Cardwell Christmas Crime Scene. B.J. Daniels
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“Dad came by and took them sledding,” Stacy said. “He called just before you drove up to say he’s decided to take them to Texas Boys Barbecue, since they say they’re too starved to wait for supper. The café is owned by our cousins from Texas,” she said to DJ. Turning back to her sister, she said, “I’m working this afternoon at the sewing shop, so I’d better get going, since I need to pick up a few things before then.”
“Go, and thanks.”
Stacy looked to DJ, who’d been taking in the ranch in a kind of awe. “It was great to meet you. I’ll see you later?”
“You’ll see her. DJ’s staying for a while,” Dana declared and climbed the porch steps to open the door and usher DJ in.
She stepped into the house and stopped. The decor was very Western, from the huge rock fireplace to the antler lamps and the Native American rugs on the hardwood floors. Even the Christmas decorations looked as if they’d been in the family for years.
There was also a feeling of déjà vu as if she’d been here before. Crazy, she thought, hurriedly wiping at her eyes.
“It’s so...beautiful,” DJ said, her voice breaking.
Dana laughed. “My Christmas tree? I know it’s hard to put into words,” she said, considering the misshaped evergreen in the corner, decorated with ornaments obviously made by children. “But I’ve always been a sucker for trees that would never have gotten to be Christmas trees if it wasn’t for me.”
DJ managed to laugh around the lump in her throat. “I meant your house,” she said, smiling at the sight of the ungainly tree, “but your Christmas tree is...lovely. An orphan tree that you brought home. It’s charming.”
Her cousin smiled at her. “Let’s have a late lunch, since I know you couldn’t have gotten much on the plane, and we can visit.”
She followed Dana into the large, cheery kitchen, wondering if she hadn’t been here before. It felt strangely...familiar. Had her father brought her here at some point? Why else was she feeling so emotional about this large, rambling old house?
“I can’t tell you how surprised I was when I found some letters from your father and realized that my mother had a brother I’d never known existed,” Dana said as she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a large bowl. “I hope you like shrimp macaroni salad.” DJ nodded and Dana continued. “It wasn’t like my mother, Mary Justice, to keep a secret like that. Then to find out that he hadn’t actually died...” Her cousin put the bowl on the table and got out plates, forks and what looked like homemade rolls. “Coffee, tea, milk?”
“Milk.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had milk, but it sounded so good, and it felt right in this kitchen. Everywhere she looked she saw family history in this house. One wall was covered with photos of the children, most atop horses.
“Sit, please.” Dana waved her into one of the mismatched multicolored wooden chairs in front of the long, scarred table.
“I didn’t know about you, either,” DJ said as she pulled out the chair and sat. Dana joined her after filling two plates with pasta salad. DJ took a bite. “This is delicious.”
They ate in a companionable silence for a while. The house was warm and comfortable. From the window over the sink, DJ could see snow-laden pines and granite cliffs. It was all so beautiful, exactly how she had pictured Montana in December. She hadn’t thought she was hungry, but the salad and the warm homemade roll dripping with butter quickly disappeared. This felt so right, being here, that she’d forgotten for a while why she’d accepted the invitation.
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