Читать книгу Cozy Christmas - Valerie Hansen - Страница 11

Chapter Two

The spirit of Christmas was everywhere in Bygones. When Whitney turned onto Bronson Avenue on her way to the school she saw more sparkling decorations festooned with uncountable twinkling lights. Where the snow had melted from passing traffic, the red bricks of the street reflected the flickering above and lent a feeling of warmth to the otherwise wintry scene.

It was late enough in the afternoon for classes to have been dismissed. Coraline Connolly’s aging blue sedan, however, was still in the faculty parking lot. From the look of it, it had sat there all day because it was frosted with fluffy snow like a cake dusted with powdered sugar.

Whitney parked her Mustang next to Coraline’s car and entered the brick, two-story building. Inside, the halls were decorated with posters announcing a school Christmas program as well as the community caroling and tree-lighting ceremony at the park.

Nostalgia washed over Whitney, carrying her back to the thousands of times she had been in that building as a student. A deep breath brought the familiar odors of the place; a base of wet sneakers, glue, plastic and stale sack lunches overlaid with a hint of cleaning solution. She would have known where she was if she’d arrived there blindfolded.

The heels of her boots ticked a cadence on the polished hallway and echoed off the walls as she hurried toward the principal’s office. No matter how many times she came here, she always experienced a surge of memories that made her feel more like a teen than an adult.

Whitney was smiling when she paused at the open door to Coraline’s office and rapped on the jamb. “Good afternoon. Have you got a minute?”

“Of course, dear.” Circling her desk, the gray-haired principal opened her arms to her visitor and gave her a motherly hug. “I was meaning to phone you anyway, just hadn’t gotten around to it.” Her already pleasant smile widened and her blue eyes sparkled. “I need another volunteer to bake three dozen cookies for the tree-lighting ceremony this coming Saturday.”

Whitney returned the hug, then stepped back. “Only if you give me permission to buy them from Melissa at the bakery. I don’t do a lot of cooking.”

“Then how are you ever going to snag yourself a decent husband? Don’t you know the way to a man’s heart...”

“Is through his stomach,” Whitney supplied with a soft laugh. “So I’ve heard.”

“Well then?”

She shook her head so hard she dislodged one end of the scarf loop that circled her neck. “Well, nothing. If I never hear about another supposedly amazing romance, I’ll be happy. If you’ve been reading the Gazette, you know my boss has had me covering a bunch of lovey-dovey stuff lately. I’ve decided it must be some kind of epidemic.”

“That is a rather negative spin to put on it,” the principal observed.

“Now you sound like Josh.”

The older woman stared. “You’ve been talking to Josh Smith?”

“I’ve been trying to.” Whitney plopped into a side chair and sighed. “That man is harder to interview than anybody I’ve ever met.”

“Probably just the kind of mind he has. You know what I mean. Some people are talkers, like you and I, while others are deep thinkers, like Josh.”

“You’re probably right. Which is partly why I’m here,” Whitney explained. “I thought it might help if I could take a peek at the legalese that came with the business grants.”

“I supplied everyone with copies,” Coraline said.

“I know. I have those. I was just wondering if there might be some clue in the originals that wasn’t in the packets you handed out.”

“A clue to what?”

“The origin of the grants. You know the saying, follow the money.”

“Sorry. There’s nothing in those papers you haven’t already seen.” She returned to the chair behind her desk and made herself comfortable. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Outside of telling me the name of Mr. Moneybags, I guess not.”

“Mister? Why do you believe it’s a man?” Coraline asked. “I think women are far more likely to be philanthropic, don’t you? It’s our tendency to nurture.”

“I suppose you’re right. When I first started looking into this for the Gazette, I thought of the benefactor as either male or female. Lately, though, I’m starting to see him as a man.”

“Whatever you say, Whitney.” The principal picked up a pen and sorted through a pile of papers on the desk until she found the one she wanted and brought it forward. “So, can I put you down for three dozen?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent. If you’re coming to the ceremony you can just drop the cookies off that night. I’ll have a table set up next to the hot chocolate the Cozy Cup is providing.”

“Josh is bringing enough for the whole town?”

Coraline busied herself making notes on the list. “We all pitch in every year. You know that. I’m sure others will donate, too.”

“Right. I’d better stop by Sweet Dreams and get those cookies ordered before Melissa’s swamped. She says she won’t know for sure until she’s been in business for the whole year, but she predicts this is going to be her best season.”

“I suspect so,” Coraline said sweetly. “I’m looking forward to having my children home for the holidays. How are your parents doing?”

“Fine, thanks. I wasn’t sure Mom would survive Dad’s knee surgery but he’s back on his feet and she’s stopped doting on him so much.”

“You’re very fortunate to have such a satisfying life.” Her smile faded. “Not all of my former students have been so blessed.”

“Maybe that would be a good hook for another series of articles,” Whitney ventured, picturing a headline and framing it in the air with her hands. “Teen leaves small town looking for happiness and discovers that he or she had it all the time, right here in Bygones.”

Once again, Coraline seemed unduly bothered. Whitney stood and approached the desk. Reverting to her student attitude she asked, “Are you all right, Mrs. Connolly?”

“I’m fine, dear. Just terribly busy. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps we can chat more at the tree lighting. A few of our students are going to be wearing elf hats and helping to pass out the goodies. I’ll be there to keep an eye on them.”

“What about the church? Are they going to bring the crèche down to the park, too?”

“Not this year. They’re doing a live drama program called Bethlehem, with a real donkey and a few sheep.” She smiled. “I suspect it would be best to keep the livestock confined to the churchyard where the rest of the stable is set up.”

“You’re probably right.” Whitney started for the door. “Thanks for your time. Sorry to have bugged you.”

“Think nothing of it, dear.”

As Whitney left the office she happened to glance back over her shoulder. Coraline was watching. And there was a definite frown wrinkling her brow.

Since the older woman had lived and worked in Bygones all her life, Whitney supposed she did take special events very seriously; she just hated to see the principal looking so unduly burdened.

* * *

The small, sparsely furnished apartment over the coffee shop was not up to Josh’s usual standards. He had two reasons for occupying it. One, it was foolish to waste money setting up a real home in Bygones when he wasn’t planning to stay. And two, he didn’t want to give the impression that he could afford better. It had been difficult enough to honestly answer questions about his efforts to spruce up the empty movie theater located next to his shop. Everybody knew it wasn’t included in the grants so he’d had to play down his personal investment.

It was the industry-wide shift from 35mm film to digital presentation that had drawn his interest—and had caused the theater’s former owner to sell to his dummy corporation so cheaply. The cost of conversion was going to be expensive and might never pay off.

Josh, however, was delighted for a chance to tinker with a computer-driven system. If all went well, he hoped to surprise Bygones by opening with a free showing of a Christmas movie within the month.

Personally, he didn’t see why practically everybody got so sentimental at this time of year. As his father had often said while entertaining business associates in their palatial home, emotional attachments to tradition were nothing but useful tools.

The late Bruce Barton had paid professionals to decorate his home and office for the lavish holiday parties he’d hosted, relegating Josh’s mother, Susanna, to the task of playing glamorous hostess. Every time Susanna had tried to add homey touches to the austere but elegant decorations, Bruce had made fun of her efforts and insisted she remove them. By the time Josh was a young teen, she had stopped trying and had meekly complied with whatever made her husband happy.

Josh suddenly felt compelled to phone his mother. It was because of her that he’d begun the Bygones rescue project, although she didn’t know it. She was the one with nostalgic memories of the town, not him.

She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom. I tried to connect with you by computer a couple of times. You must have the instant messaging feature turned off.”

“Josh! It’s wonderful to hear your voice.” She sniffled, making him wonder if she was catching cold. “You know computers hate me. The whole system shut down about a week ago and refuses to work. I suppose I’ll have to call one of your techie friends to have a look at it—unless you’re planning on coming home soon.”

“I’ve been pretty busy,” he said, wishing he could tell her the whole truth about his absence right now, instead of waiting.

“Well, just so you won’t have to worry about me during the holidays, I’m going on a Caribbean cruise with two other widows. We’re leaving next week.”

That made sense. After all, she was alone now and must be knocking around in that big house his father had insisted upon. Why she didn’t sell it and truly move on was beyond him.

“That’s a good first step,” Josh told her. “If there’s Wi-Fi on the ship you can keep me posted about all the fun you’re having.”

“I suppose so,” Susanna replied softly. “I miss you, honey.”

“I miss you, too. We’ll get together and catch up on everything after you come home all tanned and relaxed.”

“I’m surprised it’s taking you so long to set up that new branch of Barton Technologies.”

Josh had almost forgotten his necessary cover story. “I should be done by the first of the year.”

That much was true. Actually, he could have left Bygones months ago and been assured that his money was being well spent. So what had kept him?

The notion that he might be starting to like his life in the small town was too ridiculous to consider seriously. He was completing a necessary job, that’s all. He might not be creating the computer software design administrative center that his mother imagined, but he was still working. And he was pretty proud of the results he was seeing.

Main Street had recovered beyond his wildest dreams. Merchants and the Save Our Streets committee had worked together to produce a model shopping area that was not only appealing, it was also profitable. Even his coffee specialty shop and computer gaming business was showing a slight gain, and it was just a front for his real occupation as a cutting-edge software designer and founder of Barton Technologies.

There were times when Josh felt like one of those comic book superhero characters, with a mild-mannered facade hiding extraordinary powers.

Grinning at the inane image, he told his mother, “If your computer would boot up, I could fix it from here. Since it won’t, I’ll send somebody over before you leave for your cruise. How about tomorrow?”

“That’s fine,” Susanna said. “Love you.”

“Me, too,” he mumbled, returning to the reticence he had learned so well while growing up. “Bye.”

Affection was rarely shown and even less often spoken of during his childhood. That was simply the way it was. Only after his father’s death had his mother begun to tell him she loved him. It was still difficult to echo her sentiment in spite of the fact that Josh loved her dearly.

He ended the call, stared at the phone for a few seconds, then shoved it back into his pocket and sat down at one of his computers to email the Barton tech support team.

* * *

As Whitney entered Melissa Sweeney’s Sweet Dreams Bakery, she couldn’t repress a grin. Seeing macho Brian Montclair behind the counter with his blondish hair and sporting a holiday-themed apron was just too funny. The guy was built like a linebacker, yet he’d managed to fit into this job. Finally. Getting rid of the chip on his shoulder over not getting a chance to start a repair garage had taken some doing. Of course, romancing his boss hadn’t hurt, either.

“Hey, Brian,” Whitney said. “I need to place a rush cookie order.”

“Sure thing. Melissa’s already got a bunch of those stacked up. What do you need and when?”

“Late Saturday afternoon. About three dozen. I’ll make it easy for her and just take whatever kind she bakes. They’re for the tree-lighting ceremony in the park.”

“Gotcha.” He was painstakingly making note of her order. “You still poking into the secret Santa deal?”

“If you mean looking for the mysterious money man, yes. Why? Do you know who it is?”

“Nope. But Melissa got another one of those pep talk messages in the mail. I figure the others did, too.”

“Interesting. Mind if I have a look at yours?”

“Not at all.” He reached behind him to a ribbon where his boss—and fiancée—had hung a string of Christmas cards, and plucked one from the group. “Here you go. Short and sweet.”

“Rats. It’s printed, just like before. I was hoping to see a handwriting sample this time.”

“Guess the guy’s too smart for that,” Brian offered.

“Do you think it’s a man, too? I didn’t at first, but I’m starting to lean that way now.” Whitney handed the card back to him.

“Yeah, I do,” the former mechanic said. “I guess it’s because of the way he operates. You know. Using plain stationery at first, now that card. Compared to the frilly way Lily designed all the Christmas decorations and the fancy cakes Melissa makes, that’s barely even a holiday greeting, let alone girly.”

Pensive, Melissa studied the card as he hung it back up. “You’re right. It not only looks masculine, it’s generic. Not even very festive. I suppose it could have been chosen just to throw us all off but it does make me wonder.”

“Anything else I can get you?” he asked.

“Um. I’d love to take home half the goodies in your cases but I just had a mocha latte at the Cozy Cup so I’d better not.”

She started for the door as new customers entered. Waving, she called, “I’ll be back for the cookies after three on Saturday. Okay?”

Brian’s nod and smile was all the answer she needed.

That plain greeting card was a clue. It had to be. And if all the other new businesses had received identical messages, maybe she’d be able to trace their origin.

Chances of doing so were slim to none, yet, at this point, Whitney was ready to try anything. Her next move was a visit to each merchant in the heart of Main Street to ask if they had received cards similar to the one at the bakery.

Love in Bloom was right next door. That was where she would begin, walking rather than bothering to move her car out of the lot behind the bakery.

“Plus, I can ask Lily how it feels to have had the first wedding,” she muttered, once again recalling the phenomenon of escalating romances. Lily had been the first to succumb. Therefore, if Whitney’s next column needed a personal interest touch she could always include more about Tate Bronson’s whirlwind courtship of the pretty florist.

Besides, she added, this was going to be his daughter, Isabella’s, first Christmas with both a mama and a daddy, so it would lend family interest to the article.

A sense of contentment bathed Whitney as she remembered celebrating Christmas as a child. Rather than there being a specific memory of past holidays, she felt it more as an overall sense of well-being, of love.

Those thoughts brought her directly to the love that God had shown when he’d sent His son into the world so long ago. That was the basis of her love of Christmas. Pleasant family experiences merely grew from the core of her heavenly Father’s amazing gift.

Reaching the door to the flower shop she paused to send a silent “Thank You, God,” into the wintry sky.

In the deep reaches of her subconscious there was a stirring of another sentiment. Another reason to give thanks.

As she probed her thoughts, an image appeared. It was the smiling face of Josh Smith.