The Case of the Missing Elf: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

where?”
    “How about on my lap?’ he asked, giving me a broad wink. “That’s where most of the good little girls sit. And I can tell you’ve been a really great little girl  this year.”
    Oh, good grief. Ginger hadn’t been exaggerating this man’s sleaziness.
    I bit back a snarky comment. Ginger’s life was tough enough without me alienating her Santa Claus. “That’s a generous offer,” I said, “but I think I’ll pass.”
    He didn’t look best pleased. “Aw, come on. You look like you could use a little fun.”
    “Maybe, but I still think I’ll pass.”
    His face flushed red, but I doubted it was from being embarrassed. I could see why Ginger couldn’t trust the man alone with a teenaged girl.
    “Most of me in this suit is padding you know,” he said. “ I’m a good looking dude when I dump the costume.”
    “I’m glad to hear it.” I struggled to dream up a new conversational thread. “Ah… so  what do you with yourself when you’re not playing Santa?” I asked. It probably wasn’t the most original question in the world,  but I was desperate.
    “Pretty much whatever I please,” He chuckled softly, “I’m a kept man.”
    “I’m sorry? I’m not following you.”
    “My wife, Valerie Farmer, owns the bakery. She’s doing so well that I don’t need to work.”
    “Then why are you playing Santa?”
    “I like watching the young mothers. They sort of give me a warm fuzzy feeling.”
    Oh, joy. “And when you’re not working here, how do you fill your time?”
    “This and that. Nothing in particular.”
    I must have had a disdainful look on my face, because Farmer went suddenly into defensive mode, lifting his chin and saying, “I’m no different than the stay-at-home wives of successful husbands.”
    I folded my arms across my chest. “Lucky you.”
    “Yes, indeed.”
    As I stood there mulling over our exchange, I couldn’t help  wondering if Valerie knew of her husband’s flirtatious nature? Either way, she’d certainly have my sympathy from here on in. This guy was very close to being a serious waste of oxygen.
     
     

Four
     
     
     
    S aturday morning dawned gray and bitter. A cold front had swept in overnight and chased our beautiful weather away. Now, a stiff north wind whistled about the house. Snowflakes flew past my bedroom window. I yawned, rolled onto my side, closed my eyes, and tried to put the unwelcome sight out of mind.
    After leaving Santa’s Cabin last night, I’d dropped by the newspaper office to catch up on some work. I hadn’t wandered home until almost eleven. Now, I longed to return to sleep.
    “Melanie,” Dad’s voice called up from downstairs. “Come on. Up and at ‘em. We’re expecting four inches of snow before this stuff ends. If you’ve got things to do, best get at them while you can.”
    Someplace in this world, fathers turned a blind eye to their offspring’s desire to remain in bed. But not in this house. I shoved my bedcovers aside.
    That’s what you get, I told myself, when you live with your employer. Dad not only acted like he owned my time at the newspaper but, most days, the same attitude prevailed at home.
    Giving forth a mighty groan, I propelled myself into a sitting position and plopped my warm feet onto the cold floor. Normally, we didn’t work on Saturdays, but this was the holiday season. With only four staffers putting out three weekly issues of the Gazette , we’d be swamped between now and Christmas. It wasn’t just the merchant’s busiest time of year, it was ours as well. At least, I thought with relish, after Christmas, things would slow down for the next month or so.
    I heard Taffy bark someplace downstairs. Then, the back door slammed shut. I assumed Dad and his beloved cocker spaniel were taking off for their daily constitutional, snow or no snow.
    Good for them, I thought, perhaps, a bit uncharitably.
    But despite the day’s grayness, I quickly showered, and dressed, and in short order, was