Murder in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery by Meg Muldoon Page B
Authors: Meg Muldoon
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hadn’t even said yes to his offer of help.
He’d said it in a petit tone, and it bothered me.
Yes, he’d been a regular customer, coming into my shop for a year now. But that didn’t mean he owned me. I wasn’t his property, which is the sense I got in his tone when he stomped out of here.
I told myself this, but it didn’t help much with the guilt. Because no matter how I spun things, there was one thing that was true.
When John had asked me out, I hesitated. I hesitated because of the feeling in my gut that told me that I didn’t like him that way, and that I most likely never would. No matter his kindness, or profession, or good looks, Dr. John Billings didn’t elicit any feelings from me. No matter how much he wanted it.
On the other hand, when Daniel had asked me for a drink, I didn’t even have to think about it. I hadn’t seen him in 17 years, but the answer was the same.
Yes.
That said something right there. That said that even if Daniel hadn’t come into the shop this afternoon, I still shouldn’t have accepted John’s invitation to dinner.
There was no future there. That was clear now.
I would have to tell him that evening before Daniel stopped by. John might be angry, he might never come into my shop again, he might hate me.
But I needed to be honest with him. I owed him that much.
All was fair in love and war. That’s what Kara had said, and she was right. I knew that, better than anyone. I’d been on the other end before.
And I owed myself what little happiness I could get. I’d been through hell in the past two years.
I talked myself into this as I waited for another batch of pies that I had made that afternoon to finish baking. They were meant to replace the burnt ones. It was late afternoon, and the long line of customers had all been helped, and the shop was mostly empty.
I had called Kara and told her that we’d have to work on the gingerbread mansion tomorrow rather than tonight. She said she understood and asked if I needed a girls’ night. I thanked her, but told her that I had other plans. By the tone of her voice, I knew she wanted to ask more about those plans, but she dropped it, seeming to sense that I didn’t want to talk about it. At least not yet.
Now, all I had to do was finish up baking the pies and cleaning up the shop, and then I’d go over to John’s office and tell him.
My stomach turned just thinking about it. But that was what an honest, respectful person would do. He might hurt some, but it would save him some heartache in the long run.
I stopped for a moment, looking out the back window of the kitchen to admire the sunset.
It had stopped snowing briefly, and it was one of those early winter sunsets that turned the sky a flaming shade of pink and gold, and made the snow glow.
Whenever I started wondering about whether or not I should be living in a bigger city, and from time to time I did, I’d have a moment like this and realize that I was exactly where I should be.
Christmas River was a beautiful place to live. Nestled in the heart of the pristine Cascade Mountains, the woods and lakes around here were some of the loveliest in the country. And to me, the world.
I knew a lot of people who grew up in small towns only wanted to run away from them, but not me. Maybe it was the death of my mother at an early age that changed my view of that, but these woods were my home. My base. As a child, it was the place that comforted me when my world was turned upside down. As an adult, these woods still comforted me when I had heartbreak or sadness or depression. They reminded me of who I was, of where I came from. They grounded me.
Suddenly, I heard a noise below the window. I looked down and saw Huckleberry there, eating away at the tin pans of burnt pie.
He was looking older and more haggard. His fur was wet with melted snow. He was shaking, and eating at the tin pans feverishly.
I watched him as he slopped away at them, standing still so as not to
He’d said it in a petit tone, and it bothered me.
Yes, he’d been a regular customer, coming into my shop for a year now. But that didn’t mean he owned me. I wasn’t his property, which is the sense I got in his tone when he stomped out of here.
I told myself this, but it didn’t help much with the guilt. Because no matter how I spun things, there was one thing that was true.
When John had asked me out, I hesitated. I hesitated because of the feeling in my gut that told me that I didn’t like him that way, and that I most likely never would. No matter his kindness, or profession, or good looks, Dr. John Billings didn’t elicit any feelings from me. No matter how much he wanted it.
On the other hand, when Daniel had asked me for a drink, I didn’t even have to think about it. I hadn’t seen him in 17 years, but the answer was the same.
Yes.
That said something right there. That said that even if Daniel hadn’t come into the shop this afternoon, I still shouldn’t have accepted John’s invitation to dinner.
There was no future there. That was clear now.
I would have to tell him that evening before Daniel stopped by. John might be angry, he might never come into my shop again, he might hate me.
But I needed to be honest with him. I owed him that much.
All was fair in love and war. That’s what Kara had said, and she was right. I knew that, better than anyone. I’d been on the other end before.
And I owed myself what little happiness I could get. I’d been through hell in the past two years.
I talked myself into this as I waited for another batch of pies that I had made that afternoon to finish baking. They were meant to replace the burnt ones. It was late afternoon, and the long line of customers had all been helped, and the shop was mostly empty.
I had called Kara and told her that we’d have to work on the gingerbread mansion tomorrow rather than tonight. She said she understood and asked if I needed a girls’ night. I thanked her, but told her that I had other plans. By the tone of her voice, I knew she wanted to ask more about those plans, but she dropped it, seeming to sense that I didn’t want to talk about it. At least not yet.
Now, all I had to do was finish up baking the pies and cleaning up the shop, and then I’d go over to John’s office and tell him.
My stomach turned just thinking about it. But that was what an honest, respectful person would do. He might hurt some, but it would save him some heartache in the long run.
I stopped for a moment, looking out the back window of the kitchen to admire the sunset.
It had stopped snowing briefly, and it was one of those early winter sunsets that turned the sky a flaming shade of pink and gold, and made the snow glow.
Whenever I started wondering about whether or not I should be living in a bigger city, and from time to time I did, I’d have a moment like this and realize that I was exactly where I should be.
Christmas River was a beautiful place to live. Nestled in the heart of the pristine Cascade Mountains, the woods and lakes around here were some of the loveliest in the country. And to me, the world.
I knew a lot of people who grew up in small towns only wanted to run away from them, but not me. Maybe it was the death of my mother at an early age that changed my view of that, but these woods were my home. My base. As a child, it was the place that comforted me when my world was turned upside down. As an adult, these woods still comforted me when I had heartbreak or sadness or depression. They reminded me of who I was, of where I came from. They grounded me.
Suddenly, I heard a noise below the window. I looked down and saw Huckleberry there, eating away at the tin pans of burnt pie.
He was looking older and more haggard. His fur was wet with melted snow. He was shaking, and eating at the tin pans feverishly.
I watched him as he slopped away at them, standing still so as not to
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