SEALed at Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page B

afternoon, on a cloudy late December day in New England, it was nearly dark already.
    Best to be prepared, that's what Ginny always said. Well, she never actually said that, but it sounded good. For this situation she settled on locating the flashlight.
    That was preparations enough for the time being because her trip to the kitchen had made her realize she was hungry.
    She opened the fridge and perused the choices. She had lettuce to make a salad, but that idea left her feeling cold.
    There was chicken breast in the freezer. She could defrost that in the microwave and throw something together for dinner. Maybe with some homemade mashed potatoes, but that would all take a lot of time and more incentive than she had.
    Ginny opened a cabinet and eyed the rows of cans. Laziness won out and she opted on a hearty bean soup. One quick turn of the electric can opener and it would be ready to cook, with only one dirty pot to wash after she was done.
    As the soup heated on the stovetop, Ginny wandered into the master bedroom.
    Choosing to ignore the time of day, she grabbed her pajamas from where she’d left them hanging behind the bathroom door. A cozy night in front of the fire would be even better in her soft flannel PJs.
    Okay, it wasn’t technically night yet. It was still more late afternoon, creeping up to be evening, but what good was the freedom of working from home if she couldn't put on her pajamas when she wanted to?
    Besides, for better or worse there was no one there to see or judge her for it, so Ginny tossed her jeans and sweater on the chair in the bedroom and pulled on her softest, and also oldest, red and white snowflake patterned pajamas.
    The soup was hot enough to eat by the time she got back to the kitchen, so she flipped off the burner.
    After poured the steaming liquid into a bowl, she grabbed a spoon and a napkin and carried the lot into the living room.
    The dark gaping opening of the fireplace reminded her she’d meant to bring in wood and make a fire. She’d have to do that later. If she did it now, her dinner would get cold.
    She should probably try to put in at least an hour on her book since she hadn’t touched it in days. She could do that while she ate.
    Ginny put the bowl down on the desk and sat. Her laptop was still open, just the way she’d left it. She tapped a key to wake the computer from hibernation mode and watched the screen spring to life.
    She clicked to open the file for her novel. The document appeared on screen, looking exactly how she'd left it—unfinished, stalled halfway through the first chapter.
    Okay, maybe not halfway. More like a few paragraphs in.
    She blew out a breath. Ginny had heard of writer's block, but her experience seemed more like writer's amnesia. Nothing spilled out of her brain and onto the screen and she started to suspect that what she'd already written might be crap.
    A Colonial-era cozy mystery had seemed like such a great idea when she'd originally come up with it and done the research.
    So why wasn't it working? She had no idea, but sitting and staring at the screen didn't help either her mood or her novel.
    In her defense, she had an eight-page outline for the story and ten pages of research notes, so she was closer to being finished than it appeared at first glance in spite of the pitifully low word count.
    All she had to do was write it.
    Easy. No problem at all . . . She laid her fingers on the keyboard, but she’d be damned if she knew what to type.
    Maybe if she opened the outline and went over that again it would help.
    Ginny was just about to do that when an alert popped onto her screen, which reminded her she hadn’t checked her email since this morning.
    She opened her inbox in a new browser and found it full. She’d definitely be able to concentrate better after she went through it. And it would be far easier to eat her soup while reading email than while trying to write her novel.
    Decision made, Ginny clicked open the first email,