Cozy Christmas. Valerie Hansen

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ