by Meg Muldoon
He clumsily swiped the key card against the door lock and it lit up green. He pushed it open, and the distinct aroma of cigarette smoke flooded my nostrils.
Then he glanced back at me.
“After you,” he said.
I shook my head, backing away.
“No, I’ve got to get home now,” I said. “Otherwise, I’ll get snowed in here.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
He gazed at me with his dark eyes for a long moment and there was no mistaking what he meant.
I backed away farther until I was almost on the opposite side of the hallway.
“Julie wants the judges to be at the Christmas River auditorium by 10 tomorrow,” I said. “The judging begins at 1 p.m. Don’t be late.”
“Won’t you stay, Cynthia?” he said.
The look in his eyes were suddenly full of sadness and a kind of pity that would have played on the good nature of most women.
But I knew better.
“Again, it’s Cinnamon,” I said. “And if I were you, I’d drink a lot of water before going to bed tonight. I might get Julie Van Dorn to get you a pair of good boots, too. Ones that won’t slip in the snow tomorrow.”
He furrowed his brow and gave me one last look.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’ll find somebody else.”
He slammed the door suddenly then, and I almost jumped in surprise.
The noise reverberated up and down the hallway, and from behind some door, a dog started barking loudly.
I bit my lip and shook my head to myself as I headed back toward the elevator.
Cliff Copperstone was a piece of work, all right.
Chapter 13
I stood by the window, watching fat flakes of snow tumble down from the red night sky like they were on a serious mission.
I pulled the soft fleece blanket tighter around my shoulders and tried to fight off another round of shivers.
“I guess there’s something to that old saying,” he said just as the small bedroom fireplace let out another crackle of embers.
“What old saying?”
“That you shouldn’t meet your idols if you don’t want to be disappointed,” he said.
I shrugged.
“I wouldn’t say Cliff Copperstone was ever an idol of mine,” I said, letting out a short sigh. “But I am disappointed, nonetheless.”
The whole drive back from the resort, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Cliff and his sloppy behavior. His television persona was so different – on TV, he was serious, driven, and incredibly talented. In real life, he was dark and troubled and above all, incredibly rude.
I had come home and told Daniel about most of it, save for the last part where Cliff had invited me to stay the evening. That part I left out – thinking that Daniel might not take all that kindly to it and that he might feel compelled to give the celebrity chef a lesson on etiquette at some point during his stay in Christmas River.
“I just thought he would be…” I started, but trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
I wasn’t sure how I thought Cliff Copperstone would be. I just wanted him to be more than the unpleasant, disrespectful man I’d driven back to the resort.
He hadn’t even so much as thanked me for taking the time to drive him up there through the snow.
“I can’t say that I know much about the culinary world,” Daniel said. “But I do remember hearing something about Cliff Copperstone from a cop buddy of mine back in California. Guy’s name was Ty Gunderson, and he had once worked for Portland PD. He wasn’t always a cop, though. He worked as a line cook for a while in a restaurant before attending the academy.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, surprised.
Not that Daniel wasn’t in the know about things, but he certainly had nothing on Kara or Moira Stewart when it came to celebrity news and gossip.
“Yeah,” he continued. “Ty kind of knew Cliff before he got famous, when he was just a young entrepreneur starting out.”
“Really? What’d he say about him?”
Daniel shrugged.
“He never really elaborated on it, but he didn’t think too highly of Cliff,” Daniel said. “He said he played things dirty. Didn’t do right by people.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know what he meant by it exactly. I always assumed it had to do with his business practices. All I know is that when Ty saw that Cliff was on television, judging a reality competition? He just shook his head and muttered ‘snake’ under his breath.”
“Really?”
Daniel nodded.
“Hmm…”
I rubbed my face, staring back out the window.
I didn’t know what to make of the story exactly. Though given what I had seen of Cliff, it didn’t seem so farfetched to think that the celebrity chef might have crossed a few folks in his time.
“You know, you don’t have to go tomorrow if you don’t want, Cin,” Daniel said, changing the subject. “You don’t have to be a judge with this guy. No one will think less of you for it. And I’m sure him and Eleanor will be able to do just fine on their own.”
I bit my lip.
I’d had that very same thought on the drive back from the resort, but had pushed it quickly out of my mind before I could really think it through.
Warren had raised me up not to be a quitter, and the prospect of pulling out of something like this made my stomach turn. But Warren had also raised me to listen to my own intuition and gut feelings without question.
But in the end, the thought of the people depending on me won out.
“I can’t,” I finally said, shaking my head. “I gave the committee my word, and I’ve got to stick by that.”
Daniel didn’t say anything for a long, long moment, but I felt his gaze on me.
He pecked me softly on the cheek.
“That’s one of the reasons I love you so much, Cin,” he said. “You always do the right thing. Even when it’s not easy.”
I smiled.
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “But I try.”
He held me tightly in his strong arms.
“Something good will come out of all of this,” he said. “I just know it.”
I nodded, letting out a short sigh. I gazed out the window again, watching the snowflakes pile up.
I hoped that it would snow all night. So much snow that nobody would be able to dig themselves out tomorrow morning. So much snow, that the Championship would be cancelled, and that I could spend the day curled up by the fire with Daniel, Huckleberry, and Chadwick.
But somehow, I had a feeling that I wouldn’t get out of the Chocolate Championship Showdown so easily.
Chapter 14
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He rubbed his chin and shook his head, the way he did when he really disapproved of something. He looked out the kitchen window, his face fixed in an expression of disbelief.
“Did Julie Van Dorn wake up somewhere else this morning?” he said. “Did she not see all that snow out there?”
I followed his gaze out the window to our backyard meadow, which was bathed in the blood red light of a stormy dawn.
The surrounding trees were leaning in all directions, struggling to bear the thick layer of snow and ice that encased their branches like glass frosting. The tall golden grasses of the meadow were completely buried, and the entire landscape looked like a bitter, frozen tundra. The kind you might see up in Alaska.
Several big storms had moved through Christmas River in recent years. But this was the first time I’d seen our backyard landscape so completely transformed by the snow.
It was as if we’d woken up on a different planet.
And if the red skies had anything to say about it, it wasn’t over yet.
“Julie said that the city police and the city transportation department have given the committee the go-ahead to continue with the Chocolate Championship today,” I said, placing my phone down o
n the counter. “Captain Ulrich said the roads would be maintained, and that there shouldn’t be a problem getting folks to and from the event.”
Daniel let out a disapproving sigh.
The Sheriff’s Office didn’t exactly get along with the city police department – a rivalry that was in place long before Daniel ever took up the Sheriff’s badge. And this dislike between the two agencies had only intensified this past summer when Captain Lou Ulrich had tried to bully Warren and me following the death of a rival brewer.
“Damn if Lou isn’t making a poor decision,” Daniel said, shaking his head again and resting a hand up on the window frame. “Though I guess he’s not all to blame. Julie Van Dorn is probably laying down a lot of pressure on the city police right now. And Julie usually gets what she wants.”
The coffee pot sputtered, signaling that it was finished. I went over, and poured two mugs of the hazelnut coffee. I handed one to him.
His green eyes, reflecting the red sky, stayed fixed on the wintry landscape.
“It’s going to be a mess out there today,” he said.
“Any way that you could step in?” I asked. “Override the decision as County Sheriff and get them to cancel the event?”
Daniel scratched his chin some, deep in thought. But after a long moment, he shook his head.
“The city’s handling the event, which makes it CRPD’s call,” he said. “I’ve got to respect those lines as best I can, Cin. Things are already rough enough between the Sheriff’s Office and the city police. I’d be making a lot of enemies if I stepped in. A lot.
“Still… It might just be the right thing to do.”
I stood beside him, watching as the sky dimmed to shades of steel.
“Or it might not be as bad as it looks out there,” I said. “The roads in town will probably be cleared within the next hour. And who knows? Maybe the sun will come out, too. It might just start to melt.”
He nodded slowly, a contemplative look on his face.
It was a hard call to make. Because it was more than just public safety on the line, no matter how hard that was to admit. If Daniel stepped in now and called off the biggest thing to hit Christmas River since the mills because of some weather concerns, he’d not only be making enemies at the city police department, but all those folks counting on the bump in tourism that the Chocolate Championship provided wouldn’t be too happy, either. Additionally, if the storm wasn’t as bad as it seemed, then cancelling the event would not only be an extreme reaction, but could embarrass the town.
And a man who embarrasses a town and its people doesn’t stand much of a chance at getting reelected for Sheriff down the line.
“I guess the smartest thing to do would be to wait and see how the roads are first,” Daniel said.
I nodded in agreement.
“Did Warren and Aileen’s morning flight get cancelled?” he asked.
“I just got a text from the old man,” I said. “They’ve bumped them to a later flight taking off this afternoon. Though he didn’t sound too hopeful about that one leaving, either.”
Daniel rubbed his chin some more, still deep in thought.
“I’ll drive you to the auditorium this morning,” he said, suddenly.
“What? No, I don’t need you to do that—”
“I know you don’t need me to,” he said. “And before you launch into a whole rant about what a good winter driver you are, just know that I already know that. But it’d just make me feel better to know that I got you there safe and sound.”
He set his mostly-full coffee mug down, then went for his snow boots by the front door and started lacing them up.
We were getting ahead of ourselves, because if either one of us was going to get anywhere today, it was going to require a heck of a lot of shoveling.
I went over to the foyer and grabbed my own heavy snow boots.
“No, I got it,” Daniel said, watching me slip into them. “Stay inside and enjoy your coffee. I’ll have it done in no time.”
I pulled on my knit hat and shook my head.
“It’ll go faster if the two of us shovel,” I said.
“Cin, don’t worry abou—”
“Better not make me angry,” I said, sharply. “Because if it comes down to it, you and I both know that you’ve got no chance against me in a snowball fight.”
He stopped tying his laces and looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. The corners of his mouth turned up ever-so-slightly.
“No, I don’t think we both know that,” he said.
“It’s all those years you spent down in California,” I said, pulling on my jacket and stepping toward him. “You lost your edge during that time. Meanwhile, being a Christmas River girl through and through, my snowball fighting skills are as sharp as a knife.”
“Well, I’d like to see a demonstration of these so-called killer skills, Mrs. Brightman,” he said, reaching for my waist and pulling me to him. “Seems only fair after all this big talk that you follow it up with some evidence.”
“Be careful, Mr. Brightman,” I said in a sing-song voice. “You might just get your wish.”
“I’m counting on it.”
A moment later, his eyes had a crazy and fun-loving look to them, and I knew that the snowball fight was on.
I started laughing, and then ran outside ahead of him, trying to get a head start on our own version of a showdown.
The day wasn’t going to be pretty for either one of us.
But at least we could get in a little fun beforehand.
Chapter 15
“Here’s your judging vest and your clipboard and scoresheets. Please wear the vest at all times so that you can be identified easily. Please stick with your fellow judges during the judging process, and if you need to take a break, let somebody know so that the judging can be paused. Good communication is key to making the show run smoothly, so if you need something, don’t hesitate to tell myself or Ms. Van Dorn.”
Holly Smith, Julie’s young and somewhat overbearing assistant, stopped walking down the main aisle of the culinary school’s bustling auditorium for a moment, and turned back to look at me. Her stringy blond hair moved as she gave my outfit a quick once over. Her eyes settled on my heavy, practical snow boots – the ones that protected my feet from the snow out in the parking lot when Daniel had dropped me off minutes earlier.
“We’re in the process of getting a substitute make-up artist to set up in the alcove behind the stage,” Holly said, looking up and giving me a tight, forced smile. “The one we initially booked bailed on us because of the storm. But there’s going to be lots of photographers and camera crews here today, Ms. Peters. You’re very welcome to get your hair and makeup done if you’d like.”
The way she said it made it clear that it was more of a requirement than an option.
She cleared her throat.
“And I’m sure we could find you another pair of shoes as well.”
I tried not to take it too personally.
“I think I’ll be okay,” I said, looking down at my outfit, which consisted of the aforementioned snow boots, a nice pair of dark jeans, a dark grey V-neck sweater, and a sparkly dark pink knit scarf that looked both festive and pretty – or so I had thought.
“Are you sure?” she said. “There’s no harm in looking your best for the cameras.”
“No,” I said. “I’m fine. I put on mascara this morning. That’s about as fancy as I like to get.”
Holly looked like she was about to argue her point some more, but when she realized that I’d made up my mind, she let out a short sigh, then wrote something down on the clipboard that she’d been clutching to her chest.
“The judging starts at one o’clock, so please meet Ms. Van Dorn and the other judges on the stage at 12:30 sharp.”
I nodded.
“And when I say sharp, Ms. Peters, I mean 12:30 on the dot. We need to keep an exact schedule this year because Mr. Copperstone has to catch a flight to LA after this for an important
meeting, and we can’t make him late.”
I bit my lip and did my best not to roll my eyes right then and there.
Given what he’d said to me the night before, I was sure that Cliff Copperstone couldn’t wait to get out of Christmas River.
But I had a feeling that whether or not he’d actually be able to leave this afternoon would be up to Mother Nature.
Just then, Holly’s walkie-talkie, which was attached to her hip, rang out.
“Holly, where are you?” the voice, which obviously belonged to Julie Van Dorn, cracked over the speaker.
Holly’s expression tightened even more as she pulled the block of plastic from her belt and answered.
“I’m on the floor with Cinnamon Peters, Ms. Van Dorn,” she said.
“Well, I need you at the front doors,” she said. “And I need you right now.”
I didn’t envy Holly one bit for working for someone like Julie Van Dorn.
Because while Julie was all smiles to the world, behind the scenes, I had a sneaking suspicion that she was a different person altogether.
“I’ll be right there, ma’am,” Holly said without missing a beat.
She turned her attention back to me.
“If you do reconsider the hair and makeup, Ms. Peters, the makeup artist will be—”
“Behind the stage,” I said, finishing her sentence. “Thanks, but I’m still going to pass.”
She smiled at me slightly then. A true smile, and I caught a glimmer of the real Holly then. Not the stressed-out assistant scurrying around at Julie Van Dorn’s bidding.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been a little rude, Ms. Peters,” she said, letting out a short breath. “I just… we’re under a lot of stress with this event. And the weather conditions haven’t made it easy on us.”
“I understand,” I said. “I imagine it’s hard to put one of these things on even when the weather does cooperate.”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” she said. “An event like this is just…”
She trailed off, then paused for a long moment, as if deep in thought.
She cleared her throat.