Trading Christmas by Debbie Macomber Read Free Book Online Page B

buttered rum again?”
    â€œNo,” she snapped, insulted he’d ask such a thing. “Hear me out. I haven’t been able to get hold of Charles for two days. I left messages on his answering machine, and he never returned a single call.”
    Her son was listening, and for that Bernice was grateful.
    â€œGo on,” he said without inflection.
    â€œJust now, not more than five minutes ago, I called Charles again. A woman answered the phone.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “She had a…sexy voice.”
    â€œPerhaps it was a cleaning woman.”
    â€œOn a Monday?”
    â€œMaybe it was a colleague. A friend from the History Department.”
    Bernice maintained a stubborn silence.
    â€œYou’re sure about this?” Rayburn finally said.
    â€œAs sure as I live and breathe. Your brother has a woman in his home—living there.”
    â€œJust because she answered the phone doesn’t mean she’s living with Charles.”
    â€œYou and I both know your brother would never allow just anyone to answer the phone.”
    Rayburn seemed to agree; a casual visitor wouldn’t be answering his brother’s phone.
    â€œGood for him,” Rayburn said with what sounded like a chuckle.
    â€œHow can you say that?” Bernice cried. “It’s obvious that this woman must be completely unacceptable.”
    â€œNow, Mother…”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t Charles tell us about her?”
    â€œI don’t know, but I think you’re jumping to conclusions.”
    â€œI’m not! I just know something’s wrong. Perhaps she tricked her way into his home, killed him and—”
    â€œYou’ve been watching too many crime shows,” Rayburn chastised.
    â€œPerhaps I have, but I won’t rest until I get to the bottom of this.”
    â€œFine.” Her oldest son apparently grasped how serious she was, because he asked, “What do you want me to do?”
    â€œOh, Rayburn,” she said with a sob, dabbing her nose with a delicate hankie. “I don’t know how I’d manage without my sons to look out for me.”
    â€œMother…”
    â€œTake the train to Boston and investigate this situation. Report back to me ASAP.”
    â€œI can phone him and handle this in five minutes.”
    â€œNo.” She was insistent. “I want you to check it out with your own eyes. God only knows what your brother’s gotten himself into with this woman. I just know whoever it is must be taking advantage of Charles.”
    â€œ Mother. This is Christmas week and—”
    â€œI know what time of year it is, Rayburn, and I realize you have a life of your own. A life that’s much too busy to include your mother. But I’ll tell you right now that I won’t sleep a wink until I hear what’s happened to Charles.”
    There was a pause.
    â€œAll right,” Rayburn muttered. “I’ll take the train to Boston and check up on Charles.”
    â€œThank God.” She could breathe easier now.

S EVEN
    T he Boeing 767 bounced against the tarmac and jarred Faith Kerrigan awake. She bolted upright and realized that she’d just landed in Seattle. She glanced at her watch; it was just after seven. She’d had less than four hours’ sleep the entire night.
    She’d survive. Any discomfort would be well worth the look of joy and surprise on Emily’s face when Faith arrived and announced she’d be joining her friend for Christmas.
    Remembering that was a better wake-up than a triple-shot espresso. Although the flight—which was completely full—had left the Bay area at 5:00 a.m., Faith had been up since two. Her lone suitcase was packed to the bursting point and she’d stuffed her carry-on until the zipper threatened to pop. After filing off the plane and collecting her suitcase, she dragged everything to the car rental agency. Thankfully, an attendant was available