LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Two

      The spirit of Christmas was everywhere in Bygones. When Whitney turned onto Bronson Avenue on her way to the school she saw more sparkling decorations festooned with uncountable twinkling lights. Where the snow had melted from passing traffic, the red bricks of the street reflected the flickering above and lent a feeling of warmth to the otherwise wintry scene.

      It was late enough in the afternoon for classes to have been dismissed. Coraline Connolly’s aging blue sedan, however, was still in the faculty parking lot. From the look of it, it had sat there all day because it was frosted with fluffy snow like a cake dusted with powdered sugar.

      Whitney parked her Mustang next to Coraline’s car and entered the brick, two-story building. Inside, the halls were decorated with posters announcing a school Christmas program as well as the community caroling and tree-lighting ceremony at the park.

      Nostalgia washed over Whitney, carrying her back to the thousands of times she had been in that building as a student. A deep breath brought the familiar odors of the place; a base of wet sneakers, glue, plastic and stale sack lunches overlaid with a hint of cleaning solution. She would have known where she was if she’d arrived there blindfolded.

      The heels of her boots ticked a cadence on the polished hallway and echoed off the walls as she hurried toward the principal’s office. No matter how many times she came here, she always experienced a surge of memories that made her feel more like a teen than an adult.

      Whitney was smiling when she paused at the open door to Coraline’s office and rapped on the jamb. “Good afternoon. Have you got a minute?”

      “Of course, dear.” Circling her desk, the gray-haired principal opened her arms to her visitor and gave her a motherly hug. “I was meaning to phone you anyway, just hadn’t gotten around to it.” Her already pleasant smile widened and her blue eyes sparkled. “I need another volunteer to bake three dozen cookies for the tree-lighting ceremony this coming Saturday.”

      Whitney returned the hug, then stepped back. “Only if you give me permission to buy them from Melissa at the bakery. I don’t do a lot of cooking.”

      “Then how are you ever going to snag yourself a decent husband? Don’t you know the way to a man’s heart...”

      “Is through his stomach,” Whitney supplied with a soft laugh. “So I’ve heard.”

      “Well then?”

      She shook her head so hard she dislodged one end of the scarf loop that circled her neck. “Well, nothing. If I never hear about another supposedly amazing romance, I’ll be happy. If you’ve been reading the Gazette, you know my boss has had me covering a bunch of lovey-dovey stuff lately. I’ve decided it must be some kind of epidemic.”

      “That is a rather negative spin to put on it,” the principal observed.

      “Now you sound like Josh.”

      The older woman stared. “You’ve been talking to Josh Smith?”

      “I’ve been trying to.” Whitney plopped into a side chair and sighed. “That man is harder to interview than anybody I’ve ever met.”

      “Probably just the kind of mind he has. You know what I mean. Some people are talkers, like you and I, while others are deep thinkers, like Josh.”

      “You’re probably right. Which is partly why I’m here,” Whitney explained. “I thought it might help if I could take a peek at the legalese that came with the business grants.”

      “I supplied everyone with copies,” Coraline said.

      “I know. I have those. I was just wondering if there might be some clue in the originals that wasn’t in the packets you handed out.”

      “A clue to what?”

      “The origin of the grants. You know the saying, follow the money.”

      “Sorry. There’s nothing in those papers you haven’t already seen.” She returned to the chair behind her desk and made herself comfortable. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

      “Outside of telling me the name of Mr. Moneybags, I guess not.”

      “Mister? Why do you believe it’s a man?” Coraline asked. “I think women are far more likely to be philanthropic, don’t you? It’s our tendency to nurture.”

      “I suppose you’re right. When I first started looking into this for the Gazette, I thought of the benefactor as either male or female. Lately, though, I’m starting to see him as a man.”

      “Whatever you say, Whitney.” The principal picked up a pen and sorted through a pile of papers on the desk until she found the one she wanted and brought it forward. “So, can I put you down for three dozen?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Excellent. If you’re coming to the ceremony you can just drop the cookies off that night. I’ll have a table set up next to the hot chocolate the Cozy Cup is providing.”

      “Josh is bringing enough for the whole town?”

      Coraline busied herself making notes on the list. “We all pitch in every year. You know that. I’m sure others will donate, too.”

      “Right. I’d better stop by Sweet Dreams and get those cookies ordered before Melissa’s swamped. She says she won’t know for sure until she’s been in business for the whole year, but she predicts this is going to be her best season.”

      “I suspect so,” Coraline said sweetly. “I’m looking forward to having my children home for the holidays. How are your parents doing?”

      “Fine, thanks. I wasn’t sure Mom would survive Dad’s knee surgery but he’s back on his feet and she’s stopped doting on him so much.”

      “You’re very fortunate to have such a satisfying life.” Her smile faded. “Not all of my former students have been so blessed.”

      “Maybe that would be a good hook for another series of articles,” Whitney ventured, picturing a headline and framing it in the air with her hands. “Teen leaves small town looking for happiness and discovers that he or she had it all the time, right here in Bygones.”

      Once again, Coraline seemed unduly bothered. Whitney stood and approached the desk. Reverting to her student attitude she asked, “Are you all right, Mrs. Connolly?”

      “I’m fine, dear. Just terribly busy. You understand, don’t you?”

      “Of

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