3 Christmas Crazy Read Online Free PDF Page A

table in front of the sofa.
    “Sheriff Salinger came in today and asked me to pass those out. Toby Haskell is missing.”
    Toby was a ten-year-old boy from a troubled home who had run away on more than one occasion. “Do they think he ran away again?”
    “The sheriff suspects he did, but they can’t rule out foul play, so he’s treating it as a possible kidnapping.”
    “Wow. How long has he been missing?”
    “Since last week. He took his backpack and some of the clothes in his closet, so chances are he left of his own free will, but I told Salinger I’d pass out the fliers just in case.”
    I felt bad for the boy. His mother was a weak woman who had a tendency to hook up with abusive men. Toby had been removed from the home the previous summer, when it came to the attention of the folks from Child Protective Services that his mom’s live-in lover had given Toby a black eye. I knew the mother had gotten counseling after her boyfriend was arrested and Toby had been returned to her. My gut told me things hadn’t worked out and Toby had taken things into his own hands and run away. I hoped he was okay. Ten was young to be on your own, even if you were as intelligent and resourceful as Toby seemed to be.
    I folded one of the fliers and put it in my back pocket. If Toby had run away, maybe I could track him down. After eight years working at the shelter, if there was one thing I was good at it was tracking down strays.
    “Can you hand me that box of bows?” my dad asked.
    I picked up the box, which was sitting open on the floor next to several other boxes of holiday garnish.
    “I like your decorations, but where’s the tree?” I asked as I carried it across the room.
    He had strung pine garlands along the counter and was in the process of adding big red bows, but the tree that normally served as the focal point of his holiday display was noticeably absent.
    “I haven’t gotten around to putting it up yet,” Dad admitted.
    “How about we do it now? I’ll help you.”
    My dad smiled. “I’d like that. It’s been a while since we’ve put up the tree together. I’d better call Pappy. His feelings will be hurt if he’s left out.”
    Pappy is my name for my grandfather, Luke Donovan.
    “Call him,” I instructed. “I’ll run home, pick up Lambda, who’s staying with me while Zak is away, and check on Maggie and the pups. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
     
    By the time I’d returned with dogs in tow, Dad had brought in the tree and set it up in the alcove near the seating area. The tree was at least twelve feet in height, with closely placed branches and a wide and sturdy trunk. It was going to take a lot of lights to cover the thing, but when we were done, I knew it would be magical.
    My dad, who is a good foot taller than I am, volunteered to climb the ladder and hang the lights. Pappy fed him the line while I was tasked with untangling them. Why is it that no matter how careful you are when storing the darn things, they still end up hopelessly tangled by the time you use them the following year?
    After we finished with the lights, we began hanging the ornaments. My dad had a large box filled with every size, shape, and color imaginable. My favorite had always been the hand-carved forest animals Pappy had fashioned from bits of wood over the years.
    “Do you remember when I made this ornament?” I asked my dad and grandfather. The ornament in question was a fairly decent replica of Santa Claus made out of cookie dough.
    “Second grade,” my dad replied. “I have no idea how that got in this box. I keep all the stuff you made at home for use on my personal tree.”
    “Embarrassed for it to be seen in public?” I teased.
    “Afraid it will get stolen or broken,” my dad corrected.
    “If you saved all the masterpieces I made, you must have dozens of pinecone trees, cookie-cutter shapes, and photo holders. I’m pretty sure I made one of each every year until I reached the seventh