Menace in Christmas River (Christmas River 8) (8 page)

Chapter 14

“You’ve
got
to be kidding me.”

He rubbed his chin and shook his head, the way he did when he really disapproved of something. He looked out the kitchen window, his face fixed in an expression of disbelief. 

“Did Julie Van Dorn wake up somewhere else this morning?” he said. “Did she not see all that snow out there?”

I followed his gaze out the window to our backyard meadow, which was bathed in the blood red light of a stormy dawn. 

The surrounding trees were leaning in all directions, struggling to bear the thick layer of snow and ice that encased their branches like glass frosting. The tall golden grasses of the meadow were completely buried, and the entire landscape looked like a bitter, frozen tundra. The kind you might see up in Alaska.

Several big storms had moved through Christmas River in recent years. But this was the first time I’d seen our backyard landscape so completely transformed by the snow.

It was as if we’d woken up on a different planet.  

And if the red skies had anything to say about it, it wasn’t over yet.

“Julie said that the city police and the city transportation department have given the committee the go-ahead to continue with the Chocolate Championship today,” I said, placing my phone down on the counter. “Captain Ulrich said the roads would be maintained, and that there shouldn’t be a problem getting folks to and from the event.”

Daniel let out a disapproving sigh.

The Sheriff’s Office didn’t exactly get along with the city police department – a rivalry that was in place long before Daniel ever took up the Sheriff’s badge. And this dislike between the two agencies had only intensified this past summer when Captain Lou Ulrich had tried to bully Warren and me following the death of a rival brewer.

“Damn if Lou isn’t making a poor decision,” Daniel said, shaking his head again and resting a hand up on the window frame. “Though I guess he’s not all to blame. Julie Van Dorn is probably laying down a lot of pressure on the city police right now. And Julie usually gets what she wants.”

The coffee pot sputtered, signaling that it was finished. I went over, and poured two mugs of the hazelnut coffee. I handed one to him.

His green eyes, reflecting the red sky, stayed fixed on the wintry landscape.

“It’s going to be a mess out there today,” he said.

“Any way that you could step in?” I asked. “Override the decision as County Sheriff and get them to cancel the event?”

Daniel scratched his chin some, deep in thought. But after a long moment, he shook his head.

“The city’s handling the event, which makes it CRPD’s call,” he said. “I’ve got to respect those lines as best I can, Cin. Things are already rough enough between the Sheriff’s Office and the city police. I’d be making a lot of enemies if I stepped in.
A lot
.

“Still… It might just be the right thing to do.”

I stood beside him, watching as the sky dimmed to shades of steel.

“Or it might not be as bad as it looks out there,” I said. “The roads in town will probably be cleared within the next hour. And who knows? Maybe the sun will come out, too. It might just start to melt.”

He nodded slowly, a contemplative look on his face.

It was a hard call to make. Because it was more than just public safety on the line, no matter how hard that was to admit. If Daniel stepped in now and called off the biggest thing to hit Christmas River since the mills because of some weather concerns, he’d not only be making enemies at the city police department, but all those folks counting on the bump in tourism that the Chocolate Championship provided wouldn’t be too happy, either. Additionally, if the storm wasn’t as bad as it seemed, then cancelling the event would not only be an extreme reaction, but could embarrass the town.

And a man who embarrasses a town and its people doesn’t stand much of a chance at getting reelected for Sheriff down the line.

“I guess the smartest thing to do would be to wait and see how the roads are first,” Daniel said.

I nodded in agreement.

“Did Warren and Aileen’s morning flight get cancelled?” he asked.

“I just got a text from the old man,” I said. “They’ve bumped them to a later flight taking off this afternoon. Though he didn’t sound too hopeful about that one leaving, either.”

Daniel rubbed his chin some more, still deep in thought.

“I’ll drive you to the auditorium this morning,” he said, suddenly.

“What? No, I don’t need you to do that—”

“I know you don’t
need
me to,” he said. “And before you launch into a whole rant about what a good winter driver you are, just know that I already know that. But it’d just make me feel better to know that I got you there safe and sound.”

He set his mostly-full coffee mug down, then went for his snow boots by the front door and started lacing them up.

We were getting ahead of ourselves, because if either one of us was going to get anywhere today, it was going to require a heck of a lot of shoveling.

I went over to the foyer and grabbed my own heavy snow boots.

“No, I got it,” Daniel said, watching me slip into them. “Stay inside and enjoy your coffee. I’ll have it done in no time.”

I pulled on my knit hat and shook my head.

“It’ll go faster if the two of us shovel,” I said.

“Cin, don’t worry abou—”

“Better not make me angry,” I said, sharply. “Because if it comes down to it, you and I both know that you’ve got no chance against me in a snowball fight.”

He stopped tying his laces and looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. The corners of his mouth turned up ever-so-slightly.

“
No
, I don’t think we both know that,” he said.

“It’s all those years you spent down in California,” I said, pulling on my jacket and stepping toward him. “You lost your edge during that time. Meanwhile, being a Christmas River girl through and through, my snowball fighting skills are as sharp as a knife.”   

“Well, I’d like to see a demonstration of these so-called killer skills, Mrs. Brightman,” he said, reaching for my waist and pulling me to him. “Seems only fair after all this big talk that you follow it up with some evidence.”

“Be careful, Mr. Brightman,” I said in a sing-song voice. “You might just get your wish.”

“I’m counting on it.”

A moment later, his eyes had a crazy and fun-loving look to them, and I knew that the snowball fight was on.

I started laughing, and then ran outside ahead of him, trying to get a head start on our own version of a showdown.

The day wasn’t going to be pretty for either one of us. 

But at least we could get in a little fun beforehand.

Chapter 15

“Here’s your judging vest and your clipboard and scoresheets. Please wear the vest at all times so that you can be identified easily. Please stick with your fellow judges during the judging process, and if you need to take a break, let somebody know so that the judging can be paused. Good communication is key to making the show run smoothly, so if you need something, don’t hesitate to tell myself or Ms. Van Dorn.”

Holly Smith, Julie’s young and somewhat overbearing assistant, stopped walking down the main aisle of the culinary school’s bustling auditorium for a moment, and turned back to look at me. Her stringy blond hair moved as she gave my outfit a quick once over. Her eyes settled on my heavy, practical snow boots – the ones that protected my feet from the snow out in the parking lot when Daniel had dropped me off minutes earlier.

“We’re in the process of getting a substitute make-up artist to set up in the alcove behind the stage,” Holly said, looking up and giving me a tight, forced smile. “The one we initially booked bailed on us because of the storm. But there’s going to be lots of photographers and camera crews here today, Ms. Peters. You’re very welcome to get your hair and makeup done if you’d like.”

The way she said it made it clear that it was more of a requirement than an option.

She cleared her throat.

“And I’m sure we could find you another pair of shoes as well.”

I tried not to take it too personally.

“I think I’ll be okay,” I said, looking down at my outfit, which consisted of the aforementioned snow boots, a nice pair of dark jeans, a dark grey V-neck sweater, and a sparkly dark pink knit scarf that looked both festive and pretty – or so I had thought.

“Are you sure?” she said. “There’s no harm in looking your best for the cameras.” 

“No,” I said. “I’m fine. I put on mascara this morning. That’s about as fancy as I like to get.”

Holly looked like she was about to argue her point some more, but when she realized that I’d made up my mind, she let out a short sigh, then wrote something down on the clipboard that she’d been clutching to her chest.

“The judging starts at one o’clock, so please meet Ms. Van Dorn and the other judges on the stage at 12:30 sharp.”

I nodded.

“And when I say sharp, Ms. Peters, I mean 12:30 on the dot. We need to keep an exact schedule this year because Mr. Copperstone has to catch a flight to LA after this for an important meeting, and we can’t make him late.”

I bit my lip and did my best not to roll my eyes right then and there.

Given what he’d said to me the night before, I was sure that Cliff Copperstone couldn’t wait to get out of Christmas River.

But I had a feeling that whether or not he’d actually be able to leave this afternoon would be up to Mother Nature.  

Just then, Holly’s walkie-talkie, which was attached to her hip, rang out.

“Holly, where are you?” the voice, which obviously belonged to Julie Van Dorn, cracked over the speaker.

Holly’s expression tightened even more as she pulled the block of plastic from her belt and answered.

“I’m on the floor with Cinnamon Peters, Ms. Van Dorn,” she said.

“Well, I
need
you at the front doors,” she said. “And I need you right
now
.”

I didn’t envy Holly one bit for working for someone like Julie Van Dorn.

Because while Julie was all smiles to the world, behind the scenes, I had a sneaking suspicion that she was a different person altogether.

“I’ll be right there, ma’am,” Holly said without missing a beat.

She turned her attention back to me.

“If you do reconsider the hair and makeup, Ms. Peters, the makeup artist will be—”

“Behind the stage,” I said, finishing her sentence. “Thanks, but I’m still going to pass.”

She smiled at me slightly then. A true smile, and I caught a glimmer of the real Holly then. Not the stressed-out assistant scurrying around at Julie Van Dorn’s bidding.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a little rude, Ms. Peters,” she said, letting out a short breath. “I just… we’re under a lot of stress with this event. And the weather conditions haven’t made it easy on us.”

“I understand,” I said. “I imagine it’s hard to put one of these things on even when the weather does cooperate.”

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” she said. “An event like this is just…”

She trailed off, then paused for a long moment, as if deep in thought.

She cleared her throat.

“I’ll see you on the stage at 12:30, Ms. Peters,” she said. “That is, if I don’t totally lose my mind before then.”

I smiled warmly, surprised by her attempt at humor.

She turned and walked away toward the front doors of the auditorium, moving quicker than a sparrow in a lightning storm.

Chapter 16

It was a miracle, but somehow despite the treacherous conditions of the roads and the parking lot, just about every contestant had made it to the auditorium with their chocolate masterpieces intact.

And as I strolled through the circular space, watching as serious-looking competitors in chef’s bibs and tall white hats set up their sweet creations, I felt my heart lift a little bit and some of the stress from earlier in the day leave me.

There were swirly hearts, playful cupids, towering chapels, graceful swans, entwined wedding rings, dancing musical notes, and elegant figures ice skating along glassy rinks.

All of these things had been expertly crafted out of white, dark, and milk
chocolate
, dyed in a variety of rich and aesthetically-pleasing colors.  

I was astounded beyond words at the beautiful sculptures taking shape in the auditorium around me. There were some true masterpieces in the mix. I realized that I’d been spending far too much time embroiled in the politics of the Chocolate Championship and had been missing out on the big picture altogether. 

I suddenly felt very glad to be at the event, and to have a chance to see such beautiful demonstrations of culinary artistry.

“Well, I guess they let just
anybody
into this event,” a hearty, familiar voice said.

I smiled and turned around, already knowing who was standing there.

“Well I guess you would know, wouldn’t you?” I shot back.

That sent the big man reeling into one of his hallmark wheezing laughing fits that just about every resident of Christmas River had heard at one time or another.

Marty Higgins – the town’s premiere handyman, who I had called many a time whenever one of the ovens was on the fritz or the water pressure went haywire – stood there stroking his long grey beard, his eyes full-on twinkling.

“I guess you’re right, Mrs. Brightman,” he said. “I’m not one to talk.”

I leaned forward and gave the pudgy man a big hug, minding the tool belt circling his waist that held among other things a rather bulky hammer.

He chuckled, his big body reverberating heartily.

“And here I thought you’d gotten too good to give old Marty a hug, what with you being such a celebrity now.”

I pulled away, slapping his back as I did.

“Never, Marty,” I said, grinning.

In his mid-fifties, Marty was the epitome of politeness, good cheer, and generosity. Additionally, the man loved pie. Meaning that sometimes in the past, he had let me pay him in Blueberry Cinnamon whenever I needed something fixed at the shop.