Murder in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (10 page)

In fact, when Daniel Brightman looked into my eyes like that, I felt the exact opposite of cool.

But I still wasn’t sure if I could trust him.

I couldn’t get hurt again.

“So how’d Mason end up out here?” I asked.

He didn’t say anything for a moment.

And that look he had in his eyes faded, and once again, he was all business.

“First I wanted to ask what the nature of your relationship was to Mason Barstow,” Daniel said. “It’s just a routine question.”

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed.

“He judges the…
judged
the Gingerbread Junction Competition. Has for about ten years now.”

I leaned over the railing, looking out at the woods.

“So why’d you leave your job in Fresno?” I asked. “You know, just out of curiosity.”

Daniel sighed.

“I’ll tell you sometime but there are more important matters at hand,” he said. “How would you describe Mason?”

“Rich,” I said, bluntly. “Stuffy and uptight, and aside from Gretchen O’Malley, my biggest hurdle at the competition.”

Daniel was quiet for a moment, looking at me.

I sighed.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was harsh. I know that. But I don’t believe that just because someone dies we should lie about the kind of person they were. Ask anybody else in this town, and they’ll tell you the same thing about Mason. He’s the type that makes you think he was born with a red pen in his hand, ready to judge everybody and everything.”

“I’m sure you’re not wrong about him,” Daniel said.

“Last year he told me that my gingerbread house was amateurish and could have been made by a ten-year-old.”

“Ouch,” Daniel said, smirking.

“I mean, it wasn’t my best year. I’m the first to admit that. But I don’t think it warranted that kind of criticism,” I said. 

“Sounds like a tool,” he said.

“Well, you didn’t hear that from me,” I said.

“So you’re saying he wasn’t very well liked by others either?”

“I’m saying that some people probably liked him, but I wasn’t one of them.”

Daniel nodded and then looked like he was thinking about something.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he said.

“Well, like I said. I’m not going to lie about him just because he’s not with us anymore.”

“So why did he judge a contest like this?” Daniel asked. “I mean, it seems like a sentimental event. Why was he involved?”

“That contest is a big deal,” I said. “It’s a huge tourist attraction. It’s gotten even bigger since you left. The town makes a lot of money off of it. I think Mason liked the feeling of power he got from it, from quashing people’s dreams and calling them amateurish. Before he retired, he ran a string of successful restaurants, so he was qualified for it too.”

“Do you know if Mason had enemies?” Daniel asked.

I thought about it for a minute.

And then thought about it some more when it struck me.

“What happened to him?” I said. “You haven’t told me yet.”

“It’s just a routine question,” Daniel said.

But I knew he was lying.

“Tell me, Daniel,” I said, grabbing his arm lightly. “I’ve answered some of your questions. You answer this one for me.”

“Okay,” he said, tugging at the leather strap on his hat.

He paused. A cold breeze shook the wind chime behind us.

“Mason was… well, it looks like it was a homicide,” he said, looking out into the woods. “We think he was murdered about a week ago.”

I let go of his arm, and tried to keep my mouth from dropping.

“Murdered?” I said in disbelief.

“Murdered,” he said. “And not 100 yards from you store, Cinnamon.”

Chapter 23

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” John said, taking a small bite of his strawberry rhubarb pie.

Daniel had left after asking what felt like a never ending line of questions. When was the last time I saw Mason? How often did Mason come back to Christmas River? Did he have any friends or close acquaintances here?

Did I know why he would have been in the woods behind my shop?

Then, it felt like I had to answer those same questions all over again plus more about Daniel from Kara. It had been hard to get her out of the shop, despite the fact that I was sure customers were waiting for her back at her store. She was prodding me to spill my guts about what Daniel had told me, and how I had met him again, and where he had been all this time.

I didn’t tell her much, saying we’d talk more later when we worked on the Western gingerbread mansion. She reluctantly agreed, but only after I promised her that I would tell her everything, and not to leave out a single detail.

It was noon, and John came in, as he always did at this time. 

The day already seemed like it was one of the longest of my life.

When I saw him walk in and take his seat by the window, I knew I had to tell him.

I knew that I’d just have to suck it up and do it.

Regardless of what happened between me and Daniel, I knew that nothing would be happening between John and me. And he needed to know that.

But me, tough and invincible Cinnamon Peters, was having a hell of a time telling him.

But I didn’t have to struggle with it too long.

“Listen, Cinnamon,” John started. “I know that you’re probably still in shock with all of this. But I feel like I’ve got to tell you something, and if I don’t now, I’ll probably never have the courage to.”

“You really don’t have to, Jo—”

Just then, the door opened and the jingle rang, and a frigid gust of wind came blowing through the dining room.

I glanced over.

“I’ll be with you in just a mome—”

I stopped mid-sentence, all the breath escaping from my lungs in an instant.

“Take your time, honey,” the woman said.

Not the woman. The witch. That would have been a more accurate description of her. 

I stood paralyzed for a moment. Completely unable to move.

And sure that my heart would give out with such drama in the last 24 hours. Sure that a single heart wouldn’t be able to handle all the surprises and shocks.

But my heart didn’t give out. It kept beating. Beating hard and angry and furiously.

Bailey, with her bleach blond hair and trashy fur and feather fashion, stood in front of the door, a pleased, self-satisfied look plastered across her face.

I hadn’t seen her in months. Hadn’t spoken to her in two years.

So you can imagine my surprise that she was standing back in the shop where we used to work together. Where we’d laugh and tell one another stories to pass the time.

“Don’t call me
honey
,” I said, shooting her a bitter look.

“No need to be so touchy,” she said.  “I’m only trying to be friendly.”

“What are you doing here, Bailey?” I said, doing my very best to keep my voice from shaking.

John looked back and forth between her and me, slightly dumbfounded.

He knew that my ex-husband had cheated on me, and that’s why we had divorced. In a small town, it was hard to keep secrets like that, even when you wanted to.

But it was clear that he hadn’t put two and two together yet. He still didn’t know who this woman was.  

“Well, I was in town and thought I’d stop by the old stomping grounds, you know?” she said.

She walked closer toward me, her heels clicking against the floor and all that cheap ugly jewelry she wore clinked and clanked together like she was a prisoner of Alcatraz.

“No,” I said. “I don’t know.”

She sighed, like I was putting her out.

“Well, being as we’re going to be competing against one another this weekend, I just wanted to extend a friendly handshake,” she said. “Like, I wanted to bury the hatchet. I know we’ve had our differences, Cinnamon, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you and you know, working here.”

“That’s not your hatchet to bury,” I said, venomously.

“Okay,” she said. “But you know that I’m sorry how everything turned out. Really I am. It was just bad timing. All of it.”

I scoffed bitterly.

Bad timing?
Bad timing
. That’s what she called it.

Homewrecking bitch.

I felt my cheeks grow red with fury.

“Listen, Bailey,” I said, placing a hand on my hip and lowering my voice. “I don’t want you coming in here. Ever. And if you don’t leave now, I’m going to take that damn hatchet you want to bury so much, and you’re not going to like what I’m going to do with it.”

That kind of threat would reach most people. But Bailey wasn’t most people.

“Aw,” she said, placing a hand across her face. “And I was just about to order a slice of your famous Christmas River Cherry pie. Oh well.”

She kept her hand on the side of her face. It took me a moment to realize what an unnatural gesture that was. But then I realized that there was a reason for it.

It was her left hand she was showing me.

I realized that there was a giant, sparkly rock on one of her fingers.

She watched as the realization hit me, relishing every second.

I was speechless for a moment. Breathless.

“Oh,” she said, looking from me to the ring. “I forgot to tell you. I thought you’d want to know. Evan’s proposed. We’re getting married in the spring.”

I felt my heart plunge to my feet, and could have sworn I heard the floor breaking as it crashed through the wooden boards on its journey down to a new level of hell.

“Congratulations,” I said, sarcastically. “Just watch out for him. You know his history. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Now, if you would kindly get the hell out of my shop.”

She didn’t say anything in response. She knew that she didn’t need to.

The ring said it all.

She started walking away, smiling cruelly.

“I’ll see you this weekend, Bailey,” I said to her back.

There was more I wanted to say about that, like how I was going to destroy her, but I couldn’t say it without my voice trembling with rage. 

She turned around as she pushed the door open and shrugged.

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not.”

She walked out, and I could hear her hoochie high heels clicking all the way down the block.

I hoped that they’d slip on some ice and send her crashing headfirst into the cold asphalt.

I sat down at one of the booths. John stood up, and came over.

“Are you okay, Cin?” he asked. “What was all that about? Who was that woman?”

He said it in that doctory kind of tone that just felt like he was prodding a hot poker into my wounds.

He was only trying to be nice, but I couldn’t take nice at that moment.

“I can’t talk right now, John,” I said. “I need a minute. Can you give me some room, for Christsakes?”

He was quiet, and then nodded as he looked at me sadly.

“Sure,” he said, grabbing his beanie and tugging it on.

He walked out the door in a huff, and I watched as he crossed the street and turned up St. Nick Drive to his practice.

I knew I would be feeling bad about that later.

But right now, I couldn’t feel any guilt.

All I could feel was a rush of red hot anger, that soon gave way to self-pity, that soon gave way to tortuous thoughts.

They were getting married.

The homewrecker could still throw a wrench into my life, even after setting fire to my world.

Now, she was dancing in the ashes.

It was just then that the front door jingled.

I wiped away the tear stains as best I could and looked up.

It was Sheriff Trumbow.

And I knew from the expression on his face, he wasn’t there to eat pie.

Chapter 24

He left, asking if I had plans to leave Christmas River anytime soon.

That couldn’t have been good.

The police had no doubts that Mason was murdered. There were several wounds in his chest that police believed had been made by a kitchen knife.

And apparently, they thought that I was a person of interest in the case. As made evident by Sheriff Trumbow’s skeptical expression and his reluctance to answer any questions I asked him.

“It’s still under investigation, Ma’am,” he’d say.

I told him that Daniel had already asked me a million questions earlier, but that didn’t seem to faze the sheriff. He wanted to hear my answers with his own ears, he said.

Maybe I should have held my tongue, but I told him outright that I had nothing to do with anything that might have happened to Mason. How could I have with the big competition coming up so soon?

Besides, hadn’t I reported that a dog kept coming up to my back porch? Wouldn’t I have known that it was Mason’s dog if I had been the one to kill him?

Sheriff Trumbow didn’t say much beyond that. He just asked me what I had been doing last week on Monday and Tuesday.

I said I was probably working late. That this entire month I’d been in my shop, working late. That he could check with Warren about that.

“So you’ve been on a losing streak at the Gingerbread Junction lately, haven’t you?” the Sheriff asked toward the end of the questioning.

It was a loaded question, and I knew exactly where he was headed with it.

“I guess you could call it that,” I said.

“I heard that Mason was a very harsh judge,” Sheriff Trumbow asked, his small little hawk-like eyes looking at me like I was a mouse in a field below him. “I heard he was particularly selective when it came to your work.”

“Listen, Sheriff,” I said. “Mason Barstow and I weren’t exactly buddy-buddy, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. Even I know that the gingerbread competition is just that—a competition. I take it seriously, but I’m not about to kill anyone over it.”

The sheriff just stroked his uneven beard.

And then he asked if I was planning to stick around as he started heading for the door.

“I own my own business, Sheriff,” I said. “I couldn’t leave town this time of year even if I had the means to.”

“Good,” he said, plopping his hat on his head. It made him look like a sad version of Smokey the Bear. “I may have more questions for you soon.”