Shadows on a Maine Christmas (Antique Print Mystery Series Book 7) Read Free Page B

sleep a bit later. If I do, Aunt Nettie rings her cowbell to wake me up, don’t you?”
    They both laughed. Maggie managed a smile. They’d been up for hours, waiting for her. This was not going to be a lazy Christmas vacation lying in bed.
    Aunt Nettie picked up the last cookie from the plate in the center of the table. “We mustn’t gobble all of Maggie‘s cookies. They’ll be wonderful refreshments for my party.”
    “Your party?” Will turned around from the bowl he was stirring. “What party?”
    “You just finish those eggs, Will, and I’ll tell you both. I wasn’t sure about it, but with the two of you here to help, well, I think it’ll be fine. And, after all, it’s my turn. I can’t very well not have it this year, can I?”
    The kitchen was silent for a moment.
    “What can I do, Will?” Maggie asked.
    “Why don’t you put plates on the table,” he said. “I already have bread warming in the oven. You remember Borealis, the bakery you liked when you were here last summer? I got a loaf of their onion rye yesterday, so it’s still fresh. You could get that out and slice it.”
    “Yum!” Maggie complied, easily remembering where everything was in the kitchen. She had butter and a board of warm sliced bread on the table before Will served the omelets.
    “Delicious, Will,” said Aunt Nettie. “Maggie should come to visit more often. Our breakfasts aren’t this elegant every day.”
    “That’s because every morning you ask for oatmeal with blueberries,” said Will, a bit tartly. “If you’d like eggs some days, I’d be happy to cook eggs.”
    Aunt Nettie only ate a little of her omelet, Maggie noted, but she did eat a slice of bread and butter. Wonderful fresh bread, as she’d remembered. She had two pieces, and found it hard to resist taking a third. So she didn’t.
    As soon as they’d cleared the plates and refilled the coffee mugs (for Will and his aunt) and the cola glass (for Maggie), Will sat back down.
    “Now, Aunt Nettie. What’s this about a party?”
    “Every year the girls and I have a little Christmas gathering, just ourselves, before any family gatherings any of us might have. We take turns being hostess. And this is my year.” Aunt Nettie turned to Maggie. “It’s not a fancy shindig. And it’s gotten smaller every year, sadly. This year, of course, we’ll be missing Susan.”
    Last summer Susan Newall’s death had set off a chain of events that had led to a murder, and to Aunt Nettie’s stroke. But the death of her friend had been the hardest part for Aunt Nettie.
    “Our Christmas party’s a tradition with us, and I wouldn’t like it to end when it’s my time to pour the wine and put out nice things to eat.” She looked from Maggie to Will and then back to Maggie again. “Friends are so important, and old friends are the most important of all, especially when you don’t know how much time you’ll have with them.”
    “Who are ‘the girls’?” asked Maggie.
    Will answered. “Aunt Nettie, you mean the friends you used to go out to dinner with sometimes, or to the movies? The ones you grew up with here in Waymouth.”
    “We did a great deal more than that together over the years,” Aunt Nettie said. “We shared our lives in ways you wouldn’t understand. But only four of us are left now. Ruth Weston and Betty Hoskins—they’re sisters, Maggie, and they live together. Betty’s doing poorly, but I’d hope Ruth could still bring her. And Doreen Strait. You’ve met her son, Nicky, who’s a state trooper. Doreen’s mother, Mary, used to be one of our group, but she was sickly, and Doreen took care of her for years, and brought her to our gatherings, so when Mary died we kept including Doreen. She’s the youngest of us.” Aunt Nettie counted on her fingers. “So it would be three people coming, to share a little wine or tea and maybe a few of these nice cookies. Perhaps we could get a box of that fancy ribbon candy or make plates of little tea