Christmas at the Hummingbird House Read Online Free PDF Page B

understanding and drew on the cigarette, giving his knee a single reassuring pat.  “As long as we’re on the same page.”
    She smoked in silence for a moment, and he sipped his coffee.  “What you need is a good celebrity exposé, or a true crime.  They’re short-lived, but big bucks.  I could get you six figures today for a behind-the-scenes exclusive with a mass murderer.”
    “I don’t know any mass murderers.”
    “God knows there’re enough of them to choose from.”
    “Still don’t know any of them.”
    She glanced at him.  “Well, you didn’t know anyone who’d ever seen an angel until you started looking, did you?”
    “Still don’t.”
    “Just think about it.”
    “I will.”  He took another sip of his coffee.  “God knows I’m not going to be able to live off what I’m making much longer.”
    She snorted laughter, blowing smoke through her nose.  “Baby, I already can’t live off what you’re making.”
    They shared a smile, and she stubbed out her cigarette.  “Well, I’ve got to get back.  I’m interviewing five more wannabes this afternoon, and I haven’t been able to make myself read even one of their proposals.  Talk about your miracles.  That’s what it would be if I can find a semi-literate sentence in that pile of dreck.  Walk me to the shuttle?”
    “Sure.”  He stood.  “I guess I’ll head back to the hotel, too.  I think there’s an episode of Castle on television this afternoon that I haven’t seen, and happy hour starts in the Kingfisher room at 4:00.  They have free pigs-in-a-blanket.”
    She looped her arm through his, and they walked back toward the parking lot, her high-heeled boots clicking on the sidewalk.  “What are your plans for the holidays?”
    “Actually, I’m doing a reading at a B&B in Virginia.  Four days, five nights in the middle of the woods, stargazing by night, reading beside the fire during the day.  And I only have to work for one afternoon.”
    She wrinkled her nose.  “Sounds ghastly.”
    “It was that or an inside, below-decks, eight-by-ten cabin on a cruise to the Bahamas, seven days of making nice with eighteen hundred people, three readings and one night of leading the conga line.  It seemed to me there was less chance of listeria at the B&B, and besides, they’re offering a stipend.  It’s Paul Slater’s place,” he added.  “You remember him, from the Washington Post ?”
    “Oh, so that’s what he’s doing now.  Come to think of it, I do seem to recall reading he’d bought a place in the country after he left the Post . Now, there’s a man who knows how to make money hand over fist.  Three best-sellers, three years in a row?  Please.  And I still have his coffee-table book.  Do me a favor, will you?”  She stopped and plucked a business card out of a side pocket in her purse.  “Give him my card.  Ask if he’s happy with his representation.”
    Geoffery hesitated, then took the card with a resigned quirk of his lips and tucked it into his pocket.  “Right.”
    They edged past a Christmas topiary display outside the Sears entrance, where animated elves tossed an endless supply of artificial snowflakes over a garden of lighted trees.  It seemed to be a popular place for mothers with children in strollers to stop and point and make baby talk.
    Geoffery asked politely, “So what are you doing for the holidays?”
    She lit another cigarette and waved away the smoke.  “Oh, please.  I lost my religion decades ago, and I’m a lot happier for it. I don’t even celebrate Chanukah any more.  Thought about the Hamptons, but they’re dead this time of year.  Probably I’ll just watch the parade from my window and catch up on some work. Ah, screw the parade.  It’s just a bunch of freaky little men in worn-out elf costumes dancing around, anyway.  I mean seriously, I ask you, aren’t we all tired of Christmas by December twenty-fifth anyway?”
    “Bobbie, can I ask you