Manic in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Christmas River Cozy Book 6) (7 page)

“Hi,” he said in a deep and heavily-accented voice.

“I’m glad to see you made it, too. We weren’t sure if you could.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Ian Watters, just barely 19, was the type of kid who scared little old ladies and made old men shake their heads and wonder what the world was coming to. Ian had a modified Mohawk that was died a shade of blood orange. He sported a nose piercing and an assortment of tattoos up and down his arms. Most days, he wore ripped-up jeans and old T-shirts with the names of 90s American alt-rock bands like Jane’s Addiction and the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

He was a kid who looked completely out of place in the small town of Christmas River.

But even though Ian had a somewhat aggressive exterior, it didn’t translate to his personality – or at least the little I’d seen of his personality, anyway. He was quiet, reserved, and reminded me of that old adage about still waters running deep. I’d only seen him smile once in the three weeks he’d been in Christmas River – it had been at a backyard barbecue at our house, after trying a slice of Blueberry Peach Pie. He’d displayed only a hint of a smile after tasting it, but it was the closest I’d seen him to looking happy. 

In many ways, Aileen’s grandson reminded me a lot of myself at his age. A misfit of just about every sort, I had dyed my hair jet black, cut it short, and even had a few ill-placed piercings in my youth. Looking back, it was clear to me that my dark sense of fashion had been a reflection of the inner turmoil I’d gone through following my mother’s death.

I wondered if Ian didn’t have his own dark demons he was dealing with, though he had been pleasant enough since arriving in Christmas River. He’d spent much of his days at the brew house, helping Aileen and Warren get the pub ready. From what Warren had told me, Ian was a hard worker who never complained and said hardly anything for hours at a time. Warren said the kid seemed to inhabit a world all his own.

Aileen squeezed between me and Warren on the bleachers and gave the old man a big smooch on the lips. Meanwhile, Ian awkwardly took a seat at an empty space in the row behind us.

“So what did we miss?” Aileen asked.

“Not much,” Warren said. “Just an umpire who’s got himself a bad case of temporary vision loss. The Sheriff’s Department ought to be up by at least five by now, I’d reckon.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s just doing his best, love,” Aileen said.

“If that’s his best, then I’d like to see his worst,” Warren grumbled. “Couldn’t be much of a difference.”

“Now you’re just wittering on for no reason,” she said.

Aileen turned toward me, half-rolling her eyes.

She and Warren hadn’t been married all that long, but I suspected that Aileen had already heard plenty of grumbling from the old man.

“Cinnamon, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” she said.

I turned my attention toward her just as Billy Jasper swung and missed a sneaky curve ball.

“Sure thing.”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know how much your grandfather and I have appreciated all your help so far in building the brewery up.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said. “It’s been my pleasure to help out.”

Starting a brewery was something the old man had dreamed of for a long while. To see the excitement and sparkle in his eyes when he talked about Geronimo was thanks enough for me. Besides, I hadn’t put in that much time helping them out – just a couple hours when I could spare it to help move furniture or paint the walls. My biggest contribution was set for tomorrow, when I was going to help waitress the grand opening.

“Well, nonetheless, you’ve helped a great deal,” she said. “And I know you’re the kind of person who wouldn’t say if we were taking up too much of your time.”

“Aileen, it’s not a big dea—”

“Well, I was thinking,” she said, situating herself a little closer to me. “I know you’ve been short-handed at the pie shop lately. And I was wondering if you could use a little extra help, what with the Independence Day tomorrow.”

I smiled at the way she put a “the” in front of Independence Day.

“Well, to be honest, I
could
use a little extra help,” I said. “Things have been crazy at the pie shop lately. And I’ve been dragging my feet on hiring new employees.”

I shuddered silently, thinking about all those zombies that would be waiting outside the door tomorrow morning.

“Well, I’ve got a solution to that,” she said, glancing back at her grandson. “Ian here would be free to work in the morning. Mind you, he hasn’t ever worked in a pastry shop before. But he does have some experience. He was an assistant at a bakery for several months in Glasgow. And he’s a very hard worker when he puts his mind to it.”

I found myself surprised by the offer. And by the revelation that Ian had worked in a bakery. He had never mentioned it.

“That’s very kind,” I said. “But I’m sure Ian’s got better things to do than to work in a hot kitchen all morning. He’s on vacation, isn’t he? Thank you, though, for the offer. I really do appreciate it.”  

She placed a hand on my arm.

“No, we mean it, Cinnamon. It’d be good for Ian. And besides, he’d be really grateful for the opportunity. Wouldn’t you, lad?”

She glanced back at him, and I followed her stare, feeling slightly awkward about the whole thing.

Ian’s cheeks turned red, and he had trouble meeting my eyes again.

“Sure,” he said in such a low, quiet voice that at first, I didn’t hear him.

“Strike two!”

Billy had swung and missed a second time.

“You don’t have to,” I said to him. “Working in a pie shop isn’t exactly how I’d spend a vacation.” 

“He’d love to,” Aileen interjected before Ian could say anything.

Ian nodded in agreement.

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” I finally said.

I still wasn’t quite comfortable with the notion, but if Ian wasn’t going to fight his grandmother on it, than neither was I.

“What time should he be there tomorrow morning?”

I shrugged.

“Eight would be fine,” I said.

“Eight it is then,” she said, glancing back at her grandson.

He didn’t say anything.

“Strike Three!”

“Oh, for the love of Kris Kringle, Harold!” Warren shouted, shooting up from his seat, pieces of honey roasted peanuts flying out of his mouth. “What kind of call was that!? If I didn’t know better, I’d—”

But the old man stopped mid-sentence, noticing Aileen staring at him with an amused, if not somewhat exasperated, expression on her face.

He glanced at her and smiled a giant, charming smile, then sat back down abruptly.

“Well, I suppose he’s just doing the best he can,” he mumbled.

She leaned over and kissed him on his wrinkled cheek.

Chapter 13

Lou Ulrich, the rotund, peach-shaped Christmas River police captain, scraped the dirt around home plate with the bottom of his cleats like a bull that just caught sight of a firetruck.

“You ready for this, Brightman?” Lou chided, checking his swing. “Because there’s still time to pull out if you wanna. What was it Clint Eastwood said to that bounty hunter in
The Outlaw Josey Wales
? ‘You know, this isn’t necessary. You could just ride off.’”

The guys in the Police Department Wildcats dugout let out a round of laughter at that.

It was the bottom of the ninth. Daniel was pitching, and the Sheriff’s Office was up by a single run. There was one runner at second, and two outs. All Daniel had to do was strike Lou out, and the Sheriff’s Office Lawmen would be home free, winning the annual showdown for the third year in a row.

“Are you gonna pull those pistols, or whistle Dixie?” Daniel retorted back to Lou without missing a step.

A round of oohs and awws snaked through the crowd.  

Daniel’s knowledge of the classic Western shut Lou Ulrich up right quick. Lou, who I knew trash-talked only as a way to stall physical activity for as long as possible, raised his bat and stared dead ahead at Daniel on the mound.

“Oh, I’ve got more pistols than you can handle, Brightm—”

“That’s enough boys,” Harold interrupted in a frustrated tone. “I’m sick of all this talking. Let’s just finish the game out and get down to the Pine for a beer.”

For the last two innings, Harold had looked tired and bored and as if there was no other place he’d rather be than back at The Pine Needle Tavern, hiding behind the bar. Though Warren had stopped criticizing him from the stands on account of Aileen’s arrival, others in the crowd had been a little less sympathetic.

I stood up, grabbing a hold of the wire fence in front of me, peering at the field, my insides jumping around like popcorn in the microwave. Warren got up and stood beside me, dusting off the peanut shells from his shirt.

“Daniel has this,” he said. “I’d bet two rounds at The Pine on it.” 

Daniel gripped the ball in his glove as he stood strong and tall. He stared straight ahead at Owen who signaled something. Daniel shook his head twice before finally nodding.  

He glanced over at me for a split second before letting a ripper of a fastball fly. The ball hit Owen’s outstretched glove before Lou knew anything had happened.

“Strike!”

My heart jumped up in my chest. Warren started clapping.

“There ya go, son,” he shouted. “Just two more like that and the game’s all yours.”

“Pure luck, Brightman,” Lou said between gritted teeth. “But you know the funny thing about luck? It always runs out.”

Completely focused, Daniel didn’t even acknowledge Lou’s weak retort. He straightened his back and looked over his shoulder at the runner on second who was a few paces too far from base for his liking. He threw the ball to Trumbow, who was playing shortstop. The runner came back just in time.

“Enough stalling, Brightman,” Lou chided. “Let’s play the game!”

Daniel suddenly threw a hard low ball that Lou fell for hook, line, and sinker.

“Strike Two!”

The chain link fence in front of me buckled as more and more folks got up off the bleachers and pressed against it to get a better view of the nail-biter of a ninth.

Daniel threw a curve ball that dipped a little too much. Lou didn’t go for it, and Harold called a ball.

“Don’t sweat it kid!” Warren shouted. “You’re almost there!”

Daniel wiped away the dribble of sweat running down his temples, and he glanced back over his shoulder again at the runner.

Then he nodded at Owen. His eyes drifted toward me and locked for a split second before he launched his arm back and started to throw.

“Drutman!” Lou shouted suddenly.

Daniel’s throw came out wild. Lou capitalized on the opportunity. His bat met the ball with a ferocious crack. Before anyone knew it, the ball went flying high and far.

So far, in fact, that in a matter of seconds, it landed with a loud splash into the Christmas River, scaring off a few ducks that had been idly wallowing on the banks.

Lou Ulrich’s searing laughter rang out across the field as the boys on the Christmas River Police Department Wildcats whooped and hollered, running out of the dugout to meet their captain at the home plate.  

“I tol’ you this wouldn’t be necessary,” Lou shouted to Daniel as he slowly circled the bases with all the speed of a bear stumbling out of its den in spring. “But you just
had
to go and draw on me.”

Daniel stood on the mound, looking like a heavyweight champion had just punched him in the gut.

I knew something about the feeling.

“No good cheating son of a…” I started mumbling, stopping short of what I really wanted to say on account of there being children within earshot.

Lou must have heard about what happened earlier that morning. He must have heard how Daniel almost came to blows with George Drutman. The pudgy police captain had played the game dirty, knowing just what it would take to break Daniel’s concentration and throw him off.

Lou finally made it to home base, where he jumped up and threw himself into the crowd of his teammates. He lifted his hands up like he’d just won the Pennant.

Huckleberry, who had been asleep at my feet for much of the game, started barking at them, as if he knew just how badly his owner had been wronged. Chadwick followed suit shortly after, and soon I had a full-scale dog riot on my hands.

The Sheriff’s Office Lawmen just stood around, all of them looking stunned.

Warren shook his head angrily.

“Scoundrel,” he said. “That’s a low and dirty way to win, right there.”

I didn’t have to say anything for him to know that I agreed.

I watched as Daniel rubbed away the sweat from beneath his cap. He finally gathered up his team and told them all what a great job they did.

Then he went over to Lou and shook the scoundrel’s hand.

“Good game, Lou,” he said.

Lou grinned wildly, as if he’d won the game merely through hard work and athleticism.

“That’s just how the cards line up sometimes,” Lou said, slapping Daniel on the back. “No hard feelings though, right?”

“No.”

Daniel didn’t say anything more to him. He just grabbed his gear bag, then walked on over to Warren and me.

He looked defeated.

Chapter 14

The July sun spouted its last dying rays over the mountains, causing the meadow in front of us to burst into magnificent hues of gold.

“I had that bastard,” Daniel said, leaning forward in the Adirondack chair. “I knew exactly how he was going to swing on that one. I had his number. But I just couldn’t…”

He trailed off, the bitter sting of defeat burning brightly in every word.

For someone as competitive as Daniel, losing a ball game, even one that was a friendly fundraiser, wasn’t a small thing. Despite my teasing about his age, he still had one hell of an arm. Losing against someone as unskilled and immature as Lou Ulrich wasn’t an easy pill to swallow.

I ran a hand through his matted, messy hair, then placed another icy cold IPA into his hands.

“I know you had him, hon,” I said.