Magic in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Christmas River Cozy Book 7) by Meg Muldoon Page A
Authors: Meg Muldoon
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started emptying the filling into the pie crusts.
“So what is it you were saying before that meat head of a security guard came up to me the other day?” Warren asked. “Something about a ring and some fella or another?”
“Yeah,” I said. “The name’s Ralph Henry Baker. I found his class ring behind a brick in my pie shop.”
“Hmm,” Warren mumbled.
“Daniel looked into it since we last talked,” I said. “And it turns out that Ralph Baker disappeared in 1960. He just drove off one night, heading away from a party. Nobody in Christmas River ever saw him again.”
“Uh-huh,” Warren said. “I’m familiar with it.”
“You are?”
“Sure,” he said. “Everybody in Christmas River knew Ralph. His disappearance was quite the shock. Especially for his family.”
Warren cleared his throat in a strange way.
“He, uh, he wasn’t a bad kid,” he said, the tone of his voice changing.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say the conversation about Ralph was making the old man uncomfortable.
“Were the two of you friends?” I asked.
“Us?” he said. “No. I mean, I knew him. We were friendly. Both worked at the mill together. But he was a few years younger than me and liked beer a lot more than I did back then. I guess time has had the opposite effect on me. Beer grows more and more appealing to me with each passing year.”
Warren paused, clearing his throat oddly again.
“So you didn’t really know him that well, then?” I said.
“No,” he said. “But, uh, I think there’s something you should know about all of this Cin.”
I set the batter pitcher down on the counter while Tiana whisked the pies away from me and tossed them into one of the ovens.
“What is it?” I said.
The tone of Warren’s voice was downright odd, and it worried me some.
“Well, uh, you see …”
There was another long pause, followed by a sigh.
Whatever he was going to tell me appeared to be stuck in his throat.
“Ralph Henry Baker?” he finally said. “He was your great uncle, Cin.”
Chapter 23
“What?”
I closed the back door behind me, stepping out into the blustery, tombstone grey morning. The sky spit down a few raindrops, and they splattered across the side of my face. But I hardly felt a thing.
“How can that be?”
“Well,” Warren said, taking in a deep breath. “You see, your dad’s mom? Ralph was her brother. Her maiden name was Baker before getting married – though I don’t suppose your dad ever gave you much of a lesson in his family history. Bastard didn’t know much about the meaning of family to begin with.”
I found myself speechless.
When you live in a small town nearly your entire life, you think that you know everything there is to know about it.
Then something like this knocks you clear off of your feet.
I started saying something, but stopped, realizing I didn’t know where I was going with it.
I didn’t have the words.
“Your dad came from a good family, despite himself,” Warren continued. “The Bakers were respectable people. And Ralph was a good kid. His only flaw was the drink. He didn’t exactly have a problem with it, but he indulged a little too much for his own good. Which back in those days, was somewhat scandalous.”
“How come I haven’t heard about any of this before?”
Warren paused for a moment.
“Well, Ralph’s sister – your grandma – was gone by the time you were born. She passed early of cancer, as you know. Your grandpa on that side moved back to his hometown back east after that and died when you were just a little girl. So it wasn’t like he was around to tell you. And since Ralph had disappeared such a long time ago, there wasn’t really any reason for you to know about him.”
I let that sink in for a long moment.
Ralph Henry Baker was my great uncle.
It was strange to think of him in those terms now – the teen in those photos, who seemed like he had the world on a string, being
“So what is it you were saying before that meat head of a security guard came up to me the other day?” Warren asked. “Something about a ring and some fella or another?”
“Yeah,” I said. “The name’s Ralph Henry Baker. I found his class ring behind a brick in my pie shop.”
“Hmm,” Warren mumbled.
“Daniel looked into it since we last talked,” I said. “And it turns out that Ralph Baker disappeared in 1960. He just drove off one night, heading away from a party. Nobody in Christmas River ever saw him again.”
“Uh-huh,” Warren said. “I’m familiar with it.”
“You are?”
“Sure,” he said. “Everybody in Christmas River knew Ralph. His disappearance was quite the shock. Especially for his family.”
Warren cleared his throat in a strange way.
“He, uh, he wasn’t a bad kid,” he said, the tone of his voice changing.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say the conversation about Ralph was making the old man uncomfortable.
“Were the two of you friends?” I asked.
“Us?” he said. “No. I mean, I knew him. We were friendly. Both worked at the mill together. But he was a few years younger than me and liked beer a lot more than I did back then. I guess time has had the opposite effect on me. Beer grows more and more appealing to me with each passing year.”
Warren paused, clearing his throat oddly again.
“So you didn’t really know him that well, then?” I said.
“No,” he said. “But, uh, I think there’s something you should know about all of this Cin.”
I set the batter pitcher down on the counter while Tiana whisked the pies away from me and tossed them into one of the ovens.
“What is it?” I said.
The tone of Warren’s voice was downright odd, and it worried me some.
“Well, uh, you see …”
There was another long pause, followed by a sigh.
Whatever he was going to tell me appeared to be stuck in his throat.
“Ralph Henry Baker?” he finally said. “He was your great uncle, Cin.”
Chapter 23
“What?”
I closed the back door behind me, stepping out into the blustery, tombstone grey morning. The sky spit down a few raindrops, and they splattered across the side of my face. But I hardly felt a thing.
“How can that be?”
“Well,” Warren said, taking in a deep breath. “You see, your dad’s mom? Ralph was her brother. Her maiden name was Baker before getting married – though I don’t suppose your dad ever gave you much of a lesson in his family history. Bastard didn’t know much about the meaning of family to begin with.”
I found myself speechless.
When you live in a small town nearly your entire life, you think that you know everything there is to know about it.
Then something like this knocks you clear off of your feet.
I started saying something, but stopped, realizing I didn’t know where I was going with it.
I didn’t have the words.
“Your dad came from a good family, despite himself,” Warren continued. “The Bakers were respectable people. And Ralph was a good kid. His only flaw was the drink. He didn’t exactly have a problem with it, but he indulged a little too much for his own good. Which back in those days, was somewhat scandalous.”
“How come I haven’t heard about any of this before?”
Warren paused for a moment.
“Well, Ralph’s sister – your grandma – was gone by the time you were born. She passed early of cancer, as you know. Your grandpa on that side moved back to his hometown back east after that and died when you were just a little girl. So it wasn’t like he was around to tell you. And since Ralph had disappeared such a long time ago, there wasn’t really any reason for you to know about him.”
I let that sink in for a long moment.
Ralph Henry Baker was my great uncle.
It was strange to think of him in those terms now – the teen in those photos, who seemed like he had the world on a string, being
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