Make, Take, Murder Read Online Free PDF

hours. Getting along with Bama. Coming up with new ideas to entice our customers. Creating ever-more interesting classes and projects. Finding outside sales events that would add to—and not detract from—our daily register receipts. Moving scads of merchandise this holiday season. Cutting corners wherever possible.
    Bills for our stock were already arriving.
    Our utility payments were higher than Bama and I anticipated. This winter had been especially brutal, and the store was always cold. Evidently, there was little to no insulation in our walls. We mainly ignored the temp, but on occasion our customers had complained, and we’d been forced to raise the thermostat.
    We were paying COD for the specialty goods we ordered. A lot of those suppliers were struggling small businesses, too. Because our orders were small (at least in comparison to the big chain stores), we rarely qualified for free shipping. We paid extra for quick delivery, mindful that the closer we came to December 25, the less time we had to sell through what we’d ordered.
    Bama and I were hoping for a big holiday season. I could scarcely walk because my fingers and toes were crossed in anticipation. Also because my feet were freezing. I’d worn holes in most of my socks.
    The cold weather brought more expenses on the home front as well. Anya had outgrown her winter coat. She pushed up so stealthily that I hadn’t realized she’d grown so much until I noticed the sleeves stopped three inches above her wrist bones. Something in my face must have betrayed my dismay, because she pulled the coat right off and announced, “I’ll wear that jacket my grandmother bought me instead.”
    I gave her a grateful look, and felt thankful for my good-hearted kid, the one who co-inhabited a body with the Princess of Petulance.
    A glance out of our display window foretold bad weather. The sky was clotted with heavy clouds, threatening to rip open like too-full garbage bags and dump snow all over St. Louis. My breath caught in my throat as I wondered how long Anya could go without new boots. She’d been angling for those Uggs not only because they were fashionable, but also because she needed protective footwear. CALA, which was what the locals called the Charles and Anne Lindbergh Academy, a fancy-shmancy private school Anya attended, boasted a sprawling campus. Kids trudged from one building to the next as their classes changed. She couldn’t go long without boots. She’d surely get sick from having wet feet.
    Staring out at the threatening weather, I realized I couldn’t put off repairing my old car much longer. My worn-out BMW convertible, the almost worthless vehicle I kept after my husband died, was nearly at the end of its natural lifespan. How long could I ignore the fact that the fabric roof was ripped? Slush and rain dripped on me each time I rounded a corner. The cold and wet had done nothing for my health. My nose had run all week, off and on.
    “Achoo!” As if to underscore my mental misery, I gave forth with a hearty and unladylike sneeze. I managed to tuck my face into the crook of my arm so I didn’t shower nearby paper with sneeze doodles.
    “Bless you!” rang out from customers in all corners of the store.
    Bless you. Bless them. They were right.
    All in all, I had reasons to count my blessings.
    My daughter was happy when she wasn’t snarling with the emotional angst brought on by rampant hormones. My mother-in-law was in love and acting pretty nice to me, all things considered. I adored my job. I lived in a snug little converted garage in a nice neighborhood. I had friends. My tummy was full. I was safe. For the moment, at least.
    I was healthy, except for a cold I was fighting.
    The holidays were coming, and everyone was in a good mood.
    Later today or early tomorrow it would snow, and that meteorological magic show would put everyone into the gift-giving spirit. The cash register would ring merrily. The world would look lovely and innocent