Free Sugar And Spice by Joanne Fluke Page B

It’s not easy getting old. Not that you would understand that.”
    “Oh, I understand, Mother. It’s called a cop-out. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll make breakfast if you can see your way to getting out of bed.”
    Tillie felt her shoulders stiffen. “I’ll do my best, Amy,” she said cooly.
    Tillie poured herself another glass of wine as she contemplated what the coming days would bring. “This is all my fault,” she mumbled to the silent room. “All my fault.”

Chapter Nine
    The silvery flakes of frost on the windows of Amy’s car alarmed her. She hoped she was dressed warm enough. To her way of thinking it was too cold for this time of year. They shouldn’t have a frost until Thanksgiving, but then what did she know about weather conditions? Not a whole lot, she decided as she climbed into her car to head to the Coleman site, where the tent people would be erecting the tents three days ahead of schedule. Nothing was working right. Everything had a glitch. Even her mother was under the weather. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair.
    She had to find some Christmas trees or she was going to fizzle like a dead firecracker. She’d been talking a good game to her mother but it wasn’t working for her. Someone, somewhere had to have some Christmas trees they were willing to sell for a discount for a worthy cause. She’d beaten the bushes, banged the drum, and the tree growers had laughed at her. None to spare, she’d been told.
    Orders were placed months in advance, not weeks like she was doing. If push came to shove, she might have to resort to dealing with the crook her mother had signed on with. If she didn’t pull this off, she’d be a failure in her eyes, and her mother’s as well. Amy thought about her bank balance as she drove to the Coleman site. It wasn’t exactly robust, but it was healthy. She’d dipped into it for deposits, and now it looked like she might have to do more than dip the second time around.
    She thought about Gus Moss and how nice it had been sitting in the kitchen at Moss Farms. Everything had gone so well until she told him what she wanted. Such a scrooge. Why couldn’t people be more generous? Money wasn’t the answer to everything. Christmas was supposed to be a time for giving, for helping one’s fellow man. What was it Gus Moss had said? Time is money, business is business. Maybe that was her problem, she was taking this personal. The tired old cliché of all PR people came to mind.
    Fight fire with fire. Preempt your opponent. Strike first. Amy shivered. Was she a match for Gus Moss?
    Probably not. What she knew about Christmas trees would fill a thimble, whereas Gus Moss could write the book on the subject. One of the sharpest PR people she’d ever come across told her she had to subscribe to his credo: dazzle them with rhetoric and baffle them with bullshit, and you win the game.
    Like she was really going to do that? Not in this lifetime.
    Amy swerved into the vacant lot and was surprised to see three trucks and men hustling about, driving stakes into the ground. She was pleased to see that the tents were made from a shiny white plastic that would lend itself well to the red and green Christmas colors, colors that would stand out and draw attention. Another plus was the site, which was a corner property with an entrance from both roads and more than ample parking. She would have plenty of room to line up her trees if she ever got any to line up.
    Amy watched the workers for a few minutes before she drove off down the road to a Burger King, where she bought a honey biscuit and two cups of coffee to go.
    Back at the site she opened her laptop and logged on. Time to find some Christmas trees. An hour later, Amy was jolted from her search by a knock on the car window. She looked at the bill, winced, and wrote out the check. She went back to her search as the men drove off. She looked at the tents and was impressed. At least she’d done one thing right.
    It