A Crafty Christmas by Mollie Cox Bryan

everything.”
    â€œWell, Randy, is there anything else you found out last night that you’d like to tell us?” Paige said.
    His mouth full, he shook his head, then finally said, “Nothing I can think of. But Matthew is very cute, don’t you think?”
    Paige’s neck, then face, reddened. Vera looked away and Sheila took a deep breath and bit into her toast.
    â€œNot to scare anybody,” Eric said, “but I doubt the guy would be using his own name. If you were planning to kill someone on a cruise, would you?”
    It was no use. Sheila swallowed her bite of the dry toast, but then set it down on her plate with a thud.
    Merry effing Christmas.

Chapter 21
    Not on the ship. Unless he’s using a fake name, said the text message from Sheila.
    Annie put her phone down. After taking the brisket out of the freezer to thaw for their Hanukkah dinner tonight, she sat down at her computer to write another chapter on the Mary Schultz book before the boys got out of bed. They were really sleeping in this morning.
    She turned her thoughts back to the Jezebel .
    Well, there was no way she could find out anything about the man if he was using a fake name. So he could be on the ship. But if he was out to get his ex-wife, maybe he posed no threat to Annie’s friends. Maybe. But if he was crazy enough to kill someone—anyone—he might do it again.
    She clicked on the cruise Web site again, as if it could provide her with some peace of mind. She’d read over this site a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours. What was she looking for? Clues? Comfort?
    She clicked on the newsletter, read it over. It gave the upcoming events of the day, as well as highlighted a few things that took place yesterday. In the left hand corner of page three, a death was mentioned. A death? A Harold Tuft of Sarasota, Florida—hmm . . . the same place Allie lived—was reported dead. Annie shivered. Could this guy have known Allie? Surely he did—she was a scrapbooking star from his hometown and they were on a scrapbooking cruise.
    She heard the rustling around of her boys heading to the kitchen. She left her computer and followed the sound.
    â€œMorning, boys,” she said.
    â€œMorning, Mommy,” they said together, and ran to her, hugged her.
    â€œMorning sugar is the best kind,” Annie said, and smiled. “Go sit down and I’ll make you some eggs. How does that sound?”
    They both made their way to the table and Annie headed for the fridge. She took out the eggs and readied her frying pan. She loved mornings with her boys now that they were a little bit older.
    Annie beat her eggs and tried not to think of Sam beating up that boy because he said terrible things about the Jewish people. And then there was the time that Ben came home sobbing because a friend said his parent would never let a Jewish boy into their home.
    Annie tried not to think about it too much, but being Jewish was on her mind because of Hanukkah. After dinner and family time, she was heading over to Sheila’s basement to meet DeeAnn for their weekly crop. She was thinking about a special book. A book about being Jewish. A spiritual scrapbook—sort of like Cookie’s scrapbook of shadows. Cookie. Finally, she was able to think of her with some fondness, without the horrible, black, bereft feeling. Still, she was unable to make complete peace with the disappearance of her friend.
    She poured the eggs in the pan as Mike was entering the kitchen.
    â€œJuice, boys?”
    They both said yes. Mike tried to skirt around Annie, brushing up against her, which he couldn’t help. Their kitchen was tiny and they were always tripping over one another.
    The Chamovitzes were saving for a down payment on a bigger house. As the boys were getting older, space was more and more of an issue—along with the fact that they only had one bathroom.
    â€œHow did you do on that math test yesterday?” Mike