Mayhem in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Christmas River Cozy, Book 2) by Meg Muldoon
Authors: Meg Muldoon
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can help with, Kara?”
John suddenly came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of steaming scrambled eggs and bacon along with a glass of orange juice.
He stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room when he saw me sitting there.
“Oh, hi Cinnamon,” he said, forcing a nervous grin.
“Hey, John,” I said.
I looked like a hot mess, but he was dressed in a bathrobe, so I guess it made us even.
He handed the plate to her along with a fork and then went back into the kitchen. She pushed the food around the plate before setting it down on the coffee table uneaten.
“Listen, Cin,” she said, staring back at the TV. “I’m glad you came by. There is something… something I wanted to ask you.”
“Of course,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. Anything. Just name it.”
She rubbed her face.
“Well, you say that now…” she trailed off.
She looked up at me. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, and her nose was raw and red-looking.
“It’s this stupid play. I just don’t think I have it in me to be Mrs. Claus anymore after what’s happened,” she finally said.
She glanced over at me and then looked away shamefully.
And I suddenly understood with crystal-clear clarity what she was asking.
And once I did, I knew I was going to regret her shop burning down more than she did.
She had to be joking.
“But you see, somebody has to be Mrs. Claus, Cin,” she said. “She’s a key part of the play. A key part of the whole day in general. And not just anybody can play her.”
“I—”
“This is Christmas River, after all,” she said. “And we have our traditions. If nothing else.”
Her eyes filled up with water and started to redden.
And then I knew for sure that there was no way out.
There was no way I could leave Kara hanging like that.
Sometimes, being there for a person wasn’t always easy. Especially when it meant wearing red velvet and hose in the dead of summer.
Still, there had to be a better answer, right?
“Well, don’t they have an understudy or something?” I asked. “I mean, just about anybody else in the play would be a better Mrs. Claus than me.”
“Nobody wants it,” she said. “I already tried to get someone to take it over, but it’s… well, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It’s hell being Mrs. Claus in summer, Cin. And it was my fault for being duped by Moira into it. But not even Vivian Leigh would have the ego to go after this role. It’s too many lines and it’s just too damn hot for this time of year.”
“Well if Vivian Leigh wouldn’t stand for it, why should I?”
She sat forward in her recliner.
“Because you’re my friend,” she said. “And you’ve got a really good memory. And you’re more of a drama geek than you let on. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the way you recited those poems back in high school.”
I felt my cheeks suddenly go red with embarrassment.
I was closed up tighter than a tomb through much of high school, but something escaped during English class my sophomore year. I’d discovered what it was like to really feel a poem, and I became obsessed with poetry.
Sometimes we had to read the poems out loud in class. Everybody hated being called on. Everyone but me.
“I don’t see what Mr. Randles’ English class has anything to with—”
“I just think that my current situation aside, you’d make a good Mrs. Claus.”
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“You’ve always been a lot stronger than me anyway,” she said.
She looked out the window. The bright light streaming through the cracks in the drapes settled on the lines and creases of her face.
“That’s not true,” I said.
“Yes, yes it is.”
We sat in silence for a minute while I tried desperately to find a way out of all of this.
But in the end, there was no exit to be found in this maze.
“Well, aren’t you going to compliment my cheekbones, too?” I asked.
She glanced back over at me, her face brightening a little bit.
“Is that a yes?
John suddenly came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of steaming scrambled eggs and bacon along with a glass of orange juice.
He stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room when he saw me sitting there.
“Oh, hi Cinnamon,” he said, forcing a nervous grin.
“Hey, John,” I said.
I looked like a hot mess, but he was dressed in a bathrobe, so I guess it made us even.
He handed the plate to her along with a fork and then went back into the kitchen. She pushed the food around the plate before setting it down on the coffee table uneaten.
“Listen, Cin,” she said, staring back at the TV. “I’m glad you came by. There is something… something I wanted to ask you.”
“Of course,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. Anything. Just name it.”
She rubbed her face.
“Well, you say that now…” she trailed off.
She looked up at me. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, and her nose was raw and red-looking.
“It’s this stupid play. I just don’t think I have it in me to be Mrs. Claus anymore after what’s happened,” she finally said.
She glanced over at me and then looked away shamefully.
And I suddenly understood with crystal-clear clarity what she was asking.
And once I did, I knew I was going to regret her shop burning down more than she did.
She had to be joking.
“But you see, somebody has to be Mrs. Claus, Cin,” she said. “She’s a key part of the play. A key part of the whole day in general. And not just anybody can play her.”
“I—”
“This is Christmas River, after all,” she said. “And we have our traditions. If nothing else.”
Her eyes filled up with water and started to redden.
And then I knew for sure that there was no way out.
There was no way I could leave Kara hanging like that.
Sometimes, being there for a person wasn’t always easy. Especially when it meant wearing red velvet and hose in the dead of summer.
Still, there had to be a better answer, right?
“Well, don’t they have an understudy or something?” I asked. “I mean, just about anybody else in the play would be a better Mrs. Claus than me.”
“Nobody wants it,” she said. “I already tried to get someone to take it over, but it’s… well, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It’s hell being Mrs. Claus in summer, Cin. And it was my fault for being duped by Moira into it. But not even Vivian Leigh would have the ego to go after this role. It’s too many lines and it’s just too damn hot for this time of year.”
“Well if Vivian Leigh wouldn’t stand for it, why should I?”
She sat forward in her recliner.
“Because you’re my friend,” she said. “And you’ve got a really good memory. And you’re more of a drama geek than you let on. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the way you recited those poems back in high school.”
I felt my cheeks suddenly go red with embarrassment.
I was closed up tighter than a tomb through much of high school, but something escaped during English class my sophomore year. I’d discovered what it was like to really feel a poem, and I became obsessed with poetry.
Sometimes we had to read the poems out loud in class. Everybody hated being called on. Everyone but me.
“I don’t see what Mr. Randles’ English class has anything to with—”
“I just think that my current situation aside, you’d make a good Mrs. Claus.”
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“You’ve always been a lot stronger than me anyway,” she said.
She looked out the window. The bright light streaming through the cracks in the drapes settled on the lines and creases of her face.
“That’s not true,” I said.
“Yes, yes it is.”
We sat in silence for a minute while I tried desperately to find a way out of all of this.
But in the end, there was no exit to be found in this maze.
“Well, aren’t you going to compliment my cheekbones, too?” I asked.
She glanced back over at me, her face brightening a little bit.
“Is that a yes?
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