Read Online 5 Mischief in Christmas River by Meg Muldoon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Meg Muldoon
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whole town with missing posters, but nobody’s seen Harley. I’ve come here to this trail every day since then, looking for him. But it’s as if he just vanished into the woods.”
I bit my lip.
Her story sounded awfully familiar.
“I’m really sorry, Julianne,” I said.
She sighed, then handed me one of the flyers.
“Just let me know if you see my baby,” she said. “He’s a nice dog. If you whistle three times, he’ll come.”
I nodded.
“See you at the Junction?” I asked.
“The what?” she said, confused.
“The Gingerbread Junction,” I said. “You’re still judging this year, aren’t you?”
“Oh, of course,” she said, pressing her hand up to her forehead. “I’ll be there, as always.”
She took one last look at Chadwick, sighed, and then went on her way, dragging a whole train of gloom behind her.
I looked at the poster in my hands again, peering at Harley’s sweet face.
Then I glanced around.
The woods were as still as ever.
A chill ran down my spine.
I didn’t kid myself: I wasn’t any kind of detective.
But this… this all seemed too much of a coincidence to me.
Something fishy was going on. And I suddenly suspected that Shasta’s disappearance had less to do with Billy’s careless ways than it did with something more sinister.
Three dogs disappearing without a trace, within one week of each other, just wasn’t the kind of thing that happened in a town as small as Christmas River.
Chapter 20
I held my breath, doing everything I could to hold back the onslaught of Hurricane Cinnamon.
But just as it had been useless in the previous five sneezes, it was no use trying to hold back this one either.
I tried to turn away, but the damage was already done.
Glitter, dried orange peel, and wood shavings went flying across the table in response to my wild and out of control sneeze. When I opened my eyes again, I realized that both Kara and her friend Brad were staring at me.
“ Gazuntite ,” Brad finally said, pulling yet another Kleenex from the box on the opposite end of the crafting table and handing it to me.
I nodded gratefully.
I didn’t know if it was the essence of vanilla, the orange peel, the cardamom, the cloves, or the wood chips, but something about the potpourri gift bags we were making for Kara’s wedding guests was having a severe disagreement with my nasal passages.
“Do you want to step outside and get some fresh air, Cin?” Kara asked, looking up at me.
“No way. I said I’d help you make these, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
I went back to tossing the wood shavings, essential oils, dried orange peels, juniper berries, and pine cones together in a large bowl.
I was so eager to help Kara with all her wedding preparations, especially since she’d been so helpful with my own wedding the year before. But, as was true with the other wedding activities, even making potpourri proved to be a hurdle for me.
Brad, who had more crafting abilities in one pinky than I did in my entire being, had been a much bigger help in that department.
“Cin, if the smells are bugging you, you don’t have to be doing this,” Kara said. “Brad and I have it under control.”
I waved my hand at her.
“What kind of maid of honor would I be if I didn’t help the bride make potpourri for the gift bags?”
Kara shrugged.
“One that wasn’t showering the table every few minutes,” she said.
“I’m fine,” I said, wiping at my nose with the Kleenex. “Really.”
We sat there in silence for a while, mixing up batches of the potpourri. It was around 6 p.m. and I’d just closed the shop for the day, jaunting across the street to Kara’s ornament store to help her make these gift bags. If I was being honest, I would have preferred to work on my Dr. Zhivago ice palace gingerbread house this evening rather than tossing together wood chips. But I felt like I’d been a subpar maid of honor thus far, and I knew that I had to
I bit my lip.
Her story sounded awfully familiar.
“I’m really sorry, Julianne,” I said.
She sighed, then handed me one of the flyers.
“Just let me know if you see my baby,” she said. “He’s a nice dog. If you whistle three times, he’ll come.”
I nodded.
“See you at the Junction?” I asked.
“The what?” she said, confused.
“The Gingerbread Junction,” I said. “You’re still judging this year, aren’t you?”
“Oh, of course,” she said, pressing her hand up to her forehead. “I’ll be there, as always.”
She took one last look at Chadwick, sighed, and then went on her way, dragging a whole train of gloom behind her.
I looked at the poster in my hands again, peering at Harley’s sweet face.
Then I glanced around.
The woods were as still as ever.
A chill ran down my spine.
I didn’t kid myself: I wasn’t any kind of detective.
But this… this all seemed too much of a coincidence to me.
Something fishy was going on. And I suddenly suspected that Shasta’s disappearance had less to do with Billy’s careless ways than it did with something more sinister.
Three dogs disappearing without a trace, within one week of each other, just wasn’t the kind of thing that happened in a town as small as Christmas River.
Chapter 20
I held my breath, doing everything I could to hold back the onslaught of Hurricane Cinnamon.
But just as it had been useless in the previous five sneezes, it was no use trying to hold back this one either.
I tried to turn away, but the damage was already done.
Glitter, dried orange peel, and wood shavings went flying across the table in response to my wild and out of control sneeze. When I opened my eyes again, I realized that both Kara and her friend Brad were staring at me.
“ Gazuntite ,” Brad finally said, pulling yet another Kleenex from the box on the opposite end of the crafting table and handing it to me.
I nodded gratefully.
I didn’t know if it was the essence of vanilla, the orange peel, the cardamom, the cloves, or the wood chips, but something about the potpourri gift bags we were making for Kara’s wedding guests was having a severe disagreement with my nasal passages.
“Do you want to step outside and get some fresh air, Cin?” Kara asked, looking up at me.
“No way. I said I’d help you make these, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
I went back to tossing the wood shavings, essential oils, dried orange peels, juniper berries, and pine cones together in a large bowl.
I was so eager to help Kara with all her wedding preparations, especially since she’d been so helpful with my own wedding the year before. But, as was true with the other wedding activities, even making potpourri proved to be a hurdle for me.
Brad, who had more crafting abilities in one pinky than I did in my entire being, had been a much bigger help in that department.
“Cin, if the smells are bugging you, you don’t have to be doing this,” Kara said. “Brad and I have it under control.”
I waved my hand at her.
“What kind of maid of honor would I be if I didn’t help the bride make potpourri for the gift bags?”
Kara shrugged.
“One that wasn’t showering the table every few minutes,” she said.
“I’m fine,” I said, wiping at my nose with the Kleenex. “Really.”
We sat there in silence for a while, mixing up batches of the potpourri. It was around 6 p.m. and I’d just closed the shop for the day, jaunting across the street to Kara’s ornament store to help her make these gift bags. If I was being honest, I would have preferred to work on my Dr. Zhivago ice palace gingerbread house this evening rather than tossing together wood chips. But I felt like I’d been a subpar maid of honor thus far, and I knew that I had to
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