LITMIR.BIZ

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      “What about the church? Are they going to bring the crèche down to the park, too?”

      “Not this year. They’re doing a live drama program called Bethlehem, with a real donkey and a few sheep.” She smiled. “I suspect it would be best to keep the livestock confined to the churchyard where the rest of the stable is set up.”

      “You’re probably right.” Whitney started for the door. “Thanks for your time. Sorry to have bugged you.”

      “Think nothing of it, dear.”

      As Whitney left the office she happened to glance back over her shoulder. Coraline was watching. And there was a definite frown wrinkling her brow.

      Since the older woman had lived and worked in Bygones all her life, Whitney supposed she did take special events very seriously; she just hated to see the principal looking so unduly burdened.

      * * *

      The small, sparsely furnished apartment over the coffee shop was not up to Josh’s usual standards. He had two reasons for occupying it. One, it was foolish to waste money setting up a real home in Bygones when he wasn’t planning to stay. And two, he didn’t want to give the impression that he could afford better. It had been difficult enough to honestly answer questions about his efforts to spruce up the empty movie theater located next to his shop. Everybody knew it wasn’t included in the grants so he’d had to play down his personal investment.

      It was the industry-wide shift from 35mm film to digital presentation that had drawn his interest—and had caused the theater’s former owner to sell to his dummy corporation so cheaply. The cost of conversion was going to be expensive and might never pay off.

      Josh, however, was delighted for a chance to tinker with a computer-driven system. If all went well, he hoped to surprise Bygones by opening with a free showing of a Christmas movie within the month.

      Personally, he didn’t see why practically everybody got so sentimental at this time of year. As his father had often said while entertaining business associates in their palatial home, emotional attachments to tradition were nothing but useful tools.

      The late Bruce Barton had paid professionals to decorate his home and office for the lavish holiday parties he’d hosted, relegating Josh’s mother, Susanna, to the task of playing glamorous hostess. Every time Susanna had tried to add homey touches to the austere but elegant decorations, Bruce had made fun of her efforts and insisted she remove them. By the time Josh was a young teen, she had stopped trying and had meekly complied with whatever made her husband happy.

      Josh suddenly felt compelled to phone his mother. It was because of her that he’d begun the Bygones rescue project, although she didn’t know it. She was the one with nostalgic memories of the town, not him.

      She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

      “Hey, Mom. I tried to connect with you by computer a couple of times. You must have the instant messaging feature turned off.”

      “Josh! It’s wonderful to hear your voice.” She sniffled, making him wonder if she was catching cold. “You know computers hate me. The whole system shut down about a week ago and refuses to work. I suppose I’ll have to call one of your techie friends to have a look at it—unless you’re planning on coming home soon.”

      “I’ve been pretty busy,” he said, wishing he could tell her the whole truth about his absence right now, instead of waiting.

      “Well, just so you won’t have to worry about me during the holidays, I’m going on a Caribbean cruise with two other widows. We’re leaving next week.”

      That made sense. After all, she was alone now and must be knocking around in that big house his father had insisted upon. Why she didn’t sell it and truly move on was beyond him.

      “That’s a good first step,” Josh told her. “If there’s Wi-Fi on the ship you can keep me posted about all the fun you’re having.”

      “I suppose so,” Susanna replied softly. “I miss you, honey.”

      “I miss you, too. We’ll get together and catch up on everything after you come home all tanned and relaxed.”

      “I’m surprised it’s taking you so long to set up that new branch of Barton Technologies.”

      Josh had almost forgotten his necessary cover story. “I should be done by the first of the year.”

      That much was true. Actually, he could have left Bygones months ago and been assured that his money was being well spent. So what had kept him?

      The notion that he might be starting to like his life in the small town was too ridiculous to consider seriously. He was completing a necessary job, that’s all. He might not be creating the computer software design administrative center that his mother imagined, but he was still working. And he was pretty proud of the results he was seeing.

      Main Street had recovered beyond his wildest dreams. Merchants and the Save Our Streets committee had worked together to produce a model shopping area that was not only appealing, it was also profitable. Even his coffee specialty shop and computer gaming business was showing a slight gain, and it was just a front for his real occupation as a cutting-edge software designer and founder of Barton Technologies.

      There were times when Josh felt like one of those comic book superhero characters, with a mild-mannered facade hiding extraordinary powers.

      Grinning at the inane image, he told his mother, “If your computer would boot up, I could fix it from here. Since it won’t, I’ll send somebody over before you leave for your cruise. How about tomorrow?”

      “That’s fine,” Susanna said. “Love you.”

      “Me, too,” he mumbled, returning to the reticence he had learned so well while growing up. “Bye.”

      Affection was rarely shown and even less often spoken of during his childhood. That was simply the way it was. Only after his father’s death had his mother begun to tell him she loved him. It was still difficult to echo her sentiment in spite of the fact that Josh loved her dearly.

      He ended the call, stared at the phone for a few seconds, then shoved it back into his pocket and sat down at one of his computers to email the Barton tech support team.

      * * *

      As Whitney entered Melissa Sweeney’s Sweet Dreams Bakery, she couldn’t repress a grin. Seeing macho Brian Montclair behind the counter with his blondish hair and sporting a holiday-themed apron was just too funny. The guy was built like a linebacker, yet he’d managed to fit into this job. Finally. Getting rid of the chip on his shoulder over not getting a chance to start a repair garage had taken some doing. Of course, romancing his boss hadn’t hurt, either.

      “Hey, Brian,” Whitney said. “I need to place a rush cookie order.”

      “Sure thing. Melissa’s already got a bunch of those stacked up. What do you need and when?”

      “Late Saturday afternoon. About three dozen. I’ll make it easy for her and just take whatever kind she bakes. They’re for the tree-lighting ceremony in the park.”

      “Gotcha.” He was painstakingly making note of her order. “You still poking into the secret Santa deal?”

      “If you mean looking for the mysterious money man, yes. Why? Do you know who it is?”

      “Nope. But Melissa got another one of those pep talk messages in the mail. I figure the others did, too.”

      “Interesting. Mind if I have a look at yours?”

      “Not at all.” He reached behind him to a ribbon where his boss—and fiancée—had hung a string of Christmas cards, and plucked one from the group. “Here you go. Short and sweet.”

      “Rats. It’s printed, just like before. I was hoping to see a handwriting sample this time.”

      “Guess

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