Read Online Murder Fir Christmas by Joyce Lavene, Jim Lavene - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joyce Lavene, Jim Lavene
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Everyone who lives here can tell you exactly what date, who was in office, and how tall the tree was. Go on. Spill it.”
“You’re right. It’s like learning multiplication here, isn’t it? Our tree was twenty-five feet, three inches, blue spruce, and the president was Truman.”
“I knew it. You were trying to spare my feelings, weren’t you?”
“You’re either one way or another about the trees,” she remembered. “Either you gloat or you’re modest about it. My mother taught me not to gloat.”
“Lucky it was you with the tree and not me. My dad taught me to gloat. If we have a winning tree next year, I’ll be gloating.”
Bonnie laughed at him. “You just don’t seem like the type.”
One of the tires hit a slick patch on the road that looked as though it had snowed only a few minutes before. The wheel slid to the side of the road, too close to the edge that only had a flimsy looking guard rail.
She caught her breath, but he got the truck back on track. Her hand ached from holding the door handle so tightly.
“Sorry about that.” He glanced at her. “You’re white as a sheet. I guess you really don’t like driving in the snow. You’re gonna have to get over it, you know? You’ll have a heart attack or something.”
“Don’t look at me,” she instructed in a panicked voice. “Keep your eyes on the road.” She reached over and put her hand on his on the steering wheel. “And remember the ten and two positions? You should have your hands at those places for optimum control of the vehicle.”
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”
She looked at her hand where he’d covered it with one of his. “Onehanded now? I don’t feel very safe.”
He laughed at her and put both his hands on the wheel again. “You know how many times I’ve come down this road drunk as a skunk? Not for a long time now, but when I was in high school, I didn’t think anything of it.”
The road turned sharply in almost a U-turn that required the truck to rumble to a stop to get around the edge of a large rock that protruded on one side. Bonnie closed her eyes and didn’t open them until she heard the chains jingling as they started down the last part of the road.
“See? Nothing to it,” he boasted. “I drove one of the semis that takes the trees out of the valley for a while. Talk about a wild ride. I’m glad to leave that to someone else now.”
The last part of the road wasn’t as steep and smoothed out as it came down in the valley. A large sign that said, “Welcome to Christmas Tree Valley, Home of the Best Christmas Trees in the World,” had been newly painted since she’d been there over the summer. Two big trees were on either side of it, both decorated with lights and large ornaments.
As they were coming into the small main area, Bonnie got excited as she always did when she came home to see her family. No matter how long she’d been in Alabama, this would always be the place she came back to. She’d never really thought about living here again, but it looked like that was her future. Except for driving during the winter, it didn’t seem so bad.
Chapter Eight
Bonnie’s family tree farm was nearly one hundred acres of carefully pruned and cared-for blue spruce. A smattering of Douglas firs edged the property—wild trees but never cut down. The two large blue spruce guarded both sides of the driveway, only garnished with snow and icicles, but they were breathtaking.
“Where do you live, Matthew?” she asked as they started up the drive. Someone had been out with a plow or snow blower already. Very little snow was on the road or the drive. Bonnie remembered that everyone took turns clearing the road since the county never sent plows this far out from Sevierville.
“I’m about a mile that way.” He pointed back the other way. “You could see my place from the road coming down. We put on a bright red roof last year, and it says ‘Merry Christmas from Brown
“You’re right. It’s like learning multiplication here, isn’t it? Our tree was twenty-five feet, three inches, blue spruce, and the president was Truman.”
“I knew it. You were trying to spare my feelings, weren’t you?”
“You’re either one way or another about the trees,” she remembered. “Either you gloat or you’re modest about it. My mother taught me not to gloat.”
“Lucky it was you with the tree and not me. My dad taught me to gloat. If we have a winning tree next year, I’ll be gloating.”
Bonnie laughed at him. “You just don’t seem like the type.”
One of the tires hit a slick patch on the road that looked as though it had snowed only a few minutes before. The wheel slid to the side of the road, too close to the edge that only had a flimsy looking guard rail.
She caught her breath, but he got the truck back on track. Her hand ached from holding the door handle so tightly.
“Sorry about that.” He glanced at her. “You’re white as a sheet. I guess you really don’t like driving in the snow. You’re gonna have to get over it, you know? You’ll have a heart attack or something.”
“Don’t look at me,” she instructed in a panicked voice. “Keep your eyes on the road.” She reached over and put her hand on his on the steering wheel. “And remember the ten and two positions? You should have your hands at those places for optimum control of the vehicle.”
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”
She looked at her hand where he’d covered it with one of his. “Onehanded now? I don’t feel very safe.”
He laughed at her and put both his hands on the wheel again. “You know how many times I’ve come down this road drunk as a skunk? Not for a long time now, but when I was in high school, I didn’t think anything of it.”
The road turned sharply in almost a U-turn that required the truck to rumble to a stop to get around the edge of a large rock that protruded on one side. Bonnie closed her eyes and didn’t open them until she heard the chains jingling as they started down the last part of the road.
“See? Nothing to it,” he boasted. “I drove one of the semis that takes the trees out of the valley for a while. Talk about a wild ride. I’m glad to leave that to someone else now.”
The last part of the road wasn’t as steep and smoothed out as it came down in the valley. A large sign that said, “Welcome to Christmas Tree Valley, Home of the Best Christmas Trees in the World,” had been newly painted since she’d been there over the summer. Two big trees were on either side of it, both decorated with lights and large ornaments.
As they were coming into the small main area, Bonnie got excited as she always did when she came home to see her family. No matter how long she’d been in Alabama, this would always be the place she came back to. She’d never really thought about living here again, but it looked like that was her future. Except for driving during the winter, it didn’t seem so bad.
Chapter Eight
Bonnie’s family tree farm was nearly one hundred acres of carefully pruned and cared-for blue spruce. A smattering of Douglas firs edged the property—wild trees but never cut down. The two large blue spruce guarded both sides of the driveway, only garnished with snow and icicles, but they were breathtaking.
“Where do you live, Matthew?” she asked as they started up the drive. Someone had been out with a plow or snow blower already. Very little snow was on the road or the drive. Bonnie remembered that everyone took turns clearing the road since the county never sent plows this far out from Sevierville.
“I’m about a mile that way.” He pointed back the other way. “You could see my place from the road coming down. We put on a bright red roof last year, and it says ‘Merry Christmas from Brown
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