MischiefinChristmasRiver

AChristmasCozyMystery

byMegMuldoon

PublishedbyVacantLot

Publishing

Copyright2014©byMegMuldoon

All rights reserved. Without

limiting the rights under copyrightreserved above, no part of thispublication may be reproduced, storedinorintroducedintoaretrievalsystem,or transmitted, in any form, or by anymeans (electronic, mechanical,photocopying, recording, or otherwise)without thepriorwrittenpermissionofboththecopyrightownerandtheabovepublisherofthisbook.

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters, places and incidents areeither the product of the author'simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andany resemblance whatsoever to actualpersons, living or dead, businessestablishments, events, or locales is

entirelycoincidental.

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MischiefinChristmas

River

byMegMuldoon

Prologue

There was something

wronginthebackyard.The woman had been

rushingaroundallday,doingthings in the house he didn’tunderstand. Pushing a longpole with bristles on the endacross the wood floor.Spraying something sharp-smelling on the countertops.

Suspending long strips ofcolorful paper across thewalls. And then there wasthat machine making all thenoise that the woman pulledacross the carpet. He didn’tmuch care for that machine,rumbling the way it did,roaring so loud that he hadtroublehearingoverit.

But there was one goodthing to come out of thewoman’s strange behavior.Thehousewasfilledwiththe

most delicious smells, all ofthem seeming to originatefrom the kitchen. He didn’tknow what the smellssignified, nor could heidentify them. All he knewwas that he wanted to eatwhatever was making thatmeaty aroma. So much so,thathe could feel salivadripfrom his chin when hethought about it. The hardkibble in his bowl satuntouched most of the day

whilehedreamedofthefood,just out of reach, in thekitchen.

Then,a littlewhileafternightfall, thedoorbellstartedringing. Strangers came intothehouse,bringingwiththemall sorts of smells. A few ofthem rubbed their hands onhis head. A few of them herecognized.

The woman was busyspeaking to them, her energyfast and frantic. She was

stressed, he could sense it.But it was the kind of stressthat she often had, and itdidn’ttroublehim.

What troubled him washis chances of gettingwhatever was cooking in thekitchenbefore theothersdid,andbeforetheotherlittledogthathadstayedwiththemthenightbeforedid.Theonethatbarkedallthetimeanddidn’tmakeawholelotofsense.

He was thinking about

allof thiswhenheheard thenoiseoutside.

Itwas faint. The talkingby the strangers had almostobliterated it completely.Buthe heard it, nonetheless. Thesound of a twig snapping.Coming from the woodsbehindthehouse.

He lifted his head andsniffedtheair.

He caught a whiff ofsomething, something faint.Something that smelled…

unnatural.Notasmellhewasused tosniffingback there inthewoods.Therancidaromaof those black and whiteoafish-looking creatures, orthe earthy smell of those bigcreaturesthathadthoselongspidery crowns atop theirheads.

No, this smell didn’tbelongtoanyofthem.

Hecaughtanotherwhiffofit.

Hedidn’tlikeit.

Helookedat thewomanandthenstartedbarking.Sheheldafingeruptohermouth.The other little dog startedbarkingtoo,thoughhesensedthat thenewdogdidn’tknowwhat he was talking about,and was joining in justbecausehecould.

“Shh… Huckleberry!”the woman said betweengrittedteeth.

Shewanted him to stop.And normally hewould have

listenedtohercommand.Butthe dog knew that this wastooimportant.

Hebarkeduntilhisvoicefelt scratchy and cracked,until he was hoarse. Thewoman gave him food fromthe kitchen,which he pausedto eat, but the food was nolongerwhathewanted.

“Woof! Woof!Woofff!!!”

The woman wasn’tlistening.

Hesuddenlysensedeyesonhim. Something staringathim through the see-throughdoor, from somewhereout inthosewoods.

The eyes wantedsomethingfromhim.

The woman had to bewarned.

“Woof! Woof!Wooofff!!!”

The other little dogjoinedin.

But the woman didn’t

understand. She sighed, andlooked at him the way shehadtheveryfewtimeshehaddisobeyedher.

Butshehadtoknow.She had to know what

wasoutinthebackyard.Hekeptbarking.

Chapter1

I looked pastmy frozen

breath,hangingintheairlikethewordcloudsinacartoon,and stared up at thebubblegum pink sign abovetheshop.

My jaw came unhingedwithoutmehavinganysayinthe matter. I felt my eyesbulgeasIrereadthewordsonthesignagain.

Pepper’s Pies, Pastries,andOtherPick-me-ups!

And then my eyesdropped down, finding thebannerstrungbelowthesign.

GrandOpeningToday!I suddenly felt as if I

might lose the slice ofChocolateBourbonPecanPieI’d eaten back at my ownshop for taste-testingpurposes all over thesidewalk.

A middle-aged woman

abruptly bumped into me asshe passed by, heroverflowing shopping bagshittingthebackofmylegs.Istumbled forward, thenwaited for an apology, butone never came.Thewomanjust went on her way, toocaught up in the Decembershoppingfrenzytocaremuchaboutanybodyelse.

Sometimes, this time ofyear could be just toomuch.Evenforatownwhereitwas

Christmasallyearround.The Humane Society

Cocker Spaniel I waswalking, which the sheltermanager had namedChadwick, growled in therude woman’s generaldirection. I tightened up theleash, afraid that he mighthavemoretosaytoher ifhewasgiventhechance.

Maybe I would havebeen more bothered by thestranger’s poor behavior if I

wasn’t so distracted bysomething else at themoment.

Iglancedupagainatthenewsign.

For weeks, I’d beenwatching from across thestreet as movers andplumbers and electricianscameinandoutof thisshop.The storefront had beensitting vacant for almost ayear, having been a men’sclothingstoreforalmostforty

years before that. Theclothing store recently wentout of business when HarryPugmire Sr., the owner,passed on at the ripe age of96. Someone had bought theoldmusty shop this fall, andhadgonealongwaystowardrenovatingit.

There’d been lots ofrumorsinthemeantimeaboutwhatwasgoing in there.Butithadbeenamystery,forthemostpart.

Untilnow.Ifeltmystomachtighten

as I peered in the shopwindow.

It was shortly after thelunch hour, and the tablesinsidePepper’sPieswereallfull. Hordes of holidayshoppersweresittingaround,laughing, drinking coffee,eating croissants, eatingturnovers,eatingbrownies.

Eating…pie.I swallowedhard,asick

feelingrisingupfrommygutandthroughmythroat.

I had thought this placewasgoingtobeacoffeeshoporabagelplaceorahole-in-the-wallrestaurant.

I didn’t think that itwouldbeapieshop.

Directlyacrossthestreetfrommypieshop.

Just then, the bakery’sfront door opened, and apleasant burst of warm,sugaryairhitme in the face.

A woman in her mid-20swearing a pink apron andwithhair thecolorofembersheld the door open, steppingnearme.

Her apron read“Pepper’sPies.”

“I promise we don’tbite,” she said, her perfectlyshaped lips curling up into aglowingsmile.

“What?” I said, feelingas though I’d been jarredawake.

“I saw you standing outhere, and I just thought youmightneedanextranudgetohelpyougetinsidethedoor,”she said. “And since it’s thegrand opening today, ifyou’renot100percenthappywithmypiesandpastries,I’llgive you your money back.Noquestionsasked.”

Ifeltmymouthgodry.“You’re, uh, you’re

Pepper?Theowner?”Isaid.“Suream.Nowwhatdo

yousaytoanicehotsliceofpie?”

Ifeltmyfacegonumb.ItwaslikeIwasinsome

sort of badTwilight Zone. Aparallel universe where thistown had two pie shops,instead of one. And that thepie shops were right acrossthe street from each other,almostmirrorimages.

But instead of being insomenetherpartofastrangeuniverse,myfeetwerefirmly

on the ground, here, in thisuniverse’sChristmasRiver.

This was actuallyhappening.

I swallowed hard, aboutto tell her who I was, but Istruggled to find the basicwordsofintroduction.

“I, uh, I… well…” Istarted, looking down atChadwick.

Hewaggedhistailatthewoman,andsheleaneddownfor a moment, patting his

head.“What a precious dog,”

she said, scratching behindhisflappyears.

Chadwick sat down,loving every moment of theattention. He didn’t evengrowl,thewayheusuallydidwhenapersonhedidn’tknowstartedpettinghim.

“He’s not mine,” I saidabruptly. “I just volunteer atthe Humane Society, is all.SometimesIwalkthedogs.”

She stood back up andsmiled,dustingherhandsoffonherapron.

“That’sniceofyou,”shesaid.“IwishIhadmoretimeto do something like that inthe middle of the day. Butyouknow,I’vegottorunthebusinesshere.”

AndIdon’t?Ithought.“Sure I can’t tempt you

and your friend here withsome pie? I’ve got somedoggybiscuitsinsidetoo.”

Ishookmyheadhard.“No, I’ve got to get

back,” I said, all thefriendliness that was usuallyin my voice having drainedawaycompletely.

I started pulling onChadwick’s leash. The dogwas stubborn, though, anddidn’t want to leave thefriendlywoman.Hepawedatherlegsformoreattention.

“Aww,” she said,lookingdownathim.

I tugged harder at hisleash until he finally got themessage.

Then I started walkingquicklyaway,nearlyrunning,like a lunatic escaping amentalhospital.

“Comebacksometime!”sheshoutedafterme.

I hurried down the ice-riddenstreet,scoldingmyself.

Chapter2

I cut the butter into theflourandsaltmixture,puttingall my strength into movingthe pastry cutter through thedough. Then I added agenerousheapofsourcream,forcingthemixturetogether.Ihurriedly broke the mass ofdough into pieces, rollingthem into balls. I startedcovering them in plasticwrap, struggling when the

wrapstucktoitself.A few obscenities

escaped my mouth while Iwentthroughcountlesssheetsofplastic,untilfinallyall thedough was wrapped. I threwthem into the fridge, tradingthemout fordough I’dmadeearlier.

I rolled out the sourcream pie crusts for a batchofWhiskeyApplePiesIwasmaking. I put a little toomuch force into the rolling,

though,andthedelicatecrustbroke apart beneath myhands.

“Blast it all…” Imuttered.

I sighed, bringing thebroken dough back together,andstartedoveragain.

I had been acting thisway all afternoon around thekitchen–likeabullinachinashop. Breaking things andburning crusts and generallybeinganall-aroundklutz.

I shook my head, thereason why I’d been actingthiswayoh-soobvious.

Ihadnorighttobeupsetwith Pepper Posey and hernew pie shop that had justmoved in across the street, Itoldmyself.

Norightatall.It wasn’t exactly a pie

shopanyway. Itwasapastryshop,whichwasacompletelydifferent bird altogether.Ourcustomer base wouldn’t be

the same.My pie shop,withits rustic diner charm andgood old-fashioneddecorations, had a loyalfollowing. My bakery was aplace where you could drinkyour coffee and read thepaper and chew the fat withfolks while eating pies thatreminded you of home. Thisnewgirl’s shop, on the otherhand, was more in line withthose trendy pastry shops inthe city. It was a place that

my loyal customers wouldprobablytryonce, just tosaythattheyhad.Butitwouldn’tbecome their regular hang-out.ThatIwassureof.

At least that’s what Iwanted to believe, what I’dbeen telling myself sincewalking by Pepper’s Piesearlier and got caughtgawking.

But what I wanted tobelieve and what I actuallyfeltwere twodifferent things

entirely.Becausetherewereother

factors involved as well.Factorsthathadcausedmetoburn a batch of BlueberryCinnamon pies thismorning,and had caused me to shoutlike a crazy woman at theplasticwrap.

Those factors being thatPepper’s pie shopwas cuter,hipper, and trendier than myshop.AndthatPepperherselfwas also cuter, hipper,

trendierandatleasttenyearsyoungerthanme.

Andthatofalltheemptystorefronts she could havemoved into, she’d had tomoveinrightacrossthestreetfromme.

Hell, even her namebugged me. Pepper. Whatkindofnamewasthat?

Well,whatkindofnameis Cinnamon? said another,more logical voice in myhead.

The pie dough I wasrolling once again brokeundermymanhandlingofit.Ilet out a long sigh, and thenwent over to the stereo. Iswitched out the Christmasharp music that I’d beenlistening to, and traded it forsome Queens of the StoneAge.

Tiana, my bakingassistant, raised an eyebrowat me as Smooth Sailingblaredfromthespeakers.She

wasonlyeverusedtohearingmeplayVanMorrisonorOtisRedding or Hayes Carll.Rarelydid I feel likeplayingmusic this loud andaggressive.

But right now, it wasexactlywhatIneededtohear.

I turned it up and thenwent back to rolling out thecrust, trying to use a lightertouchthistime.

“Uh, anything thematter, Cin?” Tiana said,

raising her voice above themusic while dusting herhandsoffonherapron.

Ichewedontheinsideofmy mouth, wondering iftalking about it would helpany.

I knew that most of thetime,talkingaboutthingslikethis only went a ways tomakingyoufeelworse.Mostofthetime,itwasbestjusttotry and push it out of yourmind.

ButIdidn’ttakemyownadvice.

“It’s just… it’s just sostupid,” I said, shaking myhead.

“Whatis?”shesaid.“Nothing,” I said.

“There’s no use in talkingaboutit.Itiswhatitis.”

“You’re talking aboutthat new shop across thestreet,aren’tyou?”

I looked up at her,surprised.

“How’d you know?” Iasked.

Sheshrugged.“Deductivereasoning.”Tiana was the kind of

person who was easy tounderestimate. She wasplump,short,andinherearlyfortieswithgreyinghair.Shehadbeendivorcedforseveralyears and had moved toChristmas River to get awayfrom her ex. She had nodistinguishing features that

madeher standout,making iteasyforpeopletonotpayhermuchattention.

But shewas smart.Andnot the book kind of smartnecessarily, though on herbreaks she’d often go out onthe back deck and pore overromantic suspense novels.Tiana had an emotionalintelligence that few otherspossessed. She alwaysseemed to know whensomebody was feeling low,

andshealwayshadawayofcomforting them. Shereminded me a lot of agrandmother. Kind, warm,and generous of spirit, Tianahad a way of knowing justwhatpeopleneededtohear.

Though in my case, itprobably didn’t take thatmuch emotional intelligenceto see that something waseatingawayatme.

“It’s stupid,” I said. “Imean, I’m not talking about

the shop. I’m talking abouthow stupid it is that I’mfeeling,Idon’tknow…

I let out a long,beleagueredbreath.

“Threatened by it,” Isaid.

Ishookmyhead.“That’sthestupidpart.”Tianashruggedagain.“I don’t think it’s that

stupid,” she said. “Thewoman did just start a pieshop right across the street

from you. If it was me whoowned this here shop, I’d bemadashell.”

She re-tied her apron,pulling it tighter around herwaist.

I’d noticed that in thepast couple weeks or so,Tianahad lost a fewpounds.She’d stopped taking pieshome with her for her daysoff, the way she always did.She had also gotten a newhaircut:anangledbobdieda

nice shade of mahogany,erasing all traces of the greyhair that had become herusuallook.

I half wondered if therewas a new man in her life,and hadwanted to ask, but Ihadn’t found the rightmomentto.

“Have you met Pepperyet?”sheasked,addingextraemphasisonhername.

“No,” I said. “Well, Imeannotofficially. Ikindof

sawherearlier thisafternoonwhen I was walking one ofthepoochesfromtheHumaneSociety. She, uh, she seemsreally nice, from what I cantell.”

Tiana leaned in acrossthe kitchen island andloweredhervoice.

“Well,youknowwhat Iheard abouther? I heard that—”

“Uh, excuse me, MissCinnamon?”

TobiasJones,mynewestemployee, stuck his headback into the kitchen. Tianahushedwhatshewassaying.

Tobias hadn’t beenworkingattheshoplong,butalready, he’d proven to be askilled and valuable asset.Before I hired him, Tobiashad spent themajority of histime across the street by theChristmas River drugstoreandpharmacy,holdingasignbegging for food. He was a

Marine Corps veteran andhadbeenhomelessforalongperiodoftime.

These days, I washelping him get back on hisfeet. I’d helped him rent aroom on the east side ofChristmas River, and hadhired him to work the cashregister andhelpwith supplydeliveries at the shop. If thatwentwell, I was planning tomove him back into thekitchen and teach him a few

thingsaboutmakingpies.So far, my bet was

proving to be a sound one.Tobiashadbeenahugehelp.Additionally, he had acheerful disposition thatalways went a way towardlighteningthemood.

“There’s someone outhere says they want to seeyou,” he said, looking fromTianatome.

“Did they say who theywere?”

“Uh, no,miss,” he said.“SorryIforgottoask.Butit’sayounglady.Shehasredhairandseemsnicer thanawarmGeorgiabreeze.”

I smiled at his colorfulwaywithwords.Butthenmyheart sank a little when Irealizedthatthereweren’ttoomanyotherfolksintownwhomatchedthatdescription.

IglancedoveratTiana.She could read my face

plainenough.

“That’sher?”sheasked.I nodded, taking offmy

apron.“Youwantmetogoout

for you?” Tiana said. “Tellher to come back anothertime?”

“No,”Isaid.“We’vegotto meet properly sooner orlater. I might as well go outandbeneighborly.”

I letout a sighand thenforced a warm, friendlysmile,headingforthedoor.

Even though I didn’tmuchfeellikesmiling.

Chapter3

“Didn’t… didn’t I just

seeyouinfrontoftheshop?”Shegaveme a knowing

smile.Istammeredsheepishly.“Yeah, uh, I’m sorry I

didn’t introduce myself,” Isaid. “I was running late onmywalkwithChadwick,andI just didn’t havemuch timefortalking.”

“Well, I’m glad thatweget a chance to meet now,”she said. “I just wanted tostopbyandletyouknowthatI think the world of yourestablishment here. I mean,I’ve heard the best thingsabout your pies. I hope thatwe can talk shop sometimewhenyou’relessbusy.”

“Thatwould be lovely,”Isaid,betweengrittedteeth.

Theyfeltlikethey’djustbeencrazygluedtogether.

“I moved here fromPortland,” Pepper startedsaying. “I don’t know toomany folks around here, anditwould be really nice ifwecould…”

I found myself zoningout as I stared at her perfectporcelain skin, her perfectlyshaped lips, that curly redhairandthosefull,deepblueeyesofhers.

I felt my handsinadvertentlyballupintofists

atmyside.I suddenly realized that

she had stopped talking andwaswaitingformetoreply.

Iclearedmythroat.“Well, we will have to

grabcoffeesometime,”Isaid,unsure whether or not thatwas the right response towhatevershehadjustsaid.

“That would be great,”she said, her voicebrimmingwith excitement. “I’d love tohear what it’s been like

runningapieshopforaslongasyouhave.”

Shegrinnedagain.Didshejustcallmeold?“Oh, before I forget, I

broughtyousomething.”Shefishedaroundinside

herpurse,andthenpulledouta round plastic containerensconcedinpinkribbon.

“Thesearepistachioandcherry macarons,” she said,implementing an instantFrench accent when she said

the name of the cookie.“SomethingIlearnedtomakewhen I was at pastry schoolinParis.”

My mouth almostdropped open, and that knotthathadbeen inmy stomachall afternoon since firstsettingeyesonPepper’sPiestightened up more than abloodpressurearmband.

I took the carton ofcookies from her, butcouldn’tfindanywords.

“Well, I’ll let you getbacktoyourwork,”shesaid.“Butitwassuchapleasuretomeetyou.”

Shereachedamanicuredhandouttomeandshookmyhand.

“Bye, Cinnamon,” shesaid.

“Bye,”Isqueakedout.Sheturnedonherboots,

and thenwalked, no, floated,acrossthediningroom.Someof the customers turned their

heads to look at her as shepassed,transfixedbythenewbeautifulgirlintown.

I looked down at theelaborate box of cookies inmyhands.

I felt like I’d justgottenshotinthegut.

Chapter4

“Ugh, these hardly have

anytaste,”Karasaid,stuffinganother one of Pepper’scookies into her mouth.“They’re blander than Mrs.Billings’haircolor.”

She scrunched her faceupintoagrimace,butjudgingby the way she’d devouredhalf thecartonalready,Iwaspretty sure Kara didn’t quite

believe what she was tellingme.

Although, she waspregnant. I think the womanwould have devoured asandwich from a bus stationvendingmachineatthispointand not thought twice aboutit.

When I had bitten intooneofPepper’smacarons,thehair color of Kara’s soon-to-bemother-in-lawwasthelastthing that would have

occurred to me. The pillowysoft cookie almost melted inmymouth, the light saltinessof thepistachiospairingeverso perfectly with the sugarysweet cherry filling. Thecookies were soft, gooey,powdery, and delightful. I’dbeen having trouble notdevouringthecartonmyself.

IfthiswashowPepper’scookiestasted,thenhowwereherpies?

For as long as I’d been

in Christmas River, I’dalways felt that I sold aunique product. No one elsefortownsaroundofferedpiesasgoodasmine,and IneverfeltlikeIhadtocompetewithanybody.

But now… now I hadthe sense that change wasafootinChristmasRiver.Andthat perhaps to keep myshop’s status as the premiersweetpitstopofMainStreet,I was going to have to fight

toothandnail.Karabrushedthecrumbs

off of her oversized redreindeer sweater that hadbecomehermaingo-tooutfitoflate.Mostlybecauseithadample roomfor that swellingbellyofhers.

Wewere in the back ofherornamentshop.Shehadastack of wood strips in frontofheronthecrafttable,alongwith a wood burning tool.Shewaschowingdownwhile

thetoolheatedup.“Your pies are somuch

better,Cin,”shesaid,clearingher throat. “Everyone willknow that if they don’talready.”

She popped anothercookieintohermouth.

“That woman has somenervemoving in right acrossthe street from you. Youknow, I’vebeen steaming allday about it. I can onlyimaginewhat I’d do if some

ornament start-up moved soclosetomyshop…”

Sheshookherhead.“Why, I think things

mightgetrealnastyrealfast,”shesaid.

She stareddead intomyeyes.

“This is your turf,Cin,”shesaid,withalltheintensityof a 300-pound footballplayer going for the ball.“Don’tyoueverletherforgetthat,either.”

GoodoldKara.Shewasin prime linebacker mode.That’s the name I’d given tothis particular aggressive andferocious attitude that sheoccasionallyhadlately.Iwasfairly certain it was a sideeffectofherpregnancy.

“Well, I would, exceptshe seemsnicer than awarmGeorgia breeze,” I said,echoing Tobias’s turn of thephrase.

Karafurrowedherbrow.

“What?”“Nothing,” I said,

sighing and taking anotherbiteofthecookie.

“Well, whatever thatmeans.Cin?Youneed tocutthe bull. You need to bepreparedtotakeoffthekiddygloves when it comes downtoit.Becauseletmetellyou,aladywhosetsupapieshopright across the street fromanotherpieshopisnotaniceperson. No matter if she

comes from Georgia orwhatever the heck you’retalkingabout.”

I didn’t correct her andtellher thatPepperwasfromPortland, not Georgia, forfearthatKaramightturnthatlinebackerenergyonme.

She slipped a whitepainter’smask over her headand secured it over hermouth. Then she picked upthe wood-burning tool, andgrabbed one of the strips of

wood. She began engravingit, a thin stream of smokerising up from the burningwood.

“So,uh, thosearegoingto be place cards, then? Forthereceptiontables?”Iasked,looking at her slow andsteadymovements.

She nodded, a deepcrease of concentrationcutting down between herbrows.

“Do you think you’ve

got enough time to do allthat?” I said, trying to put itasdelicatelyasIcould.

Kara was gettingmarried to John Billings inwhat was supposed to be asmall, intimate, and non-stressful wedding on NewYear’sEve.Shehadsaidshedidn’twantanythingtobetoofancy, given that she didn’thavealotoftimetoplantheevent. The baby was due inMay,andKarahadwantedto

get married before she wastoolargetofitintoaweddingdress.

ButwhileKarahadsaidtheweddingwasgoing tobelow-key and not much moredressed up than a shotgunwedding, in reality, I couldsee that it was slowlysnowballing into a massiveundertaking. Part of thereason for this was becauseKara was such a detail-oriented, crafty, and

controlling person thateverything, from the placecardstothechandeliersinthereception lodge, had to bespecially made orembellishedbyher.

Itwasa lovely idea,butshe’d been looking quiteunder theweather latelywithall the work she’d beenputting into the weddingdecorations. And that wassomething that worriedme alittle, what with her being

pregnantandall.As the maid of honor,

I’d been doingmy utmost tohelp where I could. But Ilacked the crafty touch thatKarawasblessedwith.WhenI tried to make things, theyusually turned out lopsidedandcrooked.TheonlythingIwas good at was makinggingerbread houses, and thathad very little to do withweddingdecorations.

She glanced up at me

frombehindhersafetymask.

“Of course I’ve gotenough time to do this,” shesaid. “These place cards arecrucialtothewedding.”

“Iknow,butwouldn’t itbe easier just to write thenamesout insteadofburningthem onto wood? I mean,since you’re so busy andeverything?”

She looked up again,giving me a sharp look that

wasonestepawayfromfull-onlinebackermode.

“Cinnamon, I’m alreadygivingupmydreamweddinggownbecauseof…well,youknow,” she said, lookingdown at her protruding gut.“But I won’t, for the life ofme,giveupmyvisionforthewedding. Okay? Now, I’vegot it under control. Don’tworry a hair on that prettyheadofyoursoverit.”

She went back to her

wood-burning. She was stillcarving the second letter inhermom’snameontheplacecard.

Her mother’s name wasGenevieve.

I tried to do the math,wondering just how manylettersshehadlefttoburnforthe wedding guests. Just thethoughtof itmademyhandsache.

But Kara washeadstrong. And I could tell

shewasn’tgoingtobetalkedoutofanything.

“Well, okay then,” Isaid, reluctantly. “But you’resureyoucan’tassignmeanytasksoranythinglikethat?”

Sheshookherhead.After last week’s vase-

shattering incident, where Iaccidently broke one of hercenterpiece vases after sheaskedmetodrillaholeinoneofthesides,Karahasstoppedassigning me “wedding craft

tasks”asshecalledthem.“You’re already doing

plenty,Cin,”shesaid.Iscannedherface.PartofmefeltlikeIwas

being a poor maid of honorby not knowing how to doany of this stuff. Kara, hadafterall,donesomuchformeand my wedding the yearbefore.

“Are you sure?” I said.“I mean, I could help youwith decorating the

chandelierslatermaybe?”Shepulledoffhermask.“Thanks, but you don’t

havetoworryyourself,Cin,”she said. “I’m on schedule.Everythingwillbejustfine.”

I probably would havefelt a little worse about mycrafting inability, if I hadn’tbeen planning her surprisewedding shower for weeksnow. I figured whatever Ilacked in wood burning anddrilling I could more than

makeupforinthoughtfulnessand several rounds of themeanestvirgincocktailsthereeverwere.

Sheabsentlyreachedforanotheroneof thecookies inthecarton.

I leaned back andcrossedmyarmsassheliftedher mask and stuffed themacaronintohermouth.

She reached for anotherone and was about to cramthatoneinhermouthtoo,but

stoppedwhenshenoticedmelookingather.

“What?”shesaid.Iraisedaneyebrow.“Not so bland, are

they?”Shelaughednervously.“Oh, Cin,” she said.

“Youputdogbiscuitsinfrontof me right now, I’d do thesame thing. I mean, I thinkthis baby is going to be thenext Mario Batali. He justloveshisfood.”

She patted her gut andcrackedagrin.

But Iknewthatshewaslying.

She wasn’t eatingPepper’scookiesbecauseshehad low standards latelywhenitcametofood.

She was eating thembecause they were nothingshortofdelicious.

Istifledasigh,andtriednottoletonhowglumIwasfeeling.

Chapter5

The wind was howling

hard through the woods,sending the long, bonybranches of nearby treesscraping against the backwindow. A large Decembermoon rosehigh through fast-moving, silvery clouds,spilling itsmilky lightacrossthesnowylandscape.

Luckily, it was warm

andcozy inside thepie shop.Muchof ithaving todowiththesugaryairandthedancingChristmas lights that circledthe room. The smallChristmas tree in the corner,covered to the hilt in tinseland lights and Kara’shandmade ornaments, didn’thurt the cozy atmosphereeither.

Christmas was a littleless than three weeks away.AndwhilethisChristmaswas

supposedtobemorelowkeythan other years – it wasgoing to be just Daniel andme–Istill feltbehind in thepreparations. I had Daniel’sgift, having purchased a newpair of his beloved workboots right afterThanksgiving.Wehadagreedearlier this month thatbecausecashflowwasalittletight, as Christmas wascoming on the heels of ourhoneymoon, that the two of

us wouldn’t exchange giftsthis year. I, of course, hadalready broken this promisebefore evenmaking it, usingmyThanksgivingpiefundstopurchasehisboots.

But I was pretty certainthat once he saw those bootsundertheChristmastree,he’dforget all about the pact thatwehadmade.

When it came toeverybody else on myChristmas list, though, I had

fallen sorely behind. I wasshortonideas,andinspirationwashard to findbetween thehoursIspentslavingawayinthe kitchen and the time Ispentwalkingthedogsat theHumaneSociety.

Let alone the time itwould take to build amasterpiece gingerbreadhouse for the annualGingerbread JunctionCompetitionthisyear.

I took a sip of my

blueberry pomegranate tea,andsmiled.

Despite being so busy,therehadbeennoquestioninmy mind about entering theGingerbread Junction thisyear.Ihadmissedit theyearbefore because I had mywedding to plan, and it wasone of the rare times that Iskipped the annualcompetition. Subsequently,I’d been having the itch tobuildagingerbreadhouseall

year long. I’d been waitingfor the month of Decemberforwhatfeltlikeages,justsoI could once again have anexcusetocreateanelaborate,over-the-top, sensationalcookie house. And I’d belying if I didn’t say thisyear’s$500topprizewasn’taprettysweetincentive,too.

Inthepast,thetopprizehadbeentwoplanetickets toHawaii. But after theMasonBarstow scandal three years

ago, the committee had beenslowly scalingback theprizeamount.They stoppedgivingaway plane tickets, andinstead, switched to cool,hard cash. Which this year,suitedmejustfine.

Theoventimerbeeped.Ipulled on a pair ofmitts andthen brought out a pan offreshly baked gingerbreadcookie, cut precisely in theangles I needed to build thefirst two stories of the ice

palaceIplannedtosweepthecompetitionwith.

Iletthegingerbreadcoolwhile I whipped up somefrosting and set up thebaseboard. This year, I wasmaking a gingerbread housebased on my love for themovie Dr. Zhivago. I wasgoing to call it “The IcePalace of Varykino,” and Iwas planning to go to townon it, creating Russian-styledomedcookierooftops,sugar

iceencrustedspires,marzipantreesandwoodlandcreatures,and even a cookie sleighoutsideof thestructure itself.The ice palace was going tobe my largest endeavor todate,andsinceKarawasbusywith her own New Year’swedding plans this year, Iwasbuildingitentirelyonmyown.

Whenthecookiecutoutswere cool, I carefully slid aspatula under the

gingerbread, loosening itfrom the parchment paper. Icarefully transferred thepieces toanotherbakingpan,stacking them carefully ontopofoneanother.

I was so excited aboutmy idea, that I could hardlywaittogetstarted.

The competition wasalways stiff at theGingerbread Junction. Butwith over 15 years ofexperience in the contest, I

was going into it feelingrelativelyconfident.

I could almost hear thejudgescallmyname. Icouldalmost hear the noise of thecrowd as I walked up onstage tocollectmywinnings.I could almost feel thesmoothcrispnessofthat$500in my hands. I could almost—

Just then, there was aloud crashing sound outsidethewindow,comingfromthe

backdeckofthepieshop.My heart sped up and I

froze in place, holding thewhiskI’dbeenusingtowhipup the frosting tightly in onehand.

Itwasn’t that late,but itmight as well have beenmidnightas far asdowntownChristmas River wasconcerned. The streets wereabandoned as a graveyardhereatthishour,andasTianaand Tobias had left for the

evening, I was all bymyselfintheshop.

And I had, somewhatstupidly, left all the blindsopen to watch the beautifulDecember moon rise upthrough the trees. Meaninganybody out there in thosewoods could have beenwatchingmeallthistime.

I pressed pause on thestereo, putting an abrupt endto Johnny Mathis singingSilver Bells. I strained to

listenformoreandpeeredoutthe window, seeing littlebeyond my own frightenedexpressioninthereflection.

It could have just beenthewindknockingsomethingover.Oradeer,Itoldmyself.There were plenty of themoutinthesewoods.Plentyofother wildlife too. It couldhavebeen—

There was another loudsoundoutthere.Andthisonewas easy enough to identify:

it was the sound of a bootagainsthollowwood.

The sound of a largebootagainsthollowwood.

Someone was out thereonmydeck.

I reached for my cellphone in my apron pocket,and began dialing Daniel’snumber.

Just then, there was aloudrapatthewindow.

I could make out thefigure of a tall man standing

there, but couldn’t see hisface.

My heart jumped up inmy throat. I backed away,listeningtotheringing.

“Please pick up,” Imuttereddesperately.“Pleasepicku—”

Just then, I noticed afaint, familiar jingle comingfrom the other side of theglass.

Iplacedthephonedownon the kitchen island, and

listened.There was another loud

rapatthewindow.I let out a great big ol’

sigh of relief, and rushed forthebackdoor.

Chapter6

Huckleberry brushed

past me, bounding into thekitchenonamissionforsomeleftoverpie,nodoubt.

Themanwith the beardstayed in the doorway,grinningsunnily.

“DanielBrightman,whatin the world are you doingcreeping around out here?Don’tyouknowthatyoujust

scaredmehalftodea—”IstoppedtalkingwhenI

noticed what he was holdinginhishands.

A giant, beautifulbouquetofpearlypinkroses.

Mymouthdroppedopeninsurprise.

“What’s… what’s thisallabout?”

He clicked his tongueagainsttheroofofhismouth.

“You know what today

is,don’tyou?”hesaid.Ifurrowedmybrow,my

stomach tightening as I triedto figure out what importanteventIwasmissing.

Our weddinganniversary wasn’t untilChristmasEve.

“Uh…”Istammered.Helaughed.“Cin, I thought it was

women who rememberedanniversaries better thanmen,” he said, handing me

the bouquet. “Okay, I’ll jogyour memory. It was threeyears ago, to this very night,thatIfollowedacertainlittledog into these here woods.Anditwasthreeyearsago,tothisverynight,thatIsawthemost beautiful girl I’d everset eyes on working in thekitchen here. Sadly makingher gingerbread fortress, allalone. Looking like an angelinthesnowstorm.”

I looked up at him as a

feeling of guilt overforgetting the importance oftonightsettledinmygut.

I’d completely forgottenaboutwhattodaywas.

“Oh, honey,” I said,looking up at him. “I’m sosorry.Ishouldhave—”

“Shh,”hesaid.He pulled me close to

him, planting a longpassionate kiss on my lipsthat made my knees bucklewith its intensity. His

trimmedbeardfeltroughandpleasantatthesametimeasitbrushedupagainstmyface.

Hepulledaway.“Iwanted to do that the

moment I saw you from outin those woods three yearsago, Cinnamon Peters,” hesaid. “Itmakes no differenceto me if you remember thatnight or not. But for as longasIlive,Ialwayswill.”

I reached for his hand,kissingthebackofit.

He smiled at me, oureyes meeting, our soulsunderstandingeachother.

I wouldn’t ever forgetthat night either. Even if Ilivedtobe122yearsold.

I inhaled the sweet, softsmell of the roses, and theninvitedhim inside.The sameway I had done three yearsagotonight.

Then I got him a nice,gooeysliceofcherrypie.

The same way I had

donethreeyearsagotonight.

Chapter7

Abriskbreezeblewinto

the side of my face, bits ofcrystalizedairpeltingmeasIwalkedalongTinselStreet indowntownChristmasRiver.

Chadwick paused out infront of me for a moment,shaking his scruffy coat freeof ice. Then he startedtrotting again, his nailsclicking against the concrete

oftheshoveledsidewalk.The last few weeks, I

hadstartedvolunteeringagainwith the Humane Society ofChristmas River. UsuallywhenIgottoobusyatthepieshop,thedailywalkingdutieswiththeshelterwerethefirstthing I axed from myschedule. But I had beentrying tomakemore timeforit lately. Honestly, the walksdidmeasmuchgoodasitdidthe dogs. I got a chance to

stretch my legs, clear myhead, and be out in nature,which was a nice changefromthehot,busyandhecticenvironment of the pie shopkitchen.

Chadwick threwhimselfdownon the sidewalk near atelephone pole abruptly, theway sometimes he tended todowhenhegottiredandhadhadenoughwalking.

Ishookmyhead,andletoutashortsighoffrustration.

I’d been walkingChadwick for two weeksnow, andwhile hewas cuterthanRudolph theRed-NosedReindeer, Ihad foundhim tobe a somewhat moody,stubborn little dog. It washard to get Chadwick to dothingsyouwantedhimtodo.He didn’t play fetch, hewasn’t motivated by food ofanykind, and sometimes, fornogood reason,he just likedtothrowhimselfdownduring

awalk. The onlyway to gethimgoingagainwouldbe todraghimoffthecurb,orpickthe pup up and place himback on his feet. In additionto his poor walking skills,from what the sheltermanager said,Chadwickwasamasterescapeartist.Hislastowners had given him upafter the dog dugunder theirbackyard fence so manytimes, a whole sectionbecame upended and fell

over.Still, despite his

stubborn disposition andgeneral unruliness, I foundmyself liking the moodypooch quite a bit. He hadsome spunk to him.Sometimes he’d bark at thesquirrels in the trees, butwould pull away in theoppositedirectionatthesametime, as if their fastmovements and bushy tailsscaredhim.Ihadn’teverseen

a dog spooked by squirrelsbefore,anditmademelaugh.Plus, he had these large,hollow, sad-looking eyes, asif all hewanted in theworldwas a forever home andsomebodytolovehim.

I was hoping that he’dget adopted soon, and thatsomebody would be able tolookpasthisbadbehavior togive the little poochwhat hewanted.

“C’mon, Chadwick,” I

said, tugging on the leash.“We’re only a few blocksaway from the HumaneSociety. You can rest yourpawsthen.”

Helookedbackupatmewith those large, sorrow-filledeyes.

“C’mon,” I said in ahigherpitchedtone,pullingattheleash.“Let’sgo—”

Just then, I noticedsomething pinned to thetelephone pole that I hadn’t

before.I let Chadwick lie there

for a moment longer while Ipeered at the poster. Therewasagrainyphotoofalight-coloredlabmixandwordsofdesperationaboveit.

Missing!PleaseHelp!For some reason, the

pooch looked familiar,though I couldn’t quite placehim.

MybabyHarleywaslastseenneartheBrightStarDog

Park and Trail System. Heran away on a walk and ismissing.Please call JulianneRedding at 541-788-9089.$500reward.Desperate.

That was why the dogwas so familiar-looking.Julianne Redding and herhusbandHankhadoncebeenthe co-owners of CalamityJane’s, a high-end westernfood restaurant in downtownChristmas River. She hadbeen the restaurant’s chef,

andshewasalsothelongest-standing GingerbreadJunctionjudge,havingjudgedcookie houses for nearly 15years. I’d seen her with herdog Harley several timeswhen I walked Huckleberryin the BrightStar area, aresidential area of upscalecountry homes that had nicerecreation trails and a dogpark too. Harley was arambunctious, but friendly,yellow lab and pit bull mix.

Since the restaurant hadclosed,andsinceherhusbandHankdiedacoupleyearsago,I’dgottentheimpressionthatHarley had taken on an evenbigger importance inJulianne’slife.

I lookedat thepooch inthe photo again. He had histongue out, and was lookingoff into the distance like aproudconqueror.

I wondered how oftenpeople actually found the

dogsorcatsonthesekindsofposters. Or if most of themdidn’tendupgettinghitbyacar.Oreatenbyacoyote.Orevenawolf,astherehadbeenrumors this fall that one hadbeenspottedonthenorthsideoftown.

Plenty of bad thingscould have happened toHarley. And Julianne mightnot ever find out whatbecameofherlovablepup.

PoorHarley.

I glanced at the photoone last time,committing theimage to memory in case Icame across him. Then, Ikneeled down and picked upChadwick.Thedogsquirmedas I lifted him up from thesidewalk and set him backdownonhispaws.

He tried to collapseagain, but I wasn’t having itthistime.

“If you think I’mcarrying you back, then you

have another thing coming,Chadwick.”

I tugged on the leash,pullinghimalong,allthewaybacktotheHumaneSociety.

Chapter8

The parking lot of the

highschoolwasnothingshortofazoo.

Imadeyetanothercirclearound the lot, stoppingfrequently for folks crossingthe asphalt, headed for theauditorium. Everywhere Ilooked, the parking spaceswere full. I saw MeredithDrutman get out of her car,

which she had illegallyparked in a handicappedspace. It took everything Ihad not to glare at her as Idroveby.

Iwasabout tomakeyetanother circle of the lot,having just about given uphope, when I saw thetaillights of a green Subarulightup.Iwaitedpatientlyasthe lady driving the carbacked up and pulled out. Itook the space, smiling like

the Cheshire Cat at gettingsuchagoodspot.

Thekiddoswerealreadyon winter vacation, but theplacewaspacked to thegillson account of it being theGingerbread Junctionregistrationday.

I sat in the car for amoment, pulling theapplication forms from mypurse and reviewing themcarefully, making sure Ihadn’tmissedanything.

Thejudgesoftheannualcompetition were notorioussticklers for the registrationforms being filled outcorrectly. Because, aseverybody knew, this wasn’tjust any old gingerbreadhousecompetition.Therewasa nice chunk of change atstake, andperhapsmore thanthat,therewerereputationstobe made and upheld by theannual contest. It was thefiercest of its kind, and folks

from all over the Northwestcame to compete in it.Everybody from high-endpastry chefs to weekendbakersenteredtheJunction.Ihad thought that because ofthe top prize being less thisyear, maybe not as manyfolks would bother entering.But judging by the fullparking lot, this year’s cashprizewasequallyastemptingastwoplaneticketstoMaui.

Iglancedonemoretime

over the registration form,feeling a slight tug on myheartatseeingonlyonenameunder the “All Competitors”section.

I was going to misshaving Kara as myGingerbread Junction partnerthisyear.Shealwaysbroughtsuchstyleandelegancetoourprojects, not to mentionentertaining banter. But shehadenoughonherplateas itwas.AndIwouldjusthaveto

suck it up and do my bestwithouther.

I got out of the car,walking carefully across theparking lot, trying to avoidanyslickspotsthatthewinterstorm from the week beforemighthaveleft.

I took a deep breathbefore walking into thebuilding.

It felt good to be backhereagain.

I had missed this

competition.

Chapter9

“And you’re competing

byyourself,isthatright?”I nodded as Morgan

Brenneke, a retired historyteacher with rhinestone-studded, thick-rimmedglassessmackedhergumandlooked over my forms frombehindafold-outtable.

I stepped closer to her,as I could feel the person

behind me breathing downmy neck and inching upimpatiently. I glanced back.The line was practically outthe door of the auditorium,despite the fact that therewere nine volunteers helpingfolksgetregistered.

I hadn’t ever seen somany people on registrationdaybefore.

Morganlookedupatmeand then stamped theapplication, shuffling it over

intoastackofpapers.“Allentriesmustbehere

by11 a.m. on the day of thecompetition. If your entry isnothereatthattime,thenyouwill be disqualified,” sherattled on in automation.“You may not receive anyhelp from anyone else onyourgingerbreadhouseotherthanthepeoplelistedonyourapplication. Which in yourcase, means you cannot gethelpfromanybodyelse.That

is grounds fordisqualification. You mustalso attach an entry card tothe front of the gingerbreadhouse display on the day ofthe competition so that thejudges can clearly see yourname and the title of yourwork. If you fail to do this,thanitmaybegroundsfor—”

“Disqualification,” Isaid, finishing her lengthyspeechforher.

She moved her head

backlikeachickenandraisedan eyebrow at me, and Isuddenly felt like I was oneof her students about to getscolded for speaking out ofturn.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Iguess I’m just… excitedabout being back in thecompet—”

I stopped mid-sentenceas I overheard something atthetableafewfeetover.

Thehairsonthebackof

myneckstoodstraightupasIrecognizedthevoice.

“Yes, sorry. I filled theapplicationoutsohastily,myhandwriting is practicallyunreadable. That reads‘Pepper Posey,’ and I’mcompetingbymyself.”

My stomach plungedaboutfifteenstories.

Ohno.Islowlyturnedmyhead,

catching sight of that brightfieryredhairofhers.

I swallowed hard, and Ifelt my right eye start totwitch.

Shewas entering in thisyear’scompetition?

Notonlydidshesetupapie shop right across thestreetfrommine,butnowshewas entering in mycompetition? Trying to stealwhat was going to be mytitle?

Tryingto—“Oh, hi!” she said,

noticing me staring at her.“I’msogladtoseeyouhere.Areyouenteringtoo?”

Ifeltmyrighteyetwitchagain. The singleword cameoutslowandlabored.

“Yes.”She half-smiled, but I

knewwhatshewasthinking.ShemusthavethoughtI

wasadownrightweirdo.Firstthat strange stop I’dmade athershopthedaybeforewhenIwouldn’tcomeinside.Then

mystrangereactionwhenshecame bymy own shop. Andnow, me staring at her, myeyetwitchingandbulging.

Maybe I would havebeen more bothered by myoddbehaviorifIwasn’tso…livid.

I swallowed back somesaliva that had pooled in thesideofmymouth,anddidmybest to not let on just howinsaneIwasfeelinginside.

Iclearedmythroat.

“I enter every year.Well,atleastjustabouteveryyear,”Isqueakedout.

“Youknow,Ican’tsayIhave too much experiencewith building gingerbreadhouses, but I just figured,why not?” she said, tossingher hair back. “I’m new intown, and it sounded like aheck of a lot of fun to me.And I’ve always heard somuch about the competition,soIfiguredI’dtakeacrackat

it.”I gnawed on my lower

lip, trying to figure out howtorespond.

What I really wanted tosay to her was somethingalong the lines of “Back off,fill-in-the-expletive-here.”

Butinstead,Ijustlookedatherdumbly,andsaid:

“Itisalotoffun.”She smiled, waiting for

more, but the small talk tankwasempty.

The smile on her facefadedalittlebit.

“Well, I, uh, I guess Ibetter get back toregistering,” she said. “ButI’llseeyouaroundsometime,neighbor.”

She patted me on thearm.

Inoddedstifflyandthenturnedbacktowardmytable.

I heard the lady behindmeletoutagreatbigsigh,asif I’d just ruined her whole

afternoon by not registeringinatimelyfashion.

I shot her a sharp lookover my shoulder, and thenfinished up with Mrs.Brenneke’s rules of conductspeech.

A few moments later, Iwas back in my car, havinggotten out of that crowdedauditoriumas fastasmy feetcouldcarryme.

Iplacedmyheadon thewheel,lettingoutalong,long

groan.

Chapter10

I was back in the

kitchen, listening to QueensoftheStoneAgeagain.

This time I wasmakingabatchofhazelnutcrusts forthe Hazelnut ChocolateLiqueur pies, cutting butterandvegetableshortening intothe flour and salt mixturebefore adding some toasted,crushedhazelnuts.

I was going through allthe motions, but my mindwas somewhere elsecompletely.

Already,ithadstarted.The slowing of

customers.It was early December:

prime tourist season forChristmas River. The diningroom of my little pie shopshould have been packed. Ishould have been strugglingtomake enoughpies to keep

theglasscaseoutinfrontfull.Instead, the front of the

house was nearly a ghosttown. And I figured that forthe first time in a long, longtime, we’d have leftover pietoday.

I stopped what I wasdoing and dusted my handsoffonmyapron.Iwentoverto the side kitchen window,craningmy neck to look outacrossthestreet.

Two employees of

Pepper’s Pies were standingoutside on the sidewalk. Thegirls couldn’t have beenmucholderthan20,andbothhadlongblondhairandwerewearing pink aprons. Theywere wearing Santa hats andelf shoes, and were ringingjingle bells. They werehanding out samples of pieand pastries to everybodywho passed by, grinningsunnily as folks asked themquestions about the products.

A chill ran down my

spine:therewasahugecrowdaroundthegirls.

No wonder my diningroom was mostly emptytoday.

I placed my foreheadagainstthewindow.

“Thisisjust…”“Excuse me, Miss

Cinnamon?”I shot straight up,

Tobias’s gravelly voice

jarringme frommy self-pityparty.

“Didn’t mean to scareya, miss,” he said. “Just,there’s this fella who’s outherewantingtoseeyou.”

I leaned back to look athim.

“Didyougethisname?”“Uh, no, sorry miss,”

Tobiassaid.“Buthe’ssortofa short, pudgy lil’ fella in adeputy’s uniform. Seemed asharmlessasabeethatlostits

stinger,youaskme.”I smiled at Tobias’s

colorful way of describingfolks.

“Less of course the beehas teeth. In which case,maybe he’s not so harmlessafterall,”hemused.

Iglancedonemoretimeback out the window at thetwogirlsacrossthestreet.

I might not have hadyouthandbeautyworkingformeinmypieshop.

But at least I had good,honest, hardworking peoplewho had a unique way oflookingattheworld.

Chapter11

Billy Jasper tookoffhis

hatandstoodnervouslyinthecenter of the kitchen. Hiseyes were bright and hischeeksweredottedwithpinksplotches from the cold. Thenormally smooth-faceddeputy had been trying togrow a beard lately, but ithadn’t filled in just yet,making him look a little

scruffy.“Why don’t you have a

seat,Billy,”Isaid,motioningforthebarstoolbythekitchenisland.“I’llgetyouasliceofsomething. What would youlike?”

He shook his head, hischeeks jiggling a little withtheeffort.

“Uh,noma’am.Notthat,uh, not that I wouldn’t lovesome,butI’vejusteaten.”

IloweredtheplateIhad

justgrabbed.It seemed as though I

couldn’tgiveawaymypieforfreetoday.

I half wondered if Billyhadn’t just made a littledetourbeforecominghere tosee me. If he’d been part ofthegrowingmobsurroundingPepper’sPies.

“Suit yourself,” I said,cutting myself a slice of thecherry pie and sitting downwithitatthekitchenisland.

I didn’t often eat myown pie other than to tastetest it. After many years ofrunning a pie shop, I knewthat eating your own supplyled to madness. One slicecould turn into two the nextday,andcouldturnintomorethe week after. And beforeyouknewit,you’dbebuyingyourself a whole newwardrobe.

But today felt like thekind of day made for

breakingsuchrules.I lookedupatBillyas I

tookabiteofpie,waitingforhimtosaysomething,buthejust kind of stared at meapprehensive like. Like thecathadgothistongue.

Iclearedmythroat.“So, what’s on your

mind,Billy?”He swallowed, and then

started saying something,butahuskiness inhisvoice tookover and he stopped mid-

sentence.He shifted his weight

nervously from one foot toanother.

Billy had always been alittlebitofanervoustype,buthe seemed particularlynervoustoday.

And now that I thoughtofit,Billyhadn’tevershownupatmypieshop,exceptonetimelastwinterwhenhewaspicking up an order of piesfor his mother. I always got

thesense that Ikindofmadehim jumpy, me being theboss’swifeandall.ThoughIneverquiteunderstoodwhy–Ialwayswentoutofmywayto be kind to the youngdeputy.

Billy brushed hisforehead with his hand,swiping at an imaginarystrandofhair.

He looked like aregretfulchildwaitingoutsidetheprincipal’soffice.

“Well…” he started inagain, swallowing back spit.“I,uh,Imessedsomethinguppretty bad here, Mrs.Brightman.”

He wiped his hands offon his khaki pants andstepped closer to the kitchenisland, his scuffed brownboots echoing on thelinoleumfloor.

I feltmy heart suddenlyspeed up, wondering ifsomething bad had happened

atthestation,andhewasheretotellmeaboutit.

I was about to saysomething, but then he musthavereadmythoughts.

“No, no,” he said,shaking his head. “Nothinglikethat.Everyone’sfine.It’sjust…”

He let out a long sigh,thenlookedupattheceiling.

“Shasta’s lost,” he said,swallowing hard. “And I’mgoing to be in a tornado of

troubleifIdon’tfindher.”

Chapter12

Pohly County Sheriff’sDeputy Billy Jasper was agoodguy.

What Tobias had saidabout him being as harmlessas a bee without a stinger?Well,hewasrightaboutthat.Unlike a lot of small townlaw enforcement types, Billydidn’t have ego or authorityissues. He helped old ladiescross the street. He dressed

up as an elf everyChristmasand was the face of thedepartment’s Shop with aCop program, which tookkids from low-incomefamilies and gave them achance toshopforChristmaspresentswith a deputy. Billyeven made special rum ballsevery year during Christmasand handed them out to hisco-workers.

Daniel liked himimmensely and never said a

bad word about Billy. But Icould read between the lineseasyenoughthroughDaniel’sstories.Billymighthavebeenagoodguy.Butwhenitcameto his police work, hewas alittle sloppy sometimes. Hewasn’t detail-oriented. Andhewasn’t exactly fast either.I’d heard that the formerSheriffTrumbowhadbeenonthe verge of firing Billybefore he was demoted frombeingSheriffthreeyearsago.

So when Billy told methat he lost Shasta, theSheriff’s Department’s brandnew bloodhound K-9, Icouldn’t say I was toosurprised.

What surprised me waswhy he was coming to meaboutit.

“How did it happen?” Iasked.

He played with his hatnervously.

“We were out on our

nightly walk yesterday. Youknow, on that path thatcrosses the riverandendsupat BrightStar Trail, near thedog park?Well, Shasta’s gotwhatIcallashybladder.Sheneeds togo,but shecan’tdoitifI’mholdingtheleash.SoI figure I’d let her go offleashforabit, justuntil,youknow, shedoesher business.But then I got a phone callfrom my mom. She’s beenbugging me for weeks now,

wanting to know if I’mbringing anybody special toChristmas dinner this year. Iguess I was talking to herlongerthanIthought.”

Heclearedhisthroatandlookeddownsheepishly.

“And, uh, when I hungup, Shasta wasn’t thereanymore. I called for her tocomeback,butshedidn’t.”

Heshookhishead.“I looked all over those

woods,Mrs.Brightman.Must

have spent half the nightcalling out for her, but shewasjust…”

Heswallowedhard.“Shewasjustgone.”Ibitmylowerlip.Thedepartmenthadonly

hadShastaforafewmonths.Billy was the one wholobbiedfortheideaofgettingapolicedog tohelpwith thecounty’s drug traffickingproblems.Hehadvolunteeredto take on the responsibility

of being the dog’s handler.The bloodhound, and thesubsequent training that bothit and Billy needed to takedown in California, had costthe department a prettypenny.

AndIwassuretheyhadexpected the investment tolast a little longer than threemonths.

“I’m so stupid,” Billysaid,shakinghishead.

Something about the

way he scolded himself likethat made my heart ache alittlebit.Itwaslikewatchingakidgetanexambackwithabadgradeonit.

Istoodupandwentovertohim.

“These things happen,Billy,” I said. “Now just…just takeaseathereand let’sthink about this for amoment.”

He gave in, finallyplopping down on the

barstool.Igrabbedamugoffone of the hooks above thecounter, and poured him acupofcoffee.

“Have you told Danielaboutthis?”Iasked.

Heshookhishead.“Howcome?”Heshrugged,lookingup

atmewithbig,guiltyeyes.“It’s just… I wanted to

be good at something, youknow?”he said, letting out araggedsigh.“Idon’tknowif

you noticed, but I’m notexactlySamSpadehere.Itry,but sometimes I wonder ifI’m cut out for this job. Ithought getting Shasta mightbe an opportunity for me toprove that I’m good atsomething. I’ve always beengoodwithdogs.

“Butasusual, I’vegoneandmesseditallup.”

He cupped his pudgyhandsaround thecoffeemuginfrontofhim.

“I don’t think Danielthinksofyoulikethat,Billy,”I said. “I think he’dunderstand if you told him.He’s an understanding guy,you know? And he believesinyou.”

He scrunched up hisface.

“Iknow,”hesaid.“Andthat’s what makes it worse,Mrs.Brightman.Ididn’twantto let him down. But here Iam,losinga$20,000dogand

all that training thedepartment went and paidfor.”

I had a hard time notgasping when I heard thevalueofthedog.

AscuteasShastawas,itwas hard to believe that apoochcouldcostthatmuch.

“Wellifyouhaven’ttoldDaniel yet, Billy, how comeyou’retellingme?”

A troubled look cameacrosshisface.

“It’s just that, I knowyou walk those dogs over atthe Humane Society,” hesaid. “I thought, you know,you could discreetly keep aneyeoutforShastathere.Andthat you could maybe keepthisjustbetweenus.”

He looked over at mewithpleadingeyes.

“I just don’t want it toembarrass the department isall,”hesaid.

I thought about the

proposition,andthennodded.“Okay, Billy,” I said.

“I’llkeepaneyeout,andI’llbe discreet about it. But ontwoconditions.”

He raised his eyebrows,waitingformore.

“Well, first, you’ve gottotellDaniel,”Isaid.“Ifyoudon’t tell him, then I’ll haveto. I’m sorry, but that’s justthewayitis.”

His face fell a little, butthenhenoddedsolemnly.

“Okay. What’s thesecondone?”

“The second one is thatyou sit here for a spell andenjoy some cherry pie,” Isaid,gettingupandgrabbingafreshplateforhim.

He nodded again. Butthis time, not quite assolemnly.

Chapter13

I tucked my hand into

the nook of Daniel’s armwhile we strolled pastMeadow Plaza, the lights onthe towering Christmas treeglowing as the winter sun’sdying rays turned the sky avividshadeofcranberry.

Thearomaofhotgingercinnamon pretzels waftedfrom the foodcart across the

plaza.WhenIclosedmyeyesand inhaled deeply, I couldalmost taste that buttery,spicy,flavorfulbread.Icouldalmost hear the drumsof theannual Christmas parade. Icould almost feel the chillyairfillingupmylungs.

I could almost feelWarren holding onto mymitten-coveredhand.

To me, that smell wasmy childhood. EveryDecember, Warren and I

would get our annual hotpretzel, come rain, snow,shine, ice, or mountainblizzards.

Exceptthisyear.The old man had come

back home from Scotlandwithhisgirlfriend,Aileen,forThanksgiving, and I hadhoped that they would havebeenable to stay through theholidays. But they hadalready made plans to spendChristmas with her family

backintheoldcountry.I’d been disappointed,

but I had tried to not let itshow.

Warren had onlyplanned to stay in Scotlandfor one year to study beer,which meant that he shouldhave been returning homethis January. But now thathe’dfallenforAileen,akind,lovely beer-brewing ladyfromGlasgow,itseemedthathis trip toScotlandwouldbe

extended indefinitely. Whenhe’d been here forThanksgiving, I’d asked himabouthisplans,buthedidn’tgive me much of an answerotherthanavagueone.

“I’mjustgonnawaitandsee which way the windblows,”hehadsaid.

That wind was clearlyblowingacrosstheAtlantic.

Itwas anodd sensation,to feel like an empty nesterwhenIwasthegranddaughter

and he was the grandfather.ButWarren had always beensuchabigpartofmylife,andit was hard not having himaround to talk nonsense anytimeIwanted.

But I knew that the oldman was happy where hewas. And I knew I had tocometotermswithhimbeinganoceanaway.

“Whatchya thinkingabout over there all sad like,Mrs. Brightman?” Daniel

said,glancingdownatme.I let out a short little

breath.“Aw, nothing

important,” I said. “Justthinkingabouttheoldmanisall.”

“So he’s not comingbackforChristmasItakeit?”heasked.

Ishookmyheadsadly.ItwasthefirstChristmas

that Warren wouldn’t bearoundfor.Ever.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll behome soon, Cin,” he said.“The man’s been bitten bylove, true enough. But if Iknow Warren, I bet he’smissing his granddaughterand all his friends back heresomethingawfultoo.”

“I hope so, anyway,” Isaid.

Just thena rowdygroupof middle-aged womenpassed us by, their shoppingbags swinging wildly. They

crowded our side of thesidewalk, and Daniel and Iwereforcedtostepaside.

As a general rule ofthumb,thedowntownareaofChristmas River was dead atthis hour of the evening.Butafter getting a sizeable grant,the folks at the ChristmasRiver Visitor’s Center hadbeendevisingallsortsofnewplans this year to draw inmoretouriststothearea.Oneof these ideas was called

Christmas River Friday, adowntown event that camearound the second Friday ofthe month. Instead ofshutteringup theirshopsat5o’clock, aswas customary ina town this size, the smallbusinessownersofChristmasRiverwouldkeep theirdoorsopen until 8 p.m., offeringbeer, wine, and small horsd’oeuvres to draw folks intotheir shops. Just beforemeeting up with Daniel, I’d

been talking with customerswhile dishing out freesamples of beer and pie.Butafter a few hours, I left therest up toChrissy andTiana,and hotfooted it out of thereto do some shopping of myownwithmyhusband.

“So, uh, did Billy tellyou about Shasta?” I said,glancing up at Daniel as westarted strolling again, tryingtogaugehisreaction.

But it didn’t take a

detective to figure out howDaniel felt about themissingdog. There was a flash offrustration that came acrosshiseyes.

“Hedid,”Danielsaid.“Idon’tknowwhyhedidn’tjustcome to me first. Foolish,involvingyouwiththis.”

It was the first crossword Daniel had ever saidaboutDeputyBillyJasper.

“I think he just didn’twant to disappoint you,” I

said.“Well,thenheshouldn’t

havelostthedamn—”He stopped mid-

sentence, looking down atme.

“I’m sorry,” he said,shakinghishead.“Ishouldn’tletmy tempergetawayfromme. It was an accident, andBillywas just doing the bestthat he could. It’s just…Sometimes, I think this kidhas a lot of potential, you

know?AndIkeepwantingtoseehimliveuptoit.Buthe’sjustcarelesssometimes.”

“Iknow,”Isaid.“Ithinkhe knows that too. He saidthat’s why he wanted to getthe dog so bad. He reallywanted to show you that hecouldexcelatsomething.”

“And he was,” Danielsaid. “He was doing a greatjobwithShasta.But losinga$20,000 dog isn’t a smallthing.Ourdepartment’sbeen

tryinghardforalongwhiletoget that dog as drugtrafficking’s gotten worse inthe county.We’ve never hadthe funding up until thisyear.”

Danielrubbedhisface.“It’s not going to be

prettyforanyofusifthisgetsout,”hesaid.

I felt my gut tighten alittleatthetoneinhisvoice.

I guess I hadn’t exactlyseenhowseriousthesituation

was. I thought the blamewould most likely fall onBilly’s shoulders, but now Icouldseethatwasn’twhereitwasgoingtostop.

I stopped walking for amoment,searchinghisface.

“But how could anyoneblame you for it?” I said. “ItwasBilly’sresponsibility.”

“It doesn’t work likethat,” he said. “I’m thesheriff. The responsibilitystarts and ends with me. No

matterwhat.”“Youthinkit’llbebad?”

Isaid.“Itwon’tcometoit,”he

said,shakinghishead.“We’llfindthedog.”

He said the words butdidn’tseemtobeasconfidentas he normally was when hesaid he was going to dosomething.

Heplacedanarmaroundmyshoulder.

“Enough about that,

though,” he said. “I thoughtwewereouthere todosomeshopping.”

Iforcedasmile.“You’re right,” I said.

“Let’s keep our eyes on theprize.”

Chapter14

I gazed longingly into

the glass display window ofLoretta’sCowgirlDepot,myheart having just been stolenrightoutofmychest.

For themostpart, Iwasa down-to-earth gal. I didn’tneed diamonds or jewelry orfancy, expensive trips toexotic locales to keep mehappy. I didn’t needmuchat

all,infact.But every once in a

while,aswiththemajorityofwomen I suspected, I cameacross something that justcompletelytookmebystorm.Something that made medrool with a kind of mad,materialistic desire thatcouldn’t be quenched anyother way other than with aswiftswipeofthecreditcard.

Andforme,thefirered,intricately tooled, vintage

leather Lucchese cowboybootssittingintheglasscaseof Loretta’s Cowgirl DepotwasaLevel5hurricaneuntoitself.

I must have tried theboots on half a dozen timesalready over the past fewmonths. Every time I worethem, I felt like I wastransformed into some sassycowgirl who couldn’t bestopped. Like I was VictoriaBarkley or June Carter Cash

or Annie Oakley. The bootswereperfectionineveryway.

Everywaybuttheprice.The boots cost an arm

and a leg, and thatwas evenwith the 10 percent off dealthe Cowgirl Depot washavingthisevening.

They were way overanything I could afford.Andthe practical side of me justcouldn’t bring myself tospend thatmuchonapairofboots.

Still, sometimes when Ihadasparemomentfromthepie shop, or like tonight onChristmas River Friday, Ifound myself at this verywindow,staringat theseveryboots like they were aphotograph of a long lostlove.

They were gut-wrenchinglystunning.

A sales lady with theCowgirl Depot suddenlycame up to the display case.

Shereachedaround,grabbingtheverybootsIhadmyheartset on. Shewent back, and Icouldseeherhandingthemtoa middle-aged woman wholooked like one of thosewealthy West Hills typesfrom Portland. The lady satdown on a footstool andbegantakinghershoesoff.

Myheartsank.“I thought I might find

you here,” Daniel said,coming up beside me

suddenly.We had split up for a

spellwhileIwasgettingKaraa gift for her upcomingweddingshowerat theBabesinArmsChildren’sStore.

I glanced up at him,trying not to let on just howdevastated Iwas to see thosebootsonthefeetofsomebodyelse.

I hadn’t told Danielabout my infatuation withthem. I knew that if I did,

he’d do everything in hispower to get them for me.And Icouldn’thave that.Allhe knew was how much Ilikedthisstore.

“Are you finishedshopping?”Isaid.

“Suream,”hesaid.“Areyou?”

I nodded. We startedheading for the car, crossingMainStreet.

But we didn’t get veryfar before I found myself

stoppingdeadinmytracks.A large crowd was

blocking the entire width ofthe sidewalk in front of us,spillingoutintothestreet.

IfIdidn’tknowbetter,Iwouldhave thought someonehad collapsed and the wholeof downtown had gatheredaround them, waiting for theambulancetoarrive.

ButIdidknowbetter.I looked over across the

street,atCinnamon’sPies.

The lights were on, andthrough the window I couldsee Chrissy and Tiana at thefrontofthehouse.

But the place waspracticallyaghosttown.

I looked over atDaniel,myeyessayingitall.

Hegrabbedaholdofmyhand as we turned backaround,leavingthecrowdsofPepper’sPiesbehind.

“Wanna get a drinkbefore we go home?” he

asked.At that moment, I

couldn’t think of anythingbetter.

My throat had gonecompletelydry.

Chapter15

Therewas something so

pleasantaboutgettingaglassofwhiskey down at the PineNeedle Tavern with myhusband.

It seemed that betweenourbusyschedules,werarelyhadtimetogooutfordinner,let alone for a drink. Butbeing here in the crowdedbar, The Ronettes playing

loudoverthestereo,thesmellof worn whiskey hanging inthe air, the familiar cheerfulholiday spirit that the placehad this time of year…somethingabout itallwentalongways tomakingmefeelbetter.

I think the atmospheredidthesameforDaniel.

We sat at the crowdedbar,acoupleofWildTurkeyssitting pretty in front of us.Catchinguponourbusylives

likeoldfriendswhohadbeenmissing each other’scompanyforawhile.

“So you guys still haveno leads on that chickenslaughter out on MirthRoad?”Iasked.

Danielshookhishead.“No fingerprints, no

witnesses, no nothing,” hesaid.

Aweek earlier,RowenaParker, a Pohly County cityhall secretary who kept a

sizeable chicken coop on herproperty,hadbeenthevictimof a heinous crime. Sheawokeonemorningtofindallthe chickens in her coopdead. Days had passed, butthe Sheriff’s Office wasn’tanyclosertofindingoutwhodidit.

Danielsaidhethoughtitmight have been some kids,andthatthatworriedhim.Aswas a well-known fact,torturing animals usually led

tootherterriblethings,whichmadeDanielwanttofindoutwho was behind the chickenslayingallthemore.

“I’ve got Owen andTrumbow on it,” he said.“They’ll come up withsomething.”

Heleanedback,crossinghimarms.

“So she’s entered in thegingerbread competitiontoo?” he asked, changing thedirection of the conversation

unexpectedly.I nodded, knowing right

away who he was referringto.

Earlier, we’d beentalking about Pepper Poseyand her new bakery thateveryone in this towncouldn’t seem to get enoughof.

“Well, I for one lookforward to seeing you beather,” he said. “No one canhold a candle to your

gingerbreadhouse talent,andyouknowit.”

I forced a smile, thoughIwashaving troublekeepingit.

Danieltookalongsipofhis whiskey, setting it backonthebar.

“Aw, Cin, you’ve gotnothing to worry about,” hesaid. “That’s how everybodyiswithnewthings.Especiallyinasmalltown.Butgiveitamonth, and people ‘round

herewillseewhat’swhat.”“But have you tried one

of her pastries?” I said. “Shestudied inFrance.Howcan Icompete with that? Nowonder they’re lining uparound the block to get intothatshopofhers.”

“Cin, you know thepeople in this town just asgoodasIdo,”hesaid.“Thesefolks are basic, blue-collaredtypes. They’re not going togoforall thatfancy,hard-to-

pronounce, over-the-topnonsense.”

“Youthinkso?”“‘Course,”hesaid.“You

see, there are two types ofpeople in the world, Cin.There’s them uppity folkswho like to call things byfancynamesandpretendlikethat knowledge makes thembetter than the rest of us.That’s one kind of people.Then there’s the other kind.Youknowwhotheyare?”

Ishookmyhead.“Well,they’regoodold-

fashioned black-coffee, piefolks. Folks who work hard,and want to eat the kind offood theygrewupwith.Andyou know which kind ofpeoplethistownischockfullof?”

I smiled, knowing theanswer.

“The second kind, Cin.So I say just let that Pepperhave hermoment in the sun,

andseewhereyouallareinafewmonths.Okay?”

Danielalwayshadawayof putting things that mademefeelbetter.

Ipickedupmyglassandclinkeditagainsthis.

“To the second kind,” Isaid.

He grinned back,returning the gesture. Idowned the rest of thewhiskey, letting the goldliquidwarmmeupnice.

“You tired?” he said.“Youwanttogohome?”

Ishookmyhead.“Naw,” I said, resting

my hand on his arm. “Let’sstay a spell. I kind of likedrinking with you, DanielBrightman.”

“Well, that’s lucky.Because I kind of likedrinkingwithyou,CinnamonPeters.”

I smiled as he signaledHarold for another round of

whiskies.

Chapter16

“I just don’t knowwhat

I’mgoingtodowithouther,”themanwiththeloosenedtiesaid,leaningforwardsloppilyagainstthepinebar.“Shewaseverything to me.Everything.”

He rubbed his sweatyface,leaninghispalmsonhistemples, keeping his eyesclosedforalongwhile.Asif

henolongerhadthestrengthtoopenthem.

IglancedoveratDanieland raised an eyebrow.Hoping he’d pick up on mynon-verbalcuethatweshouldskedaddle before we got intoo deep of a conversationwithaplasteredPeteBurgessabout his wife, who hadrecently left him for anotherman.

But Daniel, being thekind-heartedguythathewas,

didn’tseemtopickuponmyhints to ditch Pete Burgessbeforehestartedblubbering.

“Aw, there’s plenty offish out there in the pond,Pete,” Daniel said, leaningover me so Pete could hearhim.“Itjusttakestime.”

Pete leaned back andgroaned, keeping his eyesshut tight. Then he startedshakinghisheadsomemore.

Or maybe Daniel wasindulgingPeteBurgessoutof

respect.PetehadbeenontheChristmas River city councilfor eight years now, but hadrecently lost his seat duringtheelectionthisNovembertoa bright and perky thirty-somethinggalwhoworkedatthe community college.Rumorhaditthattheelectionresult had been quitedevastating to thecouncilman.Acoupleofdaysaftertheelection,hiswifelefthim for another man on the

other side of the mountains,and ever since, town gossiphad it that Pete had beenspendingmost of hiswakinghours down here at the PineNeedleTavern.When he didshow up to the city councilmeetings, he was hardlycoherent,goingonabouthowmuch he’d given to thepeople of Christmas River,and how little he wasappreciated by everyone.Blaming everybody else but

himself for his wife leavinghim. One of his rants madefront page news in theRedmond Register, the bigpaper a few towns over. Thearticle had been written byErikAndersen, a reporter I’dcome to know this pastsummer.

“But what does Daisyhave to do with fish?” Petemumbledincoherently,takingapullontherumandcokeinfrontofhim.

Ifurrowedmybrow.I’d always thought his

wife’snamewasBarbara.Danielappearedtobeas

confusedasIwas.“I’m afraid I’m not

following you, Pete,” Danielsaid,leaningback.

The councilman startedchuckling.

“Get in line, buddyboy,” he said. “More thanhalfthetownalreadycametothat conclusion in

November.”He took another sloppy

swig of his rum and coke. Inudged Daniel’s arm, andstarted putting my coat andscarfon.

Itwasbest togetoutofthese kinds of things beforethey turned uglier than theyalreadywere.

Pete looked over at me,his eyelids swollen with theliquor. He pushed his handthroughtheair,asifswatting

animaginaryfly.“I’mnot thatdrunk,”he

said. “I’m just talking aboutmyShihTzu,issall.”

“Your dog?” Danielasked.

Petenodded.“Lost her a week ago,”

he said. “She wanted out inthemiddle of the night. Hadto use the ladies’ room. So Iletherout.Butwedon’thavea fence. It’s never been aproblem before. ‘Cept this

time, Daisy didn’t comeback.”

Herubbedhisface.“That dogwas all I had

left,” he said. “Aman’s bestfriend,myDaisy.”

He sighed, large drunktearswellingupinhiseyes.

“Now I’ve got not asoul.”

Themancrumbledfasterthan a brittle gingerbreadhouse hit by a snowstorm offrosting.

Daniel puckered his lipsas Pete Burgess startedconvulsing with sobs. A fewfolks aroundus hushed, theireyeswanderinginourgeneraldirection. Watching as thetrain derailed and crashedhead-firstintoaditchofself-pity.

Danielplacedahandonthecouncilman’sback

“C’mon, Pete,” he said.“Let’sgetyououtofhere.”

Chapter17

We stood outside the

bar, watching the cab pullPete Burgess away into thelonelyfrostynight.

“Poorguy,”Imuttered.“Yeah,” Daniel said.

“The man’s whole life fellapart inside of a month. Iwasn’t ever exactly a fan ofhis,butItellyou,Idon’tlikeseeinghimenduplikethis.”

“Well, at least we gothim out of the bar,” I said.“Saved him a few moreregretsmaybe.”

“Yeah,maybe,”he said,tiltinghisheadback, lookingup at the stars above thattwinkled like a thousandtambourines in the blacknight.

He breathed in deeply.The pine-scented air was socrisp and clean this time ofyear,itwasalmostsurreal.

“You feel like leavingthe car here overnight andwalking home, Mrs.Brightman?”hesaid.

It was cold out, butnothing like it could be uphere in the mountains thistimeofyear.Homewasonlyaboutamileandahalfaway– hardly any distance really.Thewhiskeyhadwarmedmeup nice, and besides, I hadgood company for thedurationofthewalk.

“I’myourgal,”Isaid.I took his arm, and we

strolled along the snowystreetsofdowntown,dodgingin and out of the light fromthe streetlamps. The snowwas leftover from theThanksgiving storm, and thechilly temperatures had keptthe white stuff hard enoughsothatitwaseasytowalkin.

“Seemslikealotofdogshave gone missing lately,” Isaid as we crossed Main

Street and took a left onOrnamentRoad.

“You mean with BillylosingShasta?”hesaid.

“Yeah.That, and I sawthatJulianneReddinglostherdogtoo.Therewasamissingflyer for Harley on TinselStreet.”

Henearlystoppedinhistracks.

“Really?”Inodded.“Hmm,” he muttered,

strokinghischin.“You think there’s a

connection between all ofthem?”

He stared off into thedark night, deep in thoughtfor a moment. Then heglancedbackdownatme.

“My little conspiracytheorist,”hesaid,grinning.

I punched him in theshoulderplayfully.

“I’llhaveyouknowthatmany a theory of mine has

proven to be true,” I said.“I’mthinkingthatreally,youought to be payingme somecommissiononthesecasesofyours, Sheriff Brightman.You know, like you mightpay one of them psychicswho helps you find thebodies?”

Danielstartedchuckling.“You’ve been watching

toomuchTV,Cin,”hesaid.“Naw, I think I know

whatIoughtabepaid,”Isaid.

“And thus far, yourdepartment has been gettingme for a steal. But that’s allchangingintheNewYear,letme tell you, Sheriff. Pricesare going up everywhere,including the privateinvestigatorbusiness.”

“Then I guess I betterget in on the deal while Ican,”hesaid.

“I guess you better,” Isaid.

Suddenly, as we came

up upon one of thestreetlamps, Daniel stopped.He grabbed me, picking meupoffmy feet, and throwingmeoverhisshoulder.

“Daniel Brightman!” Ishouted. “What are youdoing!?”

“Getting in on the dealwhile I still can,” he said,pickingupthepace.

I swung at his arms,trying in vain to get him toput me down, but it was no

use.Webothstartedlaughinguncontrollably. A fewmoments later, he hadcollapsed onto a patch ofsnow next to the sidewalk.Wewerebothontheground,thesoundofourmadlaughterechoing around the emptystreet.

“Too much whiskey,Daniel Brightman,” I said,tackling him after thelaughinghaddieddown.

“Naw,” he said, pulling

mecloser.“Ithinkitwasjusttherightamount.”

Irestedonhischestandhe kissedme tenderly on thelips.Ipulledawayamoment,glancing around, wonderingifwewere actually alone, orifwewereondisplayfor thewholeneighborhoodtosee.

“Let them talk,Cin,”hesaid, kissingme again, thosewhiskeykissesofhislightinguparoaringfireinmesothatI didn’t feel the cold, the

snow, or the flakes that hadstarted falling from the skyaroundus.

After a moment, hewrapped his arm around meand I rested my head on hisshoulder. We just lay therelikethatonthepatchofsnow,watching the soft flakes driftdown.

In the pale light of thestreetlamp,Icouldseethathestill had just the faintest oftans from our Maui

honeymoonthemonthbefore.AndwhenIleanedinclose,itwasalmostasifIcouldsmelljust a trace of coconut andsaltwateronhisskin.

He rubbedmy shoulder,letting out a long frostybreathupintothenight.

“So how’s Kara doingwith all the wedding stuff?”heasked.

Ismiled.“Thewoman’soutofher

mind,” Isaid.“Doyouknow

what she told me the otherday? She said she’s planningto wood burn the entirety ofher vows onto a slab ofjuniper,which she’sgoing toholdup thereat thealtar.Doyou know how long it tookhertoburnjustonenametheotherdaywhenshewasdoingthe place cards? Eightminutes.”

“How long are hervows?”

“Last I saw, they were

tenpageslong.”Daniel chuckled, his

chest reverberating beneathme.

“I’d expect nothing lessfromKara,”hesaid.

“Me neither,” I said.“The wedding’s going to bebeautiful, there’s no doubtabout that. But I’m justworried that she won’t havemuch of her mind left whenallissaidanddone.”

“How’s she doing with

all the baby stuff in themeantime?”

“Good, I think,” I said.“Ithinkshe’salittlenervous,butIcantellthatshe’sreallyexcitedtobeamom.”

“Yeah?”Inodded.“Iguessthosetwoarein

forsomebigchangesahead,”hesaid.

“That they are,” I said,pulling him closer andbreathingindeeply.

He looked down at methen.

“A lot of diapers andheadaches, probably,” hesaid.

“Probably,” I agreed,lookingupathim.

“Alotofbedtimestoriesandsleeplessnights.”

“Mostlikely.”“But maybe something

elsetoo,”hesaid.He searched my eyes. I

feltmyheartskipafewbeats,

thenflutterwildly.“Something on your

mind?”Iwhispered.He held me tight,

pausingforafewmoments.“Something for another

time,” he said, kissing melightly on the nose.“Something for when thewhiskeywearsoff.”

Ismiled.After a few moments

like that,we finally got backup on our feet. We strolled

the rest of the way homethrough the feather-lightsnowflakes,swirlingaround.

Thewindblewcold,andtheairbitatmycheekswithachilly ferocity, but I didn’tfeelanyofit.

Becauseinside,myheartwas glowing brighter than awarmsummersun.

Chapter18

It had been a long, long

time since I’d come to workwithahangover.

Itwasn’tasifIevenhadalottodrinkthenightbefore.But the truth of itwas that Iwasn’t as young as I used tobe.And sometimes even justone whiskey after 7 p.m.wouldjusthitwrong,makingfor a sluggish morning that

involved knocking backAdvilandsippingonsoda.

Still, I didn’t mindsuffering the after effects oftoo much drinking all thatmuch. Very rarely werehangovers worth the nightsthat caused them, but in thecase of last night, theheadache and shaky stomachwere every bit worth themagicaleveningI’dhadwithDaniel.

Itwasstilllikethat,even

after being together foralmost three years. When Iwaswithhim,itwasasiftherest of the world, itsproblems, difficulties, andcompeting pie shops…all ofit just fell away. And it wasjustthetwoofus.Justusandourhopesanddreamsfor thefuture.

I spent themorning inabitofadaze,makingacouplebatches of Whiskey Applepies, and Cranberry Pear

Walnuts. The front of thehouse was once again lesscrowded than usual, the wayit had been since Pepper’sPies had opened across thestreet.But I triednot to let itbothermetoomuch.Itriedtoremember what Daniel hadsaid. About the town beingfull of the second kind offolks: the downhome, blue-collared,blackcoffeeandpiefolks. And that those peoplewould eventually find their

waybackhometomyshop.Just after lunch, I took

myusualbreak.Iheadedoverto the shelter to pick upChadwick.

I figured that today,though, instead of our usualroute down Tinsel Street,we’d change it up and gosomewhereelse forourdailywalk.

ThewayIsawit,maybethere was something I coulddo to help Billy and the

department, beyond justcheckinginwiththeHumaneSociety.

Chapter19

I walked along the path

on the BrightStar Trail, awoodsy, winding area thatwas on the north side ofChristmas River. The areawas known for its expansivedog park, its twisty bikingtrails, and its lovelyviewsofthe Cascade Mountains oncleardays.

Chadwick trotted out in

front of me on the path, hisshort legs sinking into thepowder that had fallen thenight before. Themild stormhad frosted the forest in alayer of fluffy, buttercreamsnow. It had also seemed tobring a stillness with it. Thebirds were silent, and thesound of our footstepsseemed to echo endlesslythroughthetrees.

The fresh air and prettysceneryallwentquiteaways

todispellingmyhangover.I didn’t know exactly

what I expected to find outhere, at the place whereShasta and JulianneRedding’s dog, Harley, haddisappeared. I guess in somesort of fantasy land, I washalfhopingthatShastawouldcome bounding up from oneof the paths, and that thedepartment’s reputationwould be saved. But as Iwalked into thesilentwoods,

it seemed as if that littlescenario would stay exactlywhere it started: in myimagination.

Ithadworriedmesome,the way Daniel had talkedabout the responsibility oflosing Shasta getting laid athis feet. Billy may have lostthe dog, but Daniel was theone who was going to takemost of the heat for it. Iimagined once the newscaught wind of the story,

they’dgototownonit.PohlySheriff’sOfficeloses$20,000K-9. Itwas the kind of thingfolkswould like tomake funof. And even worse,something that might makesome of those tax payersangry. Something thatwouldno doubt be brought up infutureSheriff’selections.

Ishookmyhead.Billy really should have

beenpayingmoreattentiontoShastathatnight.

Chadwick stoppedwalking,thewayhedidwhenhewas about to collapse andstay put. I started tugging onthe leash, trying to avoid anall-outbattlebystoppinghimbefore his legs gave out.Butthen something caught hisattention in the distance, andhestoodstraightup.

Ifollowedhisgaze.Somebody was walking

along the path up ahead. Isquinted, and it took me a

moment to figure out inwhich direction the personwaswalking.

Chadwick startedwagginghistailandbarking.

I firmly held onto theleashasthewomancameintofocus. She was in her mid-forties, and was wearing agreen fleece jacket, darkjeans, and rubber boots. Shehad closely cropped red hairand pale skin. She wascarryingastackofsomething

inoneofherarms.A few moments later, I

recognizedwhoitwas.“Hi, Julianne,” I said as

sheapproached.She was looking down,

as if in a state of deepconcentration. She didn’trespondoracknowledgeme.

“Hi, Julianne,” I saidagain,thistimelouder.

She glanced up, lookingas if she’d just been awokenfromadarkdream.Shestared

at me for a second as if shedidn’t know who I was. Butthen, a look of recognitionsweptacrossherface.

“Oh, hi,” she said,shaking her head. “Jeez, I’msorry. I was miles away justnow.”

“It’s okay,” I said.“These woods have thateffectsometimes.”

She looked down atChadwick,who Iwashavinga devil of a time keeping

from jumping all over her.The pooch didn’t weighmuch, but he had a lot ofstrength and was morehardheaded than a bighornsheepwhen he wanted to dosomething.

“Cute dog,” Juliannesaid glumly. “What’s hisname?”

“Chadwick,”Isaid.Shesmiledsadly.Ilookedatwhatshewas

carryinginherhands.Itwasa

stack of flyers that Irecognizedasbeingthesamemissing posters that I’d seenstapled to the telephone poleonTinselStreettheotherday.

“I’m so sorry to hearaboutHarley,”Isaid.

She nodded, taking in asharpbreath.

“I’m just besidemyself,Cinnamon,”shesaid.“Besidemyself.”

“How did it happen, ifyoudon’tmindmeasking?”I

said.Shesighed.“Well, I was walking

him out here in these woodsaboutaweekago.IneverputHarley on a leash, ‘cuz he’ssuch a good dog that there’sno reason to. But when wewere out here, Harleysuddenly stops walking, andhisearsprickup.NextthingIknow,Harleytakesoff likeabat out of hell. I went afterhim, but he was too fast for

me. He disappearedsomewhere over the hillthere, and I started callingafterhim.Andthen…”

Shegulpedbackhard.“Then there was just

silence. Just a dreadfulsilence.”

Sheplacedaleather-cladhand up to her face, andshookherhead.

“I’veplasteredthewholetown with missing posters,but nobody’s seen Harley.

I’ve come here to this traileverydaysincethen, lookingforhim.But it’s as ifhe justvanishedintothewoods.”

Ibitmylip.Her story sounded

awfullyfamiliar.“I’m really sorry,

Julianne,”Isaid.She sighed, thenhanded

meoneoftheflyers.“Justletmeknowifyou

seemybaby,”shesaid.“He’sa nice dog. If you whistle

threetimes,he’llcome.”Inodded.“See you at the

Junction?”Iasked.“The what?” she said,

confused.“The Gingerbread

Junction,”Isaid.“You’restilljudging this year, aren’tyou?”

“Oh, of course,” shesaid, pressing her handup toherforehead.“I’llbethere,asalways.”

ShetookonelastlookatChadwick, sighed, and thenwent on herway, dragging awhole train of gloom behindher.

I lookedat theposter inmy hands again, peering atHarley’ssweetface.

ThenIglancedaround.The woods were as still

asever.A chill ran down my

spine.I didn’t kid myself: I

wasn’tanykindofdetective.But this… this all

seemed too much of acoincidencetome.

Something fishy wasgoing on. And I suddenlysuspected that Shasta’sdisappearance had less to dowith Billy’s careless waysthan it did with somethingmoresinister.

Threedogsdisappearingwithout a trace, within oneweek of each other, just

wasn’t the kind of thing thathappened in a town as smallasChristmasRiver.

Chapter20

I held my breath, doing

everything I could to holdback the onslaught ofHurricaneCinnamon.

But just as it had beenuseless in the previous fivesneezes, itwas no use tryingtoholdbackthisoneeither.

I tried to turn away, butthedamagewasalreadydone.

Glitter, dried orange

peel,andwoodshavingswentflying across the table inresponse tomywild and outof control sneeze. When Iopened my eyes again, Irealized that both Kara andher friend Brad were staringatme.

“Gazuntite,”Bradfinallysaid, pulling yet anotherKleenex from theboxon theopposite end of the craftingtableandhandingittome.

Inoddedgratefully.

I didn’t know if it wasthe essence of vanilla, theorange peel, the cardamom,thecloves,orthewoodchips,but something about thepotpourri gift bags we weremaking for Kara’s weddingguests was having a severedisagreement with my nasalpassages.

“Do you want to stepoutside and get some freshair, Cin?” Kara asked,lookingupatme.

“Noway.IsaidI’dhelpyou make these, and that’swhatI’mgoingtodo.”

I went back to tossingthe wood shavings, essentialoils, dried orange peels,juniper berries, and pinecones together in a largebowl.

I was so eager to helpKara with all her weddingpreparations, especially sinceshe’dbeensohelpfulwithmyownweddingtheyearbefore.

But, as was true with theotherweddingactivities,evenmaking potpourri proved tobeahurdleforme.

Brad, who had morecraftingabilitiesinonepinkythanIdidinmyentirebeing,hadbeenamuchbiggerhelpinthatdepartment.

“Cin, if the smells arebugging you, you don’t haveto be doing this,” Kara said.“Brad and I have it undercontrol.”

Iwavedmyhandather.“What kind of maid of

honor would I be if I didn’thelpthebridemakepotpourriforthegiftbags?”

Karashrugged.“One that wasn’t

showeringthetableeveryfewminutes,”shesaid.

“I’m fine,” I said,wiping at my nose with theKleenex.“Really.”

We sat there in silencefor a while, mixing up

batches of the potpourri. Itwas around 6 p.m. and I’djust closed the shop for theday,jauntingacrossthestreetto Kara’s ornament store tohelphermakethesegiftbags.IfIwasbeinghonest,IwouldhavepreferredtoworkonmyDr. Zhivago ice palacegingerbread house thisevening rather than tossingtogether wood chips. But Ifelt like I’d been a subparmaidofhonor thusfar,andI

knewthatIhadtodoabetterjob of prioritizing theweddingduties.

I added a few drops oforangeessencetothebatchofpotpourri in front ofme.Mynose began tickling, and Istarted breathing in deeply,feeling yet another sneezecomingon.ButIwasable tostifle it before it got anyfarther. Kara shot a glanceoveratBrad.

Ismiledsheepishly.

“Falsealarm,”Isaid.“So, Cinnamon,” Brad

said, adjusting his hipster,black-rimmed glasses. “IheardarumorIwantedtoaskyouabout.”

“Ohyeah?”Isaid.Henodded.I didn’t know Brad all

that well. But the little I didknowofhim,I liked.HeandKarahaddatedforasummerbackwhen theywere in theirearly 20s, before he realized

hewasgay.He’dbeenlivinginPortlandforabout12yearsbefore recently moving backhometoChristmasRiver.Heowned his own interiordesign business with hispartner,Will.

Earlier in the year, I’dgotten some pretty crazyideas about Brad and hisintentions when it came toKara. But now that we hadhung out a few times, I sawthat I had been completely

wrong about him. Brad waswarm,funny,andhadabrightpersonality that lit up theroom. He’d been a goodfriendtoKara,andhe’dbeena tremendous help with herwedding so far. He’d helpedmeplanhersurpriseweddingshower coming up thisweekend, and had evenoffered to pick Kara’s momupfromtheairport,whowasflying in from Florida as asurprise.

“You’re killingmewiththesuspense,”Isaid.“What’sthisrumor,then?”

“Well,”he said,pausingfor a moment. “I’mredesigning Marilyn Jasper’sfoyer this week. The womanwon’t letmeget amoment’speacewhileI’mworking.Shejust talks and gossips andtalks and gossips. Yesterdayshewas tellingme about herson,Billy, you know, one ofthe Pohly County Sheriff’s

deputies?”I felt my stomach

tighten.As of now, the lid had

still been kept shut on theSheriff’s Department’smissing K-9. But I had afeeling that keeping a secretthat big in a town this smallwouldbeadifficulttask.

“Really?”Isaid,playingdumb, like I didn’t knowwhathewastalkingabout.

“Yeah,” Brad said.

“Mrs. Jasper told me, and Iquote, ‘That foolish son ofmine went and lost himselfthat20-granddog.’”

Brad made open andclose quotation marks in theairwithhisfingersashesaidit. I tried to keepmy face asexpressionlessaspossible.

“Wow,” I said. “Really?I don’t know anything aboutth—”

“C’monCin,”Karasaid,giving me a deadpan

expression.“We’reallfriendshere. And don’t tell me thatyouandthesheriffdon’t talkaboutthesethings.”

Iheldmybreathinforamoment, looking back andforthbetweenthem.

Karaknewme toowell.She always could see rightthroughmyB.S.

“Fine,” I said in a lowvoice. “But what I tell youcan’tgobeyondthisroom,orsome good people are going

tobeintrouble.Gotit?”Brad stared at me with

largeeyes.“Iwon’tsayathing,”he

said.“Of course, Cin,” Kara

said, putting down the bottleof vanilla essence she washoldingandleaningforward.

Iletoutaraggedbreath,andthentoldthemwhatBillyhad told me about how he’dlostShasta.Abouthowmuchtroubleitwouldcauseifitgot

out that the Pohly CountySheriff’sDepartmentjustlosta $20,000 investment. Aboutthe other dogs that had gonemissinginthelastweek.

About how I thought itwasallabittoostrangetobeacoincidence.

Brad kept a seriousexpression on his face,listening intently to everywordIsaid.

“I know it all sounds alittle farfetched,” Isaid.“But

I have to think that if thesedogs did indeed actually runaway, then at least one ofthemwouldhavebeen foundby now. Either they’d havebeenhitbyacarorturnedupat theHumaneSociety.Evenif a wolf got them, you’dhave to think there’d beremains of some sort. Butthere’s been nothing on anyofthem.Nothingatall.”

Brad scratched his chinforamoment.

“You know, it remindsme of something,” he said.“Something that happened toWillonce.”

“Really?”Karasaid.Henodded.“This was about six

years ago, awhile beforewestarted dating. But when hewas living in Portland, Willhad this miniature bull dog.Reginaldwasitsname.”

Bradshookhishead.“I still don’t knowwho

names a dog Reginaldanyway.”

“What happened?” Iasked.

“Well, Will told me hewas walking Reginald inLaurelhurstPark.There’sthisoff-leash area in the park, soWill let Reginald roam freefor a little bit. But the dogwandered off, and then Willcouldn’t findhim.He lookedall over, but it was likeReginald had just

disappeared.“So Will did what any

dog owner would: he put upmissing posters all over thepark,promisinganicerewardto anybody who brought thedog back. After a few days,he still had no luck. Hestarted thinking that maybehe’d never see little Reggieagain. But then he gets thisphone call from thiswoman,saying that she thinks shemight have come across his

dog.Well,Willwas ecstatic,so he gives her his address,and she comes over, and loand behold, it is Reginald. Iguess she had found thepoochwanderingaloneinthewoodsclosetotheparkwhileshe was on a run with herPSUcross-countryteam.Willis so happy, he gives thisyoung woman an extrahundreddollarson topof thereward.”

Bradshookhishead.

“Butaftera fewdaysofhaving Reggie home, Willstarted thinking thatsomething was off about thewhole thing. He startedthinking that if the dog hadreallybeeninthosewoodsfora few days, he would havebeen all muddy and dirtywhenhegotback.Buthewasas clean as the dayWill losthimwhenhewasreturned.

“Then Will said themorehe thoughtabout it, the

more familiar the girl whofound him looked. Willthought that he must haveseenherthedayReggiewentmissing.HewentsofarastocallPortlandStateUniversityto see if there was a girl byhernameonthecrosscountryteam there. Turns out, therewasn’t.”

“So it was a scam?” Isaid.

Henodded.“Pretty sure, anyway. In

a town like Portland, wherefolkslovetheirdogssomuch,I bet a dog kidnapper canmakeaprettypennyallright.So long as they don’t getcaught.”

Ifurrowedmybrow.“Do you think that’s

what could be going onhere?”

Heshrugged.“I’m not saying that,

necessarily,” he said. “But IbettheSheriff’sOfficewould

offer a nice reward foranybodywhofindsthatK-9.”

“Howdoes a dog get tobe worth $20,000 anyway?”Karaasked.

“I guess there’s a lot oftraining involved,” I said.“BillywasdowninCaliforniafor two weeks in the fallgetting trained with the dog.It’s highly specialized, Iguess.ThentheyhadtooutfitBilly’s patrol car for Shasta.Thenthereareotherexpenses

tooforthedog’scare.”“His mom told me all

about that too,” Brad said.“Said Billy slipped, trippedand fell in love with somedog trainer lady down there,and that hewasn’t paying asclose attention in training asheshouldhavebeen.”

Iletoutashortsigh.Not that Billy didn’t

deserve some scolding forlosingthedog,buthismotherseemed like a real piece of

work. I was sure that thataccounted, at least in somesmall part, for the way theyoung deputy got down onhimselfaboutthings.

“Well, if you all docome across that dog, wouldyou let Daniel know rightaway?” I said. “‘Cuz I’mafraidthatalloftheblameforthis is going to fall on hisshoulders if that K-9 isn’tfoundsoon.”

Karalookedatmewitha

concernedexpression.“Is it serious?” she

asked.Ishrugged.“I don’t really know,” I

said.A silence fell over the

craftingstudio.It lastedforafewawkwardmoments.

“I’m sure everything’sgoing to be just fine,” Karasaid, going back to tossingwoodchips together. “Thesethings usually work

themselvesout.”“Yeah,” Brad said. “In

the meantime, I’ll keep myeyespeeledforthatdog.”

“Metoo,”Karasaid.Shepeeredatmeforjust

alittlebittoolong,thenwentbacktohercrafting.

I bit my lip, and thentriedtofocusonbeingagoodmaidofhonor.

Trying not to think toomuch about what wouldhappen to Daniel should

Shastaneverturnup.

Chapter21

Itwasgoingtobealate,

latenightatthepieshop,andit had nothing to do withbakingpies.

Ipeeredat theimageonmy laptop of the ice palacefrom Dr. Zhivago, trying toshape the sweeping domesand towering spires out ofgingerbread cookie dough. Itwas a precarious business,

trying to bake cookie doughlike this. Much of the time,under the heat of the oven,the dough would lose itsshape,andyou’dbeleftwithanunrecognizableblob.

Still, despite thedifficulty of this particulargingerbread house, I didn’tregret having chosen thesubject matter. I had alwayslovedthemovie,inparticular,the sweeping and beautifullove story between Yuri and

Lara. Dr. Zhivago alwaysheld a special place in myheart,eversinceWarrentookme to see it at theChristmasRiver Movie House when Iwasateenager.

I couldn’t wait to bringthe story to life throughfrosting, cookies and edibleglitter.

I shaped the domesaround crushed aluminumfoil,andplacedthedelicatelybalanced dough carefully in

the oven. Then I startedmixing up another bowl ofwhite frosting to act as agluing agent for when thecookieshadcooled.

Mymindwandered as Iwhipped together thepowdered sugar and cream,and I soon found myselfthinking, not surprisingly,aboutPepperPosey.

I wondered what shewas going to enter in thecompetition. From what she

had said at registration day,she hadn’t had muchexperience buildinggingerbread houses. It wasprobablygoingtobeasmall,basicone, if Iwere toguess.Thekind thatyoumight findinakitatastore,withlotsofgumdrop decorations. Thebeginners always went over-the-topwith thegumdrops. Itwasprobablynotgoingtobeanybetterthan—

Iletoutasigh.

“You’vegot to stop thisnonsense,”Isaidoutloud.

I had to stop being socompetitivewithPepper.Andattheveryleast,Ihadtostopthinking thesemean thoughtsabout her. She seemed aperfectly pleasant person.She’d givenmeno reason todislikeher,otherthanthefactthat I envied her businesssense and her French pastrytraining. And if I let thatmakemefeelthreatened,than

Iwasnobetterthan—“Stopwhatnonsense?”Iglancedup.Danielwas

standing behind the dividingdoor, a self-satisfiedexpressiononhisface.

He must have beenwatching me argue withmyself.

“Eavesdropper,”Isaid.He walked through the

doors, his shoes thuddingloudly against the kitchenfloor.

Hesmirked.“Well, that’s part ofmy

job as Sheriff,” he said. “Toeavesdrop. Make sureeverything’s in order here inthisrowdyestablishment.”

He took a seat at thekitchen island, his eyesdrifting over to the half-finishedgingerbreadhouseinthecorner.

Hestudieditforawhile,notsayinganything.

“Well?”Ifinallysaid.

“I don’t know muchabout these kinds of things,”he said. “But I’d say that’sgot all the makings of awinner.”

He peered at it somemore.

“Is that a cookie sleighthere?”

Inodded.“Wow,”hesaid.“That’s

some artistic genius, Cin. Ireallymeanit.”

I smiled, going over to

himandkissingthetopofhishead.Hishairsmelledofpineandmeltedsnow.

“Thanks,hun.”He wrapped an arm

aroundmywaist, pullingmeclose.

“Any luck findingShasta?”Isaid.

Hisexpressiondarkened.“No,” he said. “We’ve

been searching, but no cigaryet. I’m thinking about justcoming clean to the media.

Sending out a news release.Doing as much damagecontrolasIcannow.”

He let out a troubledsigh.

“Do you really thinkthat’sthewaytogo?”Isaid.

Myexperienceswiththemedia had taught me thatthey’d go to townon a storythis juicy. The Sheriff’sOffice losingadogworth20grand…thatwouldbeastorythatwould takesome time to

die down, all right. And itmight leave a mighty largeswath of destruction in itspath.

“Well,regardlessofhowit’llreflectonthedepartment,I think it’s the right thing todo,”Danielsaid.“Ashardasitmight be. Andmaybe if itcomes out that Shasta’smissing,wemight get lucky.Someonemighthaveher.”

“Are you going to offerareward?”Iasked.

“Mostlikely,”hesaid.I bitmy lip, thinking of

Brad’s story about Reginaldandtherewardscam.

Daniel could tell I wasmullingoversomething.

“You have a hunchabout Shasta’sdisappearance?”hesaid.

Inodded.Iwentover tomy bag on the coat rack,pulling out the folded-upmissingflyer.Icamebacktothekitchenislandandhanded

ittohim.“I ran into Julianne

Redding earlier,” I said. “Igot some details about howshelostherdog.”

“What’d she say?” heasked.

“Shewaswalkinghiminthe BrightStar area about aweek ago. He was off-leashand he ran off. She’s beenbeside herself looking forhim.But he hasn’t turned upyet.”

Daniel looked over theposter,andstrokedhischin.

“That’s the same placethat Shasta went missing,” Isaid.

Henodded.“Iknow,”hesaid.“And then there was

PeteBurgess’sdog thatwentmissing,”Isaid.

Danielnoddedagain.“A little odd, don’t you

think? All of this happeningin such a short period of

time.”“No such thing as

coincidence, that’s for sure,”he said. “What’s yourtheory?”

Itookadeepbreath.I still always felt a little

nervous whenever I toldDaniel one of my theories.Him having so muchexperience solving mysteriesandall.

“Well…” I said,pausing. “You know Kara’s

friend, Brad? He said hispartner, Will, lost his dogonceinaparkinPortland.Helooked everywhere, butcouldn’tfindthedog.Heputupmissing posters, completewitharewardpromise.Andafew days later, this youngwoman calls him, saying shefoundthedog.Hegotthedogback and paid her for hertroubles, but then later hefigured out she’d scammedhim. That she’d stolen the

dog in the first place, bettingthathe’dofferrewardmoneyforit.”

“You think somethinglikethat’sgoingonhere?”heasked.

Ishrugged.“Idon’tknow.”“Hmm.”Helookeddown,deepin

thought.“What are you

thinking?”Iasked.“Well, I like the theory,

‘ceptnobody’scomeforwardasofyettryingtocollectanyreward money. You’d thinkwith Julianne’s posters upeverywhere that someonewouldhavecontactedher.”

“Maybeit’stoosoon.”“Maybe,” he said. “But

the longer these scammerskeep the dog, the moremoneyitcosts themtohouseit. It’d probably be to theirbenefittogetridofitassoonastheycould.”

Ihadn’treallythoughtofthat.

Maybe I was clutchingat straws with all of this.Maybe it was all just acoincidence.Maybe the threemissing dogs had simply runaway.

“Well, it was just athought,”Isaid.

“And a good one too,”Danielsaid,pattingmeonmylower back. “I’ll be real sadwhenthoseP.I.ratesgoupat

thebeginningofnextyear.”“Well, if you’re lucky,

we just might be able tonegotiate something,” I said,winking.

Hegrinnedback.“You hungry?” I said.

“CanIgetyouanything?”Heshookhishead.“Naw, we’ve got

leftoversathome,”hesaid.“IjustmostlycamebybecauseIwanted to tell yousomething.”

“Oh?”“Well, I know it’s not

the best timing,” he said,rubbing his hair forward.“But I’ve got to go toPortland this Saturday for acasewe’reworkingon.”

“This Saturday?” I said,glancingathim.

Henodded.“Yeah…”he said. “And

I’m sorry. I know Kara’sthing is this weekend, andthatyoucouldusemyhelpat

home.ButIdon’treallyhaveachoice,Cin.”

Ibitmylowerlip,tryingtokeepbackafrustratedsigh.

I was hosting Kara’ssurprisewedding shower thisweekend at the house. I’dbeen planning it for weeksnow. And even though Ihadn’t expected Daniel tohaveahugehandinplanningthe party, I had hoped thathe’d help me with a few

thingsaheadofit.I tried not to let the

disappointmentshow.“Well, I guess if you

don’t have a choice, youdon’t have a choice,” I saidquietly.

The timer beeped, and Iwentover to theovena littletoo quickly to check on thegingerbread. All but one ofthe domes had continued tokeep their shape, but itseemed as though I could

onlyfocusontheonethathadsunken and spread out into ameltedblobofcookiedough.

“Dangit,”Imuttered.I pulledout thepan and

placed it on the marblecounter top. I took in a deepbreath and then turned backaround.

Daniel knew me toowell.

“Aw, don’t be angry,Cin,” he said, getting up.“I’msorry.ButthisthingI’m

workingonisimportant.Youknowhowmyjobcanb—”

“Iknow,”Isaid.Iknewitwassillytoact

this way. I knew full wellwhat I was getting into bymarrying a sheriff. Butsometimes the job’sinterferencewithourpersonaltime could be a littlefrustrating. And I especiallyhated when he had to goaway this time of year. Iworried about him on those

snowy mountain passes thathe would inevitably have tocrosstogettothevalley.

“It’ll only be a day,Cin,”hesaid,comingovertome, touching a hand to mycheek. “I’ll be back beforeyou’llevenknowI’mgone.”

“Idoubtthat,”Isaid.“Don’t be thatway,” he

said.“Youangry?”He stared down at me,

smiling slightly, turning onthat old Daniel Brightman

charm.Itriedtogivehimahard

stare back, but it was nogood.

The man had mynumber, and he knew it. Itwasimpossibletostaymadathim when he looked at melikethat.

“You’re a real pickle,DanielBrightman,” I said. “Idon’tknowwhatI’mgoingtodowithyou.”

“I don’t care what you

dowithme,”hesaid.“Justsolong as you’re not angry.Now I promise, I’ll be quickabout it. No cavorting ordilly-dallying orfraternizing.”

“Youbetternot,”Isaid.Hegrinned.Thenheshotaglancein

the direction of thegingerbread cookie domes,cooling on the kitchencounter.

“Are you ready to go

home?”hesaid.“Icouldgiveyouaridebackifyouwant.”

Therewasadeep-rootedtiredness in my bones. Thekind that tended to settle inafter a long day of slavingaway in front of the ovens. Ihad tiredbonesandstretchedmuscles and aching feet, andnothingsoundedasgoodasahot meal and a warm bedrightaboutnow.

ButasmuchasIwantedto throw in the towel for the

night, I knew that I couldn’tafford to fall behind on myproject.

Itwas thiskindofdrivethat had led me to manyGingerbread Junctionvictories. And I knew that Icouldn’t take the easy wayouttonight.

Ishookmyhead.“Yousure?”heasked.“I

couldbuildusafirewhenwegetback.Crackopenacoupleof beers that I got from that

newbrewerydownthestreet.Whatdoyousay?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Isaid. “But I hear thegingerbreadcallingmyname,hun.”

Henoddedknowingly.He did, after all, know

what he was getting intowhen he married CinnamonPeters the GingerbreadJunctionfanatic.

“All right,” he said,nodding. “I won’t get

between a princess and herpalace, then. You just call ifyou want me to come pickyouup.”

He placed his hat backon.

“You sure you’re notmad at me?” he said, beforeleaving.

Ilookedup.“You know that I

couldn’tbe.”He smiled, drumming

hishandsagainstthecounter.

Thenheleft, leavingmetomydecorating.

Chapter22

Itoreoffalargepieceof

plastic wrap and draped itover the cooled WhiskeyApplePie, tucking the stickyplastic down around thebottomofthepiedish.ThenIpulled on my plaid jacket,and headed across the streetto Pepper’s Pies andPastries.

I’d given it some

thought. And I had realizedthat ever since Pepper hadmoved into the vacantstorefrontacross theway, I’dbeen petty and rude anddownright unneighborly. Thewoman had reached out tome, bringing a carton of herdelicious cookies, and Ihadn’t even thanked her forthem.

Ihad letenvyget in thewayofmymanners,andthatwasjustsomethingIcouldn’t

and wouldn’t stand for inmyself.

Afterall,whatdidIhaveto be jealous of? I wasperfectly happywithwhere Iwas in my life. And I knewthat despite the fact that Ihadn’t had any fancy Frenchtraining, I was one hell of abaker. And while it lookedlikebusinesswasboomingatPepper’s, as a small businessowner, I knew that lookscould sometimes be

deceiving.Overheadcostsforthe ingredients thatwent intothosepiesandpastriesofhershad to be substantial. Andfrankly, Ididn’tenvyanyonewhowasin theirfirstyearofowning a small business. I’dbeenthere,andthatfirstyearalmost caused me to go offthedeepend.

Iopened thedoor to theshop and a large gush ofwarm, toasty, sugar-infusedair hit me. It was early, but

thetablesinthequaint,pink-walled dining room werepacked. Iskimmedtheroom,and couldn’t help but noticethat Meredith Drutman, alocal realtor who I’d had amajor run-in with earlier intheseason,andawholegroupofherrelatorfriends,wereallsitting around one of thetables, laughing and eatingpowdered sugar croissants.She shot a nasty look in mydirection when she saw me,

but I tried not to sink to herlevel.Ididmybest to ignoreher while she whisperedsomethingtoherfriendsthatIwasalmostpositiverelatedinsomewaytome.

“Hi there!” one of thepretty blond girls manningthe counter shouted at me.“It’s a beautiful day atPepper’s Pies, Pastries andOtherPick-me-ups.WhatcanIgetforyouthismorning?”

IstartedtotellherthatI

was here to see Pepper, butshe interrupted me, herenthusiasm sloshing over thesides like a full bucket ofmilk.

“In addition to overtwenty different kinds ofpastries, we offer nearly adozen different coffeevarieties, including hazelnut,gingerbread, cranberry andpumpkin pie lattes. We alsooffer caramel macchiatos,hazelnut cappuccinos and—”

“Uh, is Pepper here?” I

asked,beforeIgotropedintohearingtheentiremenu.

“Why sure!” she said,without missing a beat. “I’llgoandgether.”

The girl disappeared inthe back for a moment.Meanwhile, I studied thewallsofthebakery.

They were painted agirly shade of pink and hadfaux wainscoting painted in

gold that felt very French-looking. A few frescoes ofmacarons and croissantsadded some lighthearted funto the room.The tableswereallwroughtiron, lookinglikethey’dbeenpluckedrightoutofaFrenchgarden.Bouquetsof dried lavender sat in thecenterofthetables.

The place was noisywith the sound of laughterandcheerfulvoices.

I thought of my pie

shop’s dining room. Of theold red leather, basic diningbooths and the scuffed pinetables. Of the old-fashionedChristmas lights that stayedup year round in the diningroom, a couple of themhaving burned out. Of thepinecountertopthathadseenbetter days. Of the cashregisterthatseemedtoneedasnake-charmer’s touch in themorningstogetittowork.

Of the coffee pots that

served only one kind ofcoffee.

The blond girlreappeared from the kitchen.Pepperfollowedclosebehindher.

“Oh,hi,Cinnamon!”shesaid, her enthusiasm on parwith her employee. “I’m sohappy toseeyou.Whydon’tyoucomeinthebackandwecantalksome?”

Iforcedasmile.“Thatwouldbegreat,”I

said.I hoped that I didn’t

soundasphonyasIfelt.

Chapter23

“AndsoafterIbrokeup

with Kevin, I just startedthinking tomyself, ‘WhyamI even here?’ I’m a smalltown girl at heart, and Iwasliving in this rainy, gloomycity. All my family had left,andmostofmy friendswereKevin’s friends. So I justdecideditwastimetoleaveitall behind and start my own

business. I packed upeverything and movedhere…”

We were sitting inPepper’s kitchen, which wasfull of the latest appliancesand cookware. Pepper hadgotten Cindy, the blond galwith the overbearing energy,tomakemeacinnamonsugarlatte,which I reluctantly hadto admit was delicious. Isipped it slowly, only halflistening to Pepper’s story

about how she ended upopening a pie shop inChristmasRiver.

Something by the backwindow of the kitchen haddistractedme.

In between nods andsmiles, I stole glances of thethinginthecorner,tryingnotto let onwhat Iwas lookingat.But I obviously sucked atpretending, because Peppertook notice that she didn’texactly have my full

attention.“Oh, did you want to

take a closer look at it?” shesaid midway through herstory, after catching mestaring at the elaborate,beautifully-decorated cookiehouse sitting by the windowsill.

Iquicklyforcedmyeyesdown.

“Uh,what?”Isaid.“Oh,” she said,

furrowing her brow. “I

thought you were looking atthegingerbreadhouse.”

I cleared my throat. Isupposed it wasn’t going todoanygoodplayingdumb.

“Well, now that youmentionit,Icouldn’thelpbutnoticehownicelyit’scomingalong,”Isaid.

Ihadtopracticallyforcethewordsout, thembeingasthickandstickyascoldmaplesyrupinmythroat.

“You know, that means

so much coming from you,Cinnamon,”shesaid,herblueeyes brightening. “I knowhowgoodyou are atmakingthese.”

Pepper got up andwentover to the corner. Shegrabbedthecookiestructure’swooden base, and brought itover to the table so that Icould see the house in all itsinfinitesplendor.

Pepper hadn’t built atypical two-story, gum drop-

laden gingerbread kit cabin,thewayIthoughtshewould.

I stared at it silently,trying not to let my jaw hitthegroundintheprocess.

The house, which wasstill only half-done, wasnothingshortofexquisite.

Pepper had used amarbling technique todecorate the outside of thehouse. Pink and green pastelstrips of icing danced andtwirled across the exterior.

The shape of the house toowas original and unusual,flaring out artistically.Almost like a sculpture.Expertly-made sugar iciclesdripped down from therooftop. A dusting of silverglitter made the housesparkle: the shingles lookedlike they were encased in alayeroffrost.

And it wasn’t just ahouse,Irealized.

Itwasadoghouse.

Ichewedattheinsideofmybottomlip.

Son of a howlingmusher,Ithoughttomyself.

People in ChristmasRiver loved their dogs. Thiswas going to be the crowdfavorite,handsdown.

And probably a judgefavoritetoo.

Iswallowedbackaglobofjealousspit.

“It’s not done yet,” shesaid. “But when it is, I’m

calling itMax’s House. Youknow,afterthatcutepoochinTheGrinch?”

Sheclearedherthroat.“I mean, I know I have

someconstructionissueshereand there that the judgeswon’t like,” she said. “Butit’s my first competition. Ifigure I won’t win this time,butmaybe I’llgetbetterat itandhaveashotnextyear.”

I didn’t know if hermodestywas honest or false,

but either way, it didn’tmatter.

Thehousewasgood.Itwasdamngood.Where did this woman

comefrom?Anawkward silence fell

over the room. I knew I hadto say something, but mythroat had dried up like amountainstreaminAugust.

I scrambled for words,butjustthen,Cindystuckherhead behind the pink curtain

thatseparatedthekitchenanddiningarea.

“Pepper, there’s a ladyupherewhowanted tomakea big order for a Christmasparty, and she had a fewquestion about whether wecould do a large-scale batchofMaplePumpkinPies?”

Peppersmiledbrightly.“Thanks, Tiffany,” she

said. “Tell her I’ll be rightthere.”

Itookthatasmychance.

I stood up, forcing a phonysmile.

“Oh no, I didn’t meanthat you should leave,Cinnamon,” Pepper said.“Please, it’ll only take amoment and we can talksomemore.”

Ishookmyhead.“Uh, no, no,” I said.

“I’ve already taken up toomuch of your time. You’rebusy.”

“No,really,it’snot—”

“Ibettergetback,too,”Isaid,pullingonmycoat.

“Oh,” she said, a littlesadly. “Okay. If you have togo.”

“Thanks for the latte,” Isaid, throwing my scarf onquickly.

I tookone lastglanceatthe immaculate gingerbreaddoghouseonthetable.

I felt my phony smilefade, like a flowerwilting inthefrost.

Ihurriedlywalkedoutofthekitchen.

“Thanks for the pie!”sheshoutedafterme.

ButIhardlyheardher.BecauseallIcouldfocus

on was Meredith Drutmanstanding at the counter,drummingher fingersagainstthe countertop impatiently,the same way she had donebeforewhensheorderedpiesfromme,inmypieshop.

Meredith shot me a

smugsmileas Ibrushedpasther.

I practically ran out ofPepper’sbakeryafterthat.

Chapter24

I carried Chadwickthrough the doors of theHumane Society, the way Ihadbeencarryinghimforthelastthreeblocksofourwalk.

The little dog had to bethe most stubborn, hard-headed, stuck-in-his-wayspooch I had ever comeacross.

Fifteen minutes earlier,right in the middle of our

walk, Chadwick hadcollapsed on the sidewalk,refusingtogetbackuponhislittle paws of his own freewill. I’d tried everything togethimtowalkagain.Itriednudging him along. I triedtempting him with a dogbiscuit.Ievenpickedhimupandplacedhimbackdownonall fours. But none of it gotthelittledogwalkingagain.Ifinally had to lift the poochup and carry him the rest of

thewayback.“How’d it go?” said

Deidre, the hardworkingoperations manager at theshelter, after I’d placedChadwick in his designatedholdingarea.

“Oh, okay, I guess,” Isaid.“He’sastubbornoneallright.”

“Well,we appreciate allthe time you put in here,Cinnamon,” she said.“Especially with it being the

holidays. We really need allthehelpwecanget.Somanydogshavebeenturninguponour doorstep lately. And wejustdon’thavethefundslikeweusedto.”

“Any of them abloodhound?”Iasked,askingher the same question I hadthe day that Billy had comeintomypieshopandtoldmethathe’dlostShasta.

Sheshookherhead.“No,” she said. “We’ve

hada lot,butnoneof themabloodhound. The closestwe’ve had in was a Basset.Whydoyoukeepasking?”

Ishrugged.“Friend of mine lost

theirbloodhound,”Isaid.Shenodded.“What about a yellow

lab pit-bull mix?” I asked.“Or a Shih Tzu? Have youhad any dogs like that turnup?”

She leaned back in her

chair,scratchingherchin.“No. For sure on the

Shih Tzu. And as for theyellowlabmix,wedohaveafew,butthey’vebeenhereforover two weeks. I’d assumeyou’dalreadyseenthem.”

Myheartsankalittle.No luck across the

board: strikes on all threemissingpooches.

Iletoutashortsigh.“Okay,” I said. “Thanks

anyway.”

“Sounds like you’ve gota lot of friends with missingdogs,”shesaid.

I dugmy hands deep inmypocketsandshrugged.

Deidre suddenly sprangforwardinherchair.

“Oh, that reminds me,Cin,IhadaquestionIwantedtoaskyou.”

“Sure,”Isaid.Shetookoffherglasses,

letting themhang around herneck from a beaded chain.

She rubbed her eyes, whichwere bloodshot and strained-looking.

“Well, I’m sure youheard, but the shelter out inRedmond had its roofcollapseyesterday,” she said.“Thatlastfewinchesofsnowjust proved to be too muchforit.ButthatmeansthatourHumaneSocietywillhave totake in 10 more dogs latertoday while they fix thebuildingoutthere.And,well,

wejustplaindon’thaveroomforthem.”

Shesighed.“So I’m asking all the

volunteers if they cantemporarilyfosteratleastoneof the dogs until we figureoutourcapacityissues.”

Ibitmylowerlip.NotthatIdidn’twantto

helptheHumaneSociety,butIhadKara’ssurpriseweddingshower this weekend, andhaving an extra dog around

the house on top of all thosepeople just seemed like a lottotakeon.

“Well,I’dlovetobut—”“It’d only be for a few

days,” Deidre said. “Ipromise.And itwould reallymeantheworldtotheshelter.We’re struggling as is. Theextradogsaregoingtoputusover,I’mafraid.”

She looked at me withhopeful,tiredeyes.

Deidre cared so much

aboutthesedogs–itwashardnot to become infected bythatsamespirit.

I let out a short littlesigh, knowing that I was theultimatesucker.

ButIfiguredaddingonestubborn little dog on top ofmy already busy weekendwasn’t going to make muchof a difference one way oranother.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Ifinally said. “Give me

Chadwick.”Deidre smiled brightly,

andthenwentintothebacktocollecthimfromhiskennel.

Chapter25

I stood back, scanning

everyinchofthegingerbreadhouse with the same sharpintensity that a hawk scans afield for prey. Analyzingevery nook, cranny, crevasseand slope of the cookiestructure as if my next mealdependedonit.

I wiped away a bead ofsweat that had trickled down

mytemple,thenglancedoverattheclockontheoven.

Itwasnearingtwointhemorning.

It was official:CinnamonPetershadlostherGingerbread Junction-obsessedmind.

Myhandstrembledwithexhaustion.My legs felt likea pair of lead pipes. Mymuscles were tighter than aropetiedtoananchor.

Butnoneofthatseemed

tomatter,because thecookiestructuresittinginfrontofmeon the kitchen island of mypieshopwasopulent.

The cookie domes wereshaped perfectly. The sugarglass spires atop the domesreached high into theheavens, sparkling like theywere made out of crystal. Alayer of white frosting andsilver glitter coveredeverything, simulating freshsnowfall. Sugar glass icicles

linedtheedgeof therooftop.The lights that I had placedinside the structure shonethrough the stained glasswindows, which were madeoutofmeltedJollyRanchers.

And in one windowpane,asmallcandle,whichinrealitywasabirthdaycandle,shonethrough.AsifYuriwasin there one cold and snowynight, quietly writing hispoems.

On the grounds around

thepalace,Ihadmadeastandofsugarglasssnow-encrustedaspens and one drooping,sugar glass Rowan treedirectly in front of thewrap-aroundporchentrance.Offtotheside,acookie sleighheldtwo marzipan figuresembracing.

Iletoutalongexhaustedbreath.

I had a chance, now. Achance to beat Pepper andtake home that $500 at the

Junctionnextweek.And not only that, but I

was sure now that afteralmost 15 years of makinggingerbread houses for thecompetition, this one, thiselaborate ice palace,wasmyverybestcreationtodate.

I had made gingerbreadNorth Pole castles. I hadmade gingerbread westernranch mansions. I had madegingerbread English countrycottages. I had made

gingerbreadcathedrals.They had all been

beautiful.Eachandeveryoneof them. Even the ones thathadn’tturnedoutaswellasIhadhoped.

But this gingerbreadhouse… this one was morethanbeautiful.

Itwasinspired.I’d given it my all,

infusing something that I’dbeen thinking about a lotlatelyintothecookiehouse.

Something I believed inwithmyentireheartandsoul.

Truelove.The house was my

monumenttoit.As I stood there,

admiring the cookie palace,thinking ofDaniel andme, Irealized that my eyes hadbecomedamp.

I tilted my head back,keeping the tired tears fromspillingover.

Ihadbecomesuchasap

since meeting DanielBrightman.

But I didn’t mind beingthatwaysomuchthesedays.

Chapter26

I took a sip of coffee,

watching from the bedroomwindow as Daniel’s truckbacked down the longdriveway, then headed westonSugarPineRoad.

I pulledmy robe tighteraround my waist, wonderingwhen Ihadstartedbeingoneofthosetypeswhoconstantlyworried.

He was coming backlater tonight, but theweatherforecast had called for aroughwinterstormtoblowintomorrow morning. I didn’tlike to think of him drivingup there on those mountainroads if the stormdecided toblow in early. The localcherub-faced weathermanlikedtoconvincefolksthathewas always correct aboutstorm predictions, when thetruth was, he was right only

abouthalfthetime.Onplentyof occasions, storms wouldcomebarrelinginearlierthanthe weatherman at the TVstationpredicted.

Icouldonlyhopehewasrightthistimearound.

The brilliant bluemorning sky seemed inagreement with hisprediction, though. Lookingat it, youwouldn’t think thatwewereinforabigone.

I stared out the window

for a while, long afterDaniel’s truck had pulledaway. I looked out at thebeautiful meadow, the frostonthedeadgrassshimmeringbrilliantly in the lazy wintersun. I took in a deep breath.The house smelled of coffeeand sunlight and freshDouglas Fir from theChristmas tree in the livingroom.

It was the kind ofSaturday morning that made

youfeelgoodtobealive.Thekind of morning that calledfora longwalk in thewoodsor a day spent riding a bikearoundtown.Thekindofdaygood for strolling down toMeadow Plaza and enjoyingthe Christmas decorationswhilesippingastrongcupofcoffee.

ButasmuchasIwantedtodo those things, andenjoythisrare,blue,Decemberday,Ididn’thavethetime.

Ihad toclean,organize,cook, and craft today inanticipation of Kara’ssurprisewedding shower thisevening.

Aloud,shrill,barkfromthelivingroomjarredmeoutofmythoughts.Ijumped,anda splash of coffee sloshedover the edge of my cup,landingonthewoodfloorbymyslippers.

I let out a sigh as thefirst bark was joined by a

second,morefamiliarbark.“Dangit,”Imumbled.It had been like this all

morning. Chadwick, perhapsout of sorts by being inunfamiliar surroundings,would just start barking atnothing. His barking wouldthen incite Huckleberry tojoinin,startinganall-outdogriotfornogoodreason.

“Hey,youallstopthat!”Ishouted.

But either the two

pooches didn’t hear me, orthey were too caught up inbarkingatnothingtocare.

I put down my coffeemugandwentouttobreakupthecommotion.

It was a loud beginningto what promised to be abusy,busyday.

Chapter27

“Oh my goodness,

Mom!”Kara dropped her purse

andpushedpastthecrowdofpeople in my living room tofindGenevieve.

Genevieve was thespitting image of herdaughter, only louder,brasher, andwith a tendencyto dress a little more

provocatively.The two embraced, and

therewas a gush of “Awws”from the rest of Kara’sfriends.

I looked over at Bradandgrinned.

He’d really comethrough, driving over toRedmond and picking upGenevieve without Karahaving the slightest idea thatshewascomingtotownearlyaheadofthewedding.

“Cin,”Kara said, lettinggo of her mom. “I can’tbelieveyoudidthis!”

Ishruggedbashfully.“Well, it was a team

effort,” I said, nodding toBrad.

Kara’s eyes began towell up. She started fanningherface.

“This really means somuch, you guys,” she said.“Youknow, Iwas starting tofeelsorryformyself?SinceI

wasn’t really able to have abachelorette party in mycondition.Butthis…”

Shetrailedoff,hervoicegetting shaky. She lookedaroundtheroom.

“Thankyouallforbeinghere.”

Shecameoverandgavemeabighug.

And I knew that despiteme not knowing a drill bitfrom a Phillips-headscrewdriver, I wasn’t a

completefailurewhenitcameto being Kara’s maid ofhonor.

When I pulled away, Isaw that a couple of happytears had rolled downKara’sface.

Ismiled.“Now c’mon, bride,” I

said.“I’vegottenacoupleofgals from the spa to dopedicures. You just sit overthere, and I’ll fix you up anicevirginmargarita.”

She squeezed my arm.The look of appreciation inher tired and exhausted facesaiditall.

Chapter28

The house was a giant

mess and Chadwick wasdrivingmeupthewall.

The little dog had beenbarking nearly the entirelength of the party, settingHuckleberryoff too. I finallyhad toputbothdogsoutside,apologizing to the guests forthe loud, incessant, andirritatingbarking.

Butputtingthemoutsidedidn’t help much: they justcontinuedtobarkoutthere.

The guests had all beenpolite and kind, ignoring theracket for the length of theparty. But as the night woreon, I couldn’t help but findmyself frustrated with thesituation.

After the guests hadgone home and John hadswung by to pickKara up, Istoodoverthesink,scrubbing

angrily at a stack of platesthat had the remnants of themeat fondue and salmoncreamcheesepuffsthatIhadmade for the occasion.Feelingfrustrated.

Chadwick was part ofthat frustration. I trulyenjoyed the little dog. But Ihadn’t anticipated himbarking all night. Of all thetiming for Deidre to need afoster home for the dog, ithadtobethisweekend.

I bit my lower lip, thesteam from the hot waterrising up around me. Thewhoosh of the faucet almostdrowning out the barkingcomingfromoutside.

Almost.Ishookmyhead,tossing

one of the plates into thedishwasher.

I tried to focus on howhappy Kara had been at theparty. How surprised andovercomewithemotionshe’d

beenatthesightofhermom.I tried to focus on what shesaidtomebeforesheleft.

“Cin, you’re the bestmaidofhonoranybodycouldhave.”

Hearing that fromKara,especially after all myprevious failures at helpingher with the wedding, hadbeen touching.Butnomatterhow hard I tried, I couldn’tfocusonthegood.

It wasn’t just Chadwick

ormyowninabilitytosaynotoDeidrethatwasfrustratingmetonight.

I tossed another plateintothedishwasher.Ithittheplastic dividers with a loudcrash.

I leaned forward,lookingdownatthefullsink.

The truth of the matterwas, what was really gettingmetonight,wasDaniel.

He knew that I’d beenplanning this party for Kara

forweeksnow.HeknewthatIhadneededall thehelpthatI could get. And especiallygiven how Chadwick wascarrying on tonight, I reallycould have used his helpmorethananyoneelse’s.

Plus, there wassomething else bugging meabout Daniel and his trip toPortland.

IhadcalledBillyearlierthatday, just tocheck inandsee if he had any luck

locating Shasta. He hadn’t,but he’d asked me whenDanielwasgoingtogetbackfromPortland.Itoldhimlatetonight,unlesssomethingelsecame up in the case he wasworkingonoverthere.

Then Billy saidsomethingthathadturnedmybloodcold.

“Whatcase?”After that, Billy had

tried to back track on hiswords, but it was obvious to

me that either Daniel waskeeping Billy in the darkabout the case he wasworking on. Or, Daniel wasup to something. Somethingthathe’dliedtomeabout.

I hadn’t been able tothinkofmuchelseallnight.

Not that I suspectedDaniel to be… well, to bedoing anything behind myback. But it was mostly justthepointofit.Hehadliedtome aboutwhat hewas doing

in Portland. And whatever itwas,Iwonderedwhyithadtobetonight,ofallnights.

When I had needed hishelpthemost.

I tossed another dish inthedishwasherandturnedoffthefaucet.

Iwasbeingunfairtohim–Iknewthat.ButIalsoknewthat sometimes, no matterhowyoutriedtoputalogicalspin on things, you couldn’thelp the way you felt. And

tonight, despite the fact thatthe party had been a hit andthat Kara had left in happyspiritsandthatIknewDanielloved me… despite all thosethings, I still felt as though Ijustcouldn’t—

Istoppedmid-thoughtassomething suddenly occurredtome.

Itwasquiet.The soundtrack that had

beenplayingforthelastthreeand a half hours thanks to

Hucks and the little cockerspanielhadcometoasuddenhalt.

I wiped my wet handsoffonmykitchenapron,andthenwent over to the slidingglass door that led to thebackyard.Iopenedit,peeringout into the blackness, thelightfromtheporchnomatchforthedarkwinternight.

I clicked my tongueagainsttheroofofmymouth.

“Come here Hucks,” I

called. “Come alongChadwick.”

Therewasonlysilence.“Hucks?”Silence,again.A bitter taste settled at

the back of my throat as Istaredout into thecoalblacknight. I stepped out onto thedeck in my socks, the bloodsuddenly pounding in myears.

“C’mon, pooches,” Isaid, this time, my voice

weak.“C’monin—”From somewhere out in

thenight,therewasthesoundofacarengineturningover.

I walked out into theyard, thedampgrass soakingthroughmysocks.

“Hucks?!” I called out,my voice now frantic.“Chadwick!?”

But there was only thesound of car wheelsscreeching, thenoiseechoinginthelonelynight.

Thebarkinghadstoppedforgood.

Chapter29

“Cin?!Cin, are you all

right?”He ran up to the porch,

kneelingdownnext tomeonthe steps. He cupped hishands around my cold face,scanning my eyes for aresponse.

I’d spent the last hourwandering the woods aroundour house, calling out

desperately for the dogs. Ithad started to rain, a bitterdrizzle falling from the darkskies above. At one point, Islippedonapatchofmeltingsnow, falling to my knees,staining the jeans I waswearingwithmud.

But the woods hadremained deader than dead.No sound, no response, nonothing other than mydefeated cries at the end,when I realized that Hucks

and Chadwick were reallygone.

Somehow I hadmanaged to stumble back tothe steps of the front porch.I’dbeen sitting therenumblywhen Daniel’s truck pulledupintothedriveway.

I had barely registeredthe fact that the headlightswereshininginmyface.

AllIcouldthinkwas…I should have known

better. After all those dogs

went missing, I should haveknownbetter.

“Cin?” Daniel said,pulling me up. “Whathappened,baby?”

I stared up into hisfrantic,worriedeyes,theraincoming down in sheets allaround us. I started sayingsomething, but the wordscameoutchokedandhoarse.

AndthenIlostit.The tears came flooding

downmycheeksandthenext

thingIknew,Ihadburiedmyface in his chest, my bodyconvulsingwithgreatsobs.

“They’regone,” Iyelledabove the driving rain. “Thedogs…They’regone!”

Chapter30

ThecoldnessIfeltinmy

heartthenextmorningwhenIwoke up to the quiet andempty house was unlikeanythingI’dknownbefore.

I rubbed my eyes,wishingIcouldrubawaytheimage that had plagued methroughoutmydreams.

The image ofHuckleberry and Chadwick

outside, shivering in someunknown corner of thewoods, their coats drippingwith rainwater and meltedsnow, the harsh winter windhowling into them. Scaredandfrightenedandalone.

And I knew that thatimagewasn’teventheworst-casescenario.

Because the worst casescenario was much, muchworse.

I sat up in the empty

bed, looking out thewindowatthemeadow.

Therainhad turned intosnow late in the night as anarctic blast hit the CascadeMountains.Afreshblanketofwhitecoveredthegrassesandthetrees.

I shuddered, thinkingaboutthosepoorpooches.

Mymindracingwiththesame question that hadhauntedmethenightbefore.

Whyourdogs?

Chapter31

“I’m so, so sorry,

Cinnamon,” Tiana said,peering into my face. “I justcan’t believe something likethat would happen here inChristmasRiver.”

Wewereinthepieshopkitchen. I had justwalked inafter spending the better halfof the morning wadingthrough powdery snow,

searching the woods aroundthehouseagain forany traceofthetwodogs.

But just as the nightbefore, therewasnothingoutthere in those woods. Just acold, hollow emptiness thatechoed the feeling insidemyownheart.

When Daniel got homefrom his trip to Portland thenight before, I’d beenpractically catatonic, sittingthereontheporch.Unableto

tellhimwhathadhappened.Because I didn’t really

knowwhathadhappened.AllI knew was that I had putHuckleberry and Chadwickoutside in the backyard forthelasthouroftheparty.Andthat they’d been barkingpractically the entire timewhiletheywereoutthere.

Then the barkingstopped. And shortly aftertherewasthesoundofacar’sengine turning over and

wheels screeching againstgravel.

Thatwasit.ThatwasallIcouldtellDaniel.

After inspecting thebackyardandfindingthat thewooden gate appeared tohave been tampered with,Daniel hadmade a sweep ofChristmas River in his car,looking for the pooches.When he came back home,empty handed, he spent therest of the night trying to

console me. He looked tiredfromhistrip.Darkbagsclungtothebottomofhiseyes,andhis hair was matted withsweat. Yet despite beingexhausted and coming hometo crisis, he handledeverything calmly. He heldmemost of the night, tellingme that it was going to beokay. That he’d get to thebottomofwhathappened.

That he’d findHuckleberry and Chadwick,

nomatterwhat.This morning, on his

Sunday,hisdayoff,hewokeup early and went into workto figureout justwhat in thehell was going on inChristmasRiver.

Meanwhile, after a fewhoursofsearchingthewoodsagain this morning, I foundmy mind racing with everyterriblethoughtunderthesun.

I needed distraction,something to do. Something

to take my mind off of thefateofHucksandChadwick.

SoIendedupintheonlyplace that could offer me allofthat:mypieshop.

Business was slowerthan usual for this hour on aSunday. The crowds hadofficiallymigrated across thestreettoPepper’sshop.Itriedto ignore that and focus onbaking the most difficult,time-consuming pies that Icould. Ones like the Banana

Mocha Pudding Pie, whichtook hours to make its threelabor-intensivelayers.

I rummaged through thekitchen like a mad woman,tryingtokeepmyhandsbusy,and therefore,mymind busytoo.

At one point I glancedup,andcaughtTianastudyingmewhileIfeverishlycrusheda package of Snickerdoodlecookieswitharollingpinforthepiecrust.

There was a frightenedexpressiononherface,whichfaded into a look ofgrandmotherly concern whenshe saw that I’d caught herlooking.

Sheclearedherthroat.“Maybe I’m just not as

smart as some,” she said.“But who would do such athing, Cin? Who would betakingdogslikethat?”

Ishookmyhead.“Idon’tknow,Tiana,” I

said.“Ijust…”I thought back to what

Brad had said, about the dogkidnapper.

Like Daniel had said: itwas a good theory. Save forthefactthatasfarasIknew,noneoftheownershadheardfrom the thief yet. JulianneRedding’s dog, Harley, hadbeen missing more than aweek now, and she hadn’theardanythingfromanybodyasfarasIknew.

Neither hadBilly Jasperheard anything about thepolice dog. Neither had PeteBurgessabouthispup,Daisy.

It was as if all thosedogs just vanished into thinair.

IshudderedtothinkthatHuckleberry and Chadwickwouldjointheirsadranks.

“Cin?” Tiana said,placing a hand on myshoulder. “Do you think thatyou should go home and

rest?”Ishookmyhead.“I’m just saying that

you’relookinglikeyoudidn’tgetasinglewinkofsleeplastnight,” she continued. “And,well, I think we’ve gotenough pies to fill the casefor the day. Nobody’s askedfor one of them BananaMocha Pudding Pies for awhile now. I don’t think youneedtomakethem.”

I didn’t say anything. I

justkeptattacking theplasticbag of cookies with therollingpin.

“Cin,Ireallythink…”“This is the only place

that I can be right now,okay?”Isaid.

Iwinced.Itcameoutharsher than

was necessary, and Iimmediatelyregrettedit.Forasecond, Tiana’s face fell, aflash of pain coming acrossher brown eyes. She quickly

forced them down, andstartedvigorouslystirring thefillingfortheWhiskeyApplePies.

Ibitmyliphard.That had been uncalled

for. Tiana had only beentrying to help, and I had justbitten her head clean off, fornogoodreason.

“Aw, hell, Tiana. I’msorry,” I said, sheepishly. “Ididn’tmeantosnapatyou.”

“No,Iknow,”shesaid.

But she kept her headdownandwouldn’tlookupatme.

“I’mcrazyrightnow,”Isaid. “I’m just… I don’tknowwhatI’mgoingtodo.”

She nodded, but didn’tsay anything. Guilt wormeditswaythroughmyinsidesasI looked at her fallenexpression.

She was right. I reallyshould have been at home.Clearly,Iwasn’tinanyshape

tobearoundanybodyelse.Iletoutadeepsigh,and

put the rolling pin down. Iwent over to the window,staring out at the woodsbehind the shop. The groundwascoatedinathicklayerofpowder,andthetreesswayedinthestiffbreeze.

It was cold out there.Tonight,itwoulddipintothesingle digits for sure. Thewind chill would put it intothenegatives,easy.

AllIcouldthinkofwerethose poor little dogs,somewhere out there in thatcold. Shivering and scaredandalone.

The silence that hungover the kitchen was thickenoughtocutwithaknife.

Chapter32

“It’s my fault this

happened,” I said, buryingmy head in the sleeve of hisleather Sheriff’s coat. “Ishouldhavecheckedonthem.Ishouldhave…”

We were in Daniel’soffice.AsidefromBilly,whowassittingoutinhiscubicle,Daniel was the only oneworkingthisSunday.

“You’re saying that it’syour fault somebody brokeinto our backyard andkidnappedthedogs?”hesaid.“Cin, that’s crazy, and youknowit.”

“But I knew thatsomething strangewas goingon, all those dogsdisappearing,” I said. “Ishould have been payingbetter attention to them. Ishouldn’t have just left themoutthere.”

Heshookhishead.“Cin, you couldn’t have

known this would havehappened.”

Ibitmylowerlip.“This is just a stupid

day,” I said. “A useless,stupidday.”

I thought back to howrude I’dbeen toTiana,and Icringed.

I’d been at the pie shopall afternoon, unable to thinkofwhat else todoother than

make the Banana MochaPudding pies and worry.Finally, I decided to give itup, leaving Tiana alone tocloseuptheshop.

Iwas sure shewas gladtohavemeoutofthere.

I’d driven over to theSheriff’s Office, hopingagainst hope that Daniel hadsomegoodnews.

But he hadn’t any. Infact,therewasworsenews.

A beagle named Dog

Holliday that belonged toAnna Stevens, a librarian atthe Christmas River PublicLibrary,hadalsodisappeareda day earlier. The dog haddisappearedfromAnna’svanwhile she was shopping forgroceries at Ray’s. Annacouldn’t remember if she’dlocked the van or not. Butwhen she got back, her armsfullofgroceries,thedog,whohad cataracts in one eye andarthritisinhiships,wasgone.

Thevandoorwaswideopen.Daniel said he was

almostcertainDogHolliday’sdisappearance was related tothe others, bringing the totalcountuptosixmissingdogs,including Chadwick andHuckleberry.

Sixdogsgone,andnotatraceofevidenceastowheretheywent.

A useless, stupid dayindeed.

I tried to fight back the

tears.“Shh,” Daniel

whispered,pullingmeupandwrapping his arms aroundme. “It’s okay. Okay? I’mgoingtofindthem.”

“Butit’sliketheyalljustvanishedintothinair,”Isaid.“Where do you even startlookingforthem?”

“Yougottatrustme.”hesaid. “This is what I do. I’llfind them. You have myword.”

He held me tighter. Ibreathedindeeply.

“Listen, I’m sorry Iwasn’t there yesterday,” hesaid. “I’m sorry I wasn’thomelastnight,Cin.Ishouldhave been. I shouldn’t haveleftyoualone.”

Ilookedupintohiseyes.Theywerefullofsincerity.

“I’llfindthem,”hesaid.“Don’t worry, Cin. I’ll findthem.”

Ibelievedhim.

I hugged Daniel hard,digging into his lean frame.He stroked my hair andhuggedmebackevenharder.

“It’s all going to beokay,”hesaid.“Butyoucan’tfall apart onme here. I needyou to be strong now, allright?”

I smiled up at him,wipingawaymytears.

Inodded.“I can do that,” I said,

pullingaway.

Something suddenly felloutofDaniel’sjacketpocket,floating down to the carpetfloor.

Andthat’swhenIfoundthereceipt.

Chapter33

I wandered the cracked

and snowy streets ofChristmas River in thedimmingdusk,clutchingontoastackofflyers.

Feelinghopeless.Ithadbeenmorethan72

hours since Huckleberry andChadwick went missing. Iknewifthedogswerepeopleinstead of pooches,

investigators would belooking for bodies by now.Finding anyone alive wasalmost an impossibility thisfarintotheirdisappearance.

The sick, nauseousfeelingoffearthathadsettledin the base of my stomachhadevolved intoadeepachenow, as the thought that ImightnotseemylittleHucksorthatmoodylittleChadwickever again becamemore andmoreareality.

I couldn’t stop thinkingaboutHucks.

I couldn’t stop thinkingaboutChadwick.

I couldn’t stop thinkingabout…

Thatreceipt.I closed my eyes, the

sequence of events playingoverandoverinmyhead,theway it had been for the pasttwodays.

Me, leaning down,picking up the crumpled-up

receiptthathaddroppedfromhis pocket. About to hand itback tohimwhen the fontatthe top of the paper caughtmyeye.

Staring down at it,unabletoquitebelievewhatitsaid.

“Cin,” Daniel hadstarted saying, seeing thetrain wreck that was aheadand trying to put the brakeson.“It’snotwhat…”

Butitwastoolate.

I had seen it. Andimmediately, the hurt hit mewith all the force of anavalanchebarrelingdownthesideofamountainpeak.

I struggled to find thewords but they had all drieduponme.

“You don’t understand.YesterdayeveningI—”

But I couldn’t hear hisexplanation.AllIcouldfocusonwere thewords at the topofthereceipt.

“Pepper’s Pies, PastriesandOtherPick-Me-Ups.”

Daniel had been there.Justbeforegettinghomefromhistrip.Rightaroundthetimethe two pooches disappearedfromourbackyard.

“It’s… uh…well…” hestammered. “Cin, I wouldn’thave gone there unless Iabsolutely had to. You see,thatplacewastheonlycoffeeplace open down here lastnight,anditwasoffici…”

He looked as guilty asI’deverseenhimlook.

“I…”If I couldn’t depend on

myownhusbandnottogotoPepper’s pie shop, then Icouldn’tdependonanyone.

He had tried to saymore, to offer up a betterexplanation.

Butwe both knew therewasn’t anything more hecouldsay.

He hadn’t cheated on

me.Hehadn’tliedtome.But it was a betrayal

nonetheless.Recallingitnow,Ifelta

sharp chill run up and downmyspine.

The thought of himgoing in there, to that shop,drinking a cup of her coffee,eating one of her pastries,sitting at one of thosewrought iron tables… it allmademy stomach ache evenmore.

Maybe I wasoverreacting. Hell, it wasn’tjust amaybe. I knew I was.AllDanielhaddonewasgetacup of coffee and a turnoveratPepper’sPiesandPastries,for goodness sakes, after along,colddayofworkinganddriving. How could I blamehimforthat?

ButIdid.I couldn’t help how I

felt: cold, betrayed, andalone.

Maybe that’swhy I haddecided to wander thesesnowy streets tonight bymyself, putting up missingposters for Huckleberry andChadwick.

Danielwasworking latetonight, and I had found thattherewas nothing I could dotogetmymindoffofthetwomissing pooches. Or off ofthat receipt that had beenstuffed in Daniel’s coatpocket.Oroffofthefactthat

sales at the pie shop hadtakenaplungesincePepper’sPies opened for business.Oroff that hurt look in Tiana’seyesfromtheotherdaywhenIsnappedather.

Mymindwasracing,outofcontrolwithpainandguiltand sadness. So I didwhat Ialways did whenever I feltoverwhelmedbythings.

Itookalong,longwalk.Through the BrightStar area,where the other dogs had

disappeared. Through theJingle Bell and Ridgeviewsubdivisionsthatborderedthewoods and meadows. Thenthrough downtown. Killingtwo birds with one stone bypapering areas with missingposters of Huckleberry andChadwick.

And then,when the sunhadgonedown,IwenttothePineNeedleTavern.

Chapter34

The bar was hot and

crowdedwhen Iwalked in,alarge fire crackling in theroom’swoodstove.

That pervading sense ofjolliness, typical of the PineNeedle Tavern in December,hung thick in the air likesmoke. There was laughingand shouting and every onceand a while, the sound of

something crashing on therough pine floors. BruceSpringsteen sangaboutSantaClaus coming to town overthespeakers,andeverywhereI looked, people weresmiling, inebriation makingtheircheeksglowasbrightasthefireinthestove.

I pushed my waythroughthemassesandfoundan empty corner seat at thebar. It took me a fewmoments to get Harold’s

attention,whatwith somanypeoplehehadtowaiton.

“Bourbon,” I shoutedabovethenoise.“Twofingersplease.Twogenerousones,ifyouwould.”

Hechuckled.“Youlooklikeagalona

mission.”A lopsided grin crossed

hisface.Probablybecauseheknewthatmytabtonightwasgoingtobeabigone.

Harold probably missed

theoldCinnamonPeters.Therecently-divorced CinnamonPeterswhousedtosometimescomehereafterworktodrinkand leave good tips. TheCinnamonPeterswhousedtobesad.

That Cinnamon Petershadn’t been around for awhile. But tonight, she wasmakingacomeback.

Hewent behind thebar,grabbingamid-levelbrandofbourbon. He did as I asked,

pouring me a generousamount intoanold-fashionedglass.Hepushedittowardmeonacoaster.

Despite the fact thatthere were others who weretrying togethis attention, hepausedforamoment,leaningforwardtowardme.

“Trouble at home?” hesaid. “I couldn’t help noticethat that fella of yours isn’theretonightwithyouagain.”

IknewHaroldwasonly

trying to help. But I didn’tfeelmuch likediscussingmyproblems with one ofWarren’s old buddies at themoment.

Thereweretwotypesofpeople who sat at the bar.Folkswholikedtospillabouttheir problems. And folkswho just wanted a place todrinksaidproblemsaway.

Iwasofthelattervarietytonight.

“No, everything at

home’s just fine,” I said,taking a sip of the whiskey,feeling it burn down mythroat.

“Well, seems to mesomething’s got your giblet,dahlin,’” he said. “You surethere’s nothing you want totalk about? I did tellWarrenthatI’dseeafteryouwhilehewasgone.”

Ilookeddownthelengthofthebar,noticingthat therewere at least three people on

theothersidetryingtosignalhimforadrink.

“Thanks, but I’m okay,Harold,”Isaid.“Nothingthatthisherewhiskeycan’tcure.”

“God help us if thereever isanythingthatwhiskeycan’t cure,” he said,winkingat me. “But suit yourself,girly.Suityourself.”

Hewaddledawayonhisbumkneetotheothersideofthe bar. I sat there, nursingthe glass. Staring at my

reflection in the mirrorbehind the shelves of liquor.At all the happy peoplebehindme.

Maybe if I drankenough,Iwouldbelikethem.Able to forget about all mytroubles.

I thought about whatDaniel had said. That heneededmetobestrongnow.

Iguessthiswasmywayofdoingthat.

I tookanothersipof the

whiskey, my eyes scanningthecrowdbehindme,findingafamiliarface.

My throat tightened,seeingher thereatoneof thetables.

I had seen a blue VWBugparkedoutsidethetavernwhen I’d walked in, but Ihadn’t put it together that itwashers.

She had her bright redcurly hair pinned off to oneside. She was wearing red

lipstick that matched herholiday red sweater. Hersmile seemed to brighten theentirebar.

Shewassurroundedbyalargegroup, someofwhich Irecognized as being part ofMeredithDrutman’scrowdofsocialites,iftherewassuchathing in a small town. Therewere also a few young guysinthegroup,guyswhohadacertainsparkleintheireyesastheylistenedtotheredhaired

lady speak. A moment later,they all broke out in a fit oflaughter.

“And that’s when I toldMarcel:Hey, there’s no ‘we’in‘qui,’buddyboy.”

Another outbreak oflaughter erupted from thegroup. Pepper grinned,pleasedattheresponse.

Idowned the restofmywhiskeyinoneshot,avertingmy eyes, hoping she hadn’tseenme.

Was there no place Icouldgetawayto?

“So Pepper, how’s yourgingerbread house comingalong?” one of the ladies inthecrowdasked.

Pepper shruggedmodestly.

“Ithinkit’llprobablybeokay for a first-timer,” shesaid. “I’m not expectinganything from it. Just a littlebit of fun.Hopefully tomeetsome other folks in this

town.”“Oh, don’t be so

modest,” Belinda Cooper,Meredith Drutman’s righthand girlfriend, said. “I’veseenyourgingerbreadhouse,and you’re going towin thatcompetitionhandsdown.”

“In my dreams maybe,”Peppersaid,asifshewasina1960sfamilysitcom.

The rest of the grouplaughed.

I signaled Harold for

another drink, but he wasbusywithacustomer.

I let out a sigh, playingwith thecardboardcoaster infront of me, rolling it upbetweenmyhands.

Then I suddenly felteyes drilling into the side ofmyface.

Iglancedover.“I’ll get you another

drink,”themansaid.

Chapter35

“So I heard those

bastards got your pup, too,”Pete Burgess said, ploppingdownon the barstool next tome.

Histiewasloosenedandhe looked to be a fewdrinksintothenightalready.Buthedidn’t have that vacant,faraway look inhis eyes thathe’dhadtheothernightwhen

hehadbeentalkingtoDanieland me. And he wasn’tleaning sloppily on the bartop, the way he had beenthen, either. He was sittingup, mostly of his ownvolition.

Though I imagined in afew hours, all bets were offwhen it came to PeteBurgess’ssobriety.

“Bastards,” hemumbledagain.

“TheygotHuckleberry,”

I said. “And another dog Iwas taking care of for theweekend.”

“Picking on a lady likeyou.Bastards.”

Hegrimaced,thentookasipofhis trademark rumandcoke.

“Have you heardanything about Daisy?” Iasked.

He shook his head,staring down at the drink infrontofhim.

“Nothing,” he said.“Your hubby came by acouple days ago, questioningme about her going missing.And I thought to myself,‘What does the Sheriff careabout a missing dog?’ Butthen I started putting thingstogether. Seeing all themmissing dog posters up allover. It can’tbecoincidence,canit?”

I looked over, shakingmyhead.

“Then there’s rumorsabout that police dog,” hesaid. “People say nobody’sseen that dog for a whilenow.”

Ididn’tsayanything.“Play it coy then,” he

said. “Don’t matter much tome.IknowI’mright.”

He took another sip ofhisdrink.

“I wasn’t on the citycouncilforallthoseyearsfornothing. I have a goodmind

uphere.”Hepointedtohishead.“‘Least when I haven’t

had too much of this heresauce.”

He took a rather largegulp of his beverage, cuttingitdowntoice.

“So what was yourdoggylike?”heasked.“Whatmadehimspecial?”

I shivered, noticing heusedthepasttensetodescribeHuckleberry.

I spun the coaster infrontofme.

“Everything,” I said.“Everythingaboutthatdogisspecial.Withouthim,meandDanielwouldn’thave…”

My words came outslow and thick, like coldmolasses. I gaveup trying topushthemout.

I took a sip of the newdrink Pete had just boughtme.

“Chadwick wasn’t too

dullhimself,”Isaid.“I’donlyknown that dog for a fewweeks,butIreallylikedhim.He was a pain in the neck,you know? But he hadpersonality.”

Pete lightly placed ahand on my back. At first Iflinched, the touch makingmeuncomfortable.ButthenIsaw that he didn’t meananything by it, and he wasonlytryingtobenice.

“I know what you

mean,” he said. “My Daisywaslikethattoo.”

Heleanedincloser.“Youknow,sometimesI

think…” he trailed off, thenstarted again. “Sometimes Ithink I loved my dog morethan my wife? Sometimes Iwonder if Barbara didn’tknowthat.Ifshedidn’tleavebecause she knew that whenit came to me, she’d alwayscome in third. The councilhas always come first. Then

Daisy. Then her. You mustthinkI’mheartless,admittingto a thing like that. But it’sthetruth,youknow.”

His words werebeginningtosluralittlebitattheends.Heletoutasigh,hisbreath smelling like adistillery.

“Butwhatgoodhasanyofthatdoneme?Lookatme.I’m here. No Barbara. NoDaisy.Andatownthatturnedits back on me for some

communitycollegebimbo.”He took another large

gulpfromhisdrink,hisstrawhittingair.

“You know, after yourhusbandstoppedby, Istartedthinking about Daisy goingmissing. Thinking it waspersonal,likesomebodystoleher because they didn’t likeme,ormaybeIcrossedthem.Like all those years spent onthe dog board made a fewenemies maybe. Like maybe

someonehaditinforme,youknow? But now I know…now I know that I ain’talone.”

He was beginning tolose it: repeating words, andnotmakingmuchsense.

He looked down at hisglass.

“Imean,when it comestomydoggoingmissing,I’mnot alone. But I am alone,Cinnamon. Twenty fourhours, seven days a week

now,alone.”I furrowed my brow,

something he said havingcaughtmyattention.

“Dog board? What areyoutalkingabout?”

“The dog board,” hesaid, leaning toward me.“You don’t know about thePohlyCountyDogBoard?”

Ishookmyhead.He let out what could

only be described as achortle.

“Well, whenever a dogdoes something bad here inChristmas River that’s notnecessarily of astraightforward criminalnature, it’s a town ordinancethat said dog and his ownerarereviewedandtriedbythePohly County Dog BoardCommittee.

“I’m talking aboutoffenses like injuring orkillinglivestockorpets.Likechickensorrabbits.Thingsof

thatnature.”Ihadn’teverheardofit.

Though Iguess Ihadn’teverhadanycauseto.

“You see, the boardreviews thosekindsof thingsto ensure that justice iscarriedout.It’sawaytosavethe courts time, and to havemore communityinvolvement in the system.The committee makesdecisionsaboutwhathappensto the offending dog and the

owner.”“Like if the owner

should be fined, or the dogshould get taken away?” Iasked.

Henodded.“Orifthedogshouldbe

putdown.”I felt my eyes grow

wide. But he shook his headquickly.

“That never happened,though,” he said. “Not in adog-crazy county like this.

Most of the board membersare dog-drooling old ladiesanyway.Lenient,mushyfolkswhowerealwayson the sideof the canine. It was likefighting upstream anytime Ithought one of the ownersdeserved a fine. And let metell you, some of themdeserved a lot worse thanwhattheygot…”

He trailed off, staringinto the distance for amoment,thatvacant,boozed-

uplookhavingreturnedinhiseyesafewsipsback.

Heshookhishead.“But I can’t think of

anybodywho’dwantrevengefor one of those rulings,” hesaid. “I’m just clutchin’ atstraws. The worst thing thatever happened was that wetold the owner of a dog thatkept killing chickens thathe’d either have to give uphis dog to stay on hisproperty,orkeepthedogand

move somewhere else. Thatwas the very worstsentencing. That don’t seemlike grounds for revenge tome.”

He sighed sadly, afarawaylookonhisface.

“I suredomiss littleol’Daisy.”

He stared at the bottomofhisemptyglassglumly.

“I’msorry,Pete,”Isaid.“I’m sorry for you too,

hun,” he said, leaning closer

to me, his distillery breathoverwhelmingme.

“Do you think thatSheriffofyourswill findmydoggy?”

“Hesayshewill,”Isaid.“Doyoubelievehim?”“WhenDanielsayshe’ll

do something, he’ll do it,” Isaid. “He takes his wordseriously. You can believethathe’lldotherightthing.”

He stared back downintohisemptyglass.

“GuessIdon’tbelieveinmuchanymore,”hesaid.

I finished therestofmywhiskey, then checked myphone.

It was getting late.Daniel probably would begettinghomesoon.Andaftertwosolidglassesofwhiskey,Iwasinnoconditiontodrive.

I knew I should getwalkinghome.

I could have stayed andkept drinking. Stayed and

talked to Pete Burgess somemore.Wallowedwith him insadnessoverall thelostdogsoftheworld.

But in the end, all thatwallowing didn’t do a damnthing to bring those dogsback.

Same for the booze, forthatmatter.Sure,itcoulddullthepainforalittlewhile.Anevening, if you were lucky.But nine times out of ten,when the booze wore off,

you’d end up feeling worsethanwhenyoustarted.

I didn’t need any moresadness tonight. What Ineeded was a cup of tea. Awarmbed.

And a reassuring smilefromDaniel.

I’dbeenfoolish,holdingontoagrudgeoverhisstopatPepper’s Pies. I’d beenfoolishtoletitfesterthewayithad.

I started putting on my

scarf which had been restingonthebartop.

“Where you going?”Pete said, his hollow eyesprobingmine.

“I’ve got to go, Pete,” Isaid.“I’vegotthingsto—”

“Cinnamon, do youthink Barbara was right toleaveme?”

Heplacedahandonmyarm,hissadeyesleaningintome like an unstable brickwall.

Istoppedtyingmyscarfaroundmyneck.

“Iwouldn’tknow,Pete,”Isaid.“Ididn’tknowBarbaraverywell.ButwhatIcantellyou, from my ownexperience, is that one daythingswillgetbetter. Iknowyou think they won’t now.But there’s a light at the endof the tunnel, Pete. And likeDaniel said, there’s a lot offishinthesea.Onesthatyoumight actually grow to love

more than thecitycounciloryourdog.”

He leaned in closer tome.

“Youknow,Cin–canIcallyouCin?”

Ishrugged.“You’re a good lady,

Cin,” he said, his tonguegetting stuck on his teeth.“Youhelpedmegethometheother night. Nobody in thisdamntownhaseverdonethatforme.”

“Itwas nothing,” I said,straightening my scarf.“Besides, Daniel’s the onethat—”

“Cin, I’mso lonely,”hesaid,desperationrunninglikea river through each word.“I’mso,solonely.”

Each aching syllabletuggedatmyheart.

I felt real sorry for theman.

Realsorry.That is, until I felt Pete

Burgess’s hand fumbling formythighunderneaththebar.

Chapter36

I recoiled, pulling away

from Pete Burgess like hewastheplague.

The whiskey haze thathad caused theworld to turnsoftat theedgesimmediatelywore off, as the situationcameintoharshfocus.

“Getthehell—”Istartedsayingtohim.

But I quickly realized I

didn’tneedto.Ashadowfellacrossthe

barinfrontofus.The hair on the back of

myneckstooduponend.Thenthemanspoke.“Pete,”hesaid,anicein

his voice that could have cutthroughsteel.“Youkeepyourhandsoffher.”

Ilookedup.His face was stoic and

unflinching.But his eyes… his eyes

wereonfire.Pete gasped and pulled

farawayfromme,like Iwastheplague.

Ialmostfeltbadforhim.Almost.

Chapter37

We drove home insilence, the utter darkness ofa winter’s night in theCascadeMountainsclosinginall around us like a thickblackfog.

IglancedoveratDaniel.He was staring hard

ahead at the road. Thatserious, steely look on hisfacethathe’dhadbackatthebarwasstillthere,butthefire

inhiseyeshadgoneout.Nowthere was just a cold, emptylook to them, like a fire pitafterarainstorm.

Iswallowedbackathickglob of spit that hadaccumulated at the back ofmythroat,andlookedoutthewindowagain.

I didn’t know if hewasangrywith Pete or if hewasstill processing what hadhappened at the bar, butknowing him as I did, I was

willingtowagerthatitwasalittlebitofboth.

The silence settled overuslikeathicklayerofdust.Ijust stared out the window,quiet.

After Daniel had toldPete togethishandsoffme,the room had hushed.Everyone’s eyes hadsuddenlyturnedonus.

Daniel had given Pete alook that could have frozensunshine.Andthenamoment

later, he had turned hisattentiontowardme.

“You okay?” he hadasked.

Ihadnodded.Hegrabbedaholdofmy

hand then.Wewalkedoutofthere fast,everyonewatchingus like we were celebritiescaught red-handed in a lovetryst.

Iclosedmyeyes.I knew the folks in

ChristmasRiverwellenough.

Thiswasgoingtobethetalk of the town cometomorrowmorning.And thenthe rumors would start. Icouldalmosthear them– theMoiraStewarts, theMeredithDrutmans, the BelindaCoopers – the town’s worstgossips having a field daywiththis.

What was she doingdrinking there alone in thefirstplace?Whatkindofladygoes to a place like that by

herselfanyway?Maybe therewas something going onbetween her and PeteBurgess. His wife did leavehim rather suddenly lastmonth. Could it have beenbecause he was having anaffairwithCinnamonPeters?Butwait, didn’t you see howshe pulled away from himwhen he touched her leg?Whywouldshedo that if shewasseeinghim?Becausesheknew people were watching,

ofcourse.ShehastheSheriff,but it’s not enough.Cinnamon Peters has alwaysbeenanungratefullittle—

I grabbed my head,hoping it would stop therunaway dialogue in mymind.Butitdidn’t.

“Nothing happenedbetweenmeandPete,”Isaidabruptly, looking over atDaniel, breaking the icysilence that had encased thecar.

Hedidn’tansweratfirst.His eyes remained glued totheroad.

We pulled down SugarPine, and then into ourdriveway. He killed theheadlights,andthenkilledtheengine.

Danielturnedtowardmeinhisseat.

“Why would you feellikeyouhavetosaythat?”hesaid, some of that steelinessstillinhisvoice.“Whywould

I ever think anything wasgoing on between you andthat…”

He trailed off,scrunching his face up indisgust.

“You know, I have amind to visit Pete tomorrowatcityhall.Givehimapieceofmy—”

“I just…” I startedsaying,butthenstopped.

Isighed.“People talk in this

town,”Isaid.“Always have and

alwayswill,” he said. “But Itrust you. I know that youwouldneverdoanythinglikethat. Especially notwith thatgood-for-nothing, sorry-for-himself drunk excuse for acity councilor. But you see,theproblemis thatyoudon’ttrustme,Cin.You think youhavetoexplainthattome.”

Heletoutasigh.“That’snottrue,”Isaid.

“Whywereyou in theredrinking alone tonight in thefirst place?” he said.“Nevermind. I know thereason. Part of it was Hucksbeinggone.Buttheotherparthas to do with that receiptyoufound.FromPepper’spieshop.Right?”

I bit my lower lip. Notanswering

Herubbedhisface.“I understand why

you’re upset about that,” he

said. “I shouldn’t have gonein there.Even if thatwas theonlyplaceopenfor100milesthat night. Even if it hadsomethingtodowithacase.Istill shouldn’t have done it,becauseIknewwhatitmeanttoyou.”

I furrowed my brow.This was the first I’d heardthathisstoptherewaspartofacase.

“ButCin,itwasacoffeeand a pastry. It was a four-

dollar and seventy-five centpurchase.Andifyouwant todrag thisoutandhatemeforit, then fine. But Pepper’spastryshop isn’t theproblemhere.

“Youwanttoknowwhatis?”

Iswallowedhard.“Youdon’ttrustme,”he

said. “That’s our problem,Cin. You think I would’vegoneintothatpastryshopjustfor fun? Like I would have

done it just to hurt you? Isthatwhatyouthink?”

Hesighedagain.“No,”Isaid.“WhatIdo

wonderabout though iswhatyou were doing in Portland,thatday.Andwhyyouliedtome about it, saying that thatwaspartofacasetoo.WhenBilly said he wasn’t awarethat you were working onsomethingfor thedepartmentinPortland.”

Daniel glanced over, a

sharplookinhiseyes.Thenheshookhishead.“Idon’tknowwhatelse

I can do,” he said.“Something this small justsendsyoubacktosquareone.YouthinkIwanttohurtyou.Youdon’ttrustmetodorightbyyou.WhenallIdois…”

Hetrailedoff.Then he got out of the

car,hiswordsechoing inmyhead as I watched him walkuptotheporchandgoinside,

slamming the front doorbehindhim.

Chapter38

Ilaywideawake,staring

upattheceiling,mythoughtsthrashing around inmy headlikealiferaftonangryseas.

Outside, the treestrembled in the cruel winterwind. I listened to the soundof their branches groaning,filling the night with theirghostlymumblings.

The darkness was

oppressive and all-encompassing. I wasdrowning in it, struggling tobreathe.

Swimming in a violentocean of memories andthoughts.

Sometimes, it felt likeyou made progress in someareas of your life. Like youhad breakthroughs, and grewasaperson.Likeyoucrossedcertainbridgesthatyouknewyou’dneverseeagainsolong

asyoulived.And then one day, you

find yourself at the edge ofoneofthosesameoldbridgesagain, having gone in onegiant circle without realizingit. Those same issues, stillthere, like nothing had everchanged.

Was that what hadhappened?Was I standing atthat same old bridge of trustagain,afraidtojustletgoandcross?

Hadn’tDaniel givenmeevery reason to trust him?Hadn’t he always been therefor me? Hadn’t he alwaysdone right byme?Givenmeeverything I wanted andmore?

Yet despite that,somewhere deep inside methose same old issues I hadwith trusting another personcompletely were there.Waiting, like a sleepingdragon, to rear its ugly head

anytime something gave mecausetodoubt.

Daniel going to the pieshop across the street, forinstance.

OrhimgoingtoPortlandand not telling me the realreasonwhy.

Shouldn’t I have hadenough faith in him and inourmarriagetonotcareaboutsmallthingslikethat?

It was easy to blamethings from the past. To

blame my ex-husband. Toblame my father, whoabandoned me and mymotherwhenIwasjustagirl.

But those days weregone,never to returnagain. Iknewthat.

Butstill…Something inside of me

foundithardtoletthoseold,ancientbeliefsdie.Nomatterhowoutdatedtheywerenow.No matter how little theyservedmeinmynewlife.

Iletoutalong,unsteadysigh up into the air. I turnedon my side, toward Daniel,watchinghimashe slept,hischest rising and falling witheachbreathofair.

Asleep like that, helookedlikeayoungerversionof himself.His featuresweresomehow softened. His skinwas glowing. A peacefulexpressiononhisface.

I watched him andscoldedmyself.

Danielwaskind-hearted,generous, good-natured, andeverythingIneeded.

Andhelovedme.LikeIwashismoonandstars.

I knew that with everyfiberofmybeing.

So why couldn’t I justletgo?WhydidIhavetofussover stupid things? Whycouldn’tI—

Daniel stirred in hissleep, and then his eyesopened, meeting mine,

catchingmestaringathim.It was too late to close

my eyes and pretend that Iwasasleep.SoI justheldhisstare. Watching as hisquestioninglookchangedintorecognition, and then intoworry.

“Are you okay?” herasped, his voice thick andscratchy and louder than itneededtobe.

Isearchedhiseyes.“Youwereright,”Isaid.

“What?”He rubbed his eyes,

openingthemagain,focusinghardonme.

“You were right, aboutwhat you said about meearlier. That I have a hardtime…”

I trailed off. Thenswallowed.

“It’s not about my lovefor you,” I said. “It hasnothingtodowiththat.”

I inched forward toward

him.“But it’s not right. I

understandthatnow.Becauseyou’re my husband. Andwe’reateam.Andtherecan’tbeanydoubts.Notnow.Notafter allwe’ve been through.Youdon’tdeservethat.”

Hiseyessoftened.Iputahandonhischest,

overhisheart.“I trust you,” I said.

“With everything I have.Fromhereonout.I’mnotjust

yourwife,I’myourpartner.”I looked deep into his

eyes.“We’re together in this.

Everystepoftheway.”Ipulledhimtomethen,

kissinghimhard.Wantingthekiss to saywhat I felt insidemyheart.

ThatItrustedhim.ThatIbelievedhim.ThatIbelievedinhim.Thathewasmyonetrue

love, and that I would never

let anything come betweenus.

Not another woman’scoffee and pastries, or thethings that he didn’t explaintome.Oracreepyguyatthebar who couldn’t keep hishandstohimself.

Not anything, everagain.

He stopped me after amoment, pushing me back,searching my face. His eyesfullofrawemotion.

“Nodoubts?”hesaid.Ilacedhishandsthrough

mine, gazing deeply into hisgreeneyes.

“Ipromise.”He grabbed me, pulling

me down underneath him,kissing me back with thesame intensity. Running hishands through my hair, overmy body. Holding me tight,our two hearts hammeringtogether in one thunderingbeat.

Onlytrustbetweenus.The bridge burned

behind me, and I heard thewooden beams break apartand collapse into the riverbelow.

AndallIhadlefttoholdontowashim.

Thatwasenough.

Chapter39

I sat at the edge of his

desk, sipping bitter coffeefrom an old mug that wasstampedwiththefadedwords“Pohly County Sheriff’sOffice.”

I looked at the bulletinboard hanging on the wallbehind his desk, my eyesskimming over each of thephotos, my chest tightening

when I got to the photo ofHuckleberry.

The picture had beentaken during a camping triplast summer up in themountains. Huckleberry hadloved playing fetch up inthose cold mountain lakes.We’d sit on the bank, andDanielwouldtossastickintothewater.LittleHuckswouldwaghisnubandgosplashingafter it. He’d come backdrenchedwiththestickinhis

mouth, his eyes glisteningwithhappiness.Wantingustorepeatitall.

Would we ever get achance to do that again withhim?

My eyes drifted over toChadwick’sphoto,whichhadbeenprovidedbytheHumaneSociety. The little CockerSpaniel had that sad,lonesome look when thephoto was taken. The kindthat would havemade him a

prime candidate for one ofthose SPCA commercialsshowing the depressed,homelessdogsintheircages.

WouldIevergettowalkChadwick again? Would Ieverget toseehimrunawaywhilebarkingat thesquirrelsinthetrees?

Iclosedmyeyes.I should have never let

themoutthatnight.“Six dogs have

disappeared in the last two

weeks, so far as we know,”Daniel said, leaning back inhischair.“We’veinterviewedevery one of the otherowners. We’ve interviewedneighbors. We’ve searchedthe areas where thedisappearances took place.We’ve searched forfingerprints and analyzed thescenes. And while thecircumstancesoftheincidentsvary, they do have onesimilarity: the dogs all seem

tohavevanishedintothinair.Andnotoneofthemhasbeenseensince.”

Danielcrossedhisarms.Coldsunlightspilledfromthewindow behind us, castingshadows on the bulletinboard.

“A number of the dogswent missing in theBrightStar trails area,includingShasta.Butsomeofthem were taken right fromthe owners’ possession,

including Huckleberry andChadwick.DogHollidaywassnatched from his van in agroceryparking lot.Meaningwhoever’s doing this isgetting bolder with eachkidnapping.

“As far as we’velearned, there’s nothing thatthese owners have incommon either that wouldcause them to be targeted.Obviously, Billy is a deputy.Julianne Redding is a retired

chef who lives alone. AnnaStevens isa librarian.You’rea small business owner. I’min law enforcement. AndPete…”

Hetrailedoff,lookingatme for a moment, and thenaway.

“He’s a soon-to-beformer city councilor with aconstructionbusiness.”

Herubbedhischin.“Soifthere’sarhymeor

reason behind these

kidnappings, then it’s notobvioustomeortoanyofthedeputies.

“Right now, I think it’slikely that thedogsarebeingtakenbyananimalhoarderofsome sort. So we’re lookinginto anybody who’s beenassociated with hoardinganimals in the area. But thatcould takea longwhile.Anda lot of those folks aren’texactly cooperative andforthcoming.”

Heletoutasharpsigh.“Might be a long while

yet,Cin.”Ifeltmyheartsink.Icouldtellbythetonein

hisvoicethathehadn’tmadeasmuchprogress in the caseashehadhopedtobynow.

Hewastryingsohard.Icould see it in his tired face.But like he had always toldme,sometimeswhenthetrailwas cold, there wasn’t awholelotyoucoulddoexcept

wait around until somethingelsehappened.

I cleared my throat,something occurring to mefromthenightbefore.

“What about that dogboard?”Isaid.

Daniel furrowed hisbrow.

“Dogboard?”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Uh,last

night when I was talkingto…”

I trailed off, a chill

running through me as Iremembered the creepyfeeling of Pete Burgess’shandonmythigh.

“Well, he was sayingthatatfirst,hethoughtmaybeDaisy’s disappearance hadsomething to do with himbeing on the dog board.Somebody wanting revengefor some ruling they mighthavecarriedout.”

“Except thatcommittee’s mostly a joke.

They hardly enforceanything,”Danielsaid.“Inallmy years, there’s only beenonetimethat...”

He trailed off, lookingout the window for a longmoment.

“Whatisit?”Isaid.He continued staring,

almost as if he hadn’t heardme.

“Daniel?”Thatsnappedhimoutof

it. He glanced back over at

me.“Nothing,” he shook his

head.“Justtiredisall.”“So, uh, what’s next

then?”Iasked.He took off his hat,

rubbing a handabsentmindedly through hishair.

“We’re sending out anews release about themissing dogs,” he said. “Themedia will run the photos.Hopefully somebody will

have seen something, andwe’llgetalead.”

“About Shasta too?” Iasked.

Heshrugged.“I don’t see any other

way,” he said. “And if itmeans getting Huckleberryback, then Idon’t reallygivea damn if I get in trouble.MaybeIshould.ButIdon’t.”

Heleanedforward.“Imisshimalot,Cin.”Ibitmylip.

“Idotoo.”“Sometimes I can’t help

butthink—”He turned towardme in

thechair.“What if…?”he started

saying.I shook my head and

reached for his hand, notlettinghimfinishthethought.

“I don’t believe that,” Isaid. “You’ll find him,Daniel.Iknowit.”

He looked back at the

bulletinboard.“I don’twant to let you

down,”hesaid.Isqueezedhishand.“Youcouldn’t,partner.”I saw the faint

beginnings of a smile on hislips.

Thenhenodded.

Chapter40

“I know what you’re

thinking,” she said, rubbingher face, the steam from thewood burning tool on thecraft table curling up aroundher. “But please don’t say it:I’m already thinking itmyself.”

Kara stared down at thecircular slab of juniper infront of her, the top half of

which was pocked withcrudely formed words thatgot smaller and smaller astheygotclosertothebottom.

She wiped a Kleenexacrosshermoistbrow.

“Dammit, I must beclear out of my head, Cin,”shesaid.“There’sonlyaboutamillionthingsleft todoforthe wedding, and here I amburningmyvowsintoapieceofwood.Whatkindoflunaticdoes that with only two

weeks to go before the bigday?”

“My favorite kind oflunatic,” I said, giving her aweaksmile.

“Niceofyoutosay,”shesaid.“ButItellyouwhat,I’mdriving myself nuts lately.Whenallthisisdone,IthinkI’m going to need a long,long vacation… frommyself.”

Sheshookherhead.“And asmuch as I love

having my mom here, she’sbeennohelpwhatsoeverwiththe wedding preparations. Igivehertaskstodo,andthenshe suddenly remembers shetold so and so that she wasgoing to see them when shegotbackintotown.AndthenI don’t hear from her allafternoon. She’s really just—”

Sheshotalookmyway.

“But what am I even

complainingabout?”shesaid,scanning my face.“Everything’sfinewithme.”

I forced another weaksmile,tyingtogetherawreathmadeoutof juniperbranchesthat was going to adorn thereceptionhall.

“You know, I sawDanielonTVlastnight,”shesaid.

I forced one of thebranches too far, and itsnappedclearinhalf.

Daniel had appeared onthe 6 o’clock news afterputting out a news releaseabout the missing dogs. Insomeways,thefactthatmorethan just Shasta wasmissingseemedtolegitimizeShasta’sdisappearance. Billy Jasperhadn’t just lost her: she’dbeenstolen.Andthatseemedto take a little bit of heataway from the departmentwhen it came to the missingdog.Thoughoneofthenews

anchorsdidmakesomesmartasscrackaboutShasta’stheftbeing the biggest theft,moneywise, that the countyhad seen in quite a fewdecades.

“Daniel was lookingprettyhandsomeon theTV,”Karasaid.

“Yeah, he was, wasn’the?”

She let out a sharpbreath.

“Sixdogsisalottojust

disappearlikethat,”shesaid.“Soundsprettyorganizedandcalculatingtome.”

Inodded.“You hear anything yet

aboutwheretheymightbe?”Ishookmyhead.“Nothing real, anyway.

A few crazies called into thestationthismorning,liketheydo whenever somethingcomes up on the news. Butthere’s been nothingconcrete.”

“I’m really sorry, Cin,”she said. “I really hope youfind them.You know, I lovethatlittleHuckleberrylikehewas my own dog. I can’timagineyouguyswithout…”

She stopped herselfbefore completing thesentence, realizing she waswading into emotionalterritory.

“Iknow,”Isaid.“AndIappreciateit,Kara.”

A silence fell over the

room.Sheclearedherthroat.“So, uh, the big day’s

coming up, right?” she said.“Thedayyou’regoingtotakePepper Posey to town at theGingerbreadJunction?”

Ibitmylip.I hadn’t really thought

much about the Junction thelastfewdays.

The Dr. Zhivagogingerbreadhousewassittingthere in the corner of my

shop, untouched. Anelaboratecreationthatinlightof recent events, no longerfelt as important as it oncedid.Foracompetitionthatnolonger felt as important as itoncedid.

Since Hucks andChadwickhadbeentaken,theworldhadfadedalittlebitforme.

Karamusthavereadmythoughts.

“You are going to the

Junction, aren’t you?” shesaid, lookingup frombehindherfacemask.

“I…”But I stopped before

saying anything more assomething through the frontwindowcaughtmyattention.

Ifocusedhard,unabletobelieve what my eyes weretellingme.

ThenextthingIknew,Iwas running through Kara’sshop,boltingoutthedoorand

down the sidewalk, chasingafterhimlikeadogchasingawildturkey.

Chapter41

I had never met Shasta,

the Pohly County Sheriff’sOfficepolicedog,before shedisappeared.

But that didn’t stop mefrom barraging the surprisedbloodhound with hugs andkisses,as ifshewasmyowndog.

Iknewthatotherpeoplepassingonthesidewalkwere

lookingatmelikeIwasnuts,butIdidn’tmuchcare.

Shasta was here. Andshewasalive.

“Where’dyoufindher?”Isaid,lookingupatBilly,myvoice trembling withexcitement.

He was grinning like aventriloquistdummy.

“Wegota report fromarunnerintheBrightStartrailsareathismorning,”Billysaid.“Said he saw a dog

wandering there that couldhavebeenoneof themissingoneshesawonTV.SoIwentandchecked it out and,well,it took me less than tenminutes to findShastaafter Igotthere.”

I grinned, rubbing myhands through her shinybrown coat. It smelled freshandclean.Shedidn’tseemtobeparticularlybotheredbyallthe attention, or particularlypleased either. She stared

straightahead,not lookingatme. She was a police dog,throughandthrough.

“I was coming downhere to show you that I gother back, but youweren’t inyourshop,”Billysaid.

I gave Shasta one lastpet on her soft flabby headandthenstoodup.

“So she was justwandering the woods?” Iasked.

“Yeah,”hesaid.“Itsure

is odd. But the only thing Icare about right now is thatshe’s back and that she’sokay.”

A look of utter reliefsweptacrosshisface.

“I was getting realworriedthereforawhile.”

I dusted my hands freeofdoghair.

“I’mgladtooBilly.”Iinhaledsharply.“You, uh, you get any

otherreportsthismorning?”

He looked down atShasta. Then he shook hishead.

“No,”hesaid.“ButMrs.Brightman, I’m sure thatHuckleberry and that otherlittle dog you were takingcare of are out theresomewhere. If Shasta cancome back, then your dogscan too. I know it’s only amatteroftime.”

I felt my throat shrivelup.

“Yeah,”Isaidinaquietvoice.“Whynot?”

Iforcedasmile.“Thanks for your help,

Mrs.Brightman.”“Aw, I didn’t do

anything, Billy,” I said.“You’re theonewhogotherback.”

“You say that, but youknowit’snottrue.”

He gave me a warmlook, like he wanted to hugme, but then he just looked

down at the cold concreteinstead.

“IknowI’mnotthebestat what I do,” he said,fiddling with the leash. “Butyouandthesheriff,youguysmakemewanttotry…”

He trailed off as hisvoice becamewobbly, like atablewiththreelegs.

He looked back up atme,squinting.

“Thanks,Cinnamon.”Hegaveme a nod, then

wentonhisway.I watched him as he

walked down the sidewalk,Shastatrottingout infrontofhim.

Just as if she had neverbeengoneinthefirstplace.

Chapter42

The sun was going

down, spilling a wintrycrimson lightover thesnowywoods.Overhead,fluffyCoolWhip clouds rushed acrossthe sky, forced ever onwardby a stiff wind. Sometimesthe clouds would part justlong enough to see the smallpale white moon, shiningweakly from its place in the

heavens.Ipulledup thecollaron

my coat and then dug myhands deeper into mypockets. I walked slowlydowntheBrightStarTrail,myeyes catching every shadow,everynookandcranny,everyunusual feature of thelandscape.

“Huckleberry!” I yelled,repeatinghisnameeveryfewminutes.

Everyonceandawhile,

I’d call Chadwick’s name,though I didn’t know why.The dog didn’t ever respondwhenIcalledhisnamebeforehewas taken, stubborn as hewas.

The only sound I heardback in response tomy crieswasadull,muffledecho,andtheoccasionallowhootingofanowl.

Deputies had scouredthese woods earlier, lookingfor any trace of how Shasta

might have disappeared andthenmiraculously reappearedinthesameareaalittleoveraweek later. They had alsoquestioned neighbors wholived in the nearbyneighborhoodtoseeifthey’dseen anything that related tothe case. But so far, theyhadn’t foundmuch. A set oftireprints in the snowatoneend of the park that couldhave really belonged toanyone was their big

takeawayfromallthosehoursofsearching.

Still, I felt a spark ofhope that hadn’t been therebefore Shasta reappeared. Ahope that had spurred me tosearch the woods againmyself, even if deputies hadalreadydone so.Ahope thatmaybe a break in the casewasjustaroundthecorner.

BecauseBillywasright.If Shasta could vanish andthen reappear just as easily,

why couldn’t the other dogsdothesame?

Shasta had looked to bein good condition, meaningthatshehadn’t justwanderedoff on her own. If she had,she would have been muddyanddirty, especiallyafter thestorm we’d had. Her pawsprobably would have beendamaged too by the cold ifshe’d been out in it. But I’dseen the dog myself, andthere wasn’t a single thing

wrong with her. It was clearthatsomeonehadbeencaringforherallthistime.

And then that persongaveherback.

That was the confusingpart,though.Whystealadogonly to return it to the sameareadayslater?

Maybe it had somethingto do with the newscast.Maybe whoever was doingthis had gotten spooked,seeing theirbaddeedson the

news like that. Maybe thepart about how the suspectcouldfacechargesoftheftofpoliceproperty,animalabuse,and animal neglect made theperson who did thisreconsider keeping Shastaaround.

Andifthatwasthecase,then maybe the rest of thedogs’ releasewouldn’tbefarbehind.

But as to what thispersonwasdoingstealingsix

dogs in the first place… thatwasstillamysterytome.Ifitwasn’tfortherewardmoney,thenwhatwas it for?Was itlike Daniel had said earlier,that an animal hoarder couldhavebeendoingthis?Exceptinstead of picking dogs andcats up on the side of theroad,theywerestealingthemright from backyards andcars? That seemed possible.Butittookmoneytofeedandcareforsixdogs.Italsotook

timeto—Suddenly, Iheardheavy

breathing coming from thepathupahead,wherethetrailcurved around a stand oftrees.

I stopped dead in mytracks, listening hard for amoment.

The breathing wasgettinglouder.

Theredhueofthesunsethad drained from the woodsaroundme,anddarknesswas

rapidlytakingitsplace.Ishivered,astrangefear

suddenly tightening aroundmy chest, as I realized Iwasallaloneouthere.

Myheartflutteredoutofcontrol.

A moment later, I wasfacetofacewithher.

Chapter43

“You scared the living

daylights out of me,” shesaid, leaning forward andplacing her hands on herkneeswhilegaspingforair.

She placed a hand overherheart,andclosedhereyes.

A long, ragged sigh ofreliefescapedmymouth.

“You gaveme quite thescaretoo,”Isaid.

I didn’t know exactlywhat Ihadbeenexpecting tofind around the bend. All Iknew was that I was morerelieved than a hungrymountainmanonthefirstdayof spring to find Deidre, themanager of the humanesociety shelter, there, insteadofsomecrazyanimalhoarderorawolf.

After a moment, hermouth turned up, and thewrinkles at the edges of her

eyes creasedwith the effort.

“Iwas,uh,Iwasjustouthere for a run,” she said, hervoiceinflectingalittlehigherthan normal. “I’m so busy atthe shelter lately that I don’thavemuch time for exercise.I have to go out at thesehours.”

She shifted her weightnervously between her feet.Ormaybeshewasjusttryingto keep moving. Then she

cleared her throat, lookingaround the woods, as if shewas afraid someone waslisteningoutthere.

“Have you heardanything more about thosemissing dogs?” she said. “I,uh, I saw on the news that afew of them have gonemissingaroundtheseparts.”

Ipeeredbackather.Theexpression on her face washard to read in the dimminglight.

“Yes, actually,” I said.“They found Shasta thepolice dog out here thismorning.”

“Oh, that’s great news,”Deirdre said, gripping myarms suddenly. Great news!Wassheokay?”

“Yeah.As good as new,actually.”

I suddenly noticed thatDeirdre’s left hand waswrapped in a large whitebandage that hadn’t been

therethelasttimeIsawherattheshelter.

“Whathappened toyourhand?”Iasked.

She glanced down at it,thenpulleditbackquickly.

Shesmilednervously.“Hazardof the job,”she

said, sticking her hand deepinto the pocket of her NorthFace fleece jacket. “One ofthose new dogs from theshelterinRedmondgotintoafight with Hazelnut, you

know, that yippy BorderCollie that we haven’t beenabletofindahomefor?Iwastrying to break it up and,well,myhand…”

Shetrailedoff.“I’mokay,though.”I started saying

something, but sheinterruptedmebeforeIcouldfinish,asifsomeurgencyhadsuddenlygrippedher.

“Well, it’s good seeingyououthere,Cinnamon,”she

said. “But I better get backbefore it gets much darker.Youknow, thesewoodsgivemethecreepsatnight.Don’twant tobe caughtherewhenitgetsdark.”

She squeezed my armwithhergoodhand.

“I really hope you findthe rest of those dogs,” shesaid.“Ireally,reallydo.”

She gave me a strangelittlesmile.

Amomentlater,shewas

briskly walking down thepathbehindme,headingbacktowardtheparkinglot.

I stood there a while,thinking, watching the nighttake the woods under itsblackwings.

Something scratching attheinsideofmyskullliketheway a tree branch scrapesagainstawindowinastorm.

Deirdre had referred toShasta the police dog as ashe.

Thatwouldn’thavebeensostrange,exceptforthefactthatallthenewsaccountshadreferred to Shasta incorrectlyasahe.

And as far as I knew,DeirdrehadnevermetShasta.

Iturnedaround,thinkingaboutgoingafterher.Askingher how she knew that.Asking her what she wasreally doing out in thesewoodsatthishour.

I had never knownDeirdre to be much of afitnessfanatic.

ButasIlookeddownthedarkpath,Irealizedit’dbenouserunningafterher.

Deirdre was gone.Vanishing almost as quicklyasthosedogshad.

Chapter44

A sudden blizzard

descended upon ChristmasRiver that night withabsolutelynowarning.

A bank of dark cloudsrolled in, obliterating themoon and stars.A punishingwind howled and rippedthrough the forest. The treesbent like soft seaweed in anoceancurrent.

I watched from the pieshop kitchen, looking out atthewallofwhiteswirlingjustpastthebackdeck.

There was a loudgroaning noise, loud enoughtohearabovethewind.Itwassoonfollowedbyacrash.

The treeswere snappingliketwigsoutthere.

I took a sip of mypomegranatetea,feelinggladto be inside where it waswarmandcozyandsafe.

I thought of the baby-faced weatherman on thenews channel who lookedlike he’d just graduated highschool. He hadn’t said onethingabout this storm in thismorning’s forecast. Stormslikethisdidn’tjustappearoutofnowhere.Yet last I’d seenthenews,theweathermanhadsun and blue skies for thenexttendays.

Therewasanother crashfrom out in the storm, and I

felt my insides trembleslightly.

I wondered if the newsstation didn’t need to finditself a replacementmeteorologist.

Thisstormwasgoing tocreate a mess. Cometomorrowmorning, the roadswould be impassable. It’dtake days before anybodywould be able to walk fromtheir front door to thesidewalk.Itwasgoingtobea

real pain in the behind, thisstorm.Arealbad—

“Awhoooooo…”I nearly dropped my

mugofteaasaghostlynoisesounded over the screamingwind.

“Yiiiippppp…”Louderthistime.My skin broke out in

goosebumps.Thatsound…Itwas…Iplacedmymugon the

counter, opened the backdoor,andsteppedoutintothestorm.Atorrentof icyflakesblewintomyfaceasIwalkedtoward the sound, growinglouder with each passingmoment.

“Yiiippppp…”My legs fought through

thethicksnow,whichseemedto be deeper with each step.Theviciouswindcutthroughmy sweater, and my bodystartedtoshakeviolentlywith

chills.Theentireworldwasasnow globe, walls of whiteflakes in every direction Ilooked.

“Huckleberry!?” Ishouted.“I’mhereHucks!”

The noise soundedagain. I was getting closer.Thentherewasasecondyip.

They were together:Huckleberry and Chadwick.They were alive, and theywereoutheretogether.

“Comehere,pooches!”I

cried, my voice hoarse andcracking.“Comehere!”

They were close by. Icouldfeelthemoutthere,justbeyond the white. I couldsensethem.

“I’m here!” I cried out,desperation squeezing hardaroundmy throat. “I’m righthere,pooches!”

Therewasanotheryip.The dogs were alive. It

was going to be okay. Soonenough, they’d be back at

home, curled up by thefireplace in the living room.Warm and safe and sound.Likethey’dneverbeenstoleninthefirstplace.

“Huckleberry, I’m right—”

Suddenly, somethingchanged.

The yipping stopped.There was a low gutturalnoise.Agrowl.

And then I saw them,their coats glistening against

thewhite.Itwasn’tHuckleberry.It

wasn’t Chadwick out here,howlinginthestorm.

Theyweren’tdogsatall.But by the time I

realizedthat,itwastoolate.Three black wolves

stared back at me withsoulless, beady eyes. Eyeswithahungerthatcouldhavedevouredthewholeworld.

One of them beganlicking its chops. The others

smiled.“No,” I said, backing

away.“No!”But the dinner bell had

alreadyrung.Oneofthempouncedon

me, its forceful strengthknocking me into the cold,snowyground.Itriedtofightback, but one of them hadgrabbed a hold of my leg,thrashing me like I was achewtoy.

“Help!” I cried, my

pleads vanishing into thewind.

The wolves starteddragging me through theblizzard to their den, mybloodstaining thepurewhitesnow behind me. And justbefore I lost consciousness, Iheard a woman’s voice,wailing from somewhere inthosedarkwoods.

“You deserve it!” thevoice cried. “All of youdeserveit!”

Then the world turnedred.

Chapter45

“Cin.Cin!”My eyes flipped open. I

looked up through a blurryfilm,notknowingwhoIwas,where I was, or what wasgoingon.

I was in a room. Softlight flickered around thewalls.Astrangerwaslookingdown at me, his eyebrowsknittogetherinanexpressionof deep concern. He had his

handsonmyshoulders.He’dbeenshakingme.

Then my memory camebacktome.

I was at home, in mybed. The light on the wallswasfromthefireplace.

“Daniel? What’shappening?”Isaid,myvoicecracking.

“You were shouting inyour sleep,” he rasped,concern still on his face.“You were having a

nightmare.”I closed my eyes for a

second, the vividness of thedream coming back to mewith the force of anavalanche. I could almosttaste the snowflakes; almosthear the sound of the treessnappinginthewind.

Almostseethosehungryblack wolf eyes, leering atme.

Andtheredonthesnow.“I thought I heard

Huckleberry,”Isaid,grippinghis arm. “Both dogs. Theywere out there in the storm.Butitwasn’tthem,Daniel.Itwasn’tthem.”

I started trembling. Achillworthyoftheblizzardinthedreamcaughtholdofmeandstartedshaking.

“They were wolves,” Isaid.“Theywere…”

The trembling gotworse.Sobad that I couldn’tspeakbecausemy teethwere

chatteringsomuch.I wasn’t sure if I was

still in the dream. If I wasfullyawake.Icouldstillhearthosewolveshowling.

“Oh,Cin,”Danielsaid.Hesatup,pullingawool

throwfromthebottomof thebed. He led me over to thefireplace,wrappingme up intheblanket.

Herubbedmyshouldersuntil the shaking started tosubside.

“Itwasjustanightmare,Cin,” he said. “Everything’sokay.We’reokay.”

Isank intohisarms, thewarmth from his bodyenveloping me. My eyesdrifted over to the bedroomwindow.

Dark clouds had rolledin and light flakes werecomingdownfromthesky.

“She said we deservedit,”Imuttered.

Hepeereddownintomy

face.“Who?”hefinallysaid.“The woman,” I said.

“Thewomaninthedream.”“Ithoughtyousaidthere

werewolves,”hesaid.“There was a woman

too,”Isaid.“Somewhere,outthere.”

Ilookedbackoveratthewindow.

“Itwasjustadream,”hesaid again, pulling me closetohim.“Justadream.”

ItwasalongtimebeforeIbelievedthat.

Chapter46

Ilayonthesofaflipping

channels, holding the woolblanketclosetomybody.

Though I had stoppedshaking, the chill of thenightmare was still there,deep in my bones. As if I’dsomehow absorbed the coldintomyverycells.

After the wolf dream,it’d taken me hours to get

back to sleep. And when Idid,Ifellintoarestless,half-awake kind of sleep that leftme feeling more exhaustedthan if I had stayed up allnight.

There were corpses thatweremorealivethanmerightnow.

Maybesomebodyelseinmy shoes would have beenable to carry on, and haveshownup to theGingerbreadJunctionthismorning.

But that person wasn’tme.

Not today. Not in theweak emotional and mentalstateIfoundmyselfin.

For thesecondyear inarow,CinnamonPeterswouldbe a no-show at the annualGingerbreadJunction.

I just couldn’t standthere, surrounded bymeaningless cookie houses,smiling at the judges andpretending that everything

was okay. That my doghadn’t been stolen. Thatbusiness at the shop wasn’ttanking.ThatPepperwasn’tabetter gingerbread artist thanme.

I couldn’t pretendanymore.

Iwasn’tgoingtowintheJunction this year anyway.Pepper had me beat. I knewit.Sheknewit.Andtheentiretown knew it. Everyonealready understood how

today’s competition wouldend. There was no use ingoingthroughthemotions.

Ihadbetter things todotodaythantofalltoPepperinfront of the whole ofChristmas River. Like lie onthe sofa and watch an oldmovie marathon on TurnerClassic.

“Soyou’renotgoing?”I craned my neck over

the back of the sofa. Danielwas standing by the door,

dressed in his Sheriff’suniform, a thermos of coffeeinhishand.

“Thereisn’tanypoint.”Daniel walked over to

thesofa,staringforamomentat the television, and thenbackdownatme.

“Hmm,” he grunted.“Yousureyouwant tospendthe daywithRobertOsbornehere? Not that there’sanything wrong with Robert.It’s just that he might be a

littleoldforyou.”Ishrugged.“He’s the best option

I’ve got right now,” I said.“She’s going towin anyway.That houseof hers is aworkofart.Thejudgesaregoingtolosetheirmindsoverit.”

“Don’t sell yourselfshort,” he said. “Last I saw,that Dr. Zhivago house ofyourswasaworkofarttoo.”

“Not like hers,” I said.

“Youshouldseeit,Daniel.Ifyoudid,you’dunderstand.”

Heshrugged.“If you want to be that

way, then,” he said, leaningdown and kissing the top ofmyhead.

I had expected him tofight me more on it, butinstead, he just grabbed hisSheriff’s duffel bag from offthe counter and then headedforthedoor.

“I’vegottarun,Cin,”he

said.“I’mgoingtogotalktoDeirdre Hamilton like youasked. Call me if you needanything, all right? I’ll bearound.”

“Okay,”Isaid,numbly.Ilistenedtothecreakof

the front door. Then I heardtheslidingofthelockbehindhim.

Then there was nothingbut an achingly hollowsilenceinthehouse.

I closedmyeyes, trying

topushitalloutofmymind.Butitwaslikepushinga

boulderuphill.It just all came rolling

back at me, even strongerthanbefore.

Chapter47

It was movies-from-the-1960s marathon day onTurnerClassicMovies.

Robert Osborne waswrapping up a movie andtalking about the era ofrevisionist Westerns, and Ihad just closed my eyes,starting to slip away intodreamland,whenthejingleofmyphonejarredmeawake.

I reached over without

openingmyeyes,grabbing itoffthecoffeetable.IsquintedatthecallerID.

What was he doingcallingmefromhisphone?

Henevercalledfromhiscell.Ifhediduseaphone,heusuallycalledfromalandlineover there. But most of thetime,wetalkedonSkypeasawaytosavemoneyandavoidhefty international callcharges.

Had something

happened? Was there anemergency?

I quickly answered,tightening my grip on theplasticandpressingthephonehardagainstmyear.

“Grandpa?”Isaid.“CinnyBee?”hesaid.“Iseverythingokayover

there?”“No,” he said.

“Something terrible hashappened.”

I felt my stomach drop

the length of the SpaceNeedle.

Thiswasit.Thiswasthecall that I’d been dreadingsince the old man boarded aplane toScotlandayearago.The one tellingme that he’dfallendownanarrowflightofScottishstairsorbeenbeatenupbyhooligans inaScottishpub or had a medicalemergencyandwasnow laidup in a Scottish hospital,clingingtohisverylife.

“What… whathappened?” I squeaked out,thestrengthdrainingfrommyvoice.

He didn’t answer rightaway.

“Grandpa? Whathappened?”Iaskedagain.

“Well, I tell you whathappened,” he said. “Thequeen of the GingerbreadJunctionhasgoneandquitonherself. Now in my book,that’s about as terrible as it

gets.”

Chapter48

After I found my voice

again,IletWarrenhaveit.“You almost gave me a

heart attack over here, oldman,” I said, having troublekeeping the anger out of mytone. “I thought it wassomethingserious.”

“This is serious,” hesaid. “My granddaughter isletting some silly croissant

maker get the best of her.Andyouknowwhattheworstpart of it is? Mygranddaughter’s not evengoing togive it a shot.She’sjust holding up her handssaying‘Youwin.Igiveup.”

Ibitmylowerlip.“You don’t understand,

Grandpa,”Isaid.“Ijustcan’tdoit.Nottoday…”

Itrailedoff.“It’s all meaningless

anyway.”

“Cin,”hesaid, taking inadeepbreath.“Iknowyou’rehurting.Iknowthatyouthinkthisfancycroissantmakerhasgot the better of you. And Iknow what that little poochmeanstoyou,too.Butifyoulet them take away your dogand your passion for thethings you love doing, thenthey’ve won. Don’t you seethat?”

Isighed.ThiswasDaniel’sdoing.

Insteadoftalkingtome,he’dgonebehindmybackandtoldWarrenthatIwasn’tgoingtocompete, knowing that theoldmanwouldtrytorallymyspirits.

Daniel was playingdirty.

“I know,” I said. “But—”

“Now you being mygranddaughter, I know thatyou’ve already done one ofthemcookiehousesupright,”

Warrensaid, interruptingme.“It’s probably just sittingthere at your shop now, allreadytogo.Allsyouhavetodoisgooverthere,pickitup,andgotothecompetition.Aseasyasone,two,three.”

“Grandpa, it’s not that—”

“Oh yes it is,” he said.“You’ve got rivers of thatstrength deep inside of you,CinnyBee. Iknowbecause Iraisedyou.Now’sthetimeto

find‘emandfishsomeofthatstrengthout.”

Ishookmyhead.“Ican’tdoit.”“Cin,” he said. “You’ll

regret it if you don’t.Maybenot today. Maybe nottomorrow.Butsomedaysoon,you’llregret…”

I suddenly found that Iwas no longer listening toWarren’speptalk.

Something had caughtmy attention on TV, andmy

eyes drifted over toward theflatscreen.

A familiar scene playedout. A still life painting ofaspen trees with the word“Overture” appeared on thescreen.

Amomentlater,thehaironthebackofmyneckstoodstraight up, as if a lightningstormwaspassingoverhead.

A beautiful, hauntingsong played over thespeakers. That sweeping,

passion-filled melody thatspokeof loveandpoetryandall the things that made lifeworthliving.

Ialmostgasped.Whatweretheodds?“Cin, you still there?”

Warrensaid.I swallowed hard,

strugglingtofindthewords.“Soareyougonnagoor

what?”Iwatchedastheoverture

faded and the opening scene

ofDr.Zhivagodancedacrossthescreen.

Iwasn’t sure if itwas asign, or divine intervention,orsomecosmiccoincidence.

But whatever it was, Iknew that if Ididn’t listen towhat it was telling me, I’dregretit.

Warrenwasright.I would regret letting

themhavethatkindofpoweroverme.

I’d regret letting them

take my passion away fromme.

Itookinadeepbreath.“Yes,”Ifinallysaid,my

voice growing strong.“You’re right, Grandpa. Idon’thaveachoiceanymore.I’mgoing.”

Icouldn’tseehim,butIwas almost certain that hisold weathered face stretchedintoabrightsmilejustthen.

“That’s theCinnyBee Iknow,”hesaid.

Chapter49

Ifoughtmywaythrough

thedriftsoffreshsnowinthehigh school parking lot,tryingtogoasfastasIcouldwhile balancing a 30-pound,three-story gingerbread icepalaceinmyarms.

When I had screechedinto the lot five minutesearlier, every single parkingspace was taken. I had been

forced to park my Escape afew streets down and hike itin,slippingandslidingontheslushy snow while cradlingthecookiehouselikeitwasachild.

Butforallthecarsinthelot, the place was asabandoned as an oldjunkyard.

Everybody was alreadyinside.

Fromtheauditorium,thedeepvoiceofthisyear’shost

boomed over the intercom.He was introducing thejudges.Loudcheeringechoedacrosstheparkinglot.

“And lastly, we haveJulianne Redding on thepanel. A retired chef,Julianne has a decade ofexperience judginggingerbread houses. She’s alady who’s seen it all. Thiswomanpractically dreams inlicorice, gumdrops, andpeppermint candies. When

Julianne’s not judginggingerbread artistry,she’s…”

Ipickedupthepace,mysnowbootsdigginghard intothe melting snow. Usually Idressed up for thecompetition,opting for fancyboots, a skirt and a nicesweater most years. But lessthan twenty minutes ago I’dbeen lying on the couch,having boarded the train todreamland. Given that, I

figured I’d done prettydecentlyformyself.

I could hone sweatstucked into snow boots inpublic, just so long as mysloppy style hadn’t all beenfornothing.

I ran up to the frontentrance. The metal doorswereclosedshut,andnobodyappearedtobeinsidetohelp.

I tried backing up intothe door, hooking the handlewithmy elbow and prying it

openthatway.Butthatdidn’twork. I tried balancing thegingerbread house with onehandtofreeupmyotherone,butitstartedtippingbackandforth like a seesaw. I placedmyhandback just at the lastsecondbeforelosingmygrip,saving the ice palace fromshattering all over theconcrete.

Another round of loudcheeringeruptedfrominside,and my heart started

flutteringlikepineneedlesinthewind.

As stated on theregistrationformIhadturnedin, if I didn’t get inside theauditoriumbeforethejudgingcommenced, then Iwouldbedisqualified.

I started banging on thedoors with my elbows,shouting like a nut in alooneybin.

“Anybody there?!” Icried.

There was nothing. JusttheMC’svoicedriftingout.

“And now, the fivejudges will go house byhouse, critiquing eachcreationbasedonoriginality,difficulty,andexecution.”

“Let me in!” I shouted,mythroatthickwithemotion.

Butnobodycame.Ilookedaroundquickly,

searchingforanyplacetosetthe gingerbread house downwhile I opened the heavy

metaldoors.But I quickly surmised

thatmyonlyoptionwouldbetheground.

I began slowly loweringthe heavy cookie house. I letoutasharpgaspasoneofthespires on the cookie domebeganleaningofftooneside.

I stopped lowering it,afraid if I went any farther,the whole dome might bebroughtdown.

Was thiswhere it ended

for me? Out here, poundingon a metal door in mysweats? Having no one toblamebutmyselfformissingoutonthejudging?

In that moment, Irealized just how badly Ireally wanted to win thecompetitionthisyear.

I wanted it more badlythan I wanted those redLucchese boots from theCowgirlDepot.

I wanted to show the

townjustwhatIwasmadeof.To prove to them that I

still had it. No matter whoelsewascompeting.

But it was all over. I’dsabotaged myself. Thejudginghadstarted,andIwas—

Therewasanoiseontheother side of the door. Then,it began to open, its heavymetal hinges squeakingloudly.

I looked up, a flicker of

hopeinmyheart.I could have kissed him

then.“Wewerestartingtoget

worried,”he said, thehintofasmileonhisface.

Iletoutasigh.“You’re a lifesaver,

Brad,”Isaid.“Alifesaver.”He grabbed one side of

the cookie house base, andhelpedmecarryitthroughthedoor.Wepickedupthepace,mysnowbootsslappinghard

againstthelinoleumfloor.Amoment later,wehad

madeittotheauditorium.Morgan Brenneke sat at

thecheck-intable,eyeingmeupanddown.

“It’s Cinnamon Peters,”I choked out, taking inshallow breaths. “And I’mherewithmyentry.”

“I know who you are,”Morgansaid.

She crossed her arms,givingmeasharplook,asifI

hadjustspokenbacktoherinherhistoryclass.

“You’re very, very late,Ms. Peters,” she said. “Youshould have been listeningbetter to the rules onregistrationday.”

Mystomachdropped.Shepaused,herattention

now on my gingerbreadhouse.

Shelookedbackatme.“But you’re lucky,” she

said. “Youmade it by just a

hair.”I looked at Brad, and

then let out a long sigh ofrelief.

Ihadmadeit.“You’re on the south

side of the auditorium,” shesaid, pointing behind me.“Spotnumber73.”

I nodded quickly, thenBradandIcarriedthecookiehouse down the steps,weavingourwaythroughthethrongsofpeople.

Afewmomentslater,wesettheDr.Zhivagocookieicepalace down on spot number73.

I gave Brad a big,grateful hug. He looked alittle taken aback by it, but Ididn’tcare.

He’dsavedmyneckjustnow.

Outof the cornerofmyeye,InoticedthatPepperwasstandingjustafewfeetawayfromme in spot number 74,

her eyes glued to mygingerbreadhouse.

And for the first timesince I’d met her, Pepperwasn’tsmiling.

No.Pepper Posey looked

like she’d just been punchedinthegut.

Chapter50

“Listen, Cin,” he said,

just barely above a whisper.“AsmuchasIlikebeingheretosupportyou,cookiehousesaren’t exactlymy cup of tea.I’m here because I reallyneedtotalktoyou.”

Brad shot a paranoidglanceovermyshoulder,asifhe was afraid someone waslistening.

IlookedoveratKara.“You’re really going to

wanttohearthis,”shesaidinadeadserioustone.

Ifurrowedmybrow.“Can we go out in the

hall?”Bradasked.The judges had just

come by, all five of themdoing a very thoroughinspectionofmyDr.Zhivagoice palace. They had takencopious notes while askingme difficult questions on the

concept behind the house.Their stoic expressions hadbeen hard to read. JulianneRedding in particular had acoldandemptyexpressiononher face that surprised me alittle bit. In years past, she’dalwaysbeen thenicestof thejudges. Yet she’d hardlyacknowledged I was there.But I tried not to take itpersonally: with Harley’sdisappearance, I knew thatshehadn’tbeenherselflately.

Besides, the judges had

treated all the contestantsdistantly this year, includingPepper.

A wave of relief hadcoursed through my tiredmuscleswhen the judgeshadfinished looking at mygingerbread house, movingon down the line. I realizedthat no matter whathappened: whether or not Iwon, and whether or not

PepperPoseyprovedthatshewasbetter thanme,at least Icould take pride in the factthat I hadn’t given up. Ihadn’t been beaten, even if Ididn’tenduptakinghomethe$500.

Pepper’s house was,hands down, the mostbeautifulgingerbreadhouse Ihad ever seen. Shimmeringwithsilverypastels,sugaricesculptures, and lit up withcolorful lights from the

inside, her gingerbread doghouse was nothing short ofmagic. It was more thangingerbread:itwasaworkofart. I couldn’t deny it, andneithercouldthecrowds.Outof all the gingerbread houseson display this year, hersdrewin thebiggest throngofspectators. People wereogling her cookie dog houselike it was made out of 24karatgold.

AndPepperdeservedall

that attention. Just like shedeserved the attention fromfolks for her delicious piesand pastries. Quality wasquality, and if anything, hertalent should have been aninspiration forme to step upmyowngame.

From here on out, Iwasn’t going to wallow inself-pity, afraid that PepperPoseywasabetterbakerandbusiness woman than me. Iwasn’t going to lie on the

couch, feeling defeated,anymore.Instead,IwasgoingtodoeverythingIcouldtodobetter, tosethigherstandardsformyself.TodothebestthatI could, no matter what newpie shop sprang up inChristmasRiver.

And I most certainlywasn’tgoingtoliedownandlet Pepper take all mycustomers. That just wasn’tthe kind of gal CinnamonPeters was, contrary to the

way she’d been actingrecently.

I was going to fight.Even if itmeantstandingouton the sidewalk in the coldwearing elf shoes myself,offeringfreesamplesofpie.

I was thinking about allof this when Brad and Karahad come up to me, both ofthem with serious and dourexpressionsontheirface.

Bradledmeupthestepsand out into the hallway,

which was mostly deserted.Thehustleandbustlecomingfrom the auditorium echoeddownthecorridor.

He started pacingnervously.

“First off, I justwant tosay that I detest finger-pointing,” he said. “I’m notthetypetoaccuseapersonofsomethingwithout having allthe facts. I think people aretoo quick to jump toconclusions in this day and

age. That’s what I think,anyway.”

I nodded slowly, unableto guess at what this couldpossiblybeinrelationto.

Herubbedhisbeard,andthenletoutashortsigh.

“Buthavingsaidthat…”Heloweredhisvoice.“Cin, there’s something

important I’vegot to tellyouabout. Something that youneedtoknow.”

Hepaused, and Iwaited

forhimtocontinue.He let out an unsteady

breath, and dug his handsdeep into the pockets of histaperedjeans.

Hewasasuneasyas I’deverseenhim.

“What is it, Brad?” Ifinallysaid.

“It has to dowith thosemissing dogs,” he said, hiseyes reaching for the ceiling.“I think… I think PepperPosey might be the one

behindthedisappearances.”

Chapter51

I’d been to over twenty

Gingerbread Junctioncompetitions inmy timeasagingerbread artist, and neverbefore had there been somuch disagreement amongstthejudges.

They were shufflingthroughtheirnotesupattheirtable on stage, discussingtheir viewpoints with a kind

fervor that was worthy of aSundayevangelicalshow.

Ithadbeenoveranhoursince the judges had finishedtheir tour of the auditorium,and from their hushed,strained voices, it didn’tappear that they were anyclosertodecidingthewinner.I noticed that JulianneRedding in particular had alottosay.Shewasusingwildhand gestures andinterrupting the other judges

beforeanyof themcouldgettwowords in, showingmorelifethanI’dseensincebeforeHarleydisappeared.

I just hoped that myhouse had impressed herenoughtogetheronmyside.Withallheryearsof judgingcookie construction, she wasagoodpersontohaveinyourcorner.

In the meantime,competitors and spectatorsalikehadstartedtogetantsy,

waiting for the results.Therewas some grumbling, and afewfolkshadevenstarted tostep outside the auditorium,quitting on the event andopting instead to hear theresults tonight on the 6o’clocknews.

I probably would havebeen feeling antsy aboutwaitingall this time too, if itweren’t for the fact that mymind was somewhere elsecompletely.

Brad’s words keptechoinginmyears.

“Ididn’twanttogointoPepper’s shop the other day,you know, wanting to stayloyal toyou,”Bradhad said,pacing the hall outside theauditorium. “But you see,Will has this love for allthingsFrench. So I took himthere during our lunch breakyesterday. We ordered somebacon cheese croissants andwerehavingagreattime,but

then I noticed thatWillwentstark white all of sudden.And I look at what he’sstaring at, and it’s PepperPosey, who’s just come outfrom thekitchen in theback.And he just looks like he’sgoing to lose his baconcheese croissant all over theplace.

“So I ask him, ‘Will, iseverythingokay?’

“And thenheshakeshishead and says ‘Let’s get out

ofhere.’So I’m like,okay. Iguess he really hates thesecroissants. Then during thecarridehome,Iaskhimwhatwas the matter. And he says‘Thatwomandoesn’tdeserveanother cent of ours.’ And Iwas like ‘Will, what are youtalkingabout?’Andthenyouknowwhathesaid?

“He says, ‘That’s thedog kidnapper who tookReginald six years ago. Thecollege girl who took the

rewardmoney.Theredhead.Thatwasherinthere.’”

I’d been shocked byBrad’sstory.Shockedbeyondwords.

And itdidn’t really takemuch detective work to puttwoandtwotogether.

The dogs starteddisappearing shortly afterPepper showed up in town.How could that have been acoincidence?

I’d wandered into the

auditorium after that, findinga quiet spot near the back tothinkthingsthrough.

Pepperhad fooledallofus,thiswholetime.

But was she really theone behind the dogkidnappings? I still couldn’tseetheangle,eventhoughthepieces seemed to fit. Butmaybe she was doingsomethingelsewiththedogs,something outside what wehad previously thought.

Sellingthemintootherhomesthat would pay a lot for apolice dog, or a cute yellowlab, or a well-trainedAustralianShepard.

Ormaybeshewasdoingsomething worse with them:selling them to laboratoriesfor science experiments.Something I’d read aboutbeforeonline.

Reginald the bull doghad been stolen and thenreturned several years ago.

That was plenty of time forher to get good at stealingdogs and making money offof them. Plenty of time tobecomeagrade-Adogthief.

But could Will havebeen mistaken? He hadn’tevenhadanyproofinthefirstplace that the girl whocollected the reward moneyall those years ago actuallyripped him off. From Brad’sretelling, it had been just ahunch. Meaning that even if

Pepper was the same girlwho’d found Reginald, itdidn’t make her a thief. Thewhole thing could have beeninnocent.Andshecouldhavebeenreally trying todogoodthen.

Ormaybenot.I swallowed hard,

remembering the first time ImetPepper.Itwasduringhershop’sgrandopening.

She’d seen me walkingChadwick.

And then there was hergingerbreadhouse:wasitjustcoincidencethatshe’dchosento build a dog house? Wasshe trying to send somekindoftwistedmessagewithit?Alittle wink at the Sheriff’sOffice and the rest of thetown maybe? Teasing us allwith a clue, the waysometimes criminals did intelevisionshows?

WasPepperPoseyreallybehindallofthis?

Did she know whereHuckleberry and Chadwickwereatthisverymoment?

Ihadtofindout.And I had to find out

now.I started walking down

the steps of the auditorium,heading forher station.But Iquickly realized that while agroupof spectatorswere stillcrowding around hergingerbread creation, Pepperherselfwasnolongerthere.

I skimmed the room,looking for that bright redhairofhers.Butafterseveralminutes of searching, I stillhadn’t found her. The onlypersonwithhairthatbrightinthe auditorium was JulianneRedding, and she was up atthejudges’table,stillarguingherpointofview.

I pulled out my phone,about to hitDaniel’s numberon speed dial, when a hushfelloverthecrowd.

Julianne Redding hadabruptlyleftherseatandhadmade her way up to themicrophone.

There was a folded-uppieceofpaperinherhands.

“Ladies and gentlemen,wehaveadecision,”shesaid.

My heart hammeredfaster than a damned freighttrainboundforhell.

Chapter52

I squeezed my eyelids

tightly,clenchedmyjaw,andfeltmyhandsrollupintofistsatmysides.

The entire room fellunderanervoushush.Theairwaspracticallyelectric.

“Andthewinner,of, the55th annual GingerbreadJunction,is…”

Julianne unfolded the

piece of paper slowly, as ifher hands were made out ofwood.

My heart pounded hardinmy chest and bile shot upthe back of my throat. Iopenedmyeyesforasecondandtheroomwasspinning.Isuddenly felt like therewasn’t enough air in theauditorium.Toomanypeople,not enough air.Too manypeople, not enough air. Toomanypeople,notenough…”

“And before I announcethis, I just want to leteveryone know that thisyear’s winner is perhaps thebest gingerbread houseartistrywe’veseeninyears…possibly ever,” Julianne said,smiling coyly. “This personwent above and beyond therequirements to makessomething truly spectacular.”

There were a fewgrumbles from the crowd, as

if everybody was as anxiousasIwas.

“The winner of thisyear’s Gingerbread Junctionis…”

CinnamonPeters.Cinnamon Peters.CinnamonPet—

“NoneotherthanPepperPosey for Max’s DogHouse!”

Itfeltlikeariflehadjustexploded at close range infrontofme.

A round of applauseroared throughout theauditorium.Iopenedmyeyesto see if itwas true, if I hadindeedlostthecompetitiontothenewpiebakerintown.

I had: the clappingwasn’tforme.

“Pepper,pleasecomeuphere to collect your prize,”Juliannesaidabove thenoiseofthecheeringcrowd.

I felt a hard lump growatthebackofmythroat.

The exit by the stageopened, and I caught aglimpseof that fiery redhairbriskly moving through thedoor, leaving a cloud ofcigarette smoke in herwake.A moment later, PepperPosey had jumped on stage.Shewas smiling bashfully, agrin onher face thatwas theequivalent of a Sally FieldOscar Speech. You like me!Youreallylikeme!

I clenched my fists

tighter.This woman had most

likely stolen Huckleberry.This woman had most likelystolen Chadwick. Thiswoman most likely stoleHarley,Daisy,DogHolliday,andShasta.Thiswomanwasathief.Aliar.

This woman didn’tdeserve the $500 top prize.Shedidn’tdeservethetrophy.She didn’t deserve therecognition.

What she deserved was—

“I just want to let y’allknowhowgratefulIamtobestanding up here,” Peppersaid, leaning into themicrophone. “You know, itmeanssomuchtomebecauseI just moved here toChristmasRiver, and you allhavereallyopenedyourarmstome and takenme in. Andthis—”

She looked down at the

trophywithadmiration,likeitwasthatSallyFieldOscar.

My jaw tightened, afuriousangerrushingupfromthebaseofmychest.

“This is B.S.,” I said,feelingmyvoicesuddenlygetlouder.“B.S.!”

“This just proves that Ididn’t make a mistake bymovinghere.ChristmasRiverisacommunityofsuchkind,hardworking, and generouspeople. I’m truly honored to

beoneofyounow.Sothanksfor this, and for making mymovesogreat.Andpleasebesure to stop bymy pie shop,Pepper’s Pies, Pastries andOtherPick-me-ups!”

I felt my hands start totremble.

I felt myself losingcontrol. Iknew itwasonlyamatter of time beforesomething bad happened. Iwasn’t surewhat,but Iknewthat it would end with the

whole town knowing whyPepper Posey didn’t deservethat trophy. And that mostlikely, I was going toembarrass and/or shamemyselfintheprocess.

But it wasn’t somethingI could stop. I couldn’t justthrowthebrakesonthis.Theangerwellingup inside,builtup from weeks of enduringPepper Posey stealing mycustomers and then stealingmy dogs, broke down all

barriersofself-control.“This is all a bunch of

—!”But then I realized that

somebody else was shoutingoverme.

“That’s her! Theredhead!” aman yelled fromsomewhere on the other sideoftheauditorium.“That’sthewoman I saw driving withDaisythismorning!”

Chapter53

In all the heated

anticipation and build up tothe judge’s verdict, I hadn’tnoticedthatPeteBurgesshadslipped into the crowdedauditorium.

Or that the Sheriff hadslippedinrightbehindhim.

I might have beennervous seeing the two ofthem in the same room after

what happened at the PineNeedle Tavern earlier in theweek, but whatever washappening now didn’t seemto have the slightest thing todowith Pete not keeping hishandstohimself.

I stood on my tiptoes,trying to get a better look atthe scene that was unfoldingon the opposite side of theauditorium.

Petekeptyelling.Danielgripped him by the arm and

was saying something in ahushed voice to him.Knowing Daniel, I got thefeeling that itwas somethingalong the lines of hush now,butPeteBurgessappeared tobeonamission.

Pepper’s victory speechhadcometoascreechinghaltashereyesdriftedtothebackof the auditorium. Her facehadgonewhiterthanthefirstsnowfalloftheyear.

“YouknowhowmuchI

cried,thinkingImightnotseethat dog again?!” Peteshouted again, sounding likeanangrydrunkwho’dwokenupwithabadhangover.“Youknow what it was like notknowing if she was lyingdeadinaditchsomewhere?”

He broke free ofDaniel’s grip and pushed hisway through the crowd,charging the stage. Therewere some screams from apair of little old ladies he

nearly mowed over in hisattempttogettoPepper.

Daniel reacted fast aslightning, cutting down thedistance between him andPete within a matter ofseconds.

“Why’d you do it, youcruel she-devil? Why’d youtake my dog?” Pete startedsaying, but then Danielgrabbed him by his collar,pulling him back. Petestumbled a little, nearly

fallingover.“You’ll have to excuse

Pete for his behavior, folks,”Daniel said, his voiceboomingaroundtheroom.

HepulledPetebackandhauledhimup the steps,pastthepoor littleold ladieswhoPetehadelbowedtogettothestage.

Amomentlater,alleyeswerebackonPepperPosey.

She looked more like acorpsethanI’deverseenany

living person look, her facehavingturnedsowhite,itwasalmost blue. Her eyes werepracticallybulgingoutofherheadas theydartedbackandforth across the faces of thecitizens of Christmas River.The same citizens that she’djust been praising for theirgenerosity and kindness inhervictoryspeech.Thesamecitizens who werequestioning and judging hernow.

She had a lot to learnaboutlivinginasmalltown.

“I…”shestammered.She glanced back at

Julianne and the rest of thejudges, and then back out atthecrowd.

Thenshemadearunforit.

Chapter54

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t

doanyofthis!”She was crying and

sobbing, mascara streamingdown her face in thick,sludgytrails.

There had been a roundof gasps when Pepper Poseyboltedfromthestagethewayshe had, lunging for thenearest exit like a woman

withherhairon fire.Then itwas as though people wereparalyzed by the shock of it.Not a single person in theaudience appeared to be abletomove.

Daniel had rushedthrough the throngs ofunmoving onlookers, tryingtochaseafterPepper.Butthecrowd didn’t part easily, andPepper went flying out theauditorium’s back entrancelikeabatoutofhell.

Thank God for BillyJasper.

Billyhadbeen sitting inhis deputy car in the parkinglot,thewayDanielhadaskedhim to, when Pepper cameshooting out of theauditorium. Billy got out ofhis car lickety-split, andthough she had a sizeablelead on him, the pudgydeputy was faster than helooked. He apprehended herbefore she could get to her

blueVWBug.She was now leaning

against Billy’s deputy car,sobbingasDanielquestionedher. I watched on from adistance.

“You’re saying youdidn’t take those dogs?”Daniel asked, his voicesharperthanarazorblade.

“No!” Pepper sobbed,thoseperfectly-shaped lipsofhersturningdownhardatthecorners.

“With a history likeyours, I’m supposed tobelievethat?”

Itookinasharpbreath.So Will had been right

about her. It was the samewoman from the dogpark inPortland.

I wondered just howlongDanielhadknownaboutPepper’s past, and just whatkindofrecordshehad.

“Istoppedallthatalongtimeago,”shesaid,hervoice

quivering.“It’snotwhoIam.I just fell in with a bad guyback then. You have tobelieve me. I didn’t stealthesedogs.”

“Then why’d you runjustnowifyou’reasinnocentasyousay?”

She looked past him,into the cold hard greyafternoon, anddidn’t answer.

“So that wasn’t youdriving around with Pete

Burgess’s dog this morning?ThatwassomeotherredheadinablueVW?”

“Itwas,but…”“Then it was you?”

Danielsaid.She nodded, convulsing

withsomemoresobs.“WherearetheyPepper?

What’ve you done with thedogs?”

“Ican’t!”shewailed.I looked behind us. The

crowds of the auditorium

were starting to empty outinto the parking lot.Agroupwas making its way towardus, the worst gossipers intownleadingtheway.

Iheardafewcarenginesstart up in the distance. Atleastsomepeopleweregoinghome instead of waitingaround to see Pepper’scollapse.

Daniel peered into herface with a kind of brutalintensity that I never wanted

tobeontheothersideof.Then he said something

Ididn’tunderstand.“You’re covering for

her,aren’tyou?”Pepper’s eyes grew

wide.Shestoppedbawling.“She’stheonewhostole

thedogs,amIright?”“No,”shesaid.“Tell me the truth,”

Daniel said, his voice full offire.

“Youdon’tunderstand,”

she choked out, the sobsstartingupagain.“Sheisn’tawell woman. Ever since herhusbanddied.Youcan’tholdJules responsible.She’sgonemental, Sheriff. It’s not herfault.”

Jules? Who were theytalkingabout?

Daniel’seyeslitupwithunderstanding.

“So you didn’t stealthose dogs, you were justdoing damage control, right?

First with Shasta. Then withDaisy this morning. Givingthedogsbackoneatatimesothat she wouldn’t get introuble.AmIright?”

Pepper didn’t respondforalongwhile.

Then she nodded herhead,eversoslightly.

“But why? Why coverup for her, Pepper. Who isJulianneReddingtoyou?”

Igasped.Julianne Redding? The

first dog kidnapping victimand long-time GingerbreadJunction judgehadstolen thedogs?

Butwhy?Pepper swallowed hard

and looked over at me. Herbody was trembling. Therewas an unmistakableexpression of shame in hereyes.

“She’s my sister,” shesaid,barelyaboveawhisper.“Julianneismyhalf-sister.”

Chapter55

We sped down the

highway, following it as itwound up over a ridge, andthen as it took a dip down asteephillthroughtheforest.

Aninversionhadmovedin across the land andghostly, freezing fog nowclung to the trees and brushalongtheroad.

Daniel’seyeswerefixed

dead ahead on the highwayand had a look in them thatreminded me of the way anowl might gaze at a rodent,rightbefore latchingonto thesmallcreaturewithitstalons.

After Pepper’sconfession, Daniel and Billydid a thorough search of thecrowd, looking for theGingerbread Junction judgewho appeared to be behindthe dog kidnappings. ButJulianne Redding was

nowhere to be found in thataudience, or anywhere neartheauditorium.

Now,weweredoingtheonlythingwecould:goingtoJulianne’shouse.

Inside, my nerves weregoingofflikefireworks.

WhatifHuckleberryandChadwick weren’t at herhouse?What ifshehad themstashed somewhere else, aplace that we could neverfind?

Or what if she’d donesomething to them? What ifShasta and Daisy had beentheluckyonesofthegroup?

I shuddered,contemplating all the terriblepossibilities.

“Tell me how youfigured it out,” I finally said,looking over at Daniel,unable to take my ownthoughtsanylonger.

Daniel nodded, as if hetoo wanted something to

occupyhismind.“Well,forawhilethere,

IthoughtPepperPoseymighthave had something to dowith it all. You see, that’swhyIwasinherpieshopthatday... that day you found thereceipt from. Owen hadreason to run a backgroundcheck for something to dowithparkingtickets,andhe’dbroughtittomyattentionthatshe had a few things on herrecord in regards to thefts

related to pets. But aftertalking with her, I didn’treally dig up anything new.And then of course, shewasat the shop when Hucks andChadwick were taken thatnight. I could say that withcertainty, because I wastalkingwithherthen.”

“So how’d you get toJulianneRedding?”Iasked.

“You’reactuallytheonewho broke the case for us,Cin,”hesaid.“Thatthingyou

mentioned to me about thedog court that Pete told youabout? Well, it got methinking.Thinkingabout thatone time when they actuallyenforced something. It waswhen I first joined theSheriff’s Office here, aboutthree years ago. I vaguelyremember being called out afew times to the BrightStarresidential area. Seems thatthere was this dog that hadbeen busting through coops

killing chickens in thatneighborhood. I took thereports and did a littleinvestigating at the time.Found out that it was thisyellow lab and pit bull mixnamed Harley doing thekilling. He might have hadtherecordonchickenkillingsin the county.He left behindalotofcarnage.”

Heshookhishead.“Harley’s owner was

Hank Redding. You see,

Hank was still alive backthen. He took responsibilityfor the dog. That’s why Ididn’t make the connectionrightawaytoJulianne.Ionlytalked toHank aboutHarley.Nottohiswife.”

Heshiftedinhisseatandthenlookedoverhisshoulder,drifting into the fast lane topassaslowpick-uptruck.

“Somyreportsfromthechickenincidentsfinallywentto the dog board, and they

reviewed Harley’s case. Iwasn’t part of that session,but they used my reports tomaketheirdecision.

“Irememberhearingthatthey had givenHank and hisfamily an ultimatum. Theysaid that either Harley wasgoing tobe takenaway fromthem and possiblyeuthanized. Or the familywould have to move out ofthat neighborhood if theywanted to keep the dog.

Either way, the dog had toleavethatneighborhood.”

“So the Reddings chosethe dog? They chose tomove?”Isaid.

Henodded.“Butyousee, from that,

I figured out that everybodywhose dog had been takenhadbeen,insomeway,shapeor form, part of that dogboard hearing. I’d been theone to conduct theinvestigation. Pete Burgess

was on the board and fromwhat I heard, had come upwiththeultimatumidea.AndAnnaStevenswasthehearingrecorderatthetime.Thatwasbefore she became alibrarian.”

“What about BillyJasper?”Iasked.

“Billy’smomwasoneofthe folkswhose chickens goteaten by Harley. She was atthe hearing. From therecordings, she fought pretty

hard to make the dog boardactually enforce anultimatum. But her own dogdied a couple of years ago,and she doesn’t have anypets. Which is why I thinkJuliannewent afterBilly andShasta.”

Ishookmyhead.This was all pretty hard

tobelieve.Julianne Redding had

always seemed to me likesuch a down-to-earth,

reasonableperson.ButmaybeI hadn’t ever known the realJulianne.

“Yousee,thatdogboarddecision is what connects allof us,” Daniel said. “What Igot hung up on, though,wasthat Harley was one of themissing dogs. But then Istarted to think, maybeHarleywasn’t reallymissing.I mean, there was no realproof that hewas, other thanJulianne’s word. It was a

perfectwaytodivertattentionfromherself,playingatbeingone of the victims. I thinkthat’swhat she’d been doingthewhole time. I thinkwhenwe get to her house, we’regonna findHarley therewiththerestofthedogs.”

I was quiet for amoment, trying to absorb theinformation.

It all seemed so hard tobelieve.

“So what happened

earlier at the Junction?” Isaid. “With Pepper.Howdidyou figure that she wasreturningthedogs?”

“Well, I had a hunchabout Julianne, but I didn’treally have any concreteevidence. Then Pete showedup drunk to the Sheriff’sOfficethismorning,goingonand on about how he’d seensome redhead she-devil in ablue VW Bug driving withDaisy in the passenger seat

around the time he wasstumbling home from thePineNeedleTavernearlythismorning. There aren’t toomany redheads in this townwhoown that carmake, so Ibrought Pete to the Junctiontoseeifhecouldconfirmthatit was Pepper, thinkingmaybe my hunch aboutJulianne was off. I didn’tthink it would get so out ofhand there, with him yellingand screaming. But

sometimes, that’s just thekind of thing you need tobreakacaseopen.”

“So Pepper was justtryingtohelphersister?”

Danielnodded.“She must have caught

wind of what Julianne wasdoing,” he said. “She musthave been trying to help herstay out of trouble. One dogat a time.Owen foundDaisyin the BrightStarneighborhood not too long

after Pete came stumblinginto theoffice.TheShihTzulooked as good as new. Itsnails were even freshlyclipped.”

I sat there again insilenceforamoment,mullingovertheinformation,thinkingabout Julianne and howdistraughtshe’dbeenthedayI saw her posting missingflyersforHarley.

I’dbought the act hook,lineandsinker.

“But that dog boardruling was three years ago,right?Why is Julianne doingallofthisnow?”

Danielshookhishead.“Idon’tknow,”hesaid.He slowed the car and

drifted into the turn lane,takingarightoffthehighwayonto Huntington Road. Hepulled off to the side a fewhundred yards down thegravelroad,nearahousewithalongdirtdriveway.Through

the fog, I could see theoutlines of a rundownstructure.

Billy, who had beentailing us the whole way inhisdeputycar, followedsuit,pullinginbehindus.

“Cin, you need to stayhere,” Daniel said,unbucklinghisseatbelt.

Ididn’tsayanything,buthe must have sensed myapprehension.

Heturnedtowardme.

“I’llfindthem,”hesaid.“Justtrustme,okay?”

He looked at me for along moment, his eyessoftening.

“It’s going to be allright,” he said. “Whetherthey’reinthereornot.”

He reached over,squeezingmy hand. Then hegotoutofthecarquickly.

“Becareful,Daniel.”He put his hand on his

holster,restingitthereonthe

buttofhisgun.I took in a sharp breath

as I watched him and Billywalk down JulianneRedding’s driveway,disappearingintothefog.

Chapter56

Iwasfarfromthehouse

and the windows of the carwererolleduptight.

But I still heard thescream.

The chilling, blood-curdling screech came fromthe direction of the house.The sound ricocheted like abullet down my spine,sending waves of goose

bumpsthroughoutmybody.Thebankoffreezingfog

wouldn’t let the scream dieeither, letting it just lingerthere in all of itswretchedness for what feltlikeaneternity.

Without thinking, Iunbuckled my belt andopenedthecardoor.Isteppedoutside into the cold mist.The cars from the highwayseveral hundred yards awaysped by, their headlights

bouncingoffthefog.Then therewas the loud

creaking of the house’s frontdoorinthedistance.

“Yougetyourhandsoffme!” a woman’s voicescreamed. “All of you had itcoming.Youhaditcoming!”

Hervoiceechoed.“Youhaditcoming!”I squinted through the

thick mist at the figureswalking down the dirt road,watching as they came into

view.Julianne, still dressed in

her Christmas sweater fromthe Junction judging,squirmed and twisted as shewalkedaheadofBillyJasper.He held on tightly to herwrists,handcuffedbehindherback. She stopped, pushingback up against him, but henudged her along down thedriveway,towardhiscar.Shewrithedlikeatrappedanimal,akindofmadnessinherface

thatIhadneverseenfromtheGingerbreadJunctionjudge.

Iwatched,almostasifina trance. Unable to peel myeyes away from her horridexpression.

The mask that she hadworncrumbled, revealing thereal Julianne. A woman fullof anger and rage.Awomanfull of bitterness spurred onbysomeunknownhurt.

A woman who hadsnapped. And a woman

whose sense of right andwrong had snapped rightalongwithher.

Oureyesmet forabriefmoment as she passed me,and my breath caught in mythroat.

Her eyes flashed withsomethingwild.

“Those dogs aremine!”she shouted. “You don’tdeserve them! None of youdeservethem!”

She started screaming

again, the noise drillingthrough my eardrum like ajackhammer.

Ishuddered.Billy opened the back

door of his deputy car andpushedher headdown.Aftershe was in, still shoutingincoherently,heslammedthedoor. A look of relief sweptacross his face, as if he’dbeen afraid that she’dsomehow escape his custodyin the time it took to get her

intothecar.“Arethedogsinthere?”

Isaid.“Mrs.Brightman,Ithink

youshouldstayhere.”Had Billy seen

something in there?Somethingbad?

IbitmylipuntilItastedblood.

“Arethey,Billy?”Hetookoffhisdeputy’s

hat, shifting his weightnervouslybetweenhisfeet.

“Mrs.Brightman,Idon’tthink…”

Icouldn’tlisten.My feet were suddenly

flying down the dirtdriveway, almost as if theywere no longer under mycontrol.MylegspumpedhardasIblindlyracedthroughthefog.

The blood thundered inmyears.

I’m coming Hucks andChadwick.I’mcoming.

Chapter57

A small wooden cross

stoodover anoutcroppingofrocks in the middle ofJulianneRedding’sbackyard.

The cross was paintedwhite. The paint wasn’t thatold.

A few hot tears sliddown my cheeks as Icrouched down next to therockygrave.

Hadshereally…?Fiery bile shot up the

backofmythroat.This crazywoman.This

crazy, malicious, heartless,evil,wom—

There was a creakingsound suddenly fromsomewherebehindastandoftreesinthedistance.

I looked in thedirectionof the noise, squintingthroughthefog.

There was a small

structurebehindthosetrees.I stood up, swallowing

backacid.“Daniel?”Ishouted.Therewasnoreply.Just

thefogcreepinginallaroundme.

“Daniel?!”A figure appeared from

outof themist, coming fromwhere the noise had.Hewasrunningtowardme.

When he saw me, hispace quickened. His brown

eyes shone, even in the dull,muted light. And I swear onmy best pie recipe, he wassmilingatme.

“Oh my,” I said,droppingtomyknees.

My throat went dry andthe tears started up again,streamingdownmycheeksinlargerivers.

I opened my arms andcaughthim,hugginghimwitheverything Ihad,diggingmyhandsintohisfur,kissingthe

topofhissoftlittlehead.“Huckleberry,” I said,

clutching onto him,my tearscatching in his fur. “Mysweetpooch,you’realive!”

He licked my face andthen rolled over on his back,theway he didwhen hewashappiest. I scratched his softpink belly and he barkedplayfully.

Ithoughtmyheartmightjustexplodewithjoy.

Hewasokay.Mysweet,

loving,preciouslittledogwasokay.

Then a dim shadowpassed overHuckleberry andme.

Ilookedup.I got to my feet and

huggedhimtightly.“Youfoundhim,”Isaid,

letting out a sigh of relief.“Like you said you would.Youfoundhim.”

Danieljustheldmetherefor a moment. Huckleberry

pawed at our legs, wagginghislittlenubforattention.

But then Daniel pulledawayfrommesuddenly.

Hewasn’tsmiling.“What is it? What’s

wrong?”Isaid.Heletoutasharpbreath.“They’re not all here,

Cin,”hesaid.“It’sChadwick.He’smissing.”

I swallowed hard,looking back at the whitecross, standing ever so

ghostlyinthefog.

Chapter58

I watched as the brown

sugar and butter bubbled uparound the bright redcranberries in the saucepan,filling the kitchen with awarm sugary tart smell thateven after all these years ofbaking pies, still made medroolwith the promise of itsincredibleflavor.

I stirred the cranberries

briefly, then added a bit oflimezesttothebubblingpan.

It smelled just likeChristmasintheshop.

Of all the pies I made,the Santa’s Florida VacationPiewas the one that hadmynumber.Justonetasteofthattartlimeandcranberryflavorcombined with the rich,creamy white chocolatefilling was enough to drivemetogorgemyselfsickonit.

I grabbed a spoon and

tasted the filling. It wasincredible, but it still neededsome time on the stove.Huckleberry lookedupatmefrom his doggy bed, as if hecould sense just howdelicious the bite had been.His ears perked up and heliftedhishead.

I raised an eyebrow athim.

“I’dsayyouhadenoughfor one day,” I said. “Thosetwo slices of Gingersnap

PumpkinPie and half a sliceofBlueberryCinnamonoughtto keep you happy until theNewYear,littledog.”

HetiltedhisheadtoonesideasifI’daskedaquestion.Then a small dribble of spitfell from his mouth onto thefloor.

Ismiled.Huckleberry and I were

bothsuckersforthispie.“Oh, all right,” I said,

dropping a spoonful of the

fillingnexttohim.He lapped up every last

bitoffthelinoleum.Ismiled.MysillylittleHucks.It was so good having

himback.Despite Julianne

Redding’sshakymentalstate,therewasonegoodthingthatshe had done. She had takengoodcareof thosedogs.NotahaironHuckleberry’sheadhadbeenharmed,andhewas

even slightly plumper thanhe’dbeenbeforebeingstolen.And for all of that, I wasincrediblygrateful.

In the shed, Daniel hadfoundHuckleberry andAnnaSteven’s dog, Dog Holliday,meaning four of the sixmissingdogswereaccountedfor.

ChadwickandJulianne’sdog, Harley, were stillmissing.

After several hours of

questioningJulianneReddingand her much younger half-sister Pepper Posey, Danielfoundoutwhy.

He heard the wholestory, and why Julianne haddonewhatshehaddone.

Hank, Julianne’shusband,hadgivenHarleytoJulianne five years earlier asan anniversary present. Shelovedthedoglikeachild,shehad said. But the dog haddiscipline problems. He

would jump the fence of theRedding’s BrightStarneighborhoodhomewhenthecouple was at work, killingchickens that belonged tootherhomeownersinthearea.Daniel had said Juliannedidn’t seem to believe thatHarley was behind thechicken massacres. SherefusedtobelievethatHarleyhad that kindofmeanness inhim, even though there wereplenty of witnesses who saw

Harleycomingawayfromthecoops. She claimed theneighborswereouttogether.

The Sheriff’s Officereports then went to the dogboard, where the Reddingswere given an ultimatum:either give up the dog to theshelter,ormove.

Loving Harley the waythey did, and having moneyproblems anyway, Julianneand Hank decided to move.Theyfoundasmallhouseoff

the highway, and moved in,readytostartanewlife.

Butthenthingsbegantofall apart. Business at theirrestaurant tanked, and theywere forced to close it andfileforbankruptcy.Hankwasdiagnosedwith lungcancerafew months later, and didn’tlive much longer after that.Julianne found herself broke,alone, and hopeless. All shehad leftwasHarleyand theirsmallhomebythehighway.

Untilearlierthismonth.That’s when everything

wenttohellforJulianne.ThewayshetoldDaniel,

she was outside in the toolshed when it happened.Harleyjumpedoverthefenceafter seeing a flock of geesefly overhead. He bustedloose, heading for thehighway. Julianne said shechased after him, trying tostop the inevitable fromhappening.

Butthetrainhadalreadyleftthestationbythen.

A semi-truck slammedinto Harley that day. Rightthere, in front of Julianne’seyes.

And that’s when thewoman,who formost of herlifehadbeenanormal,down-to-earth, law-abiding citizen,snapped.

SheburiedHarleyinthebackyard, placing a whitecross over his grave, and

devisedaplantogetrevengefor the pooch. Maybe she’dbeen inspired by her littlesister,Pepper,whosheknewhad once kidnapped dogswithherboyfriendforrewardmoney in Portland. Julianneknew a lot about dogs: herandPepper’sfatherhadrunakennel when they weregrowingup.

Julianne toldDaniel thatshe wanted everyone whowas part of that dog board

hearing to feelwhat she felt.The pain of losing her dog.Of losing her husband. Oflosing her livelihood. Oflosingeverything.

She thought we alldeserved to feela littlebitofwhatshewasgoingthrough.

But somehow, Pepperhad realized what her sisterwasdoing.WhenshesawthepolicedogintheshedbehindJulianne’s house, she’d beenparticularlyworried,knowing

that her sister would be inhuge trouble if anybodyfound out that she’d stolenpolice property. That’s whyPepper had been trying toreturnthedogs,oneatatime.Tryingtosavehersisterfromthe inevitable. But just likeHarley running out onto thehighway, it had been no use.Juliannewasalreadyhalfwaydownaroadthatshecouldn’tcomebackfrom.

What Julianne Redding

plannedtoeventuallydowithall those dogs, Daniel saidshe didn’t tell him. But shehad taken good care of themwhile they were in herpossession.

Allofthem,butone.Chadwick had dug a

largehole in thedirt floorofthe shed a few days beforeDaniel cracked the case, andhad squeezed out, runningaway. Julianne said shesearchedforhim,butthatthe

littleCockerSpanielhad justdisappeared.

It didn’t take too muchdeductivereasoningtorealizethat Chadwick might havewandered out onto that busyhighway.ThathemighthavesufferedthesameterriblefateofHarley.

I let out a sad sigh,stirringthecranberriesonthestovetopsomemore.

It’dbeenfourdayssinceall of it happened, and there

still had been no sign ofChadwick. And while I’dbeen grateful beyond wordsat having Huckleberry backsafe and sound, I found thatmy happiness wasn’tcomplete.

PoorlittleChadwick.He wasn’t a very good

dog.Hewasterribleatwalks.He was foolish, barking atsquirrelsandotherpeopleforno good reason. He didn’theel when you told him to.

Hedidn’tfetchwhenyoutoldhim to. He didn’t stay whenyou told him to. In fact, hedidjustabout theoppositeofwhat you told him to justaboutallthetime.

But despite all hisdisciplinary shortcomings, Ihadlovedthatlittledog.AndIrealizedthathadhebeeninthe shed that day withHuckleberry, hewould neverhave seen the inside of ashelteragain.

Butas itwas,Chadwickhadn’t been in that shed thatday.

Sometimes I foundmyself staring out thewindow, thinking about him.Remembering those hollowsadeyesofhis.WonderingifI couldn’t hold onto thesmallest hope that he wasalive somewhere out there.Maybe someone had foundhim, wandering around thewoods near the highway.

Maybe somebody had takenhiminandgivenhimagoodhome. Maybe he was sittingbyafirerightnowwithafullbelly and somebody strokinghisfur.

Ihopedso.But I’d come to terms

with the fact that I wouldprobablyneverknowforsurewhat happened to the littledog.

Sometimes, thereweren’t any honest happy

endings in life. Sometimes itwas a give and take. I hadgottenHuckleberry back, butChadwick would neverreturn. He was lost forever,the only thing left of himbeing the damp and fadedmissing flyers I’d put uparoundtown.

Iclosedmyeyesandletout a long breath, trying toshakeoffthatthought.

I justhad tobe thankfulforwhatIdidhave.Thankful

that for themost part, it hadended okay. Thankful thatnobody had been hurt. Andthat the woman behind it allwasgoingtogetthehelpthatshesodesperatelyneeded.

Andwhile it still hurt, Iknew that I could live withthatending.

Thecranberriesbegantopopandsplit,andIturnedtheburner off. I was about tostart on the white chocolateportion of the filling when

Tobiasstuckhisheadinfromthefront.

“Uh, Miss Cinnamon,the pies out here are goingfaster than hot potatoes. I’mthinking you’re half an houraway from selling outcompletely.”

Ismiled.Itwasonlynoon.I wasn’t sure whether it

was the scandal of thegingerbread competition, orthatDanielhadbeenrightall

along about the folks in thistown being blue collared,black coffee and pie kind offolks, but all the business IhadlosttoPepper’sPieshadcome back to me, and hadcome back in full force. Thelines had been even longerthantheyhadbeenbeforeshemoved in across the street,snaking around out the frontdoor sometimes. I’d beenworking almost nonstop thislast week, churning out pies

liketherewasnotomorrow.Iwastired,butIdidn’tminditmuch.Iwasjusthappytoseethediningroomfullofhappycustomersonceagain.

“Thanks,Tobias,”Isaid,noddingathimandsmiling.

Hereturned thenodandthen disappeared out into thefrontagain.

“Hey, Tiana, do youthink youhave time tomakeup another batch of theChocolate Bourbon Pecan

pies?” I said, not looking upfrom the stove. “That one’sbeen a crowd-pleaser allweek.”

Therewasnoanswer.“Tiana?”I turned around to look

at her, but she wassomewhereelseentirely.

She was staring at thespot where Tobias had been,afaraway,dreamyexpressiononherface.

A realization suddenly

hitmelikeafreighttrain.So that was why she’d

gotten that sassy new haircutandhadbeencomingtoworkall dressed up lately. It waslike I thought, Tiana had anewmaninherlife.

I justhadn’trealizedthemanwasworkingintheshopwithus.

I wondered how longthis had been going on for,and whether it had been infront of me the whole time

and I’dbeen tooblind to seeit, so caught up in my owntrialsthesepastfewweeks.

She suddenly realized Iwasstaringather.Shelookedover at me, her face turningredder than the color ofSanta’ssuit.

“Uh, what was that,Cinnamon?” she said,swallowinghard.

“Itwasnothing.”I smiled quietly to

myself, then cleared my

throat.“Tiana, I’ve been

meaning to ask yousomethingforthepastweek,”Isaid,grabbingafewbarsofwhite chocolate from thecupboard and peeling thetinfoiloff.

“Ohyeah?”shesaid,thebright color in her cheeksfading slightly at the changeinsubject.

“Well, I don’t want togive you any extra work,

especially since I know theholidaysarecrazyenough,”Isaid, chopping up thechocolate.“Butbeingthatthepie shop is so busy lately, Iwas thinking it might behelpful if we could moveTobias from the front of thehousetobackhere.Now,he’sgot some good experience inmaking pies, but he mightneed a little help getting toknow the recipes. So I waswonderingifinsteadofdoing

dishes this afternoon, youcould teach him a thing ortwo about how things workhereinthekitchen?”

Ilookedbackather.Shedidn’t sayanything,

and I suddenlywondered if Ihadembarrassedher.

“I mean, only if youhave the time,” I said,shrugging it off. “You cansayno.Ijustthought…”

“No, no,” she said. “Imean, yes. I can do that

Cinnamon. No problem. Noproblem at all. I’d, uh, I’dloveto.”

Igrinned.“I really do appreciate

it,”Isaid.Shesmiledbashfully.My heart filled up with

that warm and cozy feelingI’d been missing so far thisholidayseason.

Iwouldn’t have thoughtof putting Tiana and Tobiastogether,butthinkingaboutit

now, she might be just thekind of woman he wouldneed. A special, good-natured, kind-hearted womantobelieve inhimand tohelphimgetbackonhisfeet.

And Tobias might bejust what Tiana needed, too.Amanwhowasalittlerougharound the edges, but whowas also kind-hearted andspecialinhisownright.

I sighed happily, thenlookedoutthewindow.

Together, those twoweregoingtobenicerthanawarm Georgia breeze on awinter’sday.

Chapter59

“Remember, Cin, how

during your last dress fittingyousaidyouthoughtthatyoulooked like a sausage stuffedinto a wedding dress?” sheshouted from behind thecurtain.

I smiled, recalling lastyear whenmy final weddingdress fittingwentworse thana porcupine at an animal

balloonparty.“How could I forget?” I

said.“Well you know what I

look like right now?” shesaid.

“What?”“IlooklikeaTurducken

stuffedintoaweddingdress.”“Awhat?”“Youknow,oneofthem

over-the-top Thanksgivingmeals?Achickenstuffedintoa duck stuffed into a turkey.

ATurducken.”Ilaughed.“Kara, I just don’t

believethat.”“Justyouwait and see,”

shesaid.The curtains parted

swiftly, and a bride steppedout of the dress shop’schangingroom.

Thedress had long, softlace sleeves, a sweetheartneckline, a flowing bodicethat curved just right about

her belly bump, and a trainthatsparkledlikeiciclesonasunnyday.

The bride herself had arosy complexion, almost aglow about her, even if shedidhaveaconcernedlookonher face. A lovely veilcascaded down around hershoulders and her back,nearlytouchingtheground.

Thebridewasabsolutelystunning.

My mouth fell open. I

was quiet for a minute,unable to do anything butgawk.

“YouseewhatImean?”shefinallysaid,lookingdownatherselfandpattinghergut.“Turducken.”

I shook my headvigorously.

“Kara, you’re the queenofexaggeration,”Isaid.“Butthat one about you being aduck turkey? That has to bethe very worst exaggeration

to ever come out of yourmouth in all the years I’veknownyou.”

Ismiled.“You’re the most

beautiful New Year’s Daybridethereeverwas,andyouknowit.”

The edges of her lipscurledupslightly.

Sheshooedmeaway.“Aw, maybe for a

shotgunwedding, I am,” shesaid.

“No,” I said. “Just themostbeautifulbride,period.”

She looked down at herdressandthenbackupatme.

“Youmeanit,Cin?”“Imeanit,Kara,”Isaid.

“Youlooklikeadream.Andmore than that, you lookhappy.You’reglowing.”

Shesmiledbrightly.“Well, you’re right on

one of those counts,” shesaid.“Iamhappy.”

She twirled once in her

dress, the train twistingever-so-gracefully.

“You don’t even looklikeyouwereupallnightlastnightburningtherestofyourvows into wood,” I said,grinningmischievously.

Shestartedlaughing.“IknowyouthinkI’ma

nut, Cin,” she said. “Andyou’dberight.”

“Yes, but you’re myfavorite kind of nut,” I saidagain.

She stared back in themirror smiling at me. Thenshelookedbackatherself.

“Well, let’s just hope Idon’tgainanothertenpoundsin this next week,” she said.“Otherwise, come NewYear’s, I’ll look like achicken stuffed into a duckstuffed into a turkey stuffedintoanostrich.”

Ishookmyhead.Then I got up and gave

mybestfriendalonghug.

“Kara, you’re thefarthestthingfrom fowl thereever was,” I said. “And Icouldn’t be happier for you,you beautiful, wood-burninglunatic.”

She laughed, a singletear of happiness rollingdownhercheek.

Chapter60

I tucked the trophy

under my arm and pocketedthe $500, then left throughthebackdoorofthepieshop.

I walked quickly downthe street, weaving my waythrough shoppers carryingbulging bags filledwith last-minutepresents.Afewflakeswerefallingfromthesky,andI pulled the hood of my pea

coat on over my head. Icrossed the street, dodging afewslowmovingcars.ThenIstopped, taking in a deepbreath before opening thefrontdoortoPepper’sPies.

I walked in, dusting offthesnowfrommycoat.

I noticed that the diningroom was only about halffull. The blond girls whowere usually at the cashregisterwerenolongerthere.

The few people that

were in the room hushedwhenIwalkedin.

I took in another deepbreath.

In the aftermath of theGingerbread Junction fiasco,theremainingjudgeshadhadan emergency session. Inlight of Pepper’s relation toJulianneRedding,andinlightof the fact that the two ofthemhadkept itasecret, theremainingjudgeshaddecidedtodisqualifyPepperfromthe

competition.Meaningthatthetrophy and the awardmoneyhadgonetotherunner-up.

Which happened to beme.

And while I’d beendreaming of the GingerbreadJunction grand prize forweeksnow,gettingfirstplaceunder these circumstanceshadtakenallthejoyoutofitforme.

Because whether or notone of the judges had been

biased, the bottom line wasthat Pepper’s gingerbreadhouse was the best I’d everseen, and that it had beatenmine.

And thatwas okaywithmenow.BecauseIwasproudof my creation. My Dr.Zhivago ice palace was thebest gingerbread house I hadeverbuilt.I’dputmoreofmyheartandsoulintoitthananyother house before. Itrepresented a new personal

best for me. And I hadnothingtofeelbadabout.I’dbeenbeaten, fairandsquare.

And I just couldn’t takean award for a first placefinishthatIhadn’tearned.

I walked up to the cashregister and rang the bell.Nobody responded. I rang itagain.

A moment later, aflustered Pepper emergedfromthekitchen,herfacered,

flour all over her pink apronandshirt.

A look ofembarrassment shined in hereyes when she saw mestandingthere.

She glanced at what Iwas holding, and she bit herfullbottomlip.

“Look, can we talk,Pepper?”

She stared at me for along moment, then lookeddownathermessyapron.

“I don’t see why youwanttoafterwhatIdid,”shesaid. “But come on in thebackifyou’dlike.”

Chapter61

“I don’t know what to

say, Cinnamon,” she said,hardly able to look at me.“I’m ashamed. It’s as simpleasthat.”

I sat on one of thebarstools in her kitchen,sipping a hazelnut latte thatshe’djustwhippedupforme.

I had always consideredmyself one of those blue

collar, black coffee and pietypes. But this hazelnut lattewas enough to make mereconsider my stance on thematter.

“I never meant to lieabout being Jules’ half-sister,” she said. “But I justthought the competition wasall in the spirit of fun. Julessaid itwouldgoa longwaystoward establishing mybusiness in the community,andshethoughtitwasn’tfair

that I wouldn’t be able toenter because we wererelated.IdiditbecauseIjustwanted to participate, youknow? Be part of thecommunity. I didn’t think itwasabigdeal.

“I guess I was prettystupidthinkingthat.”

She let out a sigh, andthose full lips of hers turneddown at the edges, weigheddownwithguiltandregret.

“I can only imagine

what youmust think ofme,”she said. “What this wholetownthinksofmenow.”

I started sayingsomething, but sheinterruptedme.

“I’m not an angel,Cinnamon,”shesaidbetweengritted teeth. “And I nevermeant for people to get thatimpressionaboutme.”

She ran a hand throughherhair,andlookedupattheceiling.

“WhenIwasateenager,I did some pretty shadythings. I was with this olderguyforawhile.Ifellhardforhim. So hard that I didn’tknow wrong from right. Hehad thispet theft scamgoingwhere he’d steal pets to getthe reward money. I thoughthe loved me as much as Ilovedhim.Ididn’trealizehewas just using me because Ilooked innocent and knewhow to handle dogs. He

didn’treallywantmeforme,you know? And when thecops busted me, he wasnowheretobefound.”

Sherubbedherface.“I’m not proud of that

time inmy life.But I turnedmyself around. I went toculinary school and then Istudied in France. I workedhardandI—”

“Pepper,youdon’thavetoexplain,”Isaid.

“No,” she said. “I do. I

really do. Because I’m not abad person, Cinnamon. I’mjust somebody who’s tryingtomakesomethingofherlife.I’ve left those days behindme. I was only trying to dothe right thing by returningthosedogs.But lookingbacknow, I know I should havetoldsomebody.IshouldhavetoldyouortheSheriffinsteadof trying to save Jules fromherself.”

Shereachedherhandup

to her mouth and startedchewing on one of her nailsabsentmindedly. Shesuddenly looked very, veryyoungtome.

“I shouldn’t have liedabout being Jules’ sister,either,”shesaid.

She dropped her handfrom her mouth. Those bigblue eyes of hers becameglassy,likeaplacidmountainlake on a calmmorning. Sheswallowedhard.

“I’msorry,”shesaid.It was so simple. Those

two,shortlittlewords.Butwhenshesaidthem,

a great weight lifted off myshoulders.

All that jealousy andanger that had burrowed itsway into my heart justdissolved, melting away likethesnowinthespring.

Pepper wasn’t a badperson. Maybe she’d donesome bad things in the past,

but nobody was perfect. Shehadn’t come into town withthe intent of ruining mybusiness and stealing all mycustomers. She had comeherelookingforafreshstart,a place to make a name forherself.

And how could I holdthatagainsther?

It wasn’t her fault thather sister had snapped.Pepperhadjustbeentryingtohelpher.AndifIhadbeenin

her position, who’s to say Iwould have acted anydifferent?

I didn’t know if PepperPosey and Iwere ever goingtobefriends.

But we could beneighbors.Friendlyneighborsatthat.

Igrabbedthetrophythatwastuckedundermyarmandthe $500 that one of thejudgeshaddroppedoffatmyshopearlierthatmorning,and

Ihandedbothofthemtoher.“Here,” I said. “I didn’t

winthis—youdid.”Hermouthdroppedopen

insurprise.“But Cinnamon, they

gave this to you,” she said.“YoudeservethismorethanId—”

“No,”Isaid,interruptingher. “I don’t. You beat me,fair and square. The judgeswerefourtooneonthecount.Evenifyoutakeyoursister’s

voteoutof the equation, youstill won. Your gingerbreadhousedeserved toplace first.AndIcansaywithoutadoubtthat you beatme onmybestday.”

She smiled, her eyesgrowing fullwithwater. Shebitherlowerlip.

“Cinnamon, that’sgenerousofyou.”

“It’s the right thing,” Isaid.

“Well, I tell you what.

I’ll accept the trophy,” shesaid.“But themoney…well,Ihaveanideaforthat.”

Shetookthetrophyfrommeandadmired it for a longmoment.

Ismiled.I’dlost,butthefeelingI

gotfromdoingtherightthingwas worth a hundredGingerbreadJunctionwins.

The trophy was nowwithitsrightfulowner.

Chapter62

Reindeergrazedonfront

lawns.Santajumpedupfromchimneys. Angels flappedtheir wings and blew theirtrumpets fromporch railings.Wreaths sparkled inwindows. And everywhereyou looked, lights inpurples,blues,greensandredsdancedjoyously through the night,evoking nostalgic memories

ofchildhood.Itookinadeepbreathof

the frosty night air and thenhooked my arm throughDaniel’s as we walkedthrough the festiveneighborhood.

It was Christmas Eve –ourofficialoneyearweddinganniversary. Two beautifuleventsinone.

After closing up theshop for the night, I hadasked if Daniel wouldn’t

mindwalkingmedowntotheChristmas River HumaneSociety so I could drop offthe $500 from theGingerbreadJunction.

Pepper had had the ideato donate the money to theshelterinsteadofkeepingit.Ithought it was an admiralgesture and had offered todrop it off for her. Plus,stopping by the HumaneSociety gaveme a chance tosee if there was any news

about Chadwick. Thoughdeep down, I already knewthe answer. It just somehowmade me feel better to keepgoingthroughthemotions,asifhecouldturnupanyday.

Daniel and I strolledalong thequietstreetsonourway to the shelter, admiringthe bright and cheerfulChristmas lights of theneighborhoods we passedthrough. Huckleberry trottedout in front of us. Daniel let

the leash slack whenever thepoochwantedtosniffaroundthebushes.

Weweren’tinanyhurryto get there, enjoying theChristmas lightsand thecoldfreshairofthenight.

“So, I have a questionforyou,Cin,”Danielsaid.

“Ohyeah?”“Well, it’s very serious,

soprepareyourself.”“Allright.Goaheadand

askifyou’regonna,”Isaid.

Hepauseddramatically.“When did you find out

that there was no SantaClaus?”

Igasped,feigningshock.

“Howdareyousaysucha thing!” I said, slapping hisarm playfully. “No Santa?What kind of ChristmasRiveriteareyou?”

Hechuckled.“No, really. When did

youdiscoverthatthebigman

didn’treallyexist?”I shrugged, thinking

back to Christmases of mychildhood.

We never had a lot ofmoney, but my mom andWarren alwaysmade a pointofmakingtheholidayspecialforme.

Igrinned.“Imusthavebeenabout

nine,” I said. “I caughtWarren putting some bars ofchocolate into my stocking.

Yousee, I’dbeenasleep,butthen I heard this crinklingsoundcomingfromthelivingroom.I thought itwasSanta.So I slipped out of bed andsnuckoutofmyroom.That’swhen I sawWarren there bythefireplace,snackingononeof the chocolate bars andputting the rest into mystocking.”

Danielsmiledandshookhishead.

“That sounds like your

grandfather,allright.”Ilaughed.“Itdoesatthat.”I felt a sharp pang deep

inmyheart.I couldn’t help think

about the old man’s age. Hewas getting up there, and nomatter how much I didn’twanttothinkaboutit,Iknewhe didn’t have as manyChristmases left inhimasheused to. And that he wasspendingthisoneontheother

sideoftheworld.Still, it had been his

decision to stay in Scotlandfor the holidays. He wasfollowing his heart, spendingthe holiday with Aileen andher kids.Andnomatter howmuchImissedhim,Icouldn’thold that decision againsthim.

But I justdidn’twant tothinkaboutitanymore.

“So when did you findouttherewasnoSantaClaus,

SheriffBrightman?”Iasked.“You want to know the

truth?”hesaid.“Yeah.”“I never believed in

Santa,”hesaid.“You never believed in

SantaClaus?”Heshookhishead.“Myfolksweren’treally

intothewholeidea,”hesaid.“MybrotherandIdidn’tevenhavestockings.”

I gasped, almost

stoppingdeadinmytracks.“That’s terrible!” I said.

“So you’ve never knownwhat it’s like towrite thebigmaninthesuitaletter?Ortoleave him cookies? Or theexcitementofChristmasEve,waiting for him to comedownthechimney,hopinghewon’t miss your house. Youneverhadanyofthat?”

“Nope.”“That’s so sad, Daniel,”

Isaid.

Heshrugged.“Never bothered me

much,” he said. “I never hadthe letdown of finding outthathewasn’treal.”

He stopped walking aswe came up to a house thatwas particularly beautiful.Red and white bulbs dancedaround the edge of the roof.Lighted reindeer frolicked inthefrontyard.Anduponthechimney, an inflatable SantaClaus was landing an

inflatablehelicopter.Webothadmireditfora

spellinsilence.Then Daniel turned

towardme.“But you know what,

Cin?” he said. “It allworkedout just fine, growing upwithout all that. Becausethese days, I do believe inSantaClaus.”

“What?”Isaid.The lights from the

house sparkled in his eyes,

andhesmiledwarmly.“Ever since I met you,

CinnamonPeters,IbelieveinSanta Claus,” he said,rubbingmycheek.“Ibelievein all sorts of things that Ineverthoughtpossiblebeforeyoucameintomylife.”

Even though it soundedcheesy,thewayhesaidit,allserious and sweet, really gottome.

Igrabbedhishand.“Aw, you’re just a big

hamtonight,”Isaid.“If you can’t have ham

on Christmas, then when areyougonnahaveit?”

I laughed. Then I stoodonmytiptoesandkissedhimlightlyonthelips.

We started walkingagain, Huckleberry leadingoutinfront.

Acoupleofblocks laterwehadarrivedattheHumaneSociety.

Chapter63

“I’ll be right back,” I

said,walkingupthestepsandthroughtheglassdoors.

Deirdre, the everhardworkingsheltermanager,was sitting at the desk,shufflingthroughpapers.

“Hi, Cinnamon,” shesaid, lookingupandsmiling.“What are you doing here?We’re about to close up for

thenight.”“I just thought I’d stop

by and see if you’ve heardanything about Chadwick,” Isaid, digging my hands intomypockets.

A sad expression cameover her face. The answerwasself-evident.

“I’m sorry, but hismicrochip hasn’t registeredanywhere, and I haven’theard a thing about anyCocker Spaniel,” she said.

“But you know, youshouldn’t lose hope,Cinnamon. I’ve been in thisbusiness a long time, andthings never work out thewayyou expect them to. Forall we know, Chadwick gotpicked up by somebody andishavinghimselfaniceAlpoChristmasEvefeast.”

Shesaidthewords,butIknew that she didn’t evenreallybelievethem.

“Yeah,” I said, playing

along. “Maybe you’re right.”

I tried to pictureChadwick inside a nice cozyhome, eating happily. But ashardasItried,Ijustcouldn’tconjure up the image in myhead.

Itjustfelttoofarfetched.“Willyouletmeknowif

youhearanything?”“Of course I will,” she

said.I pulled the envelope of

money from my pocket, andhandedittoher.

“Pepper Posey wantedme to drop this off, too,” Isaid. “Merry Christmas,Deirdre.”

She furrowed her browandthentooktheenvelope.

“You too,” she saidslowly,openingit.

I backed away, leavingDeirdretoherdogs.

As the door closedbehindme, I heard her shout

something.“Mygoodness!”I smiled, thinking about

allthefoodandsupplies$500wouldbuyforthosecutelittlepoochesintheshelter.

Chapter64

“You ready to go

home?” he asked as Ihurriedly walked down theHumane Society building’swalkway.

The night had turneddownright frigid. Anotherstorm was set to roll onthrough the area tonight, andthetemperaturewasplungingquickly.

“I guess it depends onwhat’s at home,” I said,takingDaniel’sarm.

“A couple of filetsmignons,”hesaid.

“Yeah,” I said as westarted walking down thestreet.“That’sadecentstart.”

“Ariproaringfire.”“Better.”“A bottle of

champagne.”Ismiled.

“Sold.”Huckleberry led the

way, and we hooked a rightdown Mistletoe Road, thestreet that ran behind theHumane Society and wouldtakeusstraighthome.Irestedmy head lightly on Daniel’sshoulder while Huckleberrytrottedoutinfrontofus.

“Are you sad aboutWarrennotcominghomeforChristmas?”heasked.

“SureIam,”Isaid.“But

youknow,I’vecometotermswith it I think. I’m kind oflooking forward to it beingjust the two of us this year.After Thanksgiving, I don’tmuchmindaquieteveningathomewithjustyouand—”

The slack that DanielhadgivenHuckleberryontheleash tightened.Daniel’s armwent forward as Hucksstarted pulling hard on theotherend.

“What the—” Daniel

said,pullingbacktheleash.Huckleberry started

whimpering. Daniel playedtug-of-war with him and theleash, his knuckles growingwhitewith the effort, but thedog was pulling with all hisweight, his nose pointed outtoward thewoods behind theshelterbuilding.

“C’mon,Hucks,”Danielsaid, gritting his teeth.“We’ve got some steaks athometogetto.”

Huckleberryquitpullingforaminute,andlookedbackatus.Therewasalookinhislittle brown eyes I didn’tunderstand.Heletoutalong,lonesome whimper, andstarted pulling on the leashagain.

“What do you think hemeans?”Iasked.

“Something probablydiedoverthereinthewoods,”Daniel said. “Probably araccoon or skunk. C’mon,

Hucks.”But the dog was

determined. He let out adesperate howl this time andthen started barking loudly.Daniel was having troublekeeping his ground, and wasslowly being pulled off thesidewalkandintothewoods.

There was something inHuckleberry’s howl,something that soundeddesperateandneedy.Asifhewas trying to tell us

something. Somethingimportant.

“Dammit, Hucks, stop—”

But just as Daniel saidthat, there was a loud snap.Huckleberry’soldvinylleashripped, and the dog boltedintothewoods.

“Son of a—” Danielmumbled, taking off afterHucks.

Amoment later, I foundmyself running too, chasing

both of them through theshadowy, snowy, moonlitwoods, my heart poundinghard. Huckleberry gettingfartherandfartheroutinfrontofus.

Hucks was usually sucha well-trained pooch. In thethree years since adoptinghim,herarelyeventuggedontheleashduringourwalks,letalone tried to break free. Healways listened, and he wasthe kind of dog that if you

told him to come back, he’dlistentoyou.

Butsomethinghadcomeover Huckleberry this coldand frosty Christmas Eve.Something that I couldn’tunderstand.

Up ahead, by the milkyblue light of the moon, Icould see that the dog hadstopped running. He startedbarking, rearing up on hisback legs, that same wilddesperationinhiscries.

I ran faster, my legspumping hard through thesoftlayerofsnow.Upahead,Daniel had stopped dead inhis tracks where Hucks wasbarking, butmadenomotionto try and grab the dog’scollarorleash.

Daniel was staring atsomethingontheground.

Huckleberry’s barkinghadturnedintoblood-chillingwhimpers.

My heart pounded even

harder, the blood thunderinginmyears.

“What is it?” I saidbreathlessly, running upbehindhim.“What’she—”

I stopped talking,followingDaniel’sgaze.

“Oh my…” I started,trailingoff.

A small, frail creaturelaycurledupatthebaseofalarge pine tree, not moving.In themoonlight, I could seethatitslongfurwasdirtyand

muddy. Ice gleamed off thepinkpadsofitspaws.Itsfacewasburiedinitsmattedcoat.

But despite the fact thathe hardly looked himself, Irecognizedthesmallcreature.

My jaw came unhingedandnearlyhittheforestfloor.

Igasped.“It’s him!” I shouted,

louder than I needed to. “ByKrisKringle,Daniel…Hucksfoundhim!”

Huckleberry was still

whimpering, sniffing aroundthelittlecreature.Butthefrailanimalwasn’tmoving.

A thick, fearful lumpstartedgrowingatthebackofmythroat.

He was so still andsmall, lying there like that.He hadn’t moved at all,almostasifhe’dalwaysbeenlying there, part of thelandscape.Likehewasarocksittingatthebaseofthetree.

Daniel kneeled down,

scooping the creaturecarefully up in his arms. Itshead limply hung overDaniel’sshoulder.

I swallowed back hard,the walls of my throat asroughassandpaper.

“Oh, no,” I said, myvoicequivering.“Ohno.”

Daniel looked down atthelittledog.

“Is he…?” I startedsaying.

Daniel held the

creature’sheadup.The dog’s eyes were

closed.“Chadwick?” I said,

holding his little headbetween my hands.“Chadwick,wakeup.”

Thepup’seyesremainedclosed, and I realized that Iwascrying.

“Chadwick?”I lookedback atDaniel.

He looked helpless, holdingthe small, frail body in his

arms.“He’scold,”Danielsaid.

“He’s awfully cold, Cin. Ican’tfeelaheartbeat.”

IbitmylowerlipuntilItastedblood.

“No,” I said. “It can’tend up like this. It just can’t—”

But the littledogwasn’tmoving.

I felt a sob riseup fromsomewhere down at the baseofmysoul.

The little pooch hadtraveledsofartogethere.Sovery, very far. Miles andmiles,justtoenduplikethis.Dead just a few feet awayfrom—

I thought I sawChadwick’s eyelids flickereversoslightly.Soslightly,Icouldn’t even tell if it hadhappened,orifmyeyeswereplayingtricksonme.

“Daniel,” I said, placinga hand on his arm,my voice

suddenly trembling withhope.“Daniel,he’s—”

The faintest, quietest ofwhimpers escaped the littledog’smouth.

My heart jumped, afeeling of hope surging uplikeageyserinsideofme.

Hewasalive.Chadwickwasalive!Happy tears streamed

down my face as the dog’slids opened further, and herolled those large, hollow

eyes of his up in mydirection.

His eyes were dull andglazed-over, but there wasstill a spark of life left inthem.Ifonlyjustaspark.

Somehow, the dog hadfound his way back to theHumane Society. Throughsnow and ice and bittertemperatures, the little doghad faced countless dangerstofindhiswaybackhome.

“We need to get him

inside,”Danielsaid,glancingupatmequickly.

I nodded, noticing thatDaniel’seyeswereglassy.

Chapter65

I awoke Christmas

morning to the heavenlysmellofpancakes.

I turned on my side,noticing that Daniel wasn’tthere.Istaredoutthewindowfora fewmoments,watchinglarge chunks of snow fallfrom the timber grey skyabove.

There had been no filet

mignon for us on ChristmasEve.

No champagne. Nocuddling up by a warm fire.No long kisses or exchangesof “I love you” for our firstweddinganniversary.

Instead, there was thecold, muddy smell of theHumane Society and hoursspent nervously pacing theconcretefloors.

We could have justdropped Chadwick off there

and checked back in in themorning. But neither one ofuswantedtoleave.

Chadwick was half-frozenwhenHuckleberryhadfound him, clinging to lifeafterdaysofwanderingthosecoldandsnowywoods.Ballsof ice had grown on his feetand it was impossible to tellhow long he’d been there,underthetree,onlyafewfeetaway from the shelter.Havingsomehowtraveledthe

distance between JulianneRedding’s shed to theHumaneSocietyonhisown.

Deirdrehadcalledintheshelter’s vet for theemergency,andshehadtakena long time inspectingChadwick.Butfinally,thevethadcomeout andgivenus averdict.

“He has mild frostbiteonhispawsandhe’sseverelydehydrated,” she said. “Buthe’s lucky. If you hadn’t

found himwhen you did, heprobablywouldn’thavemadeit.”

I almost collapsed intoDaniel’s arms then and thereoutofsheerjoy.

I didn’t know how ithappened, how littleChadwickhadfoundhiswaythrough the woods, all theway back here. Reappearinginour lives in sucha suddenandmiraculousway.

I didn’t know how we

ended up at the HumaneSocietyat just the right time.HowHuckleberryhadsensedthatadogneardeathwasoutin the woods, maybe evenknowing that it was hisbuddy,Chadwick,himself.

I didn’t know how anyofthathadhappened.

But it didn’t reallymatter.

All I knew was that ithad been a miracle. One ofthose rare moments in life

when everything comestogether right. When you nolonger have to wonderwhether or not there was agreater reason behind it all.Because you knew, deepdown in your bones,withouta doubt, that something likethis couldn’t happen if therewasn’tagreaterreason.

You couldn’t explainsomethinglikethisawaywithwords like coincidence, orfortuitous,orluck.Therewas

moretoitthananyofthat.We were meant to find

Chadwick that night, just intime.

Isatupinbed,tookinagreedy breath of Christmasmorning air, and swung mylegsoverthesideofthebed.Inestled my feet into myslippersandthrewonmyredcheckered robe. Then Iwandered down the hall,following the mouthwateringsmell of gingerbread

pancakes and hot maplesyrup,andthesoundofDeanMartin playing over thespeakers.

Daniel stood with hisbacktomeoverthegriddle,aspatula in his hand. He waswhistling along and hadn’theard me, and for a while, Ijustwatchedhimthere.Therewasn’t anything particularlyspecial about the moment:Danielhadmadebreakfast inthishousedozensoftimeson

the weekends. But there wassomething about theway thesoft grey light fell on himthere, something about theway the snow-covered treesoutsideswayedgentlybehindhim,somethingaboutthewayhe flipped those pancakes.Something about the way hewhistled, off tune but notcaring one bit. Somethingaboutallof it… that Iknewthat this imagewouldbeoneoftheonesthatburnedinmy

mind forever, that I wouldonedaylookbackonwhenIwas old and think… I surelivedafullandbeautifullife.

Afteramoment,Isnuckupbehindhim,wrappingmyarmsaroundhiswaist.

“Merry Christmas,baby,”Isaid.

Hesmiled, lookingbackatme.

“Merry Christmas,darling.”

He kissed the bridge of

mynose.“How’stheherodoing?”

Isaid.“I fed Hucks the first

few pancakes,” Daniel said,smiling. “He gorged himselfand now he’s passed out bythefireplace.”

Ichuckled.“Andourlittletrooper?”“Chadwick?Aw, he got

the next round of pancakes.He’s next to Hucks by thefire.Heseemslikehe’sdoing

prettygoodtome.”Ismiled.Being as the Humane

Society was full up again,Deirdre had asked me if Iwouldn’t mind providing afoster home for Chadwickwhileherecovered.Ihadsaidyes, without hesitation,knowing thatweweren’t justgoing to give him a fosterhome.

Chadwick, the moody,feisty, squirrel-barking,

fence-evading little CockerSpaniel, was no longer apermanent resident of theHumaneSociety.

Chadwick had finallyfoundaforeverhome.

I was going to fill outthe adoption paperstomorrow.

“So I’m guessing givenall that, breakfast probablywon’tbeforalittlewhileforushumansthen?”Iasked.

“We’ve probably got a

good fifteen minutes,” hesaid. “But that’s okay. Youknowwhy?”

“Why?”“Because I’ve got

somethingforyou.”Hepulledmyarmsfrom

aroundhiswaist,andthenledmetothediningroom.

A large green and red-wrapped box sat there in themiddle of the table, strungwithsilverandgoldribbon.

“Daniel, I thought we

had an agreement,” I said,glancing over at him. “Thatweweren’tgoingtoexchangegifts.”

“We did, and I kept tothat promise,” he said. “Thisis for our anniversary. I wasgonna give it to you lastnight.”

I stared at it, and thenbackathim.

“Daniel…”“C’mon, go ahead and

open it,” he said. “It’s just

sittingthere.”Islowlywentover.Isat

downatthetable,thenpulledthepackagetome.

Itwasheavy.Ituggedatthe ribbon. Then I startedpeeling at the paper. It cameundoneinlargeswaths.

Mymouthfellopen.Iknewthatbox.Inearlygasped.“Daniel Brightman, you

didn’t.”He smiled a devilish,

mischievousgrin that Icouldtellhe’dbeenwaitingtoshownowforalong,longtime.

“But they cost somuch!” I said, rippingoff allthepaperfromthepackage.

I opened the shoebox,liftedupthetissuepaper,andtookinanothergasp.

Thesmelloffineleatherwaftedup.The redLuccheseboots sparkled back at me.Intricately tooled toperfection.

They were even morebeautiful here in my diningroom than they were in theCowgirlDepot.

“Daniel Brightman,” Isaid, holding one up andadmiring it. “DanielBrightman, I can’t acceptthis.Thisistoomuchandwebothagreed…”

“Don’t worry about it,”hesaid.

“Butwe can’t afford thi—”

“And I mean, don’tworryaboutit.”

“But—”“We have the money,

andthat’sallI’llsay.”“But…”I looked up at him,

furrowing my brow,something suddenlybecomingclearasday.

“That Saturday inPortland?”Isaid.

Hedidn’t respond, but IknewbythesilencethatIwas

right.“C’mon,” I said. “Tell

thetruthnow.”Heshrugged.“Okay.Abuddyofmine

waslookingforanextramanat his security firm that day.SoIthoughtI’dkilltwobirdswith one stone.Make a littleextracashandgetyourbootsat theCowgirlDepot branchin Portland. They’d sold outhere.”

I looked back down at

theboots,shakingmyhead.I couldn’t believe he’d

doneallofthis,justforsomeinsane,unfoundedfancyIhadfortheseboots.

“Youdidthatforme?”Isaid.

Hesmiled.What had I done to

deserve someone like him?Whathadlittleol’CinnamonPeters done to be worthy ofsomeone as special, asthoughtful, as loving and as

kindasDanielBrightman?I slid my feet into the

boots,thenstoodup.Theyfitlikeadream.

Iwasnevergoingtotakethemoff.

“So do you like them?”hesaid.

I threwmyarmsaroundhis shoulders, then stood onmy tiptoes, kissing himpassionately.

After a moment hepulledawaysmiling,keeping

hishandsrestingonmyhips.“Iguessthat’sayes.”“Youknowitis.”Isaid.I thought about the pair

ofworkbootsI’dgottenhim,sitting right now under thetree.

I guess boots were thetrendthisgift-givingseason.

“MerryChristmas,Cin,”hesaid.

“Merry Christmas,Daniel.”

I thought there couldn’t

be a happier person on earththanme.

But that was only justthebeginning.

Chapter66

“I think we’ve gotenoughpancakes there,don’tyou,hun?Imeanthedogsarestuffed and it’s just you andm—”

The doorbell suddenlyrang, and both Hucks andChadwicksprangtotheirfeetand started barking, theirnoses pointed toward thefrontdoor.

The edges of Daniel’s

lipscurledupslightly.“Hey,whydon’tyouget

thatandI’llplatethese?”“Allright,”Isaid.I followed the barking,

heading for the front of thehouse.

“Just a minute!” Ishouted,pushing thepoochesaside.

Iunlockedthedoor,thengraspedtheknobandpulled.

Santa Claus and Mrs.Clausstoodontheporch.

I smiled warmly,realizing that theymust havebeen from the SalvationArmyorsomesortofcharityto support the poor, goingaround to collect food andmoney for the downtroddenthisChristmas.

“Hi there,” I said,goingfor my wallet on the railingbythedoor.“HowareyouallthisChristmas?”

“Just fine, young lass,”Santa said in adeepbaritone

voice.“Andyourself?”Santa’s eyes were

smiling, and from beneaththat thickfakebeardofhis,Irealized hewas grinning likeamadman.

He started busting uplikeaschoolboy.

A familiar, hearty oldchuckle that reverberatedthroughhischest.

I knew that laughter. Iknew that madman grin. Iknewthosesmilingeyes.

Andfor thesecond timethatChristmasday,mymouthdroppedcleartotheground.

I took in a deep gasp,realizing that thiswasn’t anySalvationArmySanta.

I couldn’t believe whatmyeyesweretellingme.

“But… it can’t be!” Isaid, throwing my armsaroundthebigmaninthesuitlike a little kid who just gotthe present he’d been piningforallyear.“Itcan’tbe!”

“Aw, didn’t you learnanything from your oldgranddaddy?” Santa said.“Miracles do happen, younglass.Miraclesdohappen.”

Ipulledthebearddown,and took a long look at mygrandfather.

His eyes were dancing,and he had that oldmischievous expression onhis face that was histrademarklook.

I thought my heart was

going to explode and thatconfetti strings of happinessweregoingtoflyoutintothesnowymorning.

I kissed Warren on thecheek and then turned myattention toAileen,whowasdressedupasMrs.Clausnexttohim.

Igrabbedherhandsandsqueezedthem.

“I’msogladyouall arehere,” I said, my eyesgrowing damp. “You don’t

know what this means tome.”

She smiled backwarmly. I looked at Warren.Hewassniffingtheair.

“Are those… are thosegingerbread pancakes Ismell?”

I thought of him allthose years ago, chowingdownonthechocolatemeantformyChristmasstocking.

Still the same oldWarren.

I nodded, staring at himthroughblearyeyes.

“Ihopethere’senough,”hesaid.

I thought about Danielmakingallthosepancakes.

He’d known about thisallalong.

That beautiful, loving,kind-hearted,better-than-any-man-I-had-ever-knownbastard.

I grabbed Warren andAileen’shandsagain.

“C’mon,” I said. “It’stoo cold out here. Even fortheClauses.Comeinside.”

I led them through thewarmandcozyhouse.Flamesdanced in thefireplace.DeanMartin sang about the snowfalling. The Christmas treeglittered and sparkled. Thedogs snored peacefully fromtherugbythefireplace.

And we all sat down tothe best Christmas breakfastthereeverwas.

At one point, I reachedfor Daniel’s hand andsqueezedit.

“You know what?” Iwhisperedinhisear.

“What?”hesaid.“IbelieveinSantaClaus

too,”Isaid.“SinceImetyou,IbelieveinallsortsofthingsI didn’t think possiblebefore.”

Hesmiledback,hisfacelighting up brighter than aChristmastree.

Iletoutahappysigh.

Miraclesdidhappen.Andnot just everyonce

inawhile,either.

TheEnd

CominginFebruary/March2015BustedinBrokenHeartsJunction:ACozy

MatchmakerMysteryMalarkeyinChristmas

River:AChristmasCozyMystery

MurderinChristmasRiver:AChristmasCozy

Mystery(Book1)

MayheminChristmas

River:AChristmasinJulyCozyMystery(Book2)

MadnessinChristmas

River:AChristmasCozyMystery(Book3)

MaliceinChristmasRiver:AChristmasCozyMystery

(Book4)

RoastedinChristmasRiver:AThanksgivingCozyMystery

Novella

BurnedinBrokenHeartsJunction:ACozy

MatchmakerMystery

AbouttheAuthor

Meg Muldoon loves

writing cozy mysteries. Aformer small town newsreporter,Meghasalwayshadaspecialplaceinherheartforlost dogs, homeless cats, andfeisty old locals. She enjoysbourbon bread pudding, redcowboyboots, and craft glueguns.

Meg lives in central

Oregon with an Australiancattle dog namedHuckleberry.

FormoreaboutMegandherupcomingbooks,visitherblog or join Meg onFacebook.

To sign up for theMegMuldoon New Book Alertmailing list and for Meg’sCozy Corner Newsletters,clickhere.