Manic in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Christmas River Cozy Book 6) Read Online Free PDF Page A

sometimes, where he flirted plenty with her, leading her on, making her think there was something there that wasn’t.
    I never much cared for Rip, seeing the way he toyed with her feelings. I think he picked up on my dislike for him: he hardly acknowledged my existence. A pattern which continued to this day.
    “So, you got everything you need for the grand opening?” he said to Warren, stepping farther into the brewery.
    “Yep. Everything’s on schedule,” Warren said, his voice lacking the friendliness it usually carried.
    The old man crossed his arms and leaned on his back heels, watching as Rip made a full circle of the brewery. It didn’t escape my attention the way Rip was looking around: like he was a quality inspector for the State of Oregon or something.
    “Well, I’m looking forward to trying all them beers you’ve got brewing,” Rip finally said. “I’ve only heard but good things from folks around here about your homebrews. Can’t wait to see how you do on the big stage.”
    Warren shifted his feet, rather uncomfortably I noticed, and crossed his arms tighter against his chest.
    “You and me both,” he said, coolly. “Are you going be here tomorrow night?”
    Rip smiled, revealing a pair of yellowed, nicotine-stained teeth.
    “Well, Back Alley’s having a little celebration of our own,” he said. “But I’ll see if I can’t break away from the festivities for a moment or two and come on down.”
    Warren grunted and nodded his head sharply.
    “You sure you don’t need any help with anything?” Rip said, heading back toward the plastic dividing door where he’d first appeared. “I can offer plenty of expertise.”
    Warren’s jawbone was tighter than a spool of thread.
    “Nope, everything’s going along just fine,” the old man said. “Thanks for the thought, though. I do appreciate it.”
    “It’s nothing at all,” Rip said. “Well, I guess I ought to be getting back.”
    He nodded at my grandfather, ignoring me completely.
    “You have yourself a good day, Warren.”
    “Don’t forget your hat,” Warren said.
    “My what?”
    Warren nodded in the direction of the table where Rip had left his absurd elf hat.
    “Your costume.”
    Rip smirked, then walked over and grabbed it.
    “Nice of you to look out for me so.”
    The old man watched as Rip Lawrence slipped out of the brewery with as much stealth as he had slipped in.
    Warren began stroking his beard again, that worried expression returning to his face.
    When he noticed me watching, he forced a smile.
    “Nice of the young fella to inquire if I needed any help,” he said.
    I raised my eyebrows.
    “I’d call Rip Lawrence a lot of things,” I said. “But nice wouldn’t be one of them.”
    “You don’t think he was here in a neighborly spirit?” Warren said.
    I didn’t know Rip that well. All I had was my gut instinct about the man to go by.
    And my gut told me that Rip Lawrence just wasn’t the neighborly type.
    “No I don’t,” I said. “I don’t know why he was here, but it wasn’t in the spirit of camaraderie. I can tell you that.”  
    “I’ll admit, that ain’t the first time he’s been here and offered to help like that,” Warren said. “It makes me wonder…”
    He trailed off, not finishing the sentence.
    Then he shook his head.
    “I don’t know, Cinny Bee,” he said. “Sometimes, I just don’t know.”
    He sounded unsure and afraid.
     
    Nothing like the invincible Warren that I had always known.
     

 
    Chapter 8
     
    Cinnamon’s Pies wasn’t even open for business yet, but already, sweat was pouring down the sides of my face like I was an athlete running a triathlon in a rainforest.
    From what I’d been able to see of summer this year, which wasn’t much considering how busy the pie shop kept me, it seemed like a mild and pleasant season so far. The days were blue and breezy, the temperatures hovered in the mid to upper 70s, and the thunderstorms that we often got this time of year