“I know what you mean. Now, I’m always expecting to get laid off, and I don’t think I’d mind if I was,” admitted Lucy.

“Oh, they won’t lay you off. You’re a good producer. They always go for the ones who are going to retire or have a baby—the ones who actually use the benefits.” Ruthie sounded bitter but resigned.

“Is that why Karen and Bev were laid off? That’s terrible.”

“Look for yourself, Lucy. You can see who survived the cuts. I haven’t noticed any drop in sales, have you? I think they just wanted to get rid of the deadwood.”

“Sales always drop off after Christmas,” Lucy reminded her.

“But they never had layoffs before. Not when Sam was in charge,” Ruthie argued. “Lower payroll means higher profits. This’ll be a feather in somebody’s cap.”

“Do you think George was behind this?”

“Doesn’t really matter whose idea it was, does it? The whole board of directors had to approve it. They don’t care about people like us.” Ruthie clicked on her computer and started pounding away angrily at the keyboard.

Lucy was kept busy all night trying to keep up with the calls. She frequently had several callers waiting, something that had never happened to her before. The customers weren’t very pleased at having to wait to place their orders, and by the time she could take her break, her tact was exhausted.

She sat alone in the break room, sipping her diet soda and reading last week’s Pennysaver. George Higham stopped in the doorway and looked at her, but she shot him such an evil glance that he beat a hasty retreat.

She was sure George had masterminded the layoffs. Ever since Sam Miller’s death, George had been the one to watch. His star was certainly ascending, and Lucy thought she knew why. Of all the people at Country Cousins, he seemed to have gained the most from Sam’s death. She took a long pull on the can of soda and took a deep breath. She’d love to be able to prove that George had killed Sam.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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“It’s Christmas Eve! Tomorrow is Christmas!” shouted Toby as he ran into the kitchen.

Lucy finished pouring herself a cup of coffee and smiled at Bill, who was sitting at the table reading the Herald.

“You know what they say about Christmas Eve, don’t you? It’s supposed to be the longest day of the year,” Bill said in a teasing voice.

“No, it isn’t,” answered Toby. “December twenty-first, the day of the winter solstice, is the shortest day. Now the days are short and the nights are long.”