by Meg Muldoon
He went back to the truck and retrieved a flashlight from the backseat.
“Be careful of the ice,” I said after him.
He nodded and then started heading down the street, the light of the flashlight falling over trees and brush, casting long spidery shadows.
Deb was crying now, and I noticed that she was shivering hard.
“C’mon, Deb,” I said, lightly nudging her toward the house. “Let’s get you inside.”
Chapter 11
“I know it’s stupid,” she said. “I know it’s stupid to cry over a blasted turkey.”
A few crumpled-up tissues lay lifelessly on the scuffed-up table in front of her. The water in the tea kettle on the stove began to rumble, and she started getting up.
“No, no,” I said, beating her to it. “I’ll get it.”
She sniveled some more and didn’t argue.
I turned the burner off and poured the boiling water into a mug containing a chamomile tea bag. I placed the mug in front of her and she nodded at me gratefully.
Deb’s house wasn’t really what I expected, though I felt kind of bad for making that judgment. It was just that Deb always dressed so nice and took such care with the way she looked. Her house wasn’t like that at all, though. Half-destroyed kids’ toys were scattered around the living room. The furniture was worn and had thrift store written all over it. Her kitchen looked to be trapped in the 1970s.
“The kids are going to be so disappointed,” she said, biting her lip and looking up at me. “Last year, we didn’t even… I mean…”
She closed her eyes and then took in a deep breath.
“We had to skip Thanksgiving last year,” she said. “It’s just that… things have been tough since Frank left us three years ago. I’ve been trying to make ends meet, but they just haven’t been. I promised the kids that things were going to be different this Thanksgiving. That I’d save everything I could so we’d have one this November.”
She shook her head.
“That’s why I got out of hairdressing and into real estate. And things are better, but they’re still tough you know? I’m still waiting for my big break. When my dad was diagnosed with cancer earlier this year, he bought that turkey for us cuz he wanted to make sure that we’d…”
She sniveled.
“Since he didn’t have that long to live.”
The water works started up again.
“But now… now it’s all ruined.”
I bit my lip.
Poor Deb. I had no idea that things had been so hard for her family. I knew, through town gossip, that her ex-husband Frank was regarded by most folks as being something of a loaf-about and troublemaker. Daniel had once told me that right around the time Frank split town, he was wanted by the Oregon State Police in relation to narcotics trafficking. Most people thought Frank got out of Dodge before things got too hot.
He’d left behind two young children and a wife to fend for themselves.
“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” I said in the most calming voice I could muster. “Daniel will find Jack Daniels. And if he doesn’t, then I’m sure that—”
“Why are you crying, Mom? What’s going on?”
I turned around in my chair to look at where the soft chime of a voice had come from.
A little boy about the age of ten stood in the hallway. Wearing Seattle Mariners logo pajamas, the boy had dark hair, freckles, and a face that was just on this side of chubby.
I smiled in his direction, but his eyes were fixed on his mom. I looked back at Deb, who was quickly wiping away the evidence that she’d been crying.
“It’s nothing, pumpkin,” she said in a high pitched tone. “Why don’t you come over here and I’ll fix you some cereal?”
He kept his little brow furrowed, looking at her suspiciously, as if he knew she was lying to him. But he did as his mother asked. He came up to the table and took a seat at the chair next to mine. Deb got up and went to the cupboard, grabbing a box of generic Honey Nut O’s.
The little boy looked at me, that worried expression still clinging to his face. It seemed unnatural for a kid that young to be that worried. But he looked as if he was used to wearing the expression.
“Frankie, this is Ms. Peters,” Deb said, pouring the cereal into a plastic bowl. “She owns a pie shop a couple of blocks away. She’s just been helping mom with something this morning.”
I smiled at him again, giving him by best kid-friendly grin. But he didn’t return it. He looked back at me suspiciously.
“Helping you with what?” he asked.
Deb didn’t answer.
I cleared my throat.
I didn’t know much about talking to kids, being as I didn’t have any of my own. They always made me feel a little uncomfortable because I never knew what to say to them.
But there was no harm in trying.
“So what grade are you in, Frankie?” I asked.
“Fourth,” he said, quietly.
“Do you like school?”
He shrugged.
“It’s okay.”
“Do you have a best friend?”
He shrugged again, a troubled look coming over his face this time.
“Well, I used to. But then Hunter—”
Just then there was a rapping at the front door. Deb placed the bowl of cereal in front of Frankie, and then went to get it. I heard Daniel’s voice and then stood up, joining Deb at the front of the house.
Daniel’s cheeks were a shade of deep red from the cold.
“Did you find him?” Deb asked in a hushed whisper.
Daniel shook his head.
“No,” he said. “But Ms. Dulany. I think you should put a jacket and some shoes on. There’s something you need to see out here.”
Chapter 12
As we pulled away from Deb Dulany’s small home, I noticed that a pair of eyes were staring out at us from between the blinds of the front window.
Frankie.
That poor kid had probably been through a lot, growing up with a deadbeat dad like Frank Dulany.
I’d known a thing or two about deadbeat fathers. Mine had left when I was about Frankie’s age. Twice a year, at Christmas, and then again at my birthday, I used to get cards from him that had little more than a signature.
I knew that those cards were more for his benefit than mine. He could sleep soundly at night, wherever he was, knowing that he’d done his “duty” by remembering my birthday.
I knew from experience it wasn’t easy growing up like that. It caused you to mature a lot sooner. To worry more. To learn the meaning of self-doubt, and wonder whether they left because of you.
I let out a sigh.
“You okay?” Daniel asked, seeming to notice the dark change in my mood.
I nodded.
“Yeah,” I said. “That kid just reminds me of me at that age.”
Daniel glanced over, searching my face.
He squeezed my leg. I could tell by his expression that he knew what I was talking about.
“I wish I knew you then, Cin,” he said. “I wish I could go back and change things for you.”
I looked over at him, placing my hand on top of his.
“There’s no need,” I said. “It got me here, to you, and that’s all that matters.”
He smiled back at me. We pulled up in the empty parking space in front of the pie shop.
“Who do you think would have stolen the Dulany turkey, Daniel?” I asked, finding that my throat was a little thick with emotion.
I was probably just overly tired. After the accident last night and the long hours I’d been putting in at the pie shop lately, I’d let my guard down and was getting all weepy for no good reason.
It was just a turkey, for goodness sakes. It wasn’t like somebody had broken into Deb’s house and stolen all their money. Someone had just stolen their turkey: using a pair of wire cutters to snap the fence around the turkey coop to steal him. Daniel had found the hole in the gate after inspecting th
e turkey pen. It was clear that Jack Daniels couldn’t have gotten out on his own.
But turkeys could easily be bought at the grocery store. There was no reason that Jack Daniels’ theft should ruin Thanksgiving for Deb and her family.
But maybe it was seeing how worried Frankie had been after seeing his mom cry. Or what that turkey must have represented for the Dulany family this year. The turkey had been a gift from her dad, who just wanted to see his grandchildren have a little memento of him this Thanksgiving.
I hardly knew the Dulany family. Yet I found myself unable to stop thinking about their predicament.
Daniel seemed to pick up on my concern.
“I don’t know who would’ve done this,” he said. “But I’ll find out, Cin. And it’ll be okay for them. All right? I’ll make sure of it.”
I wiped at my nose and then nodded, trying to shake away the emotion.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to get this way. I think I’m just tired.”
He placed a hand on my back.
“You want to take today off?” he said. “I’m sure Chrissy and Tiana could fill in for you.”
I shook my head.
“No. There’s too much to do. I can’t spare the time today for spazzing out over nothing.”
“Then I’ll fill in for you,” he said. “You know I make one hell of a pie.”
I let out a short laugh, then patted him again on the hand.
He did make one hell of a pie. But picturing Daniel in an apron, slaving away in front of the ovens all day was hard to do. It just didn’t quite mesh right in my head.
“That’s kind of you, honey,” I said. “But I’ll be just fine.”
“Suit yourself,” he said. “But the offer will stand the rest of the day in case you change your mind.”
I leaned over, planting a soft kiss on his cheek, which was still cold from the time he spent searching for the lost turkey.
“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Daniel Brightman.”
I got out of the car, stepping out into the chilly morning again. I waved at him, then shut the truck door, quickly walking to the pie shop entrance. Daniel kept the truck parked in the space, waiting to make sure I got safely inside before pulling away.
Chapter 13
I hunched over my long list of ordered pies, staring at it glumly.
Despite having Chrissy and Tiana onboard today, I still had a long ways to go before I made any sort of dent in this list. And what was more, not only did I have these to bake, but I also had my own Thanksgiving feast to start on tonight, not to mention a trip to Redmond to pick up Warren and Aileen from the airport.
Plus, I had to spruce up the house for the arrival of all our guests tomorrow.
I took in a deep breath, trying not to take it all on at once. But if I were being honest, I was having a hard time achieving a sense of calm. I felt like a small boat on the high seas caught in a cyclone.
Every year I always tried to do my best to stay ahead of the holiday freak-out curve. But every year, like so many other Americans, I just couldn’t help but get stressed out by it all. I loved holding Thanksgiving for my friends and family. In fact, there was nothing else I’d rather do than express my love for them through good food.
But it could all get to be quite a lot. And some years, the idea of shuttering up the house and having a nice romantic turkey dinner for two sounded tempting. A nice quiet dinner topped off by a hot salt bath and Ben and Jerry’s Pumpkin Cheesecake ice cream sounded quite wonderful to me at the moment. Especially as I looked at the long list of pies I had yet to bake.
It was too late to turn back now, though. And besides, it wasn’t like I wasn’t getting anything out of the deal. These pies I was baking today would provide a nice cushion for Christmas this year. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing that old, feisty man I called my grandfather get off the plane in Redmond this evening.
I changed out the Van Morrison track I was listening to and opted for something a little more high energy to get me in the spirit. The Four Tops blared from the stereo, and I set about making another batch of the Cranberry Apple Walnut pies while humming along to “Bernadette.”
I cored and peeled the granny smith apples, sautéing them, along with several cups of cranberries, in a large pan of butter. I sautéed the mixture until the cranberries snapped and the apples were just this side of soft. I was just about to add the whiskey, brown sugar, and sour cream to the fruit when Tiana stuck her head into the kitchen.
“Uh, Cinnamon, there’s a gentleman out here, says he’d like to say something to you,” she said.
I could tell by the tone in her voice that she was unsure about whoever was out there. I nodded, wiping my hands off on my apron.
“I’ll be right out,” I said.
I took the large pan off the burner and then headed out to the dining room.
Chapter 14
He slicked back his thinning hair, and then twisted that old weathered beanie of his between his hands.
“I, uh, I jest wanted to come by and thank you for yesterday, miss,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that, and I jest want you to know that I appreciate it.”
He stood at the counter. I couldn’t help but notice that some of the patrons sitting in the booths in the dining room were staring at him, almost as if they hadn’t ever seen a person without a home in their lives.
I tried to ignore them.
“It wasn’t anything, Tobias,” I said, smiling. “And I’m glad you stopped by again. I wanted you to taste the Sweet Potato Fig pie today. If you have the time, I mean.”
“That’s, uh, that’s right kind of you,” he said, shifting nervously between his feet. “But I’ve got myself a nice meal later to look forward to, and I wouldn’t want to spoil it.”
“Are you sure?” I said.
He nodded vigorously.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly yesterday. That’s why I come by now, is all. To thank you. And I hope I wasn’t too much of an inconvenience to you. That lady in here didn’t like me much, and I didn’t want you getting any bad ideas about me, so I up and left.”
He looked around nervously, as if he could feel everyone’s eyes on him and all the judgment that came with their stares.
“Well, I didn’t much care for that lady who was in here yesterday,” I said. “Besides, this is my place. And that means you can come in here whenever you please. We have an arrangement, don’t you remember? You’re my pie taster.”
He lifted his eyes and met mine for the first time.
“You’re not jest saying that?” he said.
“I’m most certainly not,” I said, smiling. “Now, if you’re still hungry after that big meal of yours, you’re welcome to come back here for dessert. Okay?”
He cracked a toothy smile.
Just then, the pie shop door opened, the bell jingling. I glanced over Tobias’s shoulder.
She came waltzing up to the counter in long strides, her heels clicking hard against the linoleum floor.
“I know it was her,” she said. “I figured it out, Cinnamon. It was her.”
Chapter 15
For the second time that day, I placed a mug of steaming hot tea in front of a distraught Deb Dulany, trying to calm her down.
We were sitting in the back of my pie shop at the kitchen island. I had about a million things I should have been doing at the moment, but instead, here I was doing my best to console Deb again.
This time, however, there weren’t tears coming from her eyes. Her sadness had turned into rage. The words came pouring out of her faster than steam could escape a tea pot.
“She’s had it in for me ever since that day in the principal’s office,” Deb spewed, her deep-set blue eyes growing large. “I bet she put him up to it. I bet she gave him the wire cutters to do it. How could they be so cruel, Cinnamon? How could they do something like this?”
I cleared my throat.
&nbs
p; Deb was actually dressed for a change, and dressed nicely. She was wearing a nice pumpkin-colored turtleneck paired with a skirt, tights, and a pair of ankle boots. But if it wasn’t for her nice outfit, I would have thought she was a crazy person. Her ramblings sounded just like that: ramblings. And with the way her eyes were bouncing around, whatever she was talking about seemed like the misguided mumbo jumbo of a conspiracy theorist.
Still, I couldn’t tell that to her face. She was a guest in my kitchen after all.
“Who are you talking about, Deb?” I asked. “You came in here saying ‘It was her.’ Now you’re saying it was a man?”
She looked at me, a hint of frustration behind her eyes, as if she was disappointed that I hadn’t kept up with the speed of her thoughts.
“I’m talking about that heartless gossip of a woman, Meredith. And her son, Hunter.”
I furrowed my brow.
“Meredith Drutman?” I said. I could think of no other Merediths in Christmas River. “You think she stole Jack Daniels?”
She nodded with absolute confidence.
I rubbed my chin, trying to hide my skepticism.
Meredith Drutman, the lady who had been in here the day before to put in a late order for pies, and had also said some unkindly things about Tobias, had stolen Jack Daniels the turkey?
Not that Meredith didn’t have the mean spirit in her. She did, and I knew from experience that that little personality trait seemed to run through the family.
But it seemed a little farfetched to me that she would do something like steal a turkey just to spite Deb. I just couldn’t imagine Meredith, with her perfectly French manicured gel nails, using a pair of wire cutters and then busting a turkey loose in the middle of a frigid central Oregon night.
As much as I tried to picture it, I just couldn’t.
Deb seemed to notice me struggling to believe her.
“Well, what I mean is, she was probably behind it,” she said. “I think it was that bratty, bullying son of hers that stole our Jack.”
I furrowed my brow again.