Manic in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Christmas River Cozy Book 6) by Meg Muldoon Page A

She hugged me back with a big, welcoming, motherly hug that couldn’t help but make a person feel good.
    “I’m so glad you could make it,” I said, noticing she hadn’t come alone.
    “Me as well. And I’m sorry to be late,” she said. “I was brewing some Pale Ale, and it took longer than expected, as those things tend to.”
    I glanced behind Aileen and smiled my warmest, friendliest smile at the tall, awkward teen standing there.
    “Hi there, Ian.”
    The youth shifted nervously from one foot to another, meeting my stare for half a second before breaking it and looking away.
    “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