Page 1 of Christmas By The Shore

1

Catherine just barely caught sight of the egg before it hit the window.

Out of the corner of her eye, the smooth white surface of the projectile was illuminated for a moment by the nearest streetlight, and though logically, she knew she was safe behind the glass, she flinched.

The egg hit with a loud thud, then came the sound of mischievous laughter and teenagers running away to seek out their next target. Catherine sighed, watching the sticky yellow yoke run down the window of her first-floor office, and tried not to take it too personally. It was Halloween, after all, and those troublemakers were probably going around and throwing stuff at any building with the lights still on. It wasn’t as if they had a vendetta against SparkPlug Books, the independent publishing house where she worked. At least she couldn’t think of a reason why they would.

Still, even if the egg hadn’t been meant to cause any harm other than some inconvenience, Cat felt bad for the window cleanerswho were scheduled to come sometime before Thanksgiving. Perhaps, if it wasn’t too late when she finished working through her pile of cold-call manuscripts, she could grab some Clorox wipes from her car and try to remove most of the mess.

Her phone alarm went off shortly after she returned to the experimental novel she was flipping through, and she sighed, letting her head fall back against her ergonomic chair. If she was following the rules she’d set for herself, this would be time to stop working.

After receiving one too many lectures from her co-workers, boss, and best friend McKenzie, Cat was trying her best not to over-exert herself at the office. Everyone feared she would soon burn out, and she didn’t want to hit a brick wall any more than they wanted her to. This is why she set an alarm to go off at 7:30 p.m. every evening, reminding her that it was well past the time she should’ve clocked out and gone home to eat some dinner.

But this book wasjuststarting to get interesting, and she only had two days to get any new manuscripts on the head editor’s desk for them to be considered for publication the following year. Mrs. Kendall was a stickler for deadlines and had gotten angry with Catherine once for submitting a book at the last minute. That was two years ago, and it was the much-anticipated sequel to McKenzie’s debut thriller novel, so Mrs. Kendall let it slide. But she wasn’t going to do it again.

Cat picked up her phone and set a new alarm, giving herself one more hour to power through the last third of this book. She told herself she didn’t have to read it too closely. She just had to ensure that the ending delivered what the rest of the book promised and that none of the characters randomly became toxic in the remaining chapters. That might sound odd to someone who didn’t work in publishing, but it had happenedto Cat before. She was fifty pages out from the end of what she’d then considered a pretty masterful work of fiction when, all of a sudden, the writer started injecting the narrative with some extremely offensive ideas about women, and she could hardly believe what she was reading.

Now, she was careful never to send anything up the chain of command without at least taking a few seconds to scan each page.

She put her phone aside and sank back into the story, losing herself in the climax of this surprisingly poignant sci-fi novel and not coming up for air, so to speak, for forty-five minutes. The last lines of the book were so poetic and spoken from the lips of a dying man who Cat had really connected with that she found herself tearing up.

Sheneverteared up when reading.

Not unless the book was truly astounding.

This book was good, great even, but notastounding.

Perhaps,she thought,I’m just tearing up because my blood sugar is a little low.

Cat was reaching that point in the evening where she knew she would be going through a drive-thru on her way home, having no energy to make herself something nutritious. Luckily, living in the heart of Boston, there were plenty of food choices, and everything would be open until at least 11 p.m. Even on Halloween.

She was gathering up her things when she heard footsteps coming from the direction of the front desk. The sound echoed in the otherwise quiet building, and whoever was coming, Catcould tell they were wearing some seriously slender stilettos. The only person, besides her boss, who was out of town, who would be rocking such impractical footwear was someone who had a habit of dressing up as a famous pop star every Halloween. Cat knew it was McKenzie before her best friend and best writer popped her head through the open door of her office.

“I cannotbelieveyou are still here.”

Cat laughed. “Clearly you knew I was going to be here, or else you wouldn’t have dropped by just to scold me.”

“No, you know what, you’re right. I’m not actually shocked to see you here. But I wish I was!”

Cat looked McKenzie up and down, trying to figure out which pop girlie she was dressed as this year. Her costume consisted of a lot of spandex, but the heels were boots, not stilettos, and her wig was cropped and spikey. “I’m confused—Joan Jett is a rock star, not a pop icon.”

“Joan Jett?” McKenzie scoffed. “Are you joking? First of all, Joan Jett hasjetblack hair. This wig is red. Besides, isn’t the eye makeup a dead giveaway?” She pointed to the orange and shiny lightning bolt striking across her face.

“Well, I didn’t know male pop stars were on the list of available costumes!” Cat said defensively. “But now I see Bowie, and I apologize to his memory for not making the connection earlier.”

“You should.” The two women shared a smile, and then McKenzie went right back into disapproval mode. “Okay, but really—what are you still doing at the office? There are so many Halloween parties going on in the city, three of which I was personally invited toandencouraged to bring a plus one. Can we please go and check them out?”

“I’m really not in the mood. I’m exhausted, and you know how crazy things get in the city on Halloween. I would really just like to go home, sorry.”

“You’re only exhausted because you’ve been here working all night!” She threw her arms in the air and let them fall heavy at her sides. “One drink isn’t going to push you over the edge anyway.”

“I’m not even dressed up.”

“Like that’s a problem. I could make a costume out of what you’re wearing.”

Despite the fact that Cat was in no way interested in going to a party, shewascurious to know just what sort of costume McKenzie thought she could throw together out of an Ann Taylor Loft pencil skirt and an out-of-style blazer with a missing button.

“We could roll your skirt up a little, unbutton that blouse, and use cardboard to give you a tiny bit of a shoulder pad, and boom—Erin Brockovich.”

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