Read Online The Perfect Christmas by Debbie Macomber - Free Book Online
Authors: Debbie Macomber
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changed, she reached for the phone and hit speed dial.
After several rings, she was connected to voice mail. That was odd. Angie hadn’t said anything about going out—but then it wasn’t as if Cassie was her parole officer.
Much later that afternoon she heard from Angie.
“Where were you?” Cassie asked right away.
“Shopping. ’Tis the season, you know?” Her friend seemed to be in high spirits.
“Did you find any bargains?”
“Lots. How’d the morning go?”
“Simon said I surprised him.”
“You saw Dr. Dodson?”
“Yeah, he showed up to check on me. We had coffee afterward.”
“You and…Dr. Dodson? Simon?”
“What’s so odd about that?”
“I don’t know,” Angie said. “I just can’t picture it.”
“It wasn’t like a date or anything,” Cassie insisted. “More of a…debriefing. He said he’d be in touch nextweek with the details about my next task. I get to be an elf. That has to be easier than what I did this morning.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Angie warned her.
Chapter 7
H er arms loaded down with groceries, Cassie hurried over to the elevator. “Mr. Oliver, hold that door for me!” she cried frantically, trying not to drop the quart of milk dangling from her index finger.
Mr. Oliver pretended not to hear, and the doors glided shut in her face.
Cassie ground her teeth in frustration. This wasn’t the first time Mr. Oliver had purposely let the elevator close as she ran toward it. She’d watched him do the same thing with other residents. Obviously it gave him some kind of thrill. She might have imagined it, but Cassie swore she saw a glimmer of sadistic humor in his eyes as the doors slid closed.
She lowered one bag to the floor and pushed the call button. While she waited, she went to collect her newspaper, only to discover the slot was empty—andit wasn’t even Tuesday. Apparently Mrs. Mullinex was now clipping coupons from the Sunday edition, as well.
Perhaps it was time to confront the retired school-teacher.
Cassie took the elevator up to the fifth floor, brought her groceries to the kitchen, and walked down the hallway to Mrs. Mullinex’s unit. Outside her neighbor’s door, she rang the bell until she heard footsteps on the other side.
“Hold your horses,” Mrs. Mullinex called out.
She answered the door, wearing her housecoat and slippers. Her head was covered in pink curlers and wrapped with a bandanna knotted directly above her forehead. It wasn’t a look Cassie saw very often these days—if ever.
“Why, Cassie, how nice of you to stop by,” she said pleasantly. “Can I offer you a glass of eggnog?”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Cassie made an attempt to be neighborly or at least polite. “Uh, I believe you have my newspaper.”
Her neighbor seemed startled, as if the suggestion that she might have taken something not hers was a devastating insult. Mrs. Mullinex raised one hand to her mouth in a gesture of innocence. “Oh, dear, was that your paper?”
Cassie held out her hand.
The older woman slowly retrieved the thick weekend edition and reluctantly placed it in Cassie’s outstretched hand. “I was wondering, dear, if you wouldn’t mind letting me have the section with the New York Times crossword puzzle.”
Cassie clutched the paper to her chest.
“Only when you’re finished with it, of course.”
“I happen to enjoy doing the crossword puzzle, Mrs. Mullinex.”
“Oh.”
Wondering if she’d been a little too inflexible, Cassie returned to her own condo, put away her groceries and made a cup of coffee. She sat down with the paper, prepared to relax. She’d just turned to the middle section, grabbed a pen—doing the crossword puzzle in pen was a matter of pride—when the rap music started next door. The whole room seemed to vibrate. Cassie groaned. There was no question: the fates were conspiring against her.
Getting up from her chair, Cassie pounded her fist against the kitchen wall hard enough to
After several rings, she was connected to voice mail. That was odd. Angie hadn’t said anything about going out—but then it wasn’t as if Cassie was her parole officer.
Much later that afternoon she heard from Angie.
“Where were you?” Cassie asked right away.
“Shopping. ’Tis the season, you know?” Her friend seemed to be in high spirits.
“Did you find any bargains?”
“Lots. How’d the morning go?”
“Simon said I surprised him.”
“You saw Dr. Dodson?”
“Yeah, he showed up to check on me. We had coffee afterward.”
“You and…Dr. Dodson? Simon?”
“What’s so odd about that?”
“I don’t know,” Angie said. “I just can’t picture it.”
“It wasn’t like a date or anything,” Cassie insisted. “More of a…debriefing. He said he’d be in touch nextweek with the details about my next task. I get to be an elf. That has to be easier than what I did this morning.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Angie warned her.
Chapter 7
H er arms loaded down with groceries, Cassie hurried over to the elevator. “Mr. Oliver, hold that door for me!” she cried frantically, trying not to drop the quart of milk dangling from her index finger.
Mr. Oliver pretended not to hear, and the doors glided shut in her face.
Cassie ground her teeth in frustration. This wasn’t the first time Mr. Oliver had purposely let the elevator close as she ran toward it. She’d watched him do the same thing with other residents. Obviously it gave him some kind of thrill. She might have imagined it, but Cassie swore she saw a glimmer of sadistic humor in his eyes as the doors slid closed.
She lowered one bag to the floor and pushed the call button. While she waited, she went to collect her newspaper, only to discover the slot was empty—andit wasn’t even Tuesday. Apparently Mrs. Mullinex was now clipping coupons from the Sunday edition, as well.
Perhaps it was time to confront the retired school-teacher.
Cassie took the elevator up to the fifth floor, brought her groceries to the kitchen, and walked down the hallway to Mrs. Mullinex’s unit. Outside her neighbor’s door, she rang the bell until she heard footsteps on the other side.
“Hold your horses,” Mrs. Mullinex called out.
She answered the door, wearing her housecoat and slippers. Her head was covered in pink curlers and wrapped with a bandanna knotted directly above her forehead. It wasn’t a look Cassie saw very often these days—if ever.
“Why, Cassie, how nice of you to stop by,” she said pleasantly. “Can I offer you a glass of eggnog?”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Cassie made an attempt to be neighborly or at least polite. “Uh, I believe you have my newspaper.”
Her neighbor seemed startled, as if the suggestion that she might have taken something not hers was a devastating insult. Mrs. Mullinex raised one hand to her mouth in a gesture of innocence. “Oh, dear, was that your paper?”
Cassie held out her hand.
The older woman slowly retrieved the thick weekend edition and reluctantly placed it in Cassie’s outstretched hand. “I was wondering, dear, if you wouldn’t mind letting me have the section with the New York Times crossword puzzle.”
Cassie clutched the paper to her chest.
“Only when you’re finished with it, of course.”
“I happen to enjoy doing the crossword puzzle, Mrs. Mullinex.”
“Oh.”
Wondering if she’d been a little too inflexible, Cassie returned to her own condo, put away her groceries and made a cup of coffee. She sat down with the paper, prepared to relax. She’d just turned to the middle section, grabbed a pen—doing the crossword puzzle in pen was a matter of pride—when the rap music started next door. The whole room seemed to vibrate. Cassie groaned. There was no question: the fates were conspiring against her.
Getting up from her chair, Cassie pounded her fist against the kitchen wall hard enough to
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