Cooper’s well-worn Accord, put up the coffee. Harry didn’t drink coffee but enjoyed making it for others.
Cooper knocked, then came in. She took off her coat, stamping the snow off her boots. “We’re making up for the last few years of little snow.”
“Coffee will be ready in, umm, two minutes.”
“Good.” Cooper carried two medium-size presents with big shiny bows. “Don’t open until Christmas.”
“Promise. Hold on a minute.” Harry walked back to the bedroom and came out with a long, oddly shaped wrapped present. “Same applies, although once you pick it up you may know what it is.” She leaned it against the wall by the kitchen door. It was a power washer, a useful present for a country person.
“Hey, a tree!”
“Brothers Sheldon and Ed just dropped it off.”
Cooper put presents under the tree, which caused Pewter to investigate.
“No catnip?”
The gray cat was disappointed.
“Will she tear open the wrapping?” Cooper cast a stern eye toward the living room. Pewter pointedly ignored her.
“You never know about that one.” Harry poured the coffee and also put out a dish of sliced cheese and apples.
“Thank God, no cookies.”
“It’s a wonder all of Virginia doesn’t go into sugar shock over the holidays.”
They caught up. Cooper, glowing, gave an account of Lorenzo. Harry hoped this was “the one” for Cooper. They talked about Big Mim, Little Mim, the fact that Fair truly needed a partner in business. They went on to political events—always dispiriting—and finally to Brother Christopher.
“It’s not a break, but it’s more information.” Cooper informed Harry that Christopher had received letters from an investor who felt Christopher should go back to work and pay off those who lost money.
“Contact the letter writer?”
Cooper half-smiled. “He was pissed that Christopher was dead. I suppose…well, I don’t know. The point is, the money is lost.”
“Somehow I think time lost is worse than money lost,” Harry thought out loud.
“Could be.” She put a piece of cheese on an apple slice, biting into it. “Any thoughts?”
“Ha. I can’t believe you’re asking me.”
“You can get in the middle of things and you’re often right, but, Harry”—Cooper shook her head—“you take some dumb chances.”
“I know,” Harry admitted. “Actually, I have thought of a few things. I believe that Christopher knew his killer.”
“Why?”
Tucker and Mrs. Murphy perked up to listen.
“No sign of him running away. No sign of struggle. If he’d fought, the snow would have been kicked up. No torn clothes, no bruises. Nothing knocked over.”
Cooper told her, “Right.”
“Another thing: if he’d run through the cut trees and the ones already in pots, he might have knocked some over. I believe he knew who killed him and didn’t fear harm from whoever did it. The killer brought him down. Fast.”
“It seems he didn’t fear whoever cut his throat. I wonder how they could have walked behind him, though. Most of us are uncomfortable with someone directly behind us.”
Harry spoke slowly. “It’s a Christmas tree farm. Any ruse might work. For instance, the killer is there to buy a tree but wants Christopher to measure its height. If he stood behind him measuring, it wouldn’t be so strange.”
“It sure makes you wonder if you ever really know anyone.” Cooper sighed.
“It’s hard enough to know yourself.” Harry smiled.
L ush dark-green pine garlands were wrapped around stairwells and adorned the top of the hand-blown twelve-pane windows. At either end of the great hall at St. Luke’s, a magnificent magnolia grand flora wreath greeted celebrants as they opened three main doors to stand inside the vestibule with its coatroom, which was also decorated.
Alicia Palmer and BoomBoom Craycroft had knocked themselves out as heads of the decorating committee. They were decorated, as well. Alicia wore a shimmering dress of Christmas red, while
Cooper knocked, then came in. She took off her coat, stamping the snow off her boots. “We’re making up for the last few years of little snow.”
“Coffee will be ready in, umm, two minutes.”
“Good.” Cooper carried two medium-size presents with big shiny bows. “Don’t open until Christmas.”
“Promise. Hold on a minute.” Harry walked back to the bedroom and came out with a long, oddly shaped wrapped present. “Same applies, although once you pick it up you may know what it is.” She leaned it against the wall by the kitchen door. It was a power washer, a useful present for a country person.
“Hey, a tree!”
“Brothers Sheldon and Ed just dropped it off.”
Cooper put presents under the tree, which caused Pewter to investigate.
“No catnip?”
The gray cat was disappointed.
“Will she tear open the wrapping?” Cooper cast a stern eye toward the living room. Pewter pointedly ignored her.
“You never know about that one.” Harry poured the coffee and also put out a dish of sliced cheese and apples.
“Thank God, no cookies.”
“It’s a wonder all of Virginia doesn’t go into sugar shock over the holidays.”
They caught up. Cooper, glowing, gave an account of Lorenzo. Harry hoped this was “the one” for Cooper. They talked about Big Mim, Little Mim, the fact that Fair truly needed a partner in business. They went on to political events—always dispiriting—and finally to Brother Christopher.
“It’s not a break, but it’s more information.” Cooper informed Harry that Christopher had received letters from an investor who felt Christopher should go back to work and pay off those who lost money.
“Contact the letter writer?”
Cooper half-smiled. “He was pissed that Christopher was dead. I suppose…well, I don’t know. The point is, the money is lost.”
“Somehow I think time lost is worse than money lost,” Harry thought out loud.
“Could be.” She put a piece of cheese on an apple slice, biting into it. “Any thoughts?”
“Ha. I can’t believe you’re asking me.”
“You can get in the middle of things and you’re often right, but, Harry”—Cooper shook her head—“you take some dumb chances.”
“I know,” Harry admitted. “Actually, I have thought of a few things. I believe that Christopher knew his killer.”
“Why?”
Tucker and Mrs. Murphy perked up to listen.
“No sign of him running away. No sign of struggle. If he’d fought, the snow would have been kicked up. No torn clothes, no bruises. Nothing knocked over.”
Cooper told her, “Right.”
“Another thing: if he’d run through the cut trees and the ones already in pots, he might have knocked some over. I believe he knew who killed him and didn’t fear harm from whoever did it. The killer brought him down. Fast.”
“It seems he didn’t fear whoever cut his throat. I wonder how they could have walked behind him, though. Most of us are uncomfortable with someone directly behind us.”
Harry spoke slowly. “It’s a Christmas tree farm. Any ruse might work. For instance, the killer is there to buy a tree but wants Christopher to measure its height. If he stood behind him measuring, it wouldn’t be so strange.”
“It sure makes you wonder if you ever really know anyone.” Cooper sighed.
“It’s hard enough to know yourself.” Harry smiled.
L ush dark-green pine garlands were wrapped around stairwells and adorned the top of the hand-blown twelve-pane windows. At either end of the great hall at St. Luke’s, a magnificent magnolia grand flora wreath greeted celebrants as they opened three main doors to stand inside the vestibule with its coatroom, which was also decorated.
Alicia Palmer and BoomBoom Craycroft had knocked themselves out as heads of the decorating committee. They were decorated, as well. Alicia wore a shimmering dress of Christmas red, while
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