Manic in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Christmas River Cozy Book 6) (13 page)

Kara stared out the window a long moment, mulling over the ‘message.’

Then she shook her head.

“I was a real fool back then, wasn’t I, Cin?” she said, letting out a sigh. “To fall for a no-good man like that?”

She could sense the BS in his words, even with me saying them for him.

“I guess I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” she said after a moment, biting her lower lip.

“You speak however you need to, hon,” I said. “If Rip wanted folks to say nice things about him when he passed, then he should have been nicer to them in life.”

Kara nodded, patting Laila on the back.

“How’s Warren holding up?” she asked, changing the subject.

She’d already asked the question at least three times already.

“He’s back at the apartment with Aileen, sleeping,” I said. “But he’s pretty shaken up about the whole thing.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Kara said. “A man was murdered in his brewery on opening night. That’s practically the worst thing that could have happen.”

I nodded, not meeting her eyes.

I didn’t want to let on that I was worried sick about the old man. He wasn’t a spring chicken. And while my grandfather had always been tough, this kind of event was upsetting enough to knock even a twenty-something off his feet. Let alone a man in his 80s.

Additionally, Christmas River was a small town that had its share of folks who liked to wag their tongues for entertainment’s sake. And I knew that at this very moment, their tongues were wagging to the tune of “Murderous Old Man Kills Rival Brewer on Fourth of July.”

It was the juiciest bit of gossip to hit Christmas River since I found Mason Barstow’s cold and lifeless body in the woods behind my shop several years ago.

And it made me sick to my stomach to think about.

I started peeling the hot peaches too soon after they’d come out of the oven, and the tips of my fingers paid the price. I pulled my hands back and winced.

“Son of a…” I grumbled.

Kara scanned my face.

“It’s going to be okay, Cin,” she said, clearly talking about more than my singed fingers. “I know you’re worried about Warren. But he’s the toughest old man this side of the Mississippi. He’ll get through this just fine.”

“It’s not just that,” I said, biting my lower lip. “I hate seeing him so disappointed. He’s worked so hard to get the brewery running. It’s been his dream.”

To think of all of his hopes being crushed the way they had, well… kind of
killed
me.

Baby Laila Mae let out a screeching wail that seemed to reflect my own internal suffering. Kara rocked her back and forth a bit, trying to calm her down.

“Warren will pull through, Cin,” she said. “And who knows? Remember what they say about how there’s no such thing as bad PR? The brewery might do better than you think after this.”  

“You’re saying that a man being murdered can be chocked up to bad PR?”

Kara always did have a unique way of spinning things.

She shrugged.

“Everyone knows Rip Lawrence wasn’t exactly a saint,” she said. “Speaking of which, you got any theories as to who actually did the deed?”

I grabbed a paring knife and started slicing the roasted peaches for the pie.

In all honesty, I hadn’t given much thought to it.

All I knew was who
hadn’t
done it.

“It could have been anybody,” I said. “It seemed like the whole of Christmas River was celebrating the Fourth at Geronimo’s last night.”

“They didn’t find the gun?” Kara asked.

“Not that I know of,” I said. “Though Daniel’s not on the case. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“You know, there were always rumors about Rip,” Kara said. “About him using the brewery as a front to move drugs through Central Oregon. That he was this big drug king pin.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Did you hear that from Moira?”

She shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t put too much stock in what Moira Stewart has to say,” I said.

Knowing what kind of woman Moira was, I reckoned she was also spreading nasty rumors about my grandfather being a murderer, among other falsities.

“Well, Moira is like one of those tabloid magazines, Cin,” Kara said. “She spews a lot of nonsense, but when the story’s true, she’s always the first one to get it. Anyway, she said that—”

“Uh, miss?”

I lifted my head and looked at the swinging divider door.

“That batch of Moundful Marionberries is just about done, Tobias,” I said. “They just need to cool another five minutes and—”

“Uh, no, miss,” he said. “That’s not what I wanted to ask. You see, there’s, uh, there’s somebody out front here asking to talk to you.”

I felt my stomach drop.

“Who?” I said, my voice having gone dry.

“A man, says his name’s Captain Lou Ulrich and he’s with the police.”

Kara and I looked at each other at the same time.

We were both thinking the same thing.

This couldn’t be good.

“Well, I don’t suppose there’s any use keeping him waiting,” I said. “Tell him to come on back.”

Tobias nodded and disappeared behind the door.

“Do you want me to stay?” she said. “For moral support?”

I shook my head.

“Thanks, but it’s okay.”

Kara squeezed my shoulder, then began collecting her purse and the baby bag.

“It’s gonna all be just fine, Cin,” she said again. “Just fine. I know it.”

I nodded at her gratefully for the kind words. She gave me one last reassuring look before heading out the door.

I took in a deep breath.

I wished that I could believe her.

Chapter 29

The woods smelled of pine needles, juniper, and grasses all baking beneath a searing summer sun.

Above, a stiff wind stretched the branches of the trees. Strong sunlight filtered down through the canopy, casting dancing shadows on the forest floor.

It was a beautiful, hot summer afternoon in the woods of Christmas River. The kind of afternoon that you might dream of when stuck in the middle of a February storm while watching the snow pile up outside.

But as it was, I was having a heck of a time appreciating the weather.

Because my mind was on a certain chubby police captain who had been trying to siphon information out of me for the last half hour.

I walked briskly along the dirt path that led through the forest, my mind rehashing every bit of the conversation that had taken place.

Lou had been given lead on the investigation, since Daniel being involved would constitute a conflict of interest. And since the Sheriff’s Office was too shorthanded to investigate the murder on its own, and since the crime had taken place in the city proper, Lou Ulrich, the Christmas River Police captain, had first dibs on heading the investigation. 

“
Describe to me what you saw when you walked into the brew house last night,”
Lou had started his questioning with
. “Every detail
.”

I closed my eyes, sucking in a deep breath of woodsy air as the words from my answer floated around in my head.

“
I heard Aileen scream and I thought something had happened to Warren. But when I got there, I saw that it wasn’t Warren. It was Rip Lawrence lying dead there on the floor by the far tank.

“
Blood was everywhere
.”

“
But you didn’t see any kind of weapon in the brew house when you walked in?
” Lou had asked.

I had shaken my head then.

“
Does Warren own any firearms, Cinnamon
?”

I had been expecting a question of that nature when Tobias had told me that Lou Ulrich was there to see me. But for some reason, it still blindsided me.

“
Warren’s always said he doesn’t believe in guns,”
I had said
. “He’s always said folks get lazy and let guns sort out the things which logic and love could settle easy enough.
”

“
Now, has this always been his philosophy, or did he only come to it after fighting in Korea?”
Lou had said.

I had let out a disgusted scoff then.

If Lou Ulrich thought he had something there, he was barking up the wrong tree. Warren had only been deployed at the very end of that conflict, and hadn’t fired his weapon once.

“
You’ll have to ask him yourself
,” I said. “
Though what I can tell you is that Warren served his country faithfully, Captain Ulrich. And you’re in no position to judge him.
”

Lou Ulrich had just smiled at me. Amused.

The questioning had gone on from there.

I caught sight of the bridge and made a run for it, forcing my legs to pump hard against the dirt path. I was wearing a pair of jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and flats: an outfit that I had no business running in. But sometimes, a person just needed to run. What you were wearing made no difference.

The bridge shook under my weight. I stopped when I got to the middle and leaned over the railing, watching as the fast water wound like a snake around boulders and submerged branches.

When it came to my life, sometimes it just seemed like the notion of peace and quiet was this fleeting, unattainable dream that would never fully materialize.

Like anytime things got too quiet, too peaceful, too easygoing and smooth, something would jump out into the middle of my path and completely sucker punch me. And the next thing I knew, I’d be flying back in midair with nothing to hold onto.

I thought back to the way Warren had looked this morning. About the dark bags under his eyes and the grey parchment color of his skin.

I gripped the bridge railing hard, feeling my nails dig into the wood.

He should be spending his days fishing up at the lakes, savoring another beautiful summer in Christmas River. Not having to defend his good name, livelihood, and dreams against a sneaky, no-good cop like Lou—

The bridge started shaking under somebody else’s weight. I brushed away the lonely tear drop that had started to slide down my face, and I leaned over, keeping my eyes glued to the water while the stranger passed.

But a moment later, the footsteps had stopped.

His body jolted slightly when our eyes met, causing the cigarette dangling from his lip to nearly drop into the rushing river below.

Chapter 30

“I, uh, I didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, taking the smoldering cigarette out of his mouth and hiding it behind his back.

Ian looked like he’d had too much coffee and not enough sleep, which wasn’t all that different from the rest of us. Today, he was wearing a Pearl Jam T-shirt, and ripped, frayed jeans, looking like he’d stumbled straight out of the mid-90s.

I smiled warmly at him.

In everything that had taken place in the last 24 hours, I hadn’t given much thought to Ian. But if I were in his shoes, I probably would have done just about anything for a one-way ticket back to Glasgow right about now.

I was sure he’d been hoping for a lot more fun out of his American vacation. Not to be overworked, underpaid, and to have his grandmother discover the body of a murdered man.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” I said, nodding to the hidden cigarette. “I’ll skip the lecture too if you want, but you should know that you’re going to want those taste buds one day when you become a world-famous chef.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

“Who said anything about being a world-famous chef?” he said.

I shrugged.

“It seems entirely possible to me,” I said. “You’ve got the look of a young Anthony Bourdain about you.”

That made his face break into a full-on smile. An accomplishment that I was internally patting myself on the back for.

“You’re crazy, Mrs. Brightman,” he said, shaking his head and blowing out a puff of smoke.

“You have to be a little crazy sometimes to get what you want in life,” I said.

“Yeah, but
me
?A world-famous chef?
Preposterous
.”

He took a spot next to me at the railing and looked down at the river.

“Besides, Anthony Bourdain is more of a world-famous traveler than a world-famous chef. I’d rather be someone like Ferran Adria or Marcus Samuelsson, myself. People who cook more than travel.”

I chuckled.

The kid obviously had done some thinking on the matter.

“I like this spot quite a lot,” he said. “I think quiet places like this are important.”  

“I’ve always thought so, too,” I said. “This is a good fishing spot, if you’re ever interested. I mean, there’s only small trout that run in this river, but when I was a kid, Warren would sometimes take me here and…”

I trailed off.

For a split second, I’d forgotten about Rip Lawrence’s dead body and Warren’s hands covered in blood.

I let out a sigh.

“I bet you wish you’d stayed in Scotland this summer.”

He didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the river below.

He finished his cigarette, stubbing it out on the railing. He held onto the remains, taking care not to litter.

“You love your grandfather a lot, don’t you?” he said.

I nodded.

“He practically raised me,” I said. “After my mother died, if I didn’t have Warren there, I don’t know what I would have done. He’s always been there for me.”

I rubbed my face.

I felt so
helpless
.

I looked over at Ian. He had a glum expression, as if he could sense what I was thinking.

There was no use in talking about it anymore. There was nothing to do at this point but worry.

So I changed the subject abruptly.

“Have you met any cute girls here?” I said.

His face turned a shade of firecracker cherry.

It wasn’t lost on me that when Ian was out in public, he attracted a lot of attention. Some folks peered at him because of his edgy look. But there also seemed to be a rather large contingent of teenage girls who stole dreamy glances at the tall youth. Because beneath his severe haircut and tattoos, Ian was rather handsome. And his Scottish accent probably didn’t hurt, either, when it came to girls.