3.5 Roasted in Christmas River (8 page)

“Happy Thanksgiving, ma’am,” the toothless one said.

The other man was still admiring the bill.  

Daniel and I backed away and headed to the car.

I squeezed Daniel’s arm and gazed up at him.

He acted like he didn’t know what I meant by it.

“What?” he finally said.

I shook my head.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just, that was nice of you back there is all.”

We got into the car and drove back home.

We hadn’t found out what became of Jack Daniels, but maybe we’d done a little good in the meantime.

Chapter 21

I popped one last, final batch of the Chocolate Hazelnut Liqueur pies into the oven, and then leaned back against the kitchen wall, catching my breath.

It was still before 8 a.m., and I realized, rather gleefully, that because of all the hard work this morning, I was going to get out of here at a decent hour.

I’d made an enormous number of pies for folks’ Thanksgiving tables this season, and I was spent more than a shopaholic’s credit card on Black Friday.

But I knew it was only just the beginning.

The day, what with its cooking, baking, cleaning, decorating, serving, and
conversationalizing
, was going to be a real humdinger. Plus, the weatherman said a mean winter storm was set to descend upon Christmas River tonight, which meant that some of the guests would most likely be forced to spend the night at our house.

Which was fine with me, except that it meant I’d have to do a couple of laundry loads to make up the beds.

I tried not to take it all on. I tried to push all of that out of my mind and focus on what I had accomplished at the moment. Which was quite a lot, really.

Making this many pies in such a short amount of time was no easy feat. And it brought me joy to think that my pies were going to be the ending to so many of the Thanksgiving meals here in Christmas River this season.

I suddenly heard the front door jingle. I headed for the dining to greet whoever had arrived in my pie shop.

“Hi, how can I help…”

I stopped talking when I saw who it was.

Meredith Drutman and her son were standing at the counter. She was drumming her hand against the tabletop like she’d been waiting there for hours, rather than just a few seconds.

“Please tell me you have my pies ready,” she said in a demanding tone. “I’ve just got
so
much to do today.”

I crossed my arms and stared at her.

She sure wasn’t the only one.

Chapter 22

After speaking to the two homeless men in the woods earlier that morning, I was fairly convinced that Tobias wasn’t the one who had stolen Jack Daniels the turkey.

Which really left only two other suspects.

Meredith and her son.

Though he couldn’t have been more than 11 years old, Hunter had the word “troublemaker” practically stamped on his forehead. He was wearing a baseball cap off to one side, and he smacked his gum loudly. From beneath his bill, he gave me a long once over, something I’m sure he learned from his mom and older sister. When he caught me looking at him, he gave me a punk expression, as if he was saying
What are you looking at?

Maybe I hadn’t believed Deb earlier about this kid actually busting Jack Daniels out of his pen.

But now that I had met him in person, I was beginning to buy into her theory.    

I shot him a sharp look before going in the back and getting the pies Meredith ordered.

I brought them out and rang them up. She pushed a credit card my way without saying a word.

I cleared my throat.

“So, uh, you have a lot of cooking to do today?” I asked.

Meredith and Hunter stared back at me like I was thicker than a redwood tree.

“Of course I have a lot of cooking,” she said sharply. “It’s
Thanksgiving
.”

“You planning on having all the fixings this year?” I asked, trying to poke around without her guessing at what.

“Yes,” she said bluntly.

I cleared my throat again.

“Sweet potatoes, stuffing, biscuits?”

She looked as put out as if I had asked her to roll up her sleeves and work a shift.

“
Yes
,” she said. “All the fixings. Now would you hurry up? I’m working on a tight schedule.”

She glanced at her watch.

“The turkey needs to get in the oven in exactly 20 minutes if it’s going to come out in time. Please just run my card so I can go.”

She tapped her shoe on the floor, and I felt my cheeks flush.

I didn’t much care for the way she was talking to me.

I’d done her a favor, making these pies for her when I didn’t have to. She’d missed the deadline, but I’d been kind enough to let it slide. Yet here she was, talking to me as if I was the help. 

I put her credit card down, having not run it yet, and crossed my arms.

To hell with it. She was in
my
pie shop. I’d talk as much as I wanted to.

“Cinnamon, what did I just say?” she said, raising her voice a little bit when she saw I wasn’t getting a move on. “I know you like socializing, the way you were with that homeless man the other day, but I just don’t have the time for chit chat.”

The rude tone in her voice was unbelievable.

She put her hands on her hips and then glared at me.

“And speaking of that homeless man, Peggy Allen was in here the other day. She said she saw him in here again. Now, Cinnamon, it’s your establishment. But when word gets around that this is becoming a homeless hang-out, the folks in my circle aren’t going to like that. I mean, have you thought about the health codes? Have you—”

I felt my ears grow red with anger, but I tried not to blow my top.

Instead, I redirected the conversation where I wanted it to go.

“So that turkey,” I continued, as if I hadn’t heard what she’d just said. “You get it from the grocery store, or did you get it from somewhere else?”

I looked directly at Hunter when I said it, raising an eyebrow.

The kid was stone-faced.

Meredith let out an aggravated sigh.

“I’m in a hurry. Do you need me to spell it out for you? H-U-R-R…”

She reached for the paper bag of pies, but I pulled it toward me before her sharp manicured nails could snatch it.  

“I know how it’s spelled,” I said, between gritted teeth. “I also know that someone’s missing a turkey this Thanksgiving, someone who your son wronged. And I’m just wondering if you know anything about what happened to this turkey.”

She glanced over at Hunter, whose steely expression had soured into a nasty one. Then she looked back at me.

I saw the resemblance between the two as Meredith’s expression turned downright nasty.

“You’re a lunatic, Cinnamon,” she said. “Now give me those pies or we’re going to have a
serious
problem.”

“You’re saying that you don’t know Deb Dulany?” I asked.  

I hadn’t wanted to make this a big deal. In fact, I had wanted to ask her tactfully if she knew anything about a turkey theft in Deb’s neighborhood.

But here she was, pushing me into realms of rudeness that I didn’t much care to venture into.  

“Oh, I know her,” Meredith said, her eyes cold as ice. “I know her all right.”

“Do you know anything about what happened to their turkey, Meredith?” I asked.

Hunter scoffed loudly, and I thought Meredith’s eyes might just bulge out of her head.

“Give me those pies,” she said again. “Or so help me, I’ll walk right out of here.”

“Do you?” I said again.

“She’s crazy, mom,” Hunter said. “Crazier than a—”

“Did that accident the other night knock something loose?” Meredith interrupted. “Because I think you’ve lost your mind, Cinnamon. You must be
clear
out of that little bitty pea brain of yours.”

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and then leaned toward me.

“I didn’t do it. And Hunter couldn’t have taken that turkey,” she said in a low voice. “He’s been grounded
all
week. But you know, that news about the Dulany turkey just made my day. That backstabbing witch deserves a lot worse, and so does that son of hers. Her and those bratty kids of hers ain’t nothing but pure white tras—”

I pushed the credit card back toward her abruptly.

She could say all she wanted about me and about Deb.

But pulling Frankie and his sister into it, calling them white trash… now that was something I wouldn’t stand for.

Not in my shop.   

“You and Hunter should leave now, Meredith,” I said, clutching the bag of pies to my chest and narrowing my eyes at her.

Meredith’s face turned bright red.

“Cinnamon, you—”

“You oughta treat people better, Meredith. You really should.”  

She stared at me with a kind of rage that could have set whole buildings on fire.

But I could take it.

Maybe it was cruel to turn someone away on Thanksgiving. But someone like Meredith didn’t know the meaning of Thanksgiving anyway.

She just knew how to be mean-spirited, gossipy, and cruel.   

She balled her hands up into fists at her side.

“So help me God, Cinnamon, if you don’t give me those pies, I’ll—”

I stomped in the back, taking my pies with me. I grabbed something from the cupboard and came back out to the front.

She was still steaming there.

“Here,” I said, tossing her a bag of pecans. “That’s enough to get you started.”

“You think you can get away with this,” she said in a low, barely-controlled voice. “But you can’t. I’m going to tell everyone in my circle what you did here today, Cinnamon. And I
know
people. You just watch your Yelp and Facebook pages tomorrow. They’re gonna be littered with one-star reviews for this dump.”

I crossed my arms against my chest, meeting her bitter gaze with confidence.

Meredith held her stare as if she was trying to swing punches at me with her eyes.

Then she grabbed Hunter’s hand, and quickly stomped across the dining room floor out of the shop.

She slammed the door behind them.

I let out a long sigh of relief.

Maybe I had just made a big enemy there. Maybe I was going to get a ton of bad reviews tomorrow morning.

But sometimes, you had to just follow your gut with things.

And my gut said that Meredith wasn’t deserving of my pies this Thanksgiving.

But at least her visit had been worth something.

I’d figured something out from our conversation.

I’d figured out what happened to Jack Daniels the turkey.

Something had clicked when Meredith asked if my car accident had knocked something loose.

The accident. 

I went into the kitchen, placing the unsold pies back into the fridge, saving them for someone else who actually needed them.

Chapter 23

I was sprucing the kitchen up before heading back home when I heard the front door bell jingle that old familiar jingle.

I dusted my hands off on my apron and then went out to see who it was.

I hadn’t been expecting him.   

He was wearing a faded Seattle Mariners baseball cap and a little wool jacket that looked like it had seen better days. Outside, I noticed his shoddy bike chained to a post out on the sidewalk.

The boy dug his hands deep into his pockets, and stood in the middle of the empty dining room uncomfortably. He looked like a hungry, homeless dog. Like he might just bolt at any minute if I made any sudden movements.

I slowly walked out from behind the dividing doors.

“Hi, Frankie,” I said, smiling warmly. “Are you here to see me?”

He didn’t respond. I saw his knees buckle a little, like he was close to making a run for it.

I realized I’d have to say something quick if I had any chance at making him stay. 

“I’m glad you stopped by,” I said. “I was just finishing up my day. You know how many pies I’ve baked in the last 24 hours?”

His jumpy expression seemed to soften, and then he shook his head.

“How many?” he said softly.

“Over
200
.”

His eyes grew a little wide.

“That’s a lot,” he said.

“Don’t my feet know it,” I said, smiling.

He cracked one back for a second, but then it faded quickly. I saw him swallow hard.

He was nervous.

“You know, when I was your age, there was nothing I wanted more than a pet,” I said, coming around and taking a seat at one of the booths. “I begged my mom for a dog, and when she said no to that, I begged her for a cat. She said no to that, too. I started asking for anything – a gerbil, a rabbit – you know, I even asked for a ferret once. Can you believe that? A
ferret
. Have you ever seen those things? They’re downright mean.”

Frankie took off his cap. He slowly walked over to the booth, taking a seat across from me.

“But you know, she kept saying no to a pet. You see, my family didn’t have much money. My dad had left us a couple of years before and my mom was doing her utmost to make ends meet, but it can be so hard.”

An expression of understanding came across his face.

“I never got a pet when I was a kid,” I said. “But you know, I think that was okay. I have a dog now. And I love him all the more because I always wanted one. It’s like when you’re a kid, you don’t—”

I stopped mid-sentence as Frankie’s little face broke and his eyes began to water.  A few seconds later, tears were streaming down his little, chubby cheeks.

“She was going to kill it, Ms. Peters,” he said, his voice quivering. “She was going to kill Jack!”

Chapter 24

I got Frankie a Kleenex and put a hand on his sobbing shoulders, seeing clearly now just what had become of Jack Daniels the turkey.

That night, the animal that had rushed out in front of my car when I was crossing through downtown, causing me to crash into the row of mailboxes, hadn’t been a raccoon or a skunk or a coyote.