Page 29 of Hacking the Holidays
I expected Rose to be sprinting toward the front door, as if her life depended on it, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“I’ll stay and help,” she said.
My feet froze mid-step. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m ready for the next challenge.”
I stared at Rose, searching her face for signs of delirium. “Did you hit your head when you fell earlier?”
Her expression didn’t change. “I had a hundred percent of my faculties when I made the offer. I just want to help.”
And I just wanted to get rid of her, so I could get to work.
“That’s very kind,” I said carefully, “but it’s unnecessary. Really. You’ve done more than enough today.”
“But I?—”
“Rose, sweetie,” Eleanor interjected, her voice taking on that gentle but firm tone she used when she was about to issue an order disguised as a suggestion. “Sam’s right. You’ve done plenty of volunteering for one day.” Rose opened her mouth to protest, but Eleanor continued. “By the way, do you like bratwurst sandwiches?”
Rose blinked at the abrupt topic change. “I … yes. I love them, actually. In fact, the last time I had one, I was here in Leavenworth—over ten years ago—I had the best bratwurst sandwiches at München Haus during Oktoberfest.”
“What a coincidence—that’s where we’ll be going,” I said. “Don’t make any plans tomorrow after the librarycloses, because I’m taking everyone out for bratwurst sandwiches. And make sure you bundle up because we’ll be eating outside, and it will be cold if you don’t get a spot next to one of the outdoor heaters.”
“That sounds tasty, but …” Rose glanced between us, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t want to intrude. Besides, my friend is here in town with me?—”
“Bring her,” I insisted.
“Yes!” Eleanor agreed. “The more the merrier, and I would love to meet her.”
Rose hesitated, and I could practically see her brain calculating social obligations versus escape routes.
I jumped in before she could plan another polite decline. “It’s settled then. Now go rest up, because tomorrow I’m going to give you something much more challenging to work on before we go out, and you’ll need your strength.”
Rose’s expression shifted into something resembling competitive interest. “We’ll see about that. Good night.” She reached for her coat and headed for the exit, and I watched her go.
“She’s an absolutely lovely woman, don’t you think?” Eleanor said beside me.
“Yeah …” I realized I was still staring at the door, even though she was gone. I glanced at Eleanor and cleared my throat. “I mean, yeah, Rose seems nice. Professional. Good with numbers.”
“Whatever you say …” Eleanor gave me a look that suggested she wasn’t buying my casual deflection for one second, but mercifully, she didn't press the issue. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay too late.”
“I’m not planning on it,” I said.
She gathered her things, locked the door behind her, and left me alone in the quiet library.
I quickly changed out of the Santa suit, then settled at my desk, powered up my computer, and logged into my secure network.
It was time to get to work—meaningful work that would change lives.
I reached for the photo participation forms and began flipping through them. Sophie’s family was my priority, the shy girl whose father’s truck had been stolen.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling their info through every database I could access. Public records, credit histories, and employment verification. Sophie’s father worked at a warehouse in Wenatchee; her mother at the Leavenworth Nutcracker Museum. Solid employment records, zero red flags.
Good people. Bad luck.
I accessed the Chevrolet dealership’s inventory system in Seattle, searching for the perfect truck. I always rotated brands to avoid patterns.
A brand new Chevy Silverado caught my eye, four doors, fully loaded, a truck that could handle Wenatchee winters and cover a family’s needs.
