Mistake in Christmas River

by Meg Muldoon

  “You’re perfect just the way you are,” I added. “At 20 or 120. You’re still the same Warren you always were and always will be.”

  I reached across the counter, squeezing his wrinkly hand.

  “All right?”

  He nodded.

  “All right,” he said quietly. “Maybe you got a point.”

  “And just so you know, I am expecting you to live until 120,” I said. “At least 120. So you might as well stop moaning about your age because you’ve got a lot of years left in the tank, and I don’t want to hear you complaining the whole time.”

  Warren still looked like he wasn’t one-hundred percent convinced, but I could tell that the comment made him feel a little better.

  I took his empty plate away and before he could even ask or make his usual subtle eye motions in the direction of the pie dish, I had already doled out another slice of the pie.

  That really made him feel better.

  He took his fork up like the professional that he was and cut off a nice bite.

  “Okay, okay. I see your point and I agree. I’ll stop moping and hogging the conversation. How’s your day been, Cinny Bee? How was your date with Rex this morning?”

  “You know surprisingly, it actually wasn’t so—”

  My phone let out a low hum from my apron pocket.

  I fished it out, smiling at the old man.

  “Look at me – being like one of those unfocused youngins you were talking about.”

  “Oh, you could never be one of those phone-glued doofuses even if you tried, Cinny.”

  I chuckled and then glanced at the screen quickly.

  The unfamiliar number caused me to pause.

  And then it stopped me cold in my tracks.

  267.

  It wasn’t a local area code.

  And though I wasn’t in the habit of knowing area codes outside the state of Oregon off the top of my head, this one I did know.

  I stared at the buzzing phone in my hand for a long, long moment, my throat going bone dry.

  “You feeling okay, Cinny Bee?” Warren asked, chowing down on another bite of pie. “You look like you’re coming down with the flu all of a sudden.”

  I shook my head, finally pushing the button on the side of my phone, sending the call to voicemail.

  “I, uh, I just—”

  “Don’t tell me that was old Rex calling to tell you that he’s going to throw in a second date for free,” Warren said, smirking.

  I took in a deep breath.

  Warren would find out sooner or later about all of this, and I knew the longer I kept it from him, the more upset he’d be with me that I hadn’t told him.

  But considering what he’d been through in the last 48 hours, adding to his troubles and worries at this juncture didn’t seem like a good idea to me.

  “Yep. That was Rex.”

  Warren smiled, shaking his head.

  “Old scoundrel. Good you didn’t answer.”

  I forced a smile, and put my phone on silent. Then I tossed it in a nearby drawer before going back to rolling out the pie dough.

  Chapter 30

  It was the day after my father had come to see me that I found the letter taped to the pie shop’s back door.

  And even though there was nothing on the outside of the envelope that said it was from him, I knew the moment I saw it taped there that it was.

  Because I knew that he wasn’t done with me yet.

  No. In the day since, I’d thought about a few things.

  My dad could have come to see me at any point in the last 30 years.

  But he’d waited until now to do this.

  Meaning there was some reason behind it – some larger scheme he had cooking.

  Some reason he’d come back into my life at this moment.

  And I didn’t think it was for my benefit.

  I’d unpeeled the letter from the door and had tossed it in my bag, where it stayed for a full two days before I built up the courage to actually sit down and open it.

  I’d done that one cold January morning out on the back porch of the pie shop before Tiana or Tobias came in for the morning.

  And I was glad I’d chosen to do it then – I’d needed the space. I’d needed the quiet. I’d needed the privacy.

  I needed it to cry.

  I had been right.

  He had wanted something from me.

  Something I knew I wouldn’t be able to give.

  Chapter 31

  “C’mon, Hucks. Just one more hill and we’re home free.”

  Huckleberry turned his head, panting hard. He stared at me like I was a crazy person.

  I hadn’t been bringing Hucks along with me on my runs, mostly because I usually didn’t have the time to swing back home and pick him up. But like me, Hucks had had himself quite the Christmas season of eating, and being that he was normally a high-energy dog breed, he needed the exercise as much as I did. So I decided to bring him along a few times a week.

  Only right about now, I imagined he wished that I’d left him behind at home with Chadwick, who was snoozing comfortably at the foot of our bed.

  But Hucks had a strong heart, and despite his obvious exhaustion, he continued running out ahead of me, his little paws digging into the hard trail ground as he pushed himself up the hill.

  Though I’d tried to keep my mind clear and focused, I’d been unsuccessful on this run. In fact, my thoughts had been having a field day, bouncing from one subject to the next like a never ending game of ping-pong.

  I’d been thinking about that area code showing up on my phone. There had been no message left, but seeing it had jarred me enough, making me wonder whether I should work up the courage to call back.

  The other thing I couldn’t stop thinking about was the brunch I’d had with Rex earlier.

  And about that fire that had destroyed part of the Amelia Delgado file at the Sheriff’s station.

  And about former Pohly County sheriff, now-turned convict Sully Coe.

  And about the mystery man they interrogated for Amelia’s case, but never charged.

  Who was he? Did Vicky know about him?

  And did the cops not charge him because they didn’t believe he was a suspect, or because they didn’t have enough evidence?

  I wondered. I also wondered if Vicky had been able to make any headway with her own investigation over the years. If moving here to Christmas River – to the place where Amelia had disappeared – had helped at all.

  I got to the top of the hill, fighting hard for air. I squinted into the mist, seeing the outline of a big beast hovering by the wooden fence.

  I smiled.

  It was almost as if Old Crabtree was expecting me.

  I jogged over, Huckleberry staying at my heels, trying to catch his own breath. I slipped my small backpack off as I got closer, pulling out a bottle of water, the water bowl I brought for the pooch, and the bag of sugar cubes and carrots I had brought for my other animal friend.

  I filled the bowl up with water, setting it down in the frosty grass for Hucks. Then I went over to Crabtree, who was standing with his head over the old fence, looking at me with his one good eye.

  I grabbed a few sugar cubes from the bag and held out my hand. I pet his soft ears as he ate the treat.

  “Sorry I didn’t come yesterday, Crabtree,” I said. “I hope these sugar cubes make it up to you.”

  I grabbed a few more and the donkey slopped at my hand noisily. A moment later, he made a loud honking sound that echoed in the woods behind me.

  I let out a short laugh.

  A moment later, I heard some noise coming from the greenhouse by the barn. I looked up to see Elise walking out, lugging a big bucket in one hand, and a large sponge in the other. She was heading around the side of the barn and hadn’t noticed that I was there.

  “Hi, Elise.”

  Maybe it was the fog distorting the sound, but the ranch owner jumped as if I’d just shouted the words at her. Some water slopp
ed up over the side of the bucket, and she nearly dropped the whole thing onto the hard ground.

  She glanced over in my direction finally, putting the hand with the sponge up to her chest.

  “Oh, it’s just you, Cin.”

  “Sorry if I scared you,” I said.

  “No, I’m just… I guess I’m just a little on edge.”

  Though she was across the field, I could tell that something was off with her. She didn’t have her normal calm and easygoing demeanor, and she seemed to be walking with a kind of marked intensity that I hadn’t seen in her before.

  “Can I help you with that?” I said.

  I was climbing over the fence before she could answer, telling Huckleberry to sit and stay.

  When I got close to her, I saw that I’d been right – something was off.

  Elise looked worried and pale, like maybe she’d come down with that stomach flu going around town.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “It’s these damn teenagers,” she said, nodding to the barn.

  I followed her gaze. Now that I was closer, I saw what had her so troubled.

  Someone had taken a can of red spray paint to the barn, plastering it with strange figures reminiscent of comic book drawings.

  “When did this happen?”

  “Some time last night,” she said. “I heard Crabtree braying at one point, but I didn’t think much of it until I saw the graffiti out here this morning.”

  She gazed across the field at the donkey.

  “Poor guy must have been scared,” she added.

  I bit my lip.

  I knew that in the big scheme of things, getting her barn graffitied wasn’t the worst that could happen.

  But Elise lived out here alone. And although I knew she was able to take care of herself, people coming onto her property so easily like this and causing damage had probably shaken her.

  “Let me call Daniel about this,” I said. “He can track down the kids who did this and—”

  But she shook her head quickly.

  “No. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

  She shrugged.

  “They’re just stupid kids. Probably didn’t mean any harm by it.”

  She smiled, though it seemed a little forced and stiff to me.

  “Are you sure, Elise? A deputy could be out here in fifteen minutes. It might be helpful, just in case they come back again and—”

  She started walking to the barn wall with the bucket and sponge.

  “Nope. I wouldn’t feel right taking any deputies from their work for this. Especially with that Booze Bandit on the loose.”

  She glanced back at me.

  “Is your grandfather doing okay? I heard on the radio the bandit hit his pub earlier this week.”

  “Yeah, he’s okay. Lucky for all of us, the old man’s tougher than elk jerky.”

  “Did the bandit steal a lot?” she asked.

  “About two-thousand,” I said. “But Warren said the pub’s insurance will cover the loss.”

  “That’s good,” she said, nodding.

  I watched as she started scrubbing the wood.

  The paint wasn’t giving away easily.

  “Well, will you at least let me help you clean up here?” I said.

  She stopped for a moment, looking at me.

  “First you bring sugar cubes for Crabtree, then you ask if you can help me with this. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were looking for a job with the rescue ranch, Cinnamon.”

  “Well, Crabtree did tell me that it’s a nice place to work.”

  Elise smiled at the joke.

  “All right. If you insist, there’s another sponge in the greenhouse.”

  I went in, weaving my way through several rows of flowers and herbs before finding the sponge and bucket on a workbench in the back.

  I spent the next half hour scrubbing red paint from the wooden siding.

  It wasn’t exactly fun work, but it did take my mind off of things.

  Chapter 32

  It was near closing time and I had just taken out a pan of Sultry Seductress Pies when the front door let out a slow, sluggish jingle.

  If there was anything that having a pie food truck in a major city had taught me, it was that what you called something did indeed matter. You could slave away, perfecting the most delicious pie ever known to man – but if you didn’t give it an intriguing name, then all your hard work would be for naught.

  The Sultry Seductress Pie had both things going for it – an eyebrow-raising name and killer flavors to back it up. It was heavy on dark chocolate and heavy on whiskey flavor, too. And just to add a little extra vavavoom, sitting in a circle atop the picturesque pie were 12 chocolate-coated figs.

  The pie’s powers of seduction were such that even I was tempted to cut myself a slice from one of the hot pies then and there.

  But when I heard the door jingle, I restrained myself. I dusted off my hands and went to see who had come in at this late hour.

  I was glad to see her.

  “Hi, Vicky,” I said, going around behind the counter. “A slice of Coconut Cocoa Pie and a cup of coffee again tonight?”

  “That’d be great. Thanks, Cin.”

  She set a big stack of files down at her usual table and took off her bulky Sheriff’s Deputy jacket. She took a seat and began spreading the files out and flipping them open.

  I cut her an extra big slice of pie and brought it over. I went over to the coffee cart and made up a fresh pot.

  “It’ll just be a minute before the coffee’s ready,” I said.

  “No problem.”

  “Busy day at the station?”

  “About average,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the papers in front of her. “We’re making progress on the Booze Bandit case, but not as much as I’d like.”

  She took a bite of her pie.

  “How’s your back doing?” she asked.

  “Better, thanks,” I said.

  My tailbone still hurt a little, and I was glad that my job let me stand all day. But it was already much better than it had been.

  “We’ve got time on our side,” Vicky said. “The bandit will run out of money, strike again, and he’ll mess up. They always do. They’ve got the drugs working against them.”

  “Do you think drugs are the motivation behind the robberies?” I asked.

  “More than likely. He’s taking small sums, hitting mom and pop businesses. In most of these cases, their habit is fueling the need for fast takes. It’s a sad situation. But usually, they don’t get away with it for long.”

  I nodded. Vicky went back to looking at her papers.

  The liquid was sputtering now. I leaned there against the cart and paused, trying to figure out how to say the things I wanted to say to Vicky about her sister.

  After a long moment, she looked up from her files, noticing me staring at her.

  She gave me a puzzled expression.

  “Oh, sorry,” I mumbled, shaking my head and filling up a mug with the freshly-brewed coffee.

  “Long day?”

  I shrugged, bringing the hot cup of joe over to her and setting it down at the edge of the table.

  Then I drew in a deep breath and took a seat across from her at the booth.

  “Look, Vicky. If I had any sense at all, I’d keep my nose out of other people’s affairs. But I can’t help it. When you came by to pick up that photo you left behind the other day, I—”

  She interrupted me with a long sigh.

  “He told you, didn’t he?” she said.

  “Huh?”

  Now I was the one with the puzzled expression on my face.

  “Shoot,” she muttered. “I asked him not to mention it until I had a chance to ask you. I wanted to bring it up to you myself. I thought that would only be right.”

  I tried to respond, but I didn’t have the foggiest idea of what Vicky was talking about.

  “I, uh, I guess I don’t understand,” I sa
id. “Nobody’s said anything to me.”

  “Daniel didn’t ask you?”

  I shook my head.

  She let out a long, long breath, glancing out the front windows at the car headlights drifting down Main Street, muffled by the fog.

  “What’s this about?” I asked.

  She suddenly looked very tired, as though she hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in the past decade.

  “It’s about this case I’m working on, Cinnamon,” she said, looking at me squarely in the eyes. “I need your help.”

  “My help?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, anything you need, Vicky, I—”

  “I should finish before you agree to anything,” she interrupted again.

  I felt my heart skip a beat.

  Something about the tone of her voice when she said that made goosebumps break out across my skin.

  “Cinnamon,” she said, her eyes as serious as an ice storm. “I wouldn’t ask you this if I didn’t absolutely have to, but…”

  She drew in a deep breath.

  “I’d like you to talk to Sully Coe with me.”

  My jaw nearly broke through the pine table.

  Chapter 33

  It wasn’t as if I’d forgotten about Sullivan Coe these past few years.

  It would have been hard to. The man had held me at gunpoint. And my testimony was a big part of why he was now sitting behind bars in the Deer Ridge Correctional Facility near Pine Grove, serving out a 15-year sentence for two counts of attempted murder, blackmail, and obstructing justice.

  But the last couple of years, I’d come to a better place with all of it and I no longer thought that much about him. Because of Sully’s advanced age, it was likely that he wouldn’t ever get out of prison. And though his betrayal of Warren and myself had scarred me some, so much had happened in these past few years, I hardly had much time to think about the former sheriff.

  But now – now I had the feeling I would be thinking a lot about Sullivan Coe in the weeks and months to come.

  “I wanted to talk to him about the missing girls’ case,” Vicky said, her hard eyes studying me. “But he said he wouldn’t see me. Sheriff Brightman asked him, too. But he refused to talk to either of us unless…”