Mistake in Christmas River

by Meg Muldoon

  “Oh, I’ll find something,” I said. “I’m resourceful like that.”

  “I know you are. Finding this kitchen last minute on Valentine’s Day eve? Pretty impressive, Mrs. Brightman.”

  “Thanks, but I didn’t do a thing. This was Warren’s magic through and through.”

  Daniel raised his eyebrows. It looked as though he was about to say some smart aleck remark, the way he often did when the subject of my grandfather came up.

  But then he seemed to let it pass.

  I took the flowers from him and inhaled deeply.

  “These are stunning, Daniel,” I said.

  “I know it’s not the big day quite yet, but seeing as how busy you’ll be tomorrow, I figured I should get my gifts in early.”

  He took off his hat and placed it on one of the counters. Then he took off his jacket.

  “Are you staying for a little bit?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m doing more than staying, darlin,’” he said, placing the jacket next to his hat.

  He started rolling up his sleeves.

  “Those roses there are only the first part of your Valentine’s Day present. The second part is me being your sous chef for the night.”

  I felt my mouth drop a little, watching as he went over to the sink and began washing his hands.

  “Now I don’t profess to be any kind of expert, but I figure I’ve got two hands and a lot of heart – which I’ve heard you say is the secret to baking pies. So I—”

  “Daniel – this is so sweet of you, but I know you’ve had a long day and you really don’t need to—”

  He came over to me, smiling.

  “Oh, it’s not up for discussion, darling. Now tell me – what can I do? Want me to cut up some butter or crack some eggs? Open a bar of chocolate or something?”

  I laughed, but it faded quickly as my eyes watered up.

  I tried to hide them, but he saw the tears glistening in my eyes.

  “What’s this now? I know I’m no Bobby Flay or anything, but my kitchen skills can’t be bad enough to cry over. I make a mean pot roast every now and then. And pancakes, too. Don’t forget about those fluffy gingerbread pancakes I can whip up.”

  I shook my head, smiling a little.

  “It’s not your kitchen skills,” I said.

  “Then what is it?”

  I stood on my tiptoes, kissing him softly.

  “I’m a lucky woman,” I said, rubbing his cheek. “And a sap. That’s all.”

  Daniel smiled back lovingly at me.

  “Well, that goes without saying,” he said, his voice tinged with mischief.

  I tapped him on the arm playfully, sniveling a little.

  “All right, mister. Grab some sticks of butter from the fridge.”

  “At your service, ma’am.”

  Chapter 40

  Valentine’s Day went by in a blur of chocolate pie, lines of customers, and a few truly heartfelt moments.

  Daniel stayed up with me the entire night in the kitchen of Hal’s Grill, rolling out dough, shuffling pies back to the shop, and being the best sous chef that a gal could ask for. And though it was clear that he was out of his element working in a professional kitchen – not having the foggiest idea what to do when I asked him to cut the butter and shortening into the flour – he more than made up for it with the effort and heart he showed.

  Thanks to his help, and to all of Ian, Tiana, and Tobias’s hard work, we’d been able to have enough pies to stay open until 4 p.m. on Valentine’s Day – a true feat considering I’d almost kept the shop closed.

  By the end of the day, I was so tired, it was all I could do to crawl into bed. I tried to wait up for Daniel. He was still at the office and I wanted to tell him about the Valentine’s Day gift I’d gotten him – an exclusive Whisky-tasting package during our trip to Ireland. But before I knew it, I was drifting off to sleep to the sounds of Chadwick and Huckleberry’s deep snores.

  ***

  When I came home from school that day, she was sitting at the kitchen table next to the telephone, staring out the window into the small backyard with an empty expression.

  “Mom?”

  It was like she hadn’t heard me.

  “Mom?”

  My backpack slid off my shoulder to the ground. Her face remained unchanged. A stone façade that seemed unbreakable.

  It was the same expression she’d worn every day since the morning his truck had rumbled out of the driveway for the final time and didn’t come back.

  It had been months. Months of hearing her quietly crying through the thin walls of the house. Of her numbly staring out windows like this.

  Months of me calling out to her, and her not hearing me.

  I thought she blamed me for him leaving. And that was why she wouldn’t answer.

  But that afternoon, I finally got through to her. The final time I said “mom” she lifted her bloodshot eyes to look at me.

  Something changed in her face, then.

  Where there had been unending emptiness, there was now a spark of resolve. A hint of determination.

  She held out her arms and motioned for me to come over to her. She hugged me like a life raft in the middle of stormy seas.

  Then she pulled away and looked into my face.

  “Remember this, Cinnamon, honey,” she said, her eyes damp with tears. “When you grow up, you must make your own way in the world. Never rely on a man to support you or take care of you. Never rely on a man for anything.”

  A few tears spilled down her porcelain cheeks, then. She brushed them away, and gazed back out the window.

  “Don’t do what I did,” she whispered. “Will you promise me that?”

  I was too young to make promises like that, but I nodded anyway.

  She brushed some more tears away, forcing a sad smile.

  “Good. Now, you must hungry. I’m going to make you a chocolate pudding pie. How’s that sound?”

  After that day, my mom never spoke about my dad again.

  But sometimes, late at night, I still heard her crying quietly in her sleep.

  Chapter 41

  “Just remember, Cin – you can back out whenever you want. If Sully makes you feel uncomfortable at any point, just get up and leave. Vicky will understand.”

  I nodded.

  I was sitting at our bedroom window, drinking some strong coffee that Daniel had just gotten me.

  He buttoned up the rest of his collared Sheriff’s shirt, and as he did, I could feel his eyes lingering on me for an extended beat.

  “You know, I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I’m coming with you guys to the prison. Let me just call Liv to say that I won’t be able to make it and—”

  I looked back and shook my head emphatically.

  “You’ve got the Booze Bandit case to solve, remember?” I said, setting my mug down. “You’ve got that lead out in Broken Hearts Junction and it’s going to get cold if you don’t follow it up right away.”

  Daniel had gotten a call this morning from Liv, the dispatcher at the Sheriff’s station. A witness had called in claiming to have seen the bandit pulling away from the scene of the Broken Hearts Junction robbery. He had other details, too, that could have been important.

  Plus, I knew Daniel had court to go to later this afternoon. He was testifying in a domestic violence-related case that was going to trial, and I knew he needed to be there.

  “I just don’t feel comfortable with you being alone at the prison with Sully today,” he said, looking at me.

  A deep line of worry creased Daniel’s forehead.

  I couldn’t deny that I was a little worried about all of it, too.

  But I didn’t let on that I had any doubts.

  Because this had become bigger than just doing a favor for somebody.

  I needed to do this not only for Vicky, but for Amelia. And for Laura, too.

  And for all the lost girls out there who never made it home.

  “I’ll be just fine,” I said.
“Sully can’t hurt anybody anymore. And anyway, I won’t be alone. Vicky will be sitting right there with me.”

  Daniel sucked in a deep breath, still looking a little uneasy.

  “All right, Cin,” he finally said. “But like I said – remember to be selfish. And make sure Sully knows that he doesn’t control things. You and Vicky do. And if you need anything – and I mean anything at all – call me. I’ll be there in a flash. Court or no court.”

  “I know you will,” I said. “‘Cuz you’re Speed Demon Brightman, right?”

  I forced an easy-going smile.

  “You’re never going to let me live that one down, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  He came over, kissing the top of my head and whispering in my ear.

  “I’m proud of you for doing this, Cin. It takes the kind of guts that most people don’t have.”

  I looked up at him, smiled again, and tried not to show my nerves.

  “I’ll see you this afternoon,” I whispered. “And go get ‘em in court.”

  Chapter 42

  I held my breath, watching as the elderly, frail-looking man in the light blue jumpsuit shuffled through the door. A tall guard pointed in our direction, and the man in blue nodded, then walked past the row of fingerprint-smudged-glass booths.

  My heart pounded like rain on a tin roof as my eyes took in Sullivan Coe.

  The last time I’d seen Sully, his skin had been a healthy shade of terracotta from his days of retirement in Puerto Rico. And though his hair was still thinned-out in those days, he always looked about a decade younger than he was.

  But the man walking toward us now wasn’t anything like that.

  He looked old. His skin was a pasty shade of white that spoke of a limited time outdoors. He was now completely bald, and he’d gained some weight around his midsection. His once tall, proud walk was gone. He ambled along slowly with an arthritic gait.

  If I hadn’t known with certainty that this was the man who had aimed a gun at me several Decembers ago, I doubt I would have ever recognized him on my own.

  “Okay, Cinnamon,” Vicky said in a low voice. “Remember our signal. If you don’t like the way this is going, just clear your throat loudly and I’ll pull the plug on all of this. And don’t feel bad about doing it, either. There’s nothing you have to prove here.”

  I nodded.

  Vicky opened up the file that she’d brought with her, setting it down on the small table in front of us.

  I drew in a deep breath.

  A moment later, we were sitting face to face with the man, only a thin plate of glass between us.

  The edges of his mouth turned up when those eyes settled on me.

  Everything about him looked different.

  But his eyes had remained the same.

  Sharp, hawk-like, and scheming.

  He slowly picked up the phone on his side, placing it up to his ear.

  “I knew you would come,” he said, a wry smile breaking across his face. “I guess that proves you really are Warren’s granddaughter after all. You don’t look anything like the old fool, but you’ve got some steel to you like him, all right.”

  I swallowed hard, taking my time in responding.

  My palms were sweating, and the difficulty of coming face to face with the man who had nearly been my murderer began to really sink in.

  I flashed on the way he’d held the gun in his hand.

  The way the barrel flashed out in the woods.

  My mouth went dry.

  “Ms. Delgado, it’s been a while,” he said, nodding at Vicky.

  I hadn’t realized it until Vicky told me on our drive out here, but she’d met Sully before. Vicky had tried talking with him several times over the years about her sister’s case. He brushed her off mostly, she said. Telling her very little. She said she never knew whether that was because Sully didn’t want to tell her anything, or because the Sheriff’s Office really had nothing to go on with the investigation.

  “This is the way it’s going to be, Mr. Coe,” Vicky said, her voice coming out strong and tough. “You’re going to cooperate and tell us everything you remember about the Greyhound Girls case. If you give us what we need, then I will speak with the warden and it might—”

  “Might what?” Sully said, cutting her off. “Take a couple years off my sentence?”

  He shook his head.

  “No. You girls know as well as I do that that won’t do me any good. I’ve only got a few years left in me, and it doesn’t matter how upstanding my behavior is. I’m still going to die behind these walls.”

  He looked up, letting out a sigh.

  “I don’t want your sympathy. I’m at peace with it. God has seen fit that I pay for my sins this way. And I’m not going to get in His path. If it is His will that I die here, then so be it. He led me here for a reason. ”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  God might have seen fit for him to be here, but Sully had been the one who decided to point a gun at Marie and me that night. He’d been the one to take bribes during his time as sheriff and cover up the death of a young man, too.

  And I had a feeling that that wasn’t the end of his underhanded dealings while he was sheriff. I imagined if someone looked hard enough, they’d be able to find all sorts of transgressions from his several terms in the office.

  Additionally, Sully was being overly dramatic. His sentence had been for fifteen years. Though it was unlikely that he’d live that long, I knew that the prison system was overwhelmed. At his age, if he behaved well, chances were high that he’d get out before his full sentence.

  “I’m not cooperating to have a chance at a reduced sentence, Ms. Delgado,” he said, stroking his chin. “No – I agreed to this primarily to see Cinnamon.”

  He turned his attention to me, and I felt shivers crawl up and down my spine.

  “What do you want?” I said in a breathless voice.

  He paused for a long moment.

  “I’ll tell you at the end,” he finally said. “Without Ms. Delgado here. It’s for your ears only.”

  I glanced over at Vicky.

  She suddenly looked concerned.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t like that deal. I…”

  I stared back at Sully – gazing into those hawk-like eyes of his. Eyes so sharp, they could damn near cut you from across the room.

  I had to be brave, I reminded myself.

  For Amelia.And for Laura.

  “That’s fine,” I said, interrupting Vicky. “Just tell us what you remember about the case. And don’t hold back on anything.”

  Vicky started to argue some more, but I just shook my head.

  Sully smiled wryly, like he’d just won a prize at a carnival booth.

  “You ladies have yourself a deal.”

  Chapter 43

  “Now, I get a lot of time to think in here,” Sully said. “All this thinking don’t make up for a spotty memory, though. Age has not been kind to me, ladies. But I can tell you three things you ought to know about the Greyhound Girls case. Conclusions I came to.”

  Vicky gazed seriously at Sully through the smudged pane of glass. I could almost hear her heartbeat quicken as Sully paused, gathering his thoughts.

  “One – and this is one you probably know since you were her sister, Ms. Delgado. But Amelia was a troubled, troubled girl.”

  Vicky’s face remained stoic and unchanged, but I could see the defensiveness in her eyes when he said that.

  “I know she had problems,” Vicky said. “But she was young and—”

  “No – I don’t think you understand. When I say troubled, I really mean troubled. The people she ran with were bad news. Drug dealers. Thieves. And worse. Jimmy McDaniels – that big Portland drug kingpin who died in prison a couple of years ago? He was a regular at the bar she worked in. A real bad crew.”

  Sully straightened out his mustache absentmindedly.

  “She might not have had a record, but Amel
ia did some bad things. She stole a chunk of money from your mom right before she left. About all that your mom had, which wasn’t much, but it was a lot to her. Did you know that?”

  Vicky looked down for a second.

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “That bar that Amelia worked at in Portland was the kind of place that any decent young woman would avoid like the plague. When you think about it, it’s really no surprise that something ended up happening to this girl. What’s surprising is that it didn’t happen sooner. And that it seems random and unrelated to her lifestyle choices.”

  Vicky flinched slightly when Sully said that.

  She cleared her throat, looking down at the stack of files in front of her.

  “What’s the next thing we should know?” Vicky said, her voice coming out just as strong and unwavering as ever.

  Sully said that I had some steel to me.

  Vicky had some to her, too.

  “Because of the similarities in the cases, we operated for many years on the premise that Amelia and Laura’s disappearances were related. They both were last seen at the truck stop, both of them were on the same bus route, and Laura went missing a year later to the day that Amelia did. But I’ve come to wonder in recent years whether they really were related at all.”

  “What makes you say that?” Vicky said.

  “They were about as different from each other as could be. Laura was 27 years old, white, well-to-do, a woman with a family. Meanwhile Amelia was in her early twenties, of Hispanic origin, single – clearly a tough girl. A lot of times, abductors stick to the same type of victim. And anyway, why did he wait a year in between abductions? Usually when they get a taste for it, they don’t wait that long to strike again. I know everything pointed to the two cases being related, but I don’t know… my gut says they’re not.”

  Vicky jotted something down quickly on the notepad in front of her.

  “What’s the third thing?” I asked quietly.

  Sully seemed pleased that I asked the question, and I felt another round of shivers run down my spine.