CHAPTER 23
T hanksgiving Day arrives like a turkey on roller skates that hit a wall of hay at a hundred miles an hour and then exploded in a ball of feathers.
The sky is slate gray, the thick scent of roasted turkey fills the air, and every last soul in Cider Cove has shown up right here on Main Street in time for the Wobble Gobble Turkey Trot.
A band practices in the distance and an entire choir of voices is filled with happy chatter all around. The infamous 5K is upon us and throngs of runners have arrived in their best move-it-or-lose-it gear ready to bolt like a turkey trying to avoid capture.
Vibrant leaves crunch beneath our feet, painting the path with hues of red, orange, and gold. The scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spice wafts from nearby cafes, mingling with the earthy aroma of fall.
Fish mewls from my tote bag, It’s freezing and it’s far too early. Why in the world you hoomans would wake up at the crack of yawn to run as fast as you can for no good reason is besides me.
Chestnut and Acorn chitter with a laugh.
Our mama loved to rise before the sun came up, Chestnut muses wistfully.
She sure did, Acorn affirms. She said she liked the peace and quiet before Old Cranky got out of bed.
Sherlock gives a soft woof. I bet Beau is Old Cranky.
I nod his way.
And Old Cranky is still alive and kicking, unlike poor Blythe.
“Good morning, Bizzy,” my mom shouts from behind, and I turn to see both her and Georgie making their way over, both dressed in cozy wool coats. My mother has embellished her look with an orange and yellow flannel scarf and Georgie has what looks like a rhinestone turkey in her hair.
They both give the dogs a hearty pat and Georgie wastes no time in taking Fish from me as well as the dogs’ leashes. Both Georgie and my mother agreed to watch my furry brood while I run down Main Street as if I were being chased by lions.
Jasper is here for the lunacy as well, but both he and Leo are still at the reception table, chatting away with a couple of their buddies from the precinct, and I took off to look for Emmie but no such luck so far.
“I’m so sorry I overslept,” Mom laments. “I feel like I ran like a turkey trying to escape the ax just to make it here.”
Georgie rolls her eyes. “My brother spent the night at her place.”
Mom gasps. “How did you know that?”
Georgie chuckles. “I’ve got a tracker on him and I’ve got a tracker on you. I know exactly where both of you turkeys were last night and exactly what you were doing well until morning.”
Mom’s face turns fifty shades of red.
“Well, it’s good to know I’m being watched.” She turns my way. “Remind me to have Huxley write up a restraining order.”
“Speaking of Hux,” I say. “I spent all day yesterday watching those YouTube videos of little Mack. He was just so cute when he got out of bed and threw his bottle at Mackenzie’s head.”
“I saw that, too,” Mom says with a gasp. “It was priceless!”
And we share a quick chuckle because of it.
“Huxley might have to draw up another restraining order, too—this time for his son,” I add. “I don’t think little Mack will be all that thrilled once he realizes his mother was recording his every quasi-embarrassing move.”
“Right?” Mom’s voice hikes as she agrees with me. “I’m not sure he’s going to appreciate the fact the entire world gets to watch as he strains to go potty.”
I nod. “Little Mack is going to be pretty ticked one day. I know I would be.”
Mom makes a face. “I’ll have a talk with Mackenzie.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Georgie says as an icy wind picks up. “If you do that, Mackenzie will have a restraining order out against you. ”
“She’s not wrong,” I say with a sigh.
For as long as I’ve known Mackenzie Woods, nothing can stop her from getting what she wants. And if she wants to embarrass her sweet son until kingdom come, then that’s what’s going to happen.
“Oh, and before I forget”—Mom lifts a finger my way and nearly drops all three leashes in the process—“I invited Claudia and Vera for dinner this evening. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I tell her. “The more the merrier. Emmie is making enough food to feed the entire East Coast.”
“Says you,” Georgie grouses. “And don’t you dare ask me to share my pie with anyone. I have one motto in life and it’s do or pie .”
Mom grunts, “You would.”
“Oh, you would, too,” Georgie shoots back and my mother begrudgingly nods in agreement.
I’m not giving up my pie either, but I happen to know there will be plenty to go around.
“Well, if it isn’t the gray brigade,” a friendly voice chirps from behind and we turn to see both Claudia and Vera smiling as they head this way.
“Of course we’re not talking about you, Bizzy,” Claudia says while giving me a quick hug. Her silver locks are slightly windblown and she’s donned a sage-colored puffer jacket and jeans to keep warm.
Vera’s auburn locks look freshly dyed and pulled back into a bun. Her lipstick is a matching shade of amber, and she looks cozy as well in a long gray wool coat.
“How are you ladies doing today?” Vera says with a laugh as she examines my mother and Georgie. “Are you ready to get your hips moving and grooving all the way down Main Street? I bet you’ll have buns of steel by the time you hit the finish line.”
Mom laughs. “I’ll have you know these buns are made of cinnamon rolls and cheesecake,” she says, grabbing a hold of her hips and giving them a squeeze. “The only place I’ll be running to is the dinner table in a few short hours. Georgie and I are minding these cuties while Bizzy does her best to wear out her knees.” She nods to Fish and her canine compadres.
“Well, we’re not running either,” Claudia says. “If you see me running, it’s because I heard there’s a sale at the craft store.”
“Same here.” Vera laughs. “Only I’ll be getting chased by the law for eating too many turkey leftovers,” she howls and we all laugh harder because of it.
A familiar brunette jogs up in a black tracksuit trimmed with white piping. “What’s so funny over here?” Magda Cooper says while slinging an arm over Vera’s shoulders. “Are you ladies joining me for the Turkey Trot, or are you too busy drooling over which pie to eat first tonight?”
Vera points my way. “This young lady is the only one of us brave enough to do it.”
“Go ahead and say what you really mean,” Georgie gravels. “She’s the only one foolish enough to do it.”
And just like that, the five of them break out into cackles twice as loud.
Magda leans toward her friends. “Well, I’ll catch up to you smart ladies on the float. Save some space for me to lie down. I may need to nap for the duration of the parade!” And I might need a body cast, too.
Georgie nods. “I’ll save you a spot and some whiskey.”
“Now that’s a friend,” Magda says and they’re back to cackling once again.
“You go get sweaty,” Claudia tells her. “We’ve got to primp ourselves for our big debut on the float. And practice our parade wave.” She lifts a hand and turns it back and forth, getting another laugh out of it.
“That’s right,” Georgie chirps. “We need to look hot for all the single men out there.”
Claudia grunts, “Too bad all the good ones are married or dead.”
Vera rolls her eyes. “These days the only qualifier needed is if he’s still breathing.” Claudia never did know where to look for a man when she was young, let alone now that she’s as shriveled as a prune .
A short toot of a horn goes off, and soon Magda and I head over to the starting line, behind an entire thicket of so-called fools.
I even see Mackenzie and Huxley up near the front and baby Mack in a stroller between the two of them. Mackenzie has her phone aimed at my poor nephew.
I have a feeling I know why she’s at the Turkey Trot to begin with—to rope in more turkeys to watch her videos. Oh heck, it will work like a charm. I’m already itching to watch little Mack’s cute face as the wind blows his dark hair silly.
Jasper jogs over and lands a kiss on my lips. “See you at the finish line,” he says as he makes his way toward the front where Leo is already jogging in place.
I shrug over at Magda. “My husband is competitive when it comes to these kinds of things. He’ll be sprinting like a cheetah while I mosey my way down Main Street like a sloth on its way to a colonoscopy he has no interest in.”
She laughs. “Well, at least you’re doing something together. My ex loved doing things with women who weren’t me.”
I laugh and then stop short. “Sorry about that.”
“No, I meant it to be funny. If I can’t laugh, I’ll cry or die, I used to say.” It’s still true. My ex still has me wanting to cry or die—and that would be Beau. He’s the only husband I had, the one I built a life with. “And just so you know, I move at a turtle’s pace during these things. I’m just here to prove to myself that I’m not dead yet. Although, in hindsight, I really need to start proving that point to myself while curled up next to a fire and reading a book.”
“Mind if I join you by that fire?” I say and we share a laugh. “I guess there’s always next year.”
A loud air horn goes off and every last body in this mob of motivated movers and shakers is off to the races—or at least this race.
Magda and I hold up the rear with about a dozen other people who seem to have the same sloth mindset.
The Wobble Gobble may have begun, but now that I have my prime suspect by my side, I’m hoping that my investigation is coming to a close.
I look over at Magda and smile.
It’s time to race to the finish line and see if we can gobble up some clues along the way.