3.5 Roasted in Christmas River

Roasted in Christmas River

A Thanksgiving Cozy Mystery Novella

by

Meg Muldoon

Published by
Vacant Lot Publishing

Copyright 2014© by Meg Muldoon

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance whatsoever to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Other Works by Meg Muldoon

The Christmas River Cozy Mystery Series

Murder in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery
(Book 1)

Mayhem in Christmas River: A Christmas in July Cozy Mystery (Book 2)

Madness in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 3)

Malice in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 4)

The Cozy Matchmaker Mystery Series

Burned in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery

Coming December 2014
:

Mischief in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery

Murder on Mistletoe Row: An Exiled Elf Cozy Mystery Novella

Roasted in Christmas River

by Meg Muldoon

Chapter 1

I peered out the frosty window of my pie shop, looking down the street into the dim, foggy November morning.

I couldn’t quite believe what I saw.

I rubbed my eyes and then opened them again.

Nothing had changed.

Either I was hallucinating, an affliction possibly brought on by a lack of sleep, or my former hairdresser Deb Dulany was running down the middle of Main Street in nothing but a slip, curlers, and a pair of wobbly high heels.

Chasing after a turkey.

I watched as a car swerved around her, missing her by only a hair. It honked loudly, and I could see the driver shouting out the window, his shaking fist expressing something along the lines of “Get out of the street, Lady!”

Deb didn’t seem to hear him. That, or she didn’t care that she’d almost been mowed over. All her attention seemed to be fixed on a particular fowl that was running wild.

With only a few days until Thanksgiving, the bird must have seen what was coming his way and had made a break for it.

I craned my neck, pushing my face all the way up against the window, watching as Deb weaved around a few cars that had stopped in the middle of the road. The drivers all seemed to be gawking at her.

She jumped up on the sidewalk that ran on my side of the street, her legs pumping hard. But just as she landed on the concrete, her left ankle bent unnaturally. She stumbled, the heel of her shoe snapping clear in half.

Her face went ashen as she mouthed what looked to be an obscenity of some sort. She slowed down and began hobbling, taking slow and labored steps.

“Son of a gun turkey!” she yelled so loudly, the noise went through my pie shop window pane like it wasn’t there.  

I suddenly realized that the turkey, which was running for its dear life, was going to pass directly by my storefront.

I only had a small window of opportunity, but somehow, I snapped myself out of my own gawking. A split second later, I was running for the pie shop door and bolting out into the cold, frosty morning. I threw myself into the middle of the sidewalk like I was trying to apprehend a criminal fleeing from the law.

The poor turkey nearly slammed right into me.

He squawked and tried to dodge, running one way and then another, making me feel like a hockey goalie playing a feeble version of defense. A split second later, the turkey had squeezed himself under my black SUV. I ran around the other side of the car, blocking one of the exits.

A moment later, Deb was on the other side of the Escape, face down on the asphalt. The turkey started making loud gobbling noises as Deb clawed for him under the car. A second later she stood up, the bird flapping wildly as she yanked him from underneath the vehicle.

 She tucked him firmly under her arm and breathed hard, trying to catch her breath.

“Goodness gracious!” she said as turkey feathers floated all around her. “I thought he was a goner for sure!”

She sucked in wind like it was going out of style.

“Little bastard got out just as I was getting ready for work. I guess Jack Daniels knows what time of year it is, and he doesn’t much care for the idea of how we humans celebrate Thanksgiving.”

I grinned.

“
Jack Daniels
? You named the turkey Jack Daniels?”

She shrugged.

“Well, he
is
a Bourbon Red turkey after all. You see, my dad gave him to us earlier this year for our Thanksgiving meal before… well, before he passed on. I thought Daddy would like it if I named the turkey after his drink of choice.”

I smiled.   

The turkey was kicking its legs, trying to escape Deb’s clutches, but the effort was futile: she had a death grip on him. Soon enough, he stopped twisting. He started moving his head back and forth, looking around. His red jowls jiggled, and his beady eyes stared out into the dim fog.

I felt a wave of chills rush through me as I looked at the turkey’s scaly, bumpy and bald scalp.

Jack Daniels wasn’t the prettiest belle at the ball by any stretch of the imagination, and truth be told, he kind of creeped me out. 

Deb wiped away a little dribble of sweat that had trailed down the side of her face with the back of her free hand, and then forced a smile as she regained her breath.   

I tried not to stare too long at the woman’s disheveled, half-naked get-up, but it was a little hard not to. Only one side of her face seemed to have mascara and eyeliner. Her pink lipstick was smeared, and her curlers were coming undone. The slip she was wearing wasn’t really much more than glorified underwear.

I couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that Deb Dulany looked like a hot mess.

Which was unusual for her. Before recently starting a new career in real estate, Deb had been my hairdresser. In both professions, she’d gotten a reputation as being one of the most stylish ladies in Christmas River.  She always had her hair done in the trendiest, most up-to-date ways. She actually wore heels on a regular basis, and since taking a stab at real estate, she’d started wearing fashionable suits.

I wasn’t sure how well her new profession was going for her so far, but she certainly had the look of a successful woman.

Most of the time anyway. 

“Cinnamon, I’m in your debt,” she said, readjusting the turkey in the nook of her arm. “You just saved Thanksgiving for us. The kids would’ve been just devastated if we didn’t have turkey on the table this year. Last year was hard enough.”

“It was nothing,” I said. “I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me if our roles were reversed.”

“Well, nobody else did what you did, so thanks for that,” she said. “They were just all content to stare and be rude.”

She shot a nasty look toward traffic, as if the driver who honked at her was still on the street.

“That ankle of yours okay?” I asked. “I couldn’t help but see that your heel snapped.”

She looked down at her bare feet.

“I think so,” she said. “Damn Payless shoes.”  

She muttered the last part under her breath.

“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?” I said. “You must be cold. And I feel like it’s been forever since I last saw you, what with you changing professions.”

She shook her head, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful that she declined.

I didn’t really want that scaly, creepy-looking turkey running around my dining room if I could help it.

“I’d love to catch up, but I’ve got to get Jack Daniels back into his pen and make sure it’s secure,” she said. “And I… well, just look at me.”

She glanced down at her revealing outfit.

“I’m in no condition to be anywhere but at home right now. Besides, I’ve got a showing in half an hour. I better get cracking. We’ll have to get coffee another time. But thank you for the offer.”

She looked down at the turkey.  

“And for your help with this guy.”

“Of course,” I said.

She started hobbling down the street, carrying her heels in one hand, the turkey in the other.

“Have a good Thanksgiving, Deb,” I said after her.

“You do the same, Cinnamon,” she said, not looking back.

A car driving down the road honked at her and a carful of teenage boys on their way to school started whistling out the window.

Deb picked up the pace and before long, I saw her disappear down Mistletoe Avenue, the street where she lived.

Chapter 2

I rubbed my arms, suddenly realizing that I was shivering.

The fog out here this morning was of the freezing kind and had coated the junipers and pines with a sparkling layer of hoarfrost. The trees looked like towering ghosts through the mist.   

I took one last glance around the street before leaving. The school traffic was starting to let up, and even though shopkeepers in downtown Christmas River were beginning to open their doors for business, there was a general sleepiness that hung over the small town, the way the fog did. Hardly anyone was out on the street anymore.

Hardly anyone, save for Tobias Jones.

Tobias sat hunched over on the sidewalk across the way, near the Christmas River Drug Store and Pharmacy. The homeless man’s face was downcast, and I couldn’t tell if he was awake or suffering through some fitful, icy slumber.

My heart ached a little seeing him there like that.

Christmas River didn’t have a lot of homeless folks, though it seemed like there were more and more of them lately. There were a couple of regulars who liked to haunt downtown – Tobias was one of them. I didn’t know much about him except that he’d once been in the Marines and was wounded on one of his tours in the Middle East. For the past few months, he’d started hanging out by the drug store, nodding off to sleep there while the rest of the town basically ignored him. Sometimes he’d hold a sign, asking for change. Other times he just sat there, trying to catch a little bit of the cold mountain sun’s warmth.

I shivered again and saw my breath freeze in front of me.

I started heading back into my pie shop, but then stopped.

I found myself glancing back across the street at him. I bit my lower lip.

It just didn’t seem right.

Chapter 3

Tobias twisted his worn and weathered green wool beanie between his hands nervously as he sat down at the booth in the dining room.

The homeless man had a wild look about him. His skin had the quality of aged leather that had seen countless days of sun, rain and snow. His cheeks were slightly discolored from years of being exposed to harsh weather. His hair and beard had a mangy look, and to put it politely, he was in bad need of a shower.

His hands shook hard as he reached for the steaming cup of coffee I’d just poured him. He brought the mug up to his mouth and took a long sip.