Free Drowning in Christmas (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) by Judith Ivie Page B

there's a few of us, Ma'am,” the driver assured me, breaking into a bashful smile.
    “Anyway, Merry Christmas,” I said and put my window back up. I gave him a little wave as I headed back out the driveway. I noticed he was still smiling.
    I put my deep misgivings about James O’Halloran firmly in the back of my mind and returned home with a lighter heart. I had done what I could to help Mary cope, I reminded myself, and John Harkness would keep her informed. It was time I left these relative strangers to sort out their problems for themselves and stayed focused on my own.
    I usually dreaded the early dusk at this time of year. By four o'clock, the light was fading, and by five, night had fallen in earnest. The number of hours of daylight we gained or lost between the summer and winter solstices never failed to amaze me. At the end of June, each twenty-four-hour cycle included nearly sixteen hours of daylight, but by Christmas, we were lucky to have nine. The good news was that by then, the shortest day had passed, and we were once again on the upswing.
    I had recruited Emma to help me decorate, and together we spent the afternoon toiling like crazed elves. We rooted through every box in the basement and considered every garland and wreath. We even managed to drag the Christmas tree up the stairs, a task I had delegated to Armando in past years.
    When the sky began to darken, I welcomed the evening as a backdrop to our handiwork. The tree stood in its corner by the door that led out to the back deck. It glittered with tiny white lights and hundreds of delicate red globes, which were generously interspersed with Joey's and Emma's favorite ornaments collected through the years. Crystal icicles competed for pride of place with an assortment of childish mementoes, most bearing a chip or a tear. In my opinion, it was perfect.
    A gorgeous wreath with a fresh red ribbon adorned the front door, and a second graced the big windows in the living room. A miniature sleigh heaped with holly and pine cones made a cheerful centerpiece on the dining room table. Garland softened the mantle, which bore clusters of gleaming, scented candles, and firewood waited neatly below on the hearth. Harry Connick, Jr. , crooned in the background about chestnuts roasting and Old Saint Nick.
Norman Rockwell, eat your heart out.
    Emma and I sat side by side on the sofa, Jasmine curled between us, admiring the holiday ambience we had created. A pleasant lassitude had overtaken us, assisted by the excellent Riesling we were enjoying.
    “Not bad at all, if I do say so myself,” Emma declared. She clinked her glass against mine.
    “Glad you approve. So tell me again about this Jared we're knocking ourselves out to impress.”
    “Oh, it's not that bad, is it?” Emma dodged my question. “You would have decorated anyway, at least a little bit, and I always come over and help you guys put up the tree.”
    “That you do, Dearie.” I patted her cheek. “If Joey lived closer, I'd throw myself on his mercy, but now I have Armando. Well, usually I have Armando,” I amended.
    “Yeah, men have a way of disappearing at the most inconvenient moments,” Emma muttered to herself, and I looked at her sharply. Before I could comment, she jumped to her feet. “What do you say we give Jasmine a treat and light this gorgeous fire?’
    She busied herself with the firescreen and matches. I watched fondly while she restacked the logs in the fireplace to her satisfaction and set them ablaze. Clearly, she had changed the subject, and I knew better than to pursue the topic of Jared. When your children become adults, the most important thing you can do as a mother is learn to keep your mouth shut.
    Not for the first time, I marveled at the genetic quirks that had produced two such different individuals as my son and daughter from the same gene pool. Each was a unique amalgamation of Michael's and my physical traits. Emma was a slightly shorter, sturdier version of me at