4 Malice in Christmas River (6 page)

I needed to clear my head. Badly.

Chapter 9

The wildfire smoke still hung thick in the air, giving the woods a strange, apocalyptic glow.

Christmas River had seen its share of bad wildfire seasons over the years. But this summer took the cake. There had been more thunderstorms passing through the area than usual, and lightning strikes had produced at least four wildfires in the tri-county area in the last month. When they showed the topographical map on the local news at night, it looked like Christmas River was trapped in a ring of fire.

But as I walked down the dusty trail, feeling beads of sweat accumulate on my brow, I wasn’t thinking much about the wildfires or the state of Christmas River’s air quality in any significant way outside of a passing thought.

What I was mostly thinking about was how much I missed Warren.

I’d thought about calling Daniel and asking him to meet me at the bridge so I could tell him what happened and have him listen to me spew about how terrible Erik Andersen and Jo Pugmire were, and how I’d been used and lied to. But rehashing it wasn’t going to do any good right now – for Daniel, or for me. He was busy, and I knew that if I wanted to see him at any decent hour tonight, I couldn’t be pulling him from the station for this. I thought about calling Kara again, but that didn’t seem right to me either. She’d stayed at the pie shop for over an hour that morning, talking me down. Besides, Kara was almost angrier about all of it than I was.

Besides, the person I really wanted to talk to about all of this was on the other side of the world right now, and it was the middle of the night over there.

Warren always had a good way of putting things in perspective, and he never failed to make me feel better about something that was troubling me. It’d been that way since I was just a girl, and it was still that way today.

I liked to joke about him, but when it came down to it, the old man was the wisest person I knew.

I picked up a stick from the forest floor when I saw the footbridge in the distance. When I got to the middle of the bridge, I looked over the side, down at the rushing Christmas River, and angrily tossed the branch in. It disappeared under the bridge and was swiftly taken away down around the bend.

Huckleberry stuck his head through the wood slats, and scanned the river, looking for a stick that was long gone by now.

Sometimes, when you couldn’t go to anybody else for comfort, you just had to do the best to console your own self, I reckoned.

I stared at the water, trying to think positive thoughts, something that I’d been trying to do more of lately when I got stressed or felt overworked. This Erik business wasn’t such a big deal, I thought to myself. It wasn’t like anything bad had been said about me. It wasn’t like he’d written a bad review of my pies. In fact, in the big scheme of things, I had hardly been mentioned in the article. Plus, business was good today, maybe in part
because
of the article. Who knew? Maybe enrollment in my next pie baking class would be sky high because of this little “Housewives of Christmas River” stunt.

Yeah,
I thought,
but he still used me.

And he’d lied, getting me to believe the article was about me and not the Pugmire and McSween feud.

I sighed, thinking about how much effort I’d put into preparing for that class. How much time Kara had spent going through my wardrobe to find the right outfit. How much time she spent on my hair and makeup. How over-the-top I looked, thinking that I was going to be the center of attention.

I bit my lower lip, a feeling of bitter disappointment settling in at the back of my throat.

I’d been a fool. And now it felt like the whole town could see it.

I rubbed my face.

I lost the positive-thinking battle. All my thoughts were just spiraling downward in a freefall of negativity.

If it had been later in the day, I would have headed down to the Pine Needle Tavern and asked the bartender there to make me up a stiff whiskey-based drink.

But it was too early for that. Especially for a woman married to the Sheriff of Pohly County.

I sighed again into the smoky air.

How could I have been so stupid?

“Hey, what’s the deal with you standing here all by yourself?”

My heart jumped up in my throat in surprise and I felt my nails dig into the bridge railing.

The rushing of the river had drowned out the sound of his footsteps.

When I saw his face, a wave of relief swept over me like a cool ocean breeze. 

He came up beside me, placing an arm around my shoulder, enveloping me in the fresh scent of his pressed Sheriff’s uniform.

“How’d you find me?” I asked, my voice shaking a little.

The disappointment that had settled in the back of my throat was starting to do strange things to it.

“I stopped by the shop, but Tiana said you stepped out,” he said. “Wasn’t too hard to imagine where you’d gone to.”

Daniel knew me so well.

“Did you see the article this morning?” I said, keeping my eyes on the river below.

He paused for a moment.

“I did,” he said.

His tone was serious with just a hint of anger below the surface.

“I’ll go after him, if you want,” he said. “If I can’t get him fired, then I’ll make his life a living hell. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll do it.”

He squeezed my shoulder. I looked up at him. He was dead serious.

As much as I wanted to see Erik suffer, as much as he might have deserved it, and as much as I wanted to take Daniel up on his generous offer, I knew that I couldn’t.

It would be wrong, asking him to use his power as sheriff to do something like that.

I couldn’t ask it of him.

Besides. I had to have faith. People like Erik always had their coming-ups in the world. He would get his. But Daniel wouldn’t have any part in it.

I shook my head.

“He’s not worth it,” I said, nestling into his arm. “But you offering that already makes me feel a lot better.”

I thought about talking some more about it. About telling Daniel how I felt like such a fool. About how disappointed I was.

But I realized talking would only make it harder to let it all go.

And I needed to. There was nothing else I could do. 

I looked up at him and brushed away a strand of his hair that had come loose. I pushed it back in place, and then hugged him hard, sinking into his strong chest.

I didn’t know what I had done to deserve Daniel Brightman.

All I knew was that even when I had low moments, like today, I was still the luckiest woman in the world because I had him.

“Let’s change the subject,” I said.

I started walking, pulling him down the bridge and back into town. Huckleberry trotted out in front of us.

“Do you want to take a day trip to Molokini during our honeymoon?” I asked. “We’ve never been there, and I’ve always wanted to go snorkeling with all those turtles.”   

He looked down at me, an expression of surprise on his face.

The old me probably would have harped on the article for days.

But lately, I’d been trying to pay more attention to the good in my life.

And I had a lot of good to keep me occupied, I realized.

“Molokini it is,” he said finally, smiling, and kissing the top of my head.

Chapter 10

When I returned to the pie shop, I felt that the walk with Daniel had done me good.

I still felt a lingering disappointment, and a sense of injustice about Jo’s rude and misplaced accusations, but overall, I was feeling better. It might take a few days to feel 100 percent again, but for the time being, I was doing okay.

I checked my phone, and saw that I missed a call from a number that I suspected probably belonged to
The Redmond Register
. There was a voicemail too.

I scrolled down to it, about to hit play. But then I realized that whatever Erik Andersen had to say, I didn’t want to hear.

Sometimes, you just had to swallow your pride and turn the other cheek. More for your own good than anybody else’s.

I knew from experience that holding onto hurt was just asking for more of it.

I deleted the message, put my phone on the counter, and got to doing the thing that I loved.

The thing that I would love no matter if I got recognition for it or not.

I started rolling crusts. I started mixing filling ingredients. I made a batch of the simplest and most popular pie in my repertoire: the Mountain Cherry.

A few hours later, an entire batch of perfectly cooked pies went out into the dining room, and I felt like a new person.

Until I heard Tiana’s voice calling for me from the front of the house, letting me know that a city councilor’s wife was here, wanting to see me.

Then, all the good work I’d done to rid myself of the morning’s events went down the toilet.

That Jo Pugmire
was all I could think.
She had some nerve
.

Chapter 11

“I’m so sorry he dragged you into this, Cinnamon,” she said. “That was a real low-class move on his part. I just feel horrible he did this to you.”

I poured a glass of pomegranate iced tea that I had made the day before, and placed it in front of her on the kitchen island. She nodded to me gratefully, and took a long elegant swig.

Laurel looked the way she always did: like a model out of
Cowboys and Indians
. It was a magazine that often got delivered to me by accident because of my shop’s proximity to
Christmas River Western Wear
. I’d always see that it got to the proper address eventually, but not before I flipped through its glossy pages and read some of the articles about Robert Duvall, Sam Elliott and other Western movie heroes.

The models in the magazine’s ads were the pinnacle of cowgirl chic. Leather skirts and expensive embroidered goat skin cowgirl boots. Delicately threaded scarves and enough silver and turquoise jewelry to sink a riverboat. I was enamored with the look, but lacked the wardrobe funds to pull off anything close to it. Which I guess wasn’t the end of the world. As a professional pie baker, I never needed more than a tank top and a pair of jeans to go to work in.

Laurel always looked just like she was coming back from one of the magazine’s photo shoots. I envied her perfect sense of style. Aside from having plenty of money to spend on a cowgirl chic wardrobe, she had the ability to tie it all together in such a unique and elegant way.

Today, she was wearing faded jeans tucked into smoky orange cowgirl boots, a simple white collared shirt and large red turquoise and silver earrings that made her brown eyes pop. Her hair was pushed back into an elegant up-do. The look did nothing but compliment her figure, which was still going strong despite the fact that she was nearing 50.   

“Did you know that Erik was writing a story about the two of you?” I asked, taking a seat across from her.

Maybe some people in my situation would have been angry at her and Jo.

But it probably took some courage for Laurel to show up here like this. And I appreciated the in-person apology, rather than the cowardly, accusatorial phone call Jo had opted for.

“No, I didn’t know he was writing a story,” she said. “I mean, I knew someone at
The Register
was writing about Bernard and Harry and the election. But I had no idea that me and Jo were gonna get dragged into it.”

I noticed her putting the word “me” before Jo’s name, and to be honest, I kind of liked her improper grammar. There were plenty of people of her status who used words like “whom” and corrected other people who didn’t use them. I liked when people were down to earth and unpretentious when they spoke. It struck me as a sign of character.

Laurel took another sip from her glass.

“Cinnamon, you must give me the recipe for this tea before I leave,” she said. “It’s the most refreshing thing I’ve had all summer. Reminds me of my youth.”

“I will,” I said, remembering that Laurel was from somewhere down south. Her accent was so faint, I almost forgot.   

“Laurel, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what’s the beef between you and Jo?”

She finished the last of her tea and then dabbed her lips with the napkin I’d placed under the glass.

“No, I don’t mind you asking,” she said. “But, well, there’s really nothing to tell. We just plain don’t get along.”

She fidgeted with her earring.

“Well, I guess that’s not entirely true,” she said. “You see, back in the day, Harry kind of, well, he kind of had a thing for me. Before him and Jo were married. But I never returned his sentiments, and whatever he felt for me passed once he caught sight of Jo, if you can believe
that
. He married her, but she must have caught wind of how he had felt at one time, because she’s always treated me poor. Like I was some piece of trailer trash that had blown into Christmas River for the sole reason of corrupting her husband.” 

Laurel was just about the farthest thing from trailer trash.

I got up, taking her empty glass away and placing it in the sink.

“But the truth is, Jo is really just a vindictive bitc… well, I’ll avoid saying the word and try being a lady for once. But honestly, that woman holds a grudge like you wouldn’t believe. She just plain don’t like me. If it were up to me, this would all be water under the bridge. But she’s never going to let it go. And this mayor race has just dragged it all back up again.”

She stared out the window a moment, as if lost in some memory. Then she turned back toward me.

“But that’s small town living right there, I guess,” she said. “What can you do? When somebody just hates you for no good reason like that?”

I could identify with her. I knew a thing or two about small town living and the difficulty of always getting along with your neighbors. Especially when those neighbors treated you badly.