven a little too quickly to check on the gingerbread. All but one of the domes had continued to keep their shape, but it seemed as though I could only focus on the one that had sunken and
spread out into a melted blob of cookie dough.

  “Dang it,” I muttered.

  I pulled out the pan and placed it on the marble counter top. I took in a deep breath and then turned back around.

  Daniel knew me too well.

  “Aw, don’t be angry, Cin,” he said, getting up. “I’m sorry. But this thing I’m working on is important. You know how my job can b—”

  “I know,” I said.

  I knew it was silly to act this way. I knew full well what I was getting into by marrying a sheriff. But sometimes the job’s interference with our personal time could be a little frustrating. And I especially hated when he had to go away this time of year. I worried about him on those snowy mountain passes that he would inevitably have to cross to get to the valley.

  “It’ll only be a day, Cin,” he said, coming over to me, touching a hand to my cheek. “I’ll be back before you’ll even know I’m gone.”

  “I doubt that,” I said.

  “Don’t be that way,” he said. “You angry?”

  He stared down at me, smiling slightly, turning on that old Daniel Brightman charm.

  I tried to give him a hard stare back, but it was no good.

  The man had my number, and he knew it. It was impossible to stay mad at him when he looked at me like that.

  “You’re a real pickle, Daniel Brightman,” I said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

  “I don’t care what you do with me,” he said. “Just so long as you’re not angry. Now I promise, I’ll be quick about it. No cavorting or dilly-dallying or fraternizing.”

  “You better not,” I said.

  He grinned.

  Then he shot a glance in the direction of the gingerbread cookie domes, cooling on the kitchen counter.

  “Are you ready to go home?” he said. “I could give you a ride back if you want.”

  There was a deep-rooted tiredness in my bones. The kind that tended to settle in after a long day of slaving away in front of the ovens. I had tired bones and stretched muscles and aching feet, and nothing sounded as good as a hot meal and a warm bed right about now.

  But as much as I wanted to throw in the towel for the night, I knew that I couldn’t afford to fall behind on my project.

  It was this kind of drive that had led me to many Gingerbread Junction victories. And I knew that I couldn’t take the easy way out tonight.

  I shook my head.

  “You sure?” he asked. “I could build us a fire when we get back. Crack open a couple of beers that I got from that new brewery down the street. What do you say?”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I said. “But I hear the gingerbread calling my name, hun.”

  He nodded knowingly.

  He did, after all, know what he was getting into when he married Cinnamon Peters the Gingerbread Junction fanatic.

  “All right,” he said, nodding. “I won’t get between a princess and her palace, then. You just call if you want me to come pick you up.”

  He placed his hat back on.

  “You sure you’re not mad at me?” he said, before leaving.

  I looked up.

  “You know that I couldn’t be.”

  He smiled, drumming his hands against the counter.

  Then he left, leaving me to my decorating.

  Chapter 22

  I tore off a large piece of plastic wrap and draped it over the cooled Whiskey Apple Pie, tucking the sticky plastic down around the bottom of the pie dish. Then I pulled on my plaid jacket, and headed across the street to Pepper’s Pies and Pastries.

  I’d given it some thought. And I had realized that ever since Pepper had moved into the vacant storefront across the way, I’d been petty and rude and downright unneighborly. The woman had reached out to me, bringing a carton of her delicious cookies, and I hadn’t even thanked her for them.

  I had let envy get in the way of my manners, and that was just something I couldn’t and wouldn’t stand for in myself.

  After all, what did I have to be jealous of? I was perfectly happy with where I was in my life. And I knew that despite the fact that I hadn’t had any fancy French training, I was one hell of a baker. And while it looked like business was booming at Pepper’s, as a small business owner, I knew that looks could sometimes be deceiving. Overhead costs for the ingredients that went into those pies and pastries of hers had to be substantial. And frankly, I didn’t envy anyone who was in their first year of owning a small business. I’d been there, and that first year almost caused me to go off the deep end.

  I opened the door to the shop and a large gush of warm, toasty, sugar-infused air hit me. It was early, but the tables in the quaint, pink-walled dining room were packed. I skimmed the room, and couldn’t help but notice that Meredith Drutman, a local realtor who I’d had a major run-in with earlier in the season, and a whole group of her relator friends, were all sitting around one of the tables, laughing and eating powdered sugar croissants. She shot a nasty look in my direction when she saw me, but I tried not to sink to her level. I did my best to ignore her while she whispered something to her friends that I was almost positive related in some way to me.

  “Hi there!” one of the pretty blond girls manning the counter shouted at me. “It’s a beautiful day at Pepper’s Pies, Pastries and Other Pick-me-ups. What can I get for you this morning?”

  I started to tell her that I was here to see Pepper, but she interrupted me, her enthusiasm sloshing over the sides like a full bucket of milk.

  “In addition to over twenty different kinds of pastries, we offer nearly a dozen different coffee varieties, including hazelnut, gingerbread, cranberry and pumpkin pie lattes. We also offer caramel macchiatos, hazelnut cappuccinos and—”

  “Uh, is Pepper here?” I asked, before I got roped in to hearing the entire menu.

  “Why sure!” she said, without missing a beat. “I’ll go and get her.”

  The girl disappeared in the back for a moment. Meanwhile, I studied the walls of the bakery.

  They were painted a girly shade of pink and had faux wainscoting painted in gold that felt very French-looking. A few frescoes of macarons and croissants added some lighthearted fun to the room. The tables were all wrought iron, looking like they’d been plucked right out of a French garden. Bouquets of dried lavender sat in the center of the tables.

  The place was noisy with the sound of laughter and cheerful voices.

  I thought of my pie shop’s dining room. Of the old red leather, basic dining booths and the scuffed pine tables. Of the old-fashioned Christmas lights that stayed up year round in the dining room, a couple of them having burned out. Of the pine countertop that had seen better days. Of the cash register that seemed to need a snake-charmer’s touch in the mornings to get it to work.

  Of the coffee pots that served only one kind of coffee.

  The blond girl reappeared from the kitchen. Pepper followed close behind her.

  “Oh, hi, Cinnamon!” she said, her enthusiasm on par with her employee. “I’m so happy to see you. Why don’t you come in the back and we can talk some?”

  I forced a smile.

  “That would be great,” I said.

  I hoped that I didn’t sound as phony as I felt.

  Chapter 23

  “And so after I broke up with Kevin, I just started thinking to myself, ‘Why am I even here?’ I’m a small town girl at heart, and I was living in this rainy, gloomy city. All my family had left, and most of my friends were Kevin’s friends. So I just decided it was time to leave it all behind and start my own business. I packed up everything and moved here…”

  We were sitting in Pepper’s kitchen, which was full of the latest appliances and cookware. Pepper had gotten Cindy, the blond gal with the overbearing energy, to make me a cinnamon sugar latte, which I reluctantly had to admit was delicious. I sipped it slowly, only half listening to Pepper’s story about how she ended up opening a pie shop in Christmas River.

  Something by the back window of the kit
chen had distracted me.

  In between nods and smiles, I stole glances of the thing in the corner, trying not to let on what I was looking at. But I obviously sucked at pretending, because Pepper took notice that she didn’t exactly have my full attention.

  “Oh, did you want to take a closer look at it?” she said midway through her story, after catching me staring at the elaborate, beautifully-decorated cookie house sitting by the window sill.

  I quickly forced my eyes down.

  “Uh, what?” I said.

  “Oh,” she said, furrowing her brow. “I thought you were looking at the gingerbread house.”

  I cleared my throat. I supposed it wasn’t going to do any good playing dumb.

  “Well, now that you mention it, I couldn’t help but notice how nicely it’s coming along,” I said.

  I had to practically force the words out, them being as thick and sticky as cold maple syrup in my throat.

  “You know, that means so much coming from you, Cinnamon,” she said, her blue eyes brightening. “I know how good you are at making these.”

  Pepper got up and went over to the corner. She grabbed the cookie structure’s wooden base, and brought it over to the table so that I could see the house in all its infinite splendor.

  Pepper hadn’t built a typical two-story, gum drop-laden gingerbread kit cabin, the way I thought she would.

  I stared at it silently, trying not to let my jaw hit the ground in the process.

  The house, which was still only half-done, was nothing short of exquisite.

  Pepper had used a marbling technique to decorate the outside of the house. Pink and green pastel strips of icing danced and twirled across the exterior. The shape of the house too was original and unusual, flaring out artistically. Almost like a sculpture. Expertly-made sugar icicles dripped down from the rooftop. A dusting of silver glitter made the house sparkle: the shingles looked like they were encased in a layer of frost.

  And it wasn’t just a house, I realized.

  It was a dog house.

  I chewed at the inside of my bottom lip.

  Son of a howling musher, I thought to myself.

  People in Christmas River loved their dogs. This was going to be the crowd favorite, hands down.