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

pulling my Fiesta out of our garage. By then, Dad had already left for the office. I followed his tire tracks down the drive and out onto the slippery street.
    At work, Betty was already behind the receptionist’s desk when I walked through the front door. “Morning’,” she called out cheerily to me. “How are the streets?”
    “Slick.”
    “It’ll be worse on the way home.”
    “No doubt.” I stomped my boots free of snow on the rug which trailed from the front door to Betty’s desk.. “How did Toby like his stint at the cabin?”
    “He said it was fun. He doesn’t much care for the costume, though.”
    “Tell him Ginger’s standing firm. I tried arguing the point with her and lost.”
    “Toby’s thought of a couple of changes. He’ll try working those past her. He thinks he wouldn’t feel like such a silly goose.”
    I silently wished him luck. “What’s his biggest complaint?”
    “The slippers and stockings.”
    “Can’t blame him on the slippers. Ginger told me she’d found them in the attic. She thinks they must have belonged to her great grandmother.”
    “Ugh, I think I’ll keep that little tidbit to myself. Toby might burn them if he hears who they once belonged to.”
    “No matter how he feels about the costume, I hope he stays with the job. Ginger intends to keep Toby working right up to Christmas. That could mean some pretty good money for your boy.”
    “He knows it. I think he’ll bring her round, though, on the costume.”
    Bringing Ginger “round” on anything would be a first, I thought. “Did any new assignments come in overnight?”
    Part of Betty’s job was to check the phone messages every morning and pass out whatever assignments had been phoned in.” It wasn’t unusual for requests for news coverage to arrive that way. Maybe someone wanted a photo shot of a square dance at the VFW, or one taken of speaker at a monthly session of the Grandmother’s Club. 
    “Nope,” Betty said. “Everything remains as it was. I imagine if this snow keeps up much longer though, your dad’s gonna want some shots of snow piles or such.”
    “Thanks for the reminder,” I said. “I’d already been planning to cover road closures.”
    “What about the murder?” Betty asked.
    “I’ll scour the Times to see what details they have.”
    The Times was the largest newspaper in our area. Published in a city about forty miles from Cloverton, it covered the main news in our county. But the paper left the little stuff — the spelling bees, the Boy Scout news, anniversaries and such  —   to us. Dad and I monitored their pages daily to be sure we hadn’t missed a major story. Most of the time, our coverage held up just fine. Thank you very much.
    “That murder was a nasty business,” Betty said, with a firm shake of her head. “Who’d want to go and kill an old man like that?”
    “I hope we find out soon.” But I avoided any mention of my plans to lend a hand with the effort. Dad tended to get a bit irritated with me when he thought I was putting myself in danger. But then, he would. I was his only child.
    I sighed and made my way to the office. I suspected a rash of early morning accidents from the snowstorm needed to be checked out and written up.
    After slipping out of my parka, I hung it on the corner coat rack. The boots went down below the coat. My purse, I plopped into my bottom desk drawer. I took a quick time out to collect a cup of coffee from the break room. There, a new, fancy coffee maker had replaced our old broken pot, the one that had played such a big part in my last brush with a killer.
    Finally, armed with a fresh ration of caffeine, I returned to my office and fired up my computer. Pulling open a drawer filled with press releases and notes from last week’s Police Pension Board meeting, I tore into my daily tasks. From there, I started calling around, checking on street conditions and accident reports — all in preparation for Monday’s edition.