Free Cold Comfort by Ellis Vidler Page A

eyes told him she knew how he felt about this job.
    "Nothing you'd want to repeat. I'll tell him myself when I see him."
    "I'll bet." She chuckled and went to help a man examining a selection of hand-painted tops. "Hi. Do you need any help?"
    Riley checked and eliminated him. Strictly white bread. No threat there.
    "Yeah." The man squatted down to spin a red and yellow top across the wooden floor. "I used to have one of these. Drove my mother nuts with it." When it began to wobble, he retrieved the top and stood, a satisfied expression on his face. "I'll take this one."
    Riley realized Claire sold a lot more than knickknacks and small toys—she sold memories too. Every adult he saw wore a fond, nostalgic expression, even the ones trying to keep up with their excited children. For the children, Mistletoe was sheer magic.
    Finally Mary locked the front door behind the last customer. Riley, careful to stay out of sight of the window, wandered over to a train display as the women sank into the chairs. Riley wanted his presence to be a surprise in case anyone waited nearby, hoping to catch Claire.
    Both of them let their shoes fall to the floor and, with blissful sighs, propped their feet on the table. Mary's sturdy support shoes lay next to Claire's black heels — if she'd been wearing combat boots, he wouldn't have noticed today.
    He watched them. Both women leaned their heads back and closed their eyes. Ah, what the hell. He filled two cups with cider, held them in one hand, and picked up the cookies in the other. "Here." He thrust them at Claire and Mary.
    "Thank you. This has been a busy afternoon, lots of sales." Claire smiled and flexed her feet. "This is the best time of the day."
    Both women sipped their drinks, savoring the silence.
    After a minute Mary put her feet on the floor and finished her cider in a gulp. "I need to get home. Damien will be starving — he's my fifteen-year-old son," she explained to Riley. "Take care, Claire. I'll be here early in the morning to help restock."
    "Thanks. Take the rest of the cookies." Claire slid her feet into her shoes and went to the counter for something to put them in. "Riley ate a cake last night and doesn't need any more sugar." She slid the cookies into a red bag and handed it to Mary. "Tell Damien hi and I'll see him Friday afternoon."
    Claire let Mary out the front door and locked it behind her. "Damien's working with us on Fridays after school and on Saturdays this season," she told Riley. "He's a nice boy."
    "I did not 'eat a cake' last night. Maybe a big piece, but that's all," he said, following her to the back. He guessed she was over her mad spell—good woman. No grudge.
    She spun around and walked backward for a couple of steps, facing him with a wide grin. "Okay, half a cake."
    The corners of her eyes crinkled when the smile reached her eyes. He caught her arm, afraid she'd stumble. He felt like a cat with a mouse—one hint and he'd have been on her. Shaking his head, he turned her around again and let go. "It was going to waste." God, but he needed to finish this job and get out of here. "By the way, didn't I tell you not to leave the store without me?" He gentled his voice, not wanting to be too hard on her, scare her.
    "Yes, I believe you did," she said, stooping to adjust a little tin soldier who kept watch over a glittering ballerina.
    Maybe he'd been too easy. "But you went out anyway."
    "Yes, I did." She looked up, giving him a guileless smile.
    He glared. "I mean it. Don't go out alone."
    She straightened. "I'll try not to." She spoke carefully, her tone deliberate.
    "You'll try ?" He couldn't believe her. He definitely hadn't scared her. "Someone is trying to kill you," he snarled.
    "Yes, I know." Her gaze met his without blinking. Under the honey lay a note of steel. "You're supposed to find out who, not hide me in a closet."
    She was warning him . He stepped out of her path, at a loss, as she sailed toward the restroom with the empty cider