18
Sabotage
Monday morning brought a miserable deluge of rain. Emily watched with dismay as it battered the village square outside, turning the gravel parking area into a field of puddles. Hoping that it cleared by the afternoon, she decided instead on a trip back to the teahouse to check the post. The electric and gas bills had shown up, as well as another handful of Christmas cards. Not wanting to stay in the teahouse but not in the mood to return to Cottonwood just yet, she drove to a café a couple of miles away where she had sometimes met with friends on days when she needed a break from the teahouse’s endless hustle and bustle.
She took a corner seat, ordered a latte and began opening Christmas cards. She was barely halfway through, finding cards from a few distant relatives perhap
